And the angel answered her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy—the Son of God.–Luke 1:35 (ESV)
Everything was about to change for Mary. As the angelic message settled over her and the initial shock wore off, did she wonder how in the world a mere mortal would raise the Son of God? I mean think about it. Mary was entrusted with God’s Son. Not just the labor and delivery, but his entire growing up years. She was the one who rocked him to sleep and bandaged his knees. She probably shed a few tears when he lost his first tooth or reached some milestone. Not to mention mothering through puberty and the teen years.
I believe Mary was holy, set apart to do God’s work, but she was wholly human. Like most mothers, she probably had seasons of doubt. As she watched her son hang on the cross I imagine her mind was reeling as she considered what might have prevented the horror. Was there some part of her that felt like a failure as she laid him in the grave?
Just yesterday as my friend and I discussed the struggles of my youngest son I said, “I wonder if I’m failing?”And I meant more than just wonder.
The truth is at times I wonder why in the world God trusted me to raise children. This middleaged, almost empty nest thing is a sheer battle of the mind. The attack of the should’ve, would’ve, could’ve syndrome rears its head like no other time. If I’m not on guard before I know it, I’m all covered in guilt and shame over past mistakes and missteps. There’s a thought I’ve even voiced out loud, I wonder what I did to screw them up. What wound do they carry I inflicted?
In worship I hear the story of Jesus’ temptation. The enemy’s words sound like a dare. “If you are the Son of God….”
I remember the taunting of Jesus as he hung on the cross. “Come down from the cross if you are the Son of God.”
Jesus didn’t take the dare. He had no need to prove he was the Son of God. He knew exactly who he was and whose he was. No circumstance or taunting had the power to change his story.
It doesn’t have the power to change mine either. In the face of the should’ve, would’ve, could’ve enemy I simply must remember who it is I worship, and who I belong to. I worship the all-powerful, all-knowing God. The One who set this planet in its orbit, and holds all things together. The plan maker, game-changer, mistake fixer, water walker, death defier.
Nothing can change who I am nor whose I am.
No mistake or misstep.
Not. One. Thing.