It was said that all generations would call me blessed, but not my generation. There is so much that I just don’t understand. I know the truth, but that doesn’t quiet the talk of my family and community that is convinced my child is a result of my own actions. What can I say to them? I see their looks, and the pain all of this has caused my family who struggle to believe what I have told them. When my husband to be also thought I committed immorality, he continued to try to protect my honor. He intended to be quiet about his plans to separate me out of his life. I can’t imagine what those days and nights were like for him. Oh, the agony of believing that I had rejected him by my actions! Nothing I could say would convince Him of the truth. What was he supposed to believe? I begged our Lord, through nights of heart wrenching tears and piercing pain, to give him understanding of the costly love that I was carrying in my womb. Finally, when I thought all was lost, He sent an angel to reveal my secret to him. Oh, thank God! He did what I was powerless to do. The thought of living without him seemed unbearable. I’ll never forget the sorrow in his eyes the morning after the angel came to him. Although he drenched my feet with his tears and pleaded for my forgiveness, I could not give it to him. None was needed. The love that I was carrying in my womb was all that mattered. Finally, he understood. I was just so grateful that his long night of pain had finally come to an end. Although one season of pain came to an end, another one was beginning. My husband’s change of heart toward me didn’t sit well with his close friends and family whom he had confided in when he was planning to put me away. They simply couldn’t believe the incredible story he told them. They thought I had brainwashed him and was taking advantage of his kind heart. He tried to hide their opinion of me from me, but I saw the disapproving looks they gave me whenever they saw me. It wasn’t long before they began to treat him with the same contempt they treated me. When my precious baby was born, few shared in our joy. I knew that the child I was carrying was treasured and precious, but the night he was born was the most difficult I have ever endured. We weren’t welcome anywhere. I was fatigued and every place we tried to secure lodging was filled with those with the means to pay for a warm place to spend the night. I couldn’t understand why we were in this situation. Why did our Lord not open the doors to us to give our precious baby a suitable place to come into the world? Was He not the promised one? Was He not the one we had all longed for for so long? Is this any way for Him to come into the world? I told my beloved that he had done so much, but I saw the guilt he carried. He felt that he should have been able to provide us with more. He wondered why the Lord picked us for this mission. Why not pick parents with a good reputation and more of a means to provide? All that kept us going was the love I carried inside of my womb. As the years went by and my baby grew, the same people who held me in contempt transferred their disapproval to Him as well. This question loomed in their minds: “Who is His father?” No matter how hardened I attempted to become to all their talk and slander, it pained me that they looked at him with this question. Why did His Father not send an angel to them as He had done for my husband? Why would He not end our disgrace among those we loved most deeply? The more He grew and matured, the more He spoke of His Father with such deep affection, however. His intimate knowledge of His Father seemed to insulate Him from the subtle, and not so subtle, insinuations that people would make about Him being the product of immorality. Although this comforted me greatly, still I wondered. “Is this any way for the promised one of Israel to be viewed and treated by His own people?” “Why would the Lord not clear up all this misunderstanding?” If it wasn’t for the love that was birthed inside of me, I could not have endured. I never forgot that love. This love was my sanity when nothing else made sense. He was that love. My love. A mother and child can never be separated. The day they pierced Him, they pierced me. It was then that I remembered the words of Simeon at the temple those many years ago: “…This child is destined to cause many in Israel to fall, but he will be a joy to many others. He has been sent as a sign from God, but many will oppose him. As a result, the deepest thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your very soul.” (Luke 2:34-35, NLT) After He died and went to His Father, I was awakened. I understood that the love I carried, the love of a mother, was His love. He impregnated me with this love those many years ago. It was this same love that also took John into my heart as my very own son, and took me into his home, after my child was gone. When others saw this as another act of immorality, love sustained me. This love is all I’ve ever had. This love is all that makes sense. I have found favor in His eyes to have carried this great love within me. May we all realize the favor that has been freely bestowed upon us. May we be comforted knowing that we are not immoral as our adversary has accused, we are simply pregnant with love. Because this love is victorious, eventually, all generations will call us blessed. ( Jamal Jivanji)
Posted on: Wed, 24 Dec 2014 15:28:06 +0000
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