Weddings are a time of reunion in our family.  The young couple had pledged their love – food was served – relatives had arrived from all over. It was a homecoming of sorts – the first time I’d seen my son in quite a while.

He was no longer the little boy I rescued from the cuts and bruises of childhood, but now a confident and determined man.  His face exhibited a knowledge that only comes from experience.  I ran to greet Him and felt His strong arms tighten around me.

The party was full of conversation and laughter and delicious food and drink.  As I watched Him, it occurred to me that He no longer was the little boy who grew up under our roof.  He now exhibited a quiet strength and determination.  I knew that His real mission was underway.

I remembered Him as a young boy working alongside his stepfather.  His hands gripped the wood and crafted something wonderful from it.  Little did I realize that those same hands would some day be nailed to a cross made of wood.

A flood of memories came roaring into my mind.  Before His birth I was told that the Messiah would be born from my womb – how His blood would be shed for the salvation of the world – thoughts I had stored in my heart for years.

Time passed quickly and soon the wine had all been consumed. When I told Him about it he said, “What does this have to do with me?  My hour has not yet come.”  I quietly acquiesced, but knew in my heart that He would take care of it.  I told the servants to follow His directions to the letter.  I knew His miraculous work was about to begin.  He was no longer mine alone.  He now belonged to the ages.