Abigail and Mary - Chosen by God

Abigail closed her eyes as the bundle was passed to her. So small, so soft, so priceless. The Messiah. She forced her eyes back open, to find her best friend Mary’s face beaming at her. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?”

Abigail nodded. Yes. Of course he was. He was the Messiah, after all. She traced a finger along the baby’s smooth cheek. He wiggled in her arms, then scrunched His little face up.

“Oh dear.” Mary held her arms out. “I better take Him back now.”

Clutching her hands to her dress, Abigail looked on in envy as Mary sang softly to the baby. It had almost been a year since Mary had come rushing into her house back in Nazareth, tears streaking down her face as she told her best friend about the angel and Joseph, and the baby that would be called Messiah.

Abigail was one of her only friends during those long months. Abigail had stayed by Mary’s side as she had questioned, doubted, rejoiced and experienced her pregnancy. Even now, in the city of Bethlehem, Abigail had travelled to be with Mary. Despite the hardships of the past year, there was one thing Abigail knew for sure. Mary had been chosen by God for a very important task.

But where did that leave her? Why hadn’t God chosen her? Abigail bit her lip as she noticed her eyes beginning to water. She was happy for Mary. Mostly. She couldn’t deny, though, that she was jealous.

She wasn’t jealous of the responsibility or the anxiety or the shunning.

“Abigail, would you mind holding Him again? It’s almost time to eat.” Mary bustled off into the kitchen, leaving her Son in Abigail’s arms. Abigail loved to hold Jesus, but a wave of sadness hit her every time.

What had she done wrong? Was she not brave enough? Not godly enough? Not motherly enough?

What did God want her to do? God has clearly asked Mary to raise His Son for the next decade or two. Abigail didn’t know what God had asked her to do.

She never used to think about things like this. Not until she saw Mary’s swollen stomach and the burden of responsibility that rested on her face.

Maybe she just wasn’t good enough, and this jealousy and uncertainty were her punishment. She thought about baby Jesus day and night.

“Abigail, come eat!” Mary called out. “I’m famished!”

Abigail forced a smile as she shuffled forward. “It looks so good, Mary, as always. Joseph is a lucky man to be eating your food all the time.”

“Oh.” Mary waved her hand in the air, dismissing Abigail’s comment. “I haven’t been able to cook well for the last few weeks. This one,” she trailed a finger down her baby’s face, “has been keeping me occupied.”

Abigail lay the baby down on His blanket. “Mary,” she spoke in a quiet voice.

“Yes?”

“I, uh, I was wondering if…what’s it like? Raising the Messiah? Do you feel like…like God chose you for a reason?” Abigail swallowed the tears away.

“I don’t know why God chose me.” Mary silently chewed on the vegetable stew she had prepared earlier.

I don’t know why God didn’t choose me. Not that I want the burden of raising the Messiah, but I wish God had something special for me to do.

“I know for sure there would be other women who could do a better job than me. I guess God chose me not because I could do the best job, which I can’t, but because I was the one that needed Him.” Mary smiled wistfully into the abyss. “What about you, Abigail? What do you think God has chosen you to do?”

Abigail’s body began to tense. “I…I don’t know.”

Mary seemed to sense her friend’s doubts. “Abigail, I couldn’t have done this without you. You were a friend to me when nearly no-one else was. You gave me the courage to continue this journey. And you are so good with baby Jesus, even though I know you are jealous.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes.” Mary gave her a pointed look. “You are.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be, it’s just that—”

“I know. I understand. But I want you to know that God hasn’t forgotten you. He might have put me in the spotlight, but He has given you a special job, too. I don’t know what that is, but I know it will be just as important as mine.”

Just as important as mine. Just as important as mine. The words echoed in Abigail’s head. Just as important as mine. Surely not. No job could be as important as raising the Saviour of the world. The Wonderful Counsellor. Mighty God. Everlasting Father. Prince of Peace.

Abigail smiled down at the baby Jesus, swaddled in white linen. He was perfect. God was perfect.

God’s timing was perfect. He would choose a special job for her, too. In time.