The Agony of Love

Picked him up late, the Kind and Compassionate.  Tired.  He folded himself into the seat and shut the door.  I turned to smile at him.  Tell him that I miss him when he's gone, but he'd already dissolved down into tears.  His shoulders shook the whole car, and he gasped for air but caught only great sobbing gulps of grief.

"I put a Man on the cross, Mama!  I put a Man on the cross!  I had him beaten beyond recognition, and tortured so cruelly.  He was innocent.  I'm just...awful!  How can He love me still?  How?  Why does He love me?  He gave me joy tonight and I fell on my face to worship Him.  I was on my face, and I didn't care who saw me.   I murdered Someone, Mama, and He loves me anyway.  He was innocent, and I'm...just a terrible person.  Terrible!  Selfish!  I let my soul fall asleep, Mama, and I didn't care about Him.  I've been trying to give people advice about God, and who am I?  I'm disgusting!   I put Jesus on the cross!  How can He love me like that?  He just smiles down on me and says, "That's my kid.  I love that kid.", and oh, it just kills me.  How does He do that?  He knew my name while He was hanging there, and oh, Mama, He died for my name!  And I read my Bible everyday with such dread.  I've been telling myself that that's just for hard core Christians, but, oh, Mama, it's His book for us.  He wrote that book for me so I could live like his kid, and I'm such a stupid jerk that I think nothing of it.  Just ignore it.  Oh!  I let my soul fall asleep, and He gives me joy and tells me that I'm His kid and that He loves me, and, Mama, I can't stand it!  It's an agonizing love, and I want to be different, and I want to live so the whole world knows that I am His and His alone."  

I reach my hand to his.  Hold tight.  Cry too because I know.  I know.  And I wonder why God loves me, and how He can love me, and why He gives me the honor of being here tonight with this son who keeps calling me "Mama" when I've been such a jerk all day.  Selfish.  Paranoid.  Jealous.  Full of pride and self pity.  Crumpling all the strength of my Shoulders with my words.  


"I put a Man on the cross!  I put a Man on the cross!"  


Bernadette