Not nails, but love kept son on cross
Posted: Tuesday, April 18, 2006
No one knows where the letter originates. The scroll contains some elements found only in the Middle East. Scientists believe it may be 2,000 years old.
This is the translated version.
I have a hard time not thinking of your early years, son. It's not that I want to go back in time or that I wish you were still my little boy, but I do love visiting those memories.
Like old friends, they're comfortable, safe and happy. I remember so easily the sunlight warming your face and your smile warming my heart.
What a good little boy. Full of curiosity, but the kind that creates, not destroys. One minute you'd be running at full speed and the next, at a standstill watching baby birds. Remember when a baby bird fell from its nest? He looked dead, but when you held him, he breathed again. You placed him back in the nest. The mother bird flew onto your shoulder and gave you the tiniest peck on your cheek.
I was amazed. You just laughed.
I remember the day you were born. You were such a bright light in my life even from the very beginning. Every mother thinks her child is special, but you really are. You loved watching your father work. He said you were the best student ,but he also said you were the very best son. He was so proud of you. You not only learned how to work with your hands, you learned how to work with your heart.
"Great things are in store for this one," Papa said to me one day. You grew into a good carpenter and a good man.
I thought your life would be a normal one. You'd marry a nice girl, have children and I could be the loving grandmother. But then I had the dream.
In my dream, you're standing a distance from me. All around you are pieces of something. The sun reflects off them and they shine, looking like jewels from an exotic land. But as I get closer I realize that each one is broken and razor sharp.
"Don't move!" I yell, but you smile. I run to you, but the faster I run, the farther away you become. Like dreams, where the one thing you're grabbing for is always just out of your grasp. You know you'll never reach it, but still you try because to give up is unthinkable.
"No, don't pick up those pieces!" I scream. It's too late. You're holding each one. You put them together in a beautiful pattern. I've never seen colors that brilliant in all my life.
"How can all the broken pieces fit together?" I ask as I inch closer.
Something's terribly wrong. Each piece cuts you deeply. Each one takes apiece of you. There's a smile on your face and tears in your eyes.
"Pain. My beloved is in pain!" I can barely stand to look at you, but you need me to be your witness. So I do what no mother should have to do, I watch you suffer.
All the broken pieces, each one crying and screaming, crowding you, pressing down on you, invading, causing pain. So many broken people. Darkness. No hope.
Then I know ... in one horrific moment. The grout's red because your blood makes those pieces fit. "Oh, God!" I cry. "He's my son, too! Don't make him do this! I beg you!"
You were a gift to me and now you're a gift to others. In the shape of a cross, the mosaic's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
As you die I realize, it's not the nails that kept you on that cross, it's your love for us. I'm so proud of you, Son.
I thought that was the end of the story. I thought I'd have no new memories of you. I was wrong. You rose from the dead. My beloved son is my beloved savior.
When you were born and I looked at you for the first time, I thought I saw eternity in your eyes. And now I carry eternity in my heart. You are my beloved son. You please me.
Happy Easter!
Kathy Yoder is a devotional writer. She can be reached atdkeyoder@longlines.com.
This is the translated version.
I have a hard time not thinking of your early years, son. It's not that I want to go back in time or that I wish you were still my little boy, but I do love visiting those memories.
Like old friends, they're comfortable, safe and happy. I remember so easily the sunlight warming your face and your smile warming my heart.
What a good little boy. Full of curiosity, but the kind that creates, not destroys. One minute you'd be running at full speed and the next, at a standstill watching baby birds. Remember when a baby bird fell from its nest? He looked dead, but when you held him, he breathed again. You placed him back in the nest. The mother bird flew onto your shoulder and gave you the tiniest peck on your cheek.
I was amazed. You just laughed.
I remember the day you were born. You were such a bright light in my life even from the very beginning. Every mother thinks her child is special, but you really are. You loved watching your father work. He said you were the best student ,but he also said you were the very best son. He was so proud of you. You not only learned how to work with your hands, you learned how to work with your heart.
"Great things are in store for this one," Papa said to me one day. You grew into a good carpenter and a good man.
I thought your life would be a normal one. You'd marry a nice girl, have children and I could be the loving grandmother. But then I had the dream.
In my dream, you're standing a distance from me. All around you are pieces of something. The sun reflects off them and they shine, looking like jewels from an exotic land. But as I get closer I realize that each one is broken and razor sharp.
"Don't move!" I yell, but you smile. I run to you, but the faster I run, the farther away you become. Like dreams, where the one thing you're grabbing for is always just out of your grasp. You know you'll never reach it, but still you try because to give up is unthinkable.
"No, don't pick up those pieces!" I scream. It's too late. You're holding each one. You put them together in a beautiful pattern. I've never seen colors that brilliant in all my life.
"How can all the broken pieces fit together?" I ask as I inch closer.
Something's terribly wrong. Each piece cuts you deeply. Each one takes apiece of you. There's a smile on your face and tears in your eyes.
"Pain. My beloved is in pain!" I can barely stand to look at you, but you need me to be your witness. So I do what no mother should have to do, I watch you suffer.
All the broken pieces, each one crying and screaming, crowding you, pressing down on you, invading, causing pain. So many broken people. Darkness. No hope.
Then I know ... in one horrific moment. The grout's red because your blood makes those pieces fit. "Oh, God!" I cry. "He's my son, too! Don't make him do this! I beg you!"
You were a gift to me and now you're a gift to others. In the shape of a cross, the mosaic's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
As you die I realize, it's not the nails that kept you on that cross, it's your love for us. I'm so proud of you, Son.
I thought that was the end of the story. I thought I'd have no new memories of you. I was wrong. You rose from the dead. My beloved son is my beloved savior.
When you were born and I looked at you for the first time, I thought I saw eternity in your eyes. And now I carry eternity in my heart. You are my beloved son. You please me.
Happy Easter!
Kathy Yoder is a devotional writer. She can be reached atdkeyoder@longlines.com.
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