A year has passed since my son died. Yet, today I am truthfully glad that he did.
Oh, mine has been a life of unbelievable contrasts. I have gone from doubt to belief as readily as gray skies to blue. I was but a girl when I learned that I would be the mother of God with skin. He would be born in such a humble way that I began to doubt if indeed this wriggling infant was the promised Child. "Yet", my spirit argued, "how could it be otherwise you have never been with a man. This child is indeed a miracle".
Then there were the shepherds who visited and described their own angelic visit and my mind confirmed what my spirit had been saying--this child was God's Son.
I would have other children and the task of being mother to my brood made the miraculous far too untouchable. I had noses to wipe and spills to clean up and squabbles to settle.