“So be it done to me as you have said.”
Yet, as the words released from my own tongue,
I did not understand the path I’d tread,
Nor anguish God would ask of one so young.
The visit of that night became surreal,
As mundane daily chores consumed my life.
I questioned, did I dream the whole ordeal?
For I was just a mother and a wife.
Then, jolted from this lulled complacency,
I watched in horror as they took my son
To torture him, and nail him to a tree,
And wailed myself when he cried, “It is done.”
I gazed upon the empty cross, and tomb,
In awe – I’d cradled God within my womb.
© Marie Elena Good