Easter Week and Baby Birthdays

I really wanted to call this one, Jesus, Mary, Motherhood, Easter Week and Baby Birthdays, but that seemed just a tad too long.  Easter gets me messy, birthdays get me messy, babies get me messy, and you know I'm messy in general--so, you can just imagine what this week has been like around here.  Yep, maybe I should've titled this one Everyone's Throwing Chocolate at Mama This Week instead.  Please forgive the disjointedness of this one.  I thought it would make sense once I had it all typed out, but perhaps it only makes sense to me.

Easter and Christmas always have me feeling reflective, more so over Mary and her mama heart than the real 'star' of the show, Jesus.  Perhaps that's weird or strange, but that's where my mind heads.  I can't get through these two holidays without breaking down into tears for what she endured as a mom.

From the beginning, Mary fought against the grain, choosing life for our Savior in a time that was not kind to unwed mothers, if she and Joseph had been found out.  She knew what would ultimately befall Jesus, she knew what she would have to watch, and knew she could not hide him away from any of it.  She did all of this for us, for love of her God, and love of her son.

Can any of us honestly say we would do the same?

I'm sure she wanted to put a stop to all of it.  I'm sure she wanted to throw herself on top of her son as the Romans beat him, I'm sure she wanted to hide him away as a young boy.  I'm sure she prayed that her motherly love could change the future, that something else could be done to save mankind.  Did she shout at God about the unfairness, begging Him to find another way, knowing there couldn't be, that only her child could save us from ourselves?

It makes me reflect on my own boys, and all the things I've wanted to save them from, but knew I had to step back and let happen, sometimes so they would learn a lesson, other times because there was nothing I could do but pray it out.  I've wanted to change the outcome for them, I've wanted to rewrite history and the future, I've shouted at God about the unfairness of life.  I've also shouted my praises and gratitude for both answered and unanswered prayers, for mercies and for grace.

Ezra turns two on Saturday.  Two.  TWO years old.  My baby I wasn't supposed to have is a full on toddler.  Right before my eyes, all of his baby ways are slowly falling away.  It absolutely wrecks me.  There was a time when Noah would be our only child, and another time when Avery would be our last.  But God is good, and God is faithful.  This time, it really is true--Ezra is our last.  This time, it gets to be our decision, God's decision, not the doctors' high and mighty declarations.  I won't lie to you though, it still hurts.  It still feels unfair.  I want to stop him right here, I want to stop time.  It doesn't feel fair that he ages.  All of his firsts have also been all of our lasts.  I'm so grateful for all of these, but I also cry privately, mourning these lasts in my closet.  And sometimes publicly on Instagram.

So, yes, I think of Mary.  I cry for her.  I cry for her precious heart, and all that she endured.  I cry for all of the firsts, and all of the lasts.  I cry for all that she gave up.  Everything she gave up, for us, so we can have everything we do, most importantly, eternal life.  Thank you, Mary, for your beautiful mama's heart, for your servant's heart, and for your faithfulness to God.