Do I love you enough to let you suffer? This road you walk is a painful one. Each of your wounds I feel in my own body. How, why, Lord, does it have to be this way?
I know that this is the way of life. Some gates only open by way of suffering. What waits on the other side: light, beauty, redemption. Your suffering is not without meaning and purpose. But what it costs me to watch you pass through it.
This is for good, I remind myself when I want to reach out and intervene. This trial, this setting of bone, this heartbreak, this long, slow march to Calvary. Am I strong enough to stay by your side, even through this?
I want to take your pain and make it my own. But - what would that leave you?
Sheltered from pain and struggle, a limp butterfly with wet, crumpled wings, grounded forever. It is the crucible of escaping the chrysalis on your own that frees you to take flight. So I watch you fight this battle on your own. Watch, and pray.
Mary and I stand shoulder to shoulder, watching our babies march through the wickedness of this world. We watch, we pray, we trust you to your Father. In this mystery that is motherhood, you were never truly ours. It is we who are yours. The suffering we’ve born for you we would gladly embrace all again. And so, this too, we accept. The swords of your pain pierce our hearts, and with each beat we bleed. We accept this pain as you accept your cross. We hold it close, our last-resort love.
We’ve given you everything we have to give. This, you must do on your own. Take our love and our lessons. Suffer well.
I will, like Mary, stand watch until it’s over, and hold you when it ends.