He knew his time was drawing near. His little band of men and a handful of followers went back to Bethany to spend one more day with his friends.  It seemed appropriate.  He had spent many happy hours in their home.  When we’re troubled, we often find strength being with those we love.

Martha busied herself with preparations for his return – Lazarus, having tasted death only a few days before, couldn’t wait to hear more about heaven – their sister Mary longed for more words from her rabbi.

My heart grew heavier as each day passed.  The prophesies about him were being fulfilled one by one and I was beginning to realize what would be next.  My dear boy would be placed on public display.  He would be subjected to ridicule and mockery.  He would eventually carry the burden of every man, woman and child that ever lived, died or would come to be.  I knew his shoulders were broad and he could endure it, but to me he was still my child.

I remembered the words of Isaiah,

“He was despised and rejected by mankind,
    a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
    he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.”

The words kept turning over in my brain.  Every event leading up to this week seemed like the end of another chapter, yet the beginning of a new story.  From the very beginning, I knew that God’s will was being accomplished through Jesus, but here was flesh of my flesh fulfilling each and every one of the things ever written about him.

I knew then that he was no longer just my boy.  He belonged to the ages.