Lost is restored three days at a time Easter

Ever lost your child for a moment?

A moment that seems like a frenzied forever?

What was your response when your child was restored to your arms?

Overwhelming joy, love, hugs and kisses?

Or did you react like I did when the terror was swallowed in a relief that was released in a burst of,

[quote]”How could you do this to me?   Don’t you ever do that to me again.”[/quote]

Do what?

Make me realize how much I love my child, and how horrendous it would be to lose him, so that when he is found, all I can do is scold?

If so, then you can identify with this mother, blessed throughout all generations — blessed in her humanity that we mothers can understand and empathize with, as you read some of the thoughts that raced through her mind — during those three days.

Three Days At A Time

Passover celebration in Jerusalem, like Easter Parade in the city.
Sights, sounds of festival and religious heritage.
Family reunion, old acquaintances renewed.
Boy on the edge of young man, ready to spread his wings and fly.
Growing in wisdom and stature, in favor with God and man.
He is drawn to the temple, to his Father’s business.

A mother’s worst nightmare — a lost boy. Like the shepherd leaving the ninety-nine, she leaves all to search for him, the unthinkable hounding her mind like a pack of ravenous wolves, tearing at her sanity.
Three days of searching, of crying, of hope deferred-heart sickness.

Three days of pressing on through the fear, longing, searching through the tears.

Back to the temple. Always ending at the cornerstone of Jewish life.
In the courts, the outer courts, they all look to him, astounded,
Surely this is a son of promise. Keep your eye on him.
Sprinkled priestly robes, pulled back to let a woman pass, just a woman looking for her son.
She cries, “How could you do this to me?”
He simply replies, “I must be about my father’s business.”
Hold him. Never let him go. If you hold him tight enough you can drown out the cries of Rachel, refusing to be comforted, heart pierced with grief. Drown out the cries with “How could you?”

Another Passover lamb is ready, perfect and set apart.
High Priest, high holy day, religiously officiating in his stained, holy robes. Keep my eyes on him. One should die for many.
Young man on the edge of immortality, growing in favor with God, disfavor with men, spreading his arms to die.
Family reunion at the hill of Golgotha.
A mother’s worst nightmare. A lost son. Behold your mother.
Outside the camp, one should die for many. Keep your eyes on him. Surely this is the Son of God.

What is the Father’s business — this cup?
Three days of crying, of hope deferred-heart sickness.
Three days of pressing on through the fear, longing, searching through the tears.
The cornerstone behind the stone. Hold him one last time before you let him go.
God, how could you do this to me? Be it unto me according to your word.

Easter morning, the stone is rolled away, and the lost is found. Fear swallowed up in irrational relief. “How could you do this to me? I thought I had lost you forever.”
She wants to hold him, to never let him go, but he must be about his Father’s business. Always obeying the will of the Father — that takes him from his mother.
She watches him disappear into the clouds, trying to keep her eyes on him, knowing that she will never stop looking for him.

Three days at a time.


I hope you are looking for Him this weekend. I hope you find Him!

A revision of 4/27/11’s post