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Little did I know growing up in Nazareth of Galilee that I had been chosen by God to be his sacred vessel. Although my family devoutly kept the Law of Moses, there was nothing to foretell the great blessing that would be bestowed upon us. Neither my father, Joachim, nor my mother, Anne, were of the families of any of Israel's great prophets or leaders. From the time I was a young girl, I loved to wander through the hills and around our village. When I was fourteen, my father arranged for me to marry Joseph, a well-respected carpenter of the House of David. After my engagement, I took more notice of the children of the village when I was on my walks. I began thinking of what it would be like to be a mother. As I watched the children laugh and play, I imagined what kind of people they would grow up to be. Would my daughters marry well and have many children? Would my sons be fishermen or craftsmen? Perhaps they would be great teachers or even prophets. And, of course, the dream of all dreams: Like most of my friends, I hoped to be the one chosen by God to give birth to the Messiah. Just the thought of being the one was almost too much to bear.

One evening as I lay in bed thinking of my approaching marriage, a light suddenly appeared in my room. It became brighter and brighter until it overtook the darkness and left me lying in brilliant light. As I watched trembling, a form appeared at the foot of my bed, looked at me, and said: "Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women." I sat up in my bed, pulled the blanket tightly to my chin, and asked this stranger what he meant. He told me not to be afraid, that I had been chosen by God to give birth to a son, and that I should call him Jesus. I asked how this could be, since I was a virgin. The stranger said that the Holy Ghost would come upon me. Although I was confused and afraid, I knew that this person of light was an angel from God. "I am the Lord's servant," I said. "God's will be done."

During his visit, the angel told me that my relative Elizabeth would also have a child. This was a great surprise since everyone thought that she was barren. I hurried to Elizabeth's home. When she saw me coming, she ran down the path, hugged me, and said that the child I carried and I were blessed. As we walked to her house, Elizabeth asked why I, the mother of our Lord, had come to visit. I told her what the angel had said. As I spoke, Elizabeth began weeping with joy and told me that when she had heard my voice, her child had leaped in her womb. We knew that we had been blessed by God and believed that our children were chosen for a specific mission. We wondered what awaited them. We were also afraid. Many called by God suffer greatly because the ways of God are not the ways of man.

Upon my return to Nazareth, I learned that Joseph, too, had had a heavenly visitor and knew that the child I carried was the Son of God. Shortly afterward, Joseph and I went to Bethlehem to be counted in the census. By this time, I was heavy with child. As we arrived in Bethlehem, my time had come. Joseph searched desperately for a place to stay but there was no room. Finally a kindly innkeeper, hearing of my condition, offered us a stall in his stable. There, among the cows and sheep, my son Jesus was born. When a few days old, we took him to the temple in Jerusalem to be dedicated. In the temple there was a man called Simeon. When Simeon saw us, he took Jesus in his arms and praised God. He blessed us and said that Jesus was the Promised One. Simeon then took me aside and told me that although I was blessed, a sword would pierce my soul. Simeon's words filled my heart with a fear that I have carried to this very day. As we left the temple, an old prophetess in the temple began praising God and saying that Jesus was the Redeemer. Since the angel's visit I have been blessed, but also burdened, by the knowledge that Jesus was sent by God. I pray that God will continue to grant me the grace to accept his will and to bear the burden in silent love.

Like any other child, Jesus grew up at my side. I taught him to speak and to say his first prayers. I told him stories and made sure he took his naps, singing to him softly until his eyelids drooped and I could lay him in his bed. As he grew, he followed me around the house, asking never-ending questions. Although loving and respectful, there was always distance between Jesus and me. He was wise beyond his years and my relationship to him was not typical of a mother to her son. How could it be? He spoke of God as his true father. I marveled at my son's insight and wondered at his mission and purpose. And always I was haunted by Simeon's words.

When Jesus was twelve, we took our yearly journey to Jerusalem for Passover. As we were returning home, we discovered that Jesus was not with us. We were frantic and hurried back to Jerusalem, fearing the worst. After three days, we found him in the temple, sitting with the teachers and amazing them with his knowledge and understanding. I was relieved, but angry, and I rushed to him crying and told him that we had been searching everywhere for him. Jesus looked at me and asked why we were looking for him. Didn't we know that he had to be about his father's business? His words stung me like the hot desert sand. Joseph led me away, bewildered and heartbroken. It was as though a sword had pierced my heart. Shortly afterward, Jesus joined us and stayed with us until he began preaching. I worried about him as he began what now seems to be the last leg of his journey, a journey I know he must travel alone. Oh, but if I could only walk with my son every step of the way. But it is not to be. I pray for knowledge of God's will for me and the power to carry it out.

I know my son is the Promised One and I have been blessed to share his life. I have kept all that I have seen and heard in my heart, and know that the time will come when I must let him go. That knowledge and Jesus' understanding of his mission kept us separate even while we were together. At the marriage feast at Cana, while I did play a part, Jesus, as he did in the temple those many years ago, made clear his mission and calling. When he addressed me as "woman" I was hurt, not only by his words but by his tone. It was a sword through my heart. Yes, he is my son. But more importantly, he is my Savior. I have told myself that many times to help me deal with what I feel as rejection. I know he loves me. It's just that sometimes I want him to be just my son, and not the Messiah. Perhaps I am selfish. But he is my son and I love him.

I haven't seen much of Jesus during the past three years as he went about preaching and performing miracles, but I have thought of him constantly and feared for his safety. The Romans are suspicious of anyone with a following and have killed more than one man for inciting rebellion. Now I know that the chief priests and teachers of the synagogue are an even greater threat to Jesus. They have accused him of blasphemy and threatened his life. Tonight I learned that Jesus was taken in chains from the Garden to the high priest and has been condemned to die. Even now I hear the mob. I must join him. I cannot let my son die alone. As a believer, I pray that God's will be done; as a mother, I weep for my son.

TO GOD BE THE GLORY