On my first Mother’s Day I was given a gift from my only son.  Of course, he was just a wee little babe back then.  My dad bought the gift.  It is a beautiful 14K gold cross necklace.     At the time, it was to me just a piece of jewelry.  Still, every time I wore it, I thought about my son.   Today, I still think of him, but now I also ponder about someone else’s son.

My mom was a godly woman that feared the Lord.  Growing up, Mom put the fear of God in me too, but I had no idea who He was.  I knew *OF* Him, but did not know Him personally.    Over the years, Mom would regularly ask questions but mostly “are you saved yet?”  I remember her delight when I finally answered, “yes,” many years after receiving my necklace.

As an early teen, my son had told me that he was going to church with a neighbor that lived down the street.   He too seemed elated when the Lord found me.  Together, we began cleaning our home.  I threw away my books on astrology and other worldly items that were not of God.  He took down his girls-in-bikini posters, replaced with a poster of the Great I Am.  Etcetera.  We were now Christians and I believed that we were happy. (or so I thought.)  For the first time, I understood Truth because now I knew Yahushua.   He lived the perfect life as fully man and fully God.  He was crucified taking the wrath of God and due penalty for our sins.  He rose again on the third day defeating sin and death.  That is the Cross.

Now fast forward about fifteen years.  Just try to imagine how a Christian parent would feel when they discover that their only child is not really a Believer and appears to have rejected Messiah.  Watching your offspring make the wrong decision about eternity is simply crushing.  It feels as bad as mourning.  Was he ever really saved or has he, God forbid, fallen away with shipwrecked faith?  I don’t know with any certainty.  I cannot ask him the same questions my mom asked of me.   He does not allow me to speak with him about the Lord.   So, I pray.

Thinking back, this was the only time my dad gave me a Mother’s Day gift.  In the 1970’s, a cross is not something that I would have chosen for myself.    But, a cross was chosen for my only child to give to me.  And did he ever!  Oh, the irony.  Nevertheless, I am grateful that Dad thought enough of me to present a Mother’s Day gift on behalf of my only son.   Four decades later, I still have it, love it, and wear it.   And, I am forever grateful to my Heavenly Father for loving me enough to offer the gift of HIS only son as a ransom for my soul.   I humbly carry my Cross and follow Him.

 

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