The widow of Nain's iWitness account

I am very proud of my son, I guess every mother is really. He's a good boy & he cares for me. He's all I've got since my husband died & I am grateful to God, so grateful.

I remember the day so well when he came home from his work with a fever. We both thought nothing of it & I did what every mother does & gave him broth to soothe his throat & made him comfortable, both of us thinking that the morning would see him improved.
I didn't sleep well that night, maybe in my heart there was something that made me realise this was more than a simple fever, I don't know. I do know that when I woke the next morning to begin preparing his breakfast, there was no sign of him readying himself for the day & when I went into him, he was worse, he was delirious. 

That day and the morning of the next day passed in a blur, people coming & going as I had sent word of how ill he was & they came to offer me help & support. Along with others in our family & our neighbours I prayed much that day, pleading with God for him; hadn't He taken my husband, could He not spare me my son? 

It was the afternoon of the second day when he died. The lament from those who were with me began & I was grateful for it. I had tears, but no strength to wail or lament, I was numb. The tears I did shed came from somewhere within me that was beyond that numbness, somewhere I presumably could feel the horror of my aloneness amidst my friends & neighbours.

The time came for them to carry him out & there was quite a crowd. At that same level of my mind that was still capable of feeling and of thought, I dimly wondered why there were so many people. Then He appeared. He stepped forward & touched the bier. We all stopped & I looked up at Him. I knew this had to be Jesus, the teacher people had spoken of, the one who healed.
He told me not to weep & somehow even at His words hope began to fill me, because those few words were spoken & filled with a love & compassion deeper than I had ever felt or experienced before.

I didn't have time to ponder why I felt hope, because the next words He spoke were to my son, my precious boy. He spoke directly to him, just as though He were waking him in the morning & telling him to rise up for a new day, He told him to rise up from death. My son sat up on his own funeral bier & spoke to Him, just like that, as though it was nothing & he had in fact been woken from sleep. He knew it was Jesus had brought him back to life, he recognised Him, praised God & thanked Him. Then he jumped down from the bier & Jesus gave him back to me. He really did, in every way give my son back to me. 

How quickly can the despairing numbness of grief turn to joy? As quickly as the man, Jesus from Galilee speaks the words of life "Rise up!" That's how quickly.



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