Thinking about the women from the gospels this morning. Read more at https://createspace/4035725 A Guilty Mother Remembers . . . I am an old woman. My days are quiet, as I go about my needed tasks, preparing the meal and chatting with Martha, my neighbor. My dear daughter comes daily and brings water, takes our clothing to be washed, and does the chores I am no longer able to handle. Of course, there are no small children in our home any longer, just my husband, my son, and myself. Like many expectant mothers, I had dreamed that my unborn child would be a boy, and at his birth I was overjoyed that our firstborn was male. He was a beautiful baby, with a full head of hair and seemingly a contented personality. We enjoyed showing him off to family and friends, but it wasn’t long before we recognized that our perfect son was not perfect - he could not see. Those first few days of awareness were excruciating. My husband virtually withdrew from me, and had no desire to talk about our precious son or what the future held for him. I am so thankful for my dear friend Martha, who was there for me during those days as I tried to cope with what I had discovered. I suppose my first reaction was one of disbelief. No, this couldn’t be happening to us, of course we must be wrong. I would run my hand in front of the baby’s eyes hour upon hour, but there was never any sign that he saw any change - no blink, no startled movement, nothing. When it began to sink in that indeed, he was blind, my selfish complaint was to ask, “why me?” Why my baby, why am I being asked to raise a blind child? I’ve been a good wife, a good Jewish woman, I’ve kept the law and the Passover - I shouldn’t be punished in this way. Oh, I was angry. I’d watch the children play in the lane, and I’d bemoan the fact that my child would never run and play with them. I had seen what happens to imperfect children, how they’re shunned by the others, how they’re mocked for a shortened leg, a misshapen face or blinded eyes. And what of his life as he grew older? Would he end up on the streets of Jerusalem, begging for a few coins to sustain his life? Oh, yes, I was angry that this had happened to our family and to our precious son. It wasn’t long until the anger gave way to a profound sadness, a sorrow whose depth I had never known before. Why, he’d never see the glory of the sunset or have the joy of reading the Torah. How would he ever marry, or enjoy any of the small pleasures of life? This is the reality of my times, of life in Israel in these days, that this adorable little baby will be doomed to a life of isolation, confined to a small dark room or to the charity of others. And of course, I couldn’t help but think it was all my fault. As I relived the months of my pregnancy, I wondered what had happened in my womb to cause my son’s blindness. I hadn’t fallen, nor had I been scared by an animal or eaten any strange food. Some of the busybodies in town had their ideas about what I had done, but I honestly couldn’t put my finger on any one thing I did to cause his blindness. Perhaps it would have been easier if I could. Even the Pharisees had their ideas; they arrived at our home one evening and grilled my husband and myself, determined to discover our sin so they would know how our son had been born blind. My husband continued his silence with the Pharisees, refusing to engage in their ridiculous conversation. I couldn’t hold my tongue, and finally I flew at them, telling to take their convicting words and look at their own lives. “If God is going to punish anyone,” I sobbed, “it will be you men for your insensitive treatment of my family. Get out of my house.” They left, muttering all the way to their homes, but I was glad to be rid of them and their arrogant assumptions. They’ve taken the faith of Abraham and Sarah and made a mockery of it. I wanted to have nothing to do with them or their religious show. I was so grateful for Martha, because after about two weeks of witnessing my weeping and cursing, she finally sat me down and brought me to my senses. “It will be no good for your precious son if you become mired in anger, sorrow or guilt. You have the ability to mold his life into something good, something of worth, and to do that, you must start now.” What words of wisdom she spoke that day. I did return to the corners of anger, guilt, sorrow and self-pity at times, but I didn’t allow myself to pitch a tent and stay there, for it was necessary for me to avoid those corners and to stay in the healthy space of hope. I could make a difference in my son’s life. I could teach him, train him, and equip him to live a productive life in spite of his blindness. Yes, I could do that much for him. And that is what I have done. After a few weeks, my husband was willing to talk about our situation, and we began to plan for the future. We have read the Torah to our son, and he has grown into a wonderful young man. Life has been hard for us financially, for my husband has been ill in recent years, and my son did have to turn to begging to bring some money into the home. I feel guilty that he needs to do that, but he urged me to let him do his part to take care of us, as we have done for him. That is why the events of the last days have been so disconcerting. Not that I’m not grateful for the miracle, because indeed I am thrilled that my son can now see. But none of us are used to being the center of attention, as we’ve lived a quiet life, minding our own business and staying out of the heated discussions that characterize so many of the Jews, and definitely steering clear of the Pharisees. So when we first heard of our son’s healing, we rejoiced quietly, thanking God for his graciousness to our eldest child. Yet in the midst of our joy, our privacy was rocked within hours by the demands of the Pharisees to present ourselves to them. We hesitantly went, my husband leaning heavily upon me as we made our way to their inquisition. The questions were direct and demanding: “Is this your son? Is this the one you say was born blind? How is it that now he can see?” Since his stroke, my husband has had trouble speaking, so I spoke for both of us: “We know he is our son, and we know he was born blind. But how he can see now, or who opened his eyes, we don’t know. Ask him. He is of age; he will speak for himself.” I was not going to get into it with those men, so powerful in their arrogance. Whatever they thought of the man who had healed my son was their business, and I intended to steer clear of them and their threats. All I know is that my son was blind, but now can see. Why he lived in darkness all these years I do not know; but that is God’s business, not mine. Now he can see, and I rejoice with him.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Jul 2013 12:36:21 +0000
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