It was two thousand years ago or so, a man who called himself God ate a meal with his friends and went to the garden to pray of cups and things. It was two thousand years ago that one of his chosen, his closest friend's betrayed him, sealing the selling of his soul with a kiss. It was two thousand years ago that a man called Jesus walked this earth, and walked towards his death.
When I think of broken things, I can't help but think of his time on the cross. He was near shattered then, skin flayed by a beating he didn't deserve, knees scraped from the road to that hill, head bleeding from the thorns. He opened his arms, iron stakes ruining his hands, and gave the world everything. Body broken on a cross, he healed us all.
It chills me to the bone. As a mother, I can't help but weep with Mary, to witness it all. What was she thinking as she watched her baby die a terrible death? As she watched the people who had cried hosanna just a few days before, beg for his crucifixion, as his blood laced the dirt path, as he gave her away before taking his last breath. Those thoughts fill my mind, this Easter season. Of Mary, of Christ, of a God who so loved the world that He gave himself to die, so that we might rise. He moves my very soul.