Ok, so I've decided to go ahead and post this one...Please give me your comments on it; so far, most of the people who've read it have cried, which is interesting. I'm less sure of myself on this one, but I think it's a better story than the first one. --Joi

Story II:

So many here now, so many children saved from darkness into light. I still wait for them at the gates: many think that a grand, white-bearded man guards the gates, but it is only my husband and myself. We wait for ourchildren to arrive, and now, instead of grieving for those who join us, we rejoice, and welcome them with tears of joy. But still...before, in the shadows, all of our children came, and if we grieved for their presence, at least we saw them. But now we see only some: we are told that the others fall into shadow still.

I do not weep for them: I understand that children must be free to choose. But oh, is there a mother whose heart is not pierced when her children choose their own destruction?

And one day--though all times are one--the last of my children came. I welcomed them with open arms and tears of joy--these I am free to weep over-- and my husband and I begged their pardon. All was joy and gladness, and yet...I still thought of the ones--my babies!--still in shadow.

Then I was called. "The Mother awaits you in the Garden," I was told. But how can this be, since I am The Mother, and the Garden was forever closed to me? But here, to be asked is to do, and so I came to the Garden Wall. He still stood there, sword aflame, but now the fire purified and gave life instead of taking it away.

I entered, still dripping flame perhaps, and sought her in the cool of the day. She stood there between the trees, and I came before my Queen, bowing. "My Lady, " I said. Her hand caressed my once-withered cheek, and drew my face up to meet hers. She kissed me on both cheeks, throwing her blue-robed arms around my neck. "Welcome, dearest Mother and Daughter! Enter into your happiness!"

I looked at her, knowing her to be one of my children--after all, they all are. But in her eyes, I saw the Son, and knew her to be my Mother, as well as Daughter. Laughter, the laughter that spills out from extravagant grace, welled up in me. "Blessed are we among women, for we are both Daughter and Mother!"We laughed together, the stars in her crown twinkling merrily. "And all generations shall call us blessed, dear one."

She pulled my head onto her shoulder, and placed an arm around me, much as I had done to comfort my sons when they were small. "I know you,Mother-Daughter," she said, "for we have much the same heart." She pulled back a fold of blue, revealing a heart pierced with seven wounds as red as rubies, and shining with the rays of the sun--no, brighter than the sun's rays. "Dearest Mother-Daughter, I too have had a child who willed Himself to destruction. He went like a lamb to the slaughter, setting His heart towards death."

A tear like a crystal ocean fell onto her robe, andanother splashed my own cheek, and I tasted its sweetness. "I held the body of my Son, his blood staining my clothes deepest red. And it is through that body and that blood that you and your children have been freed." I remembered the body and blood of my son, of all my sons, and wept tears to match hers. But here, any tear that can be wept is one born of grace and joy, and such were ours. "And another gracious mystery is here, dear one," she whispered in my ear."Through that body and that blood, you and I are not onlyMother-Daughter." I looked up and saw her eyes sparkling like stars. "My Son has brought all into His family, and we are all children of His Father." I saw, and we fell into each other's embrace, whispering: "Sister!"

Copyright 2005. Elizabeth J. Weaver