Proud Parent
I watched my oldest son, Deven, take the lead role in a short skit in our worship service on Palm Sunday. The objective of his performance was to be cute, funny and informative. He attained that objective in Daddy’s point of view. He seemed to be so confident in his purpose. He’s inevitably cute – that comes from his mother. I will take credit for being funny even though so many will disagree. Perhaps I want that credit because I want to be considered funny. Being informative was the biggest surprise to me. In order to pull this particular part of the skit off, Deven had to face the audience, come out of character and address them with important information regarding the upcoming Easter weekend festivities. I perceive that as the scariest part. Once you stand before a group of people that size as yourself, you either have it or you don’t. I’ve been in front of people for years leading worship and I’m stills searching for it. Your vulnerability contributes to fright which leads to a mental block. On this day Deven wasn’t a victim of either of those. Instead he was a victor. I was extremely proud to watch him and to hear the cheers from the audience when he finished.
I thought about Mary on this same day so many years ago. The cheers escalated with every step of the donkey Jesus was seated upon as he entered into Jerusalem. Mary gently closed her eyes so that her sense of hearing would be magnified. She could hear a chorus of “Hosanna!” Children were asking to be lifted up above the crowd to wave and yell, “Jesus!” She opened her eyes and gazed upon the multitude that was applauding and praising her son. Expressions of joy, amazement, and peace were on their faces.
Mary turned her attention to the one she raised from birth. She clasped her hands in front of her lips, dimples in her cheeks were seen to the side of her hands because of her uncontrollable smiling, and tears filled her eyes as she focused on her son. Not God in the flesh. Not a savior. Not a master. No, she saw her son. His smile penetrated her heart causing a gasp for breath. A slow blink enabled the memory of holding him in her arms and witnessing that radiating smile in her arms as a baby. She thought back to frantically looking for him as a boy in this very same city only to find him astonishing the teachers in the temple with his knowledge (Luke 2: 46-47).
She knew His purpose. She was well aware of His vulnerability. She even knew His objective and her place in the entire plan. But at this moment, she was not Mary, the chosen mother. She was Mary, the proud parent.
I thought about Mary on this same day so many years ago. The cheers escalated with every step of the donkey Jesus was seated upon as he entered into Jerusalem. Mary gently closed her eyes so that her sense of hearing would be magnified. She could hear a chorus of “Hosanna!” Children were asking to be lifted up above the crowd to wave and yell, “Jesus!” She opened her eyes and gazed upon the multitude that was applauding and praising her son. Expressions of joy, amazement, and peace were on their faces.
Mary turned her attention to the one she raised from birth. She clasped her hands in front of her lips, dimples in her cheeks were seen to the side of her hands because of her uncontrollable smiling, and tears filled her eyes as she focused on her son. Not God in the flesh. Not a savior. Not a master. No, she saw her son. His smile penetrated her heart causing a gasp for breath. A slow blink enabled the memory of holding him in her arms and witnessing that radiating smile in her arms as a baby. She thought back to frantically looking for him as a boy in this very same city only to find him astonishing the teachers in the temple with his knowledge (Luke 2: 46-47).
She knew His purpose. She was well aware of His vulnerability. She even knew His objective and her place in the entire plan. But at this moment, she was not Mary, the chosen mother. She was Mary, the proud parent.
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