I thought I would share this bitter-sweet story that Kitty wrote, set in the time of our Saviour's birth.
It was a cool night, I remember. Simeon and I just finished our evening meal. My young husband had gone out to bed the animals down for the night, and I turned to our first child, a son. We had celebrated his first year just last month. Never had I seen any man so excited about such a thing as Simeon had been!
“Mama!” Judah blinked his wide brown eyes. I bent down and picked him up, settled in my chair, and began to feed him. He lay quietly, and I marveled again, as I often had, that I could sustain him with my own body. What a Creator our God was!
As my son’s excited panting slowly calmed to a steady rhythm, I began to hum a lullaby to him that my own mother had sung to me. I looked lovingly into his face, taking in the chubbiness of his hands, the round softness of his baby face, and the short stockiness of his strong legs. How he already favored my loving husband!
I remembered that morning, how Simeon had played with him. I loved the baby laughter as Simeon rubbed his beard upon the tender neck of the child. How happy our two years of marriage had been – and how much happier we had been since Judah had arrived!
I carefully laid his sleeping form in his cradle and lingered to adore his angelic face. My hand moved almost instinctively to my stomach, where I suspected lay another such blessing.
My heart began to beat a little faster, and I smiled as I remembered the evening I had first announced to my Simeon that our family would be growing to three and anticipated the same exhilaration with the announcement of a second addition. How Simeon loved children, especially his own! I lit a lamp and turned to finish the new coat for growing Judah. I had only a few more stitches to go.
Suddenly, the door in the back of our small home flew open, and Simeon stumbled in, his dark face nearly white, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Where is my son?” he whispered tersely.
Fear filled my heart with one look at my beloved’s face, and I could only point to the quiet cradle.
“Soldiers!” my husband gasped as he grabbed our son and hugged him wildly to his chest. Judah, startled out of his sleep began a quiet cry.
“We must flee! Oh God! Where?” Simeon was crying now, tears running down his cheeks.
I had become aware of commotion in our street during my husband’s sorrowful outburst. Shouts, footsteps, screams – of women and children.
“Oh God! Where?” my husband shouted.
Before he had finished this last cry, our front door had crashed into pieces, and two soldiers, of King Herod’s armies, tore into the room, swords dripping with blood. Their eyes were cold and wild as they looked first at me, the small garment in my hand, then settled upon the man I loved, and finally on the pride and joy of our lives.
“Simeon!” I cried. “What is happening?” I was paralyzed with fear. What did my husband know that I did not? Why was my house filled with blood-covered soldiers? Why were they looking at my son?
“Oh God! No!” my husband shouted, as the soldiers grabbed for him. He darted around the table, clutching Judah hard, and doubling over as if to protect the small bundle.
“Protect us, Almighty God!” Those were his last words before the soldier struck my husband down, jerking my son by the foot out of his loving father’s arms.
“No!” I cried. “Please!” I nearly fainted, but dashed toward the men, as I saw the weapon of death raised above my screaming son’s small body. The nearest soldier turned, and caught me full on the face. I reeled backward, tasting blood. A flash of metal, a fading gurgle, and as if in a dream, the body of my Judah dropped limply to the ground.
Where the soldiers went, I know not. I slowly crawled to the body of my baby, covered in blood. He was dead, as I knew he would be. His small eyes stared lifelessly at me, his sweet lips closed forever. There was movement behind me, and my husband edged painfully toward me, his face and side covered in blood.
“The Lord giveth,” he gasped, his eyes tormented by pain and sorrow, “and the Lord taketh away.” He raised the tiny body off the ground, bound it in the just-finished garment in my hand, and carefully lay it on our rough bed.
Together, we wept.
Only now have I discovered the truth about that night. Only now, years later, have I pieced it all together. Herod was attempting to kill my Messiah that night. While my son died, along with many others, my Lord lived, fleeing to Egypt in the care of His parents. The bloodbath in Bethlehem that night convinced Herod of the death of the new King.
The Lord has blessed Simeon and me with many children now. I have met Jesus, my Messiah. While I still mourn the loss of my Judah, so does He. He knows all our sorrows and burdens. He helps me to bear them. Someday, I shall once again clutch my baby to my breast, kiss those tender lips and shall meet my God with my Judah close beside me. Someday, Herod shall pay for his sins, but in this life, I shall not be bitter. I know not why God chose my son to die that night, but the faith and trust of my husband, I shall never forget as he quoted Job, the great man of God thousands of years ago. “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed is the name of the Lord.”
Could I submit to any less? One day, I shall see my son. One day, we shall stand together with his father and praise our Lord. With this knowledge, I can live on.
