BREATHE

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She lay him down…the boy she had been the first to swoop up…she had to lay him down, for the last time.

She had to let him go…the boy she had been the first to hold close to her heart…she had to loosen her grip and let him go, for the last time.

She was the first to sing: “Christ within me…the hope of salvation.” And she would be one of the last to wail goodbye over him.

She had once prepared the threads that would receive him into this world, she now prepared threads of a different kind.

Her dear boy would be her dear deliverer.

Her hope would be anchored in his final breath.

Her life found in His death.

He breathed out, she had heard it before when he was a little one, tucked in underneath her arm, as he was now…in her care, and she would wait for the air to return to his lungs, but he did not breath in this time, and she could not help him.

He gave up his breath, so that she need not give up hers.

He gave up his breath, so that she could keep hers.

He gave up his breath…

But He would breathe in again…

on the third day

She would not be there to hear it.

He would wake, as if from a slumber… the final slumber… the triumphant slumber.

He breathed in…his chest filling with the life-giving air only He could carry within him.

His finger tips moved as life returned to his once broken body.

He would remove the blood-stained threads, and fold them neatly.

He’d place them on the cold stone slab that held his broken body.

He would fold them as a sign that he would one day return.

He was no longer broken, he was wholly holy triumphant.

He breathed in…