A Mother's Thought at Christmas

Had Mary known, just she alone, when in her arms a baby lay
The pain and sorrow of His tomorrow, sin in its ultimate display,
Would she have hidden Him and safely bidden Him
and quickly run for His life?
Or could she have faced with no attempt to replace
His inevitable appointment with strife?

What if she had known, through a vision been shown,
the fate of His downy soft head
Which her cheek brushed gently as He cooed so contently,
absent all feeling of dread
Of a day far too soon, the sun peaked at noon
when men filled with hatred and scorn
Would puncture His skin and abruptly press in
a crown protruding with thorns?

Had Mary known all along the fate of the palm
she uncurled carefully with her thumb
The hideous sound that a hammer would pound
when to a nail His palm would succumb
Would her grasp have grown tight as she clutched with her might
each tiny, searching finger
That would stretch out in pain, no relief to be gained
as the minutes 'til death only lingered?

What if Mary had perceived the message received
in the swaddling clothes wrapped 'round Him
That they only foretold a body grown cold
and the grave clothes that eventually bound Him?
And the clothes He'd wear from His body they'd tear,
each garment from the other
As they cast their lots no mercy is sought
An eyewitness you'll be, Dear Mother.

As my mind still wanders over that one who pondered
each moment in that stable
If she had know what Scrpture has shown,
would she have changed it if she were able?
I realize know as my knees drop to bow
something of the God of Glory.
Had He told her these things, what Christ's future would bring,
He would have told her the rest of the story -

"Yes, Dear one, who holds my Son,
lifting Him from a hard, wooden manger,
He'll be a man of sorrows, all grief to borrow,
from birth He'll be in danger.
On a tree replete with sin's defeat
He'll soon die in your very own stead.
No earthly throne, He'll die alone, and thorns will crown His head."

"Grieve only a while o'er the loss of My Child,
God incarnate in this baby boy.
The grave will soon see the captives set free
and your heartache will turn to joy!"
The angels restate, "How long will You wait
to give Him all You've longed for?"
My patient reply, First He must die...His grave is the Open Door!"

"As life came from the womb, there's life from the tomb.
My plan is being perfected.
There's a place I prepare after sin I repair,
for My children, My heart's own elected...
Where all bow at His feet, death in defeat,
and call Him the Lord of all lords!
Blessed choruses ring, 'He's the King of all kings!
His Word a double-edged sword!"

"For now, My child, but for a while, cuddle Him all you can.
Gather hay from the loft, sing a lullaby soft, 'Sleep, Baby, Blessed
God-man.'
So much work must we do when time becomes due.
Rest for now, My Darling, don't cry.
Stars, shine bright! Dance on His face tonight!
Look up, your redemption is nigh!"

He is God's Son, the Only One through Whom men can be restored.
Dry your tears, incline your ears. Your pain is not ignored.

Hail His Majesty, the Prince of Peace, the Bright and Morning Star,
Bow each knee, and tongues proceed, Praise Him wherever you are!


Beth Moore
Things Pondered