A Widow's Son
11Soon Jesus and his disciples were on their way to the town of Nain, and a big crowd was going along with them. 12As they came near the gate of the town, they saw people carrying out the body of a widow's only son. Many people from the town were walking along with her.
13When the Lord saw the woman, he felt sorry for her and said, “Don't cry!”
14Jesus went over and touched the stretcher on which the people were carrying the dead boy. They stopped, and Jesus said, “Young man, get up!” 15The boy sat up and began to speak. Jesus then gave him back to his mother.
16Everyone was frightened and praised God. They said, “A great prophet is here with us! God has come to his people.”
17News about Jesus spread all over Judea and everywhere else in that part of the country.
Reflections from a mother
… Grief. Anguish. I had no more tears. My body ached with exhaustion. I felt like I was in a catatonic pain-filled walk. My soul was being squeezed as if it had no life.
My son had died. My only son. My only son.
My husband was dead. My son was now dead. I wanted to die.
I trudged behind the pallbearers to the edge of town to the burial ground. Every step was agony. I was angry. I was lost. I was in pain.
Then everything stopped. The mourners stopped crying out. I bumped into the last pallbearer. I lifted my head. And there, right in front of me were the kindest eyes. Eyes of compassion. Eyes of love. Eyes that gave me a glimmer of hope.
All of the sudden I had this realization. It must be the man they called Jesus that I had heard about. And seen from a distance.
It seemed like the whole universe stopped. Jesus reached out so slowly and touched my son, my only son. The overwhelming greyness came alive, and all of the sudden my son was in my arms.
I don’t remember anything more . . . except those eyes of Jesus. And my son’s arms around me.
I knew love.
Jesus, I want to know your love. I want to feel your arms around me. Forgive me for my unbelief. I am amazed that you love me even when I am lost and weighed down with overwhelming grief. Thank you for loving me.