Posted in Biblical retellings


Her wandering gaze caught on the note stamped on the headboard of his crib. One of several pasted all over the room. She’d loved this one and had it pasted on his crib for keepsakes.

A crib

With misty eyes she read:

Dear Abba,

It’s my birthday.

I woke up to cake and a birthday song. Eema says I’m a year older. Do you know what that is? Ah! You’re omniscient; skips my mind at times. It’s strange you know, the shoes I had last year don’t fit anymore. This is the real miracle, Pops. 😁😁😅

Eema says I’m growing, so I reminded her of her ancestors and how we made their shoes stay their size for 40 years. She loves it when I tell her history, she says I say it like it’s still today. Probably, because the concept of measured time is still like rocket science (that’s a simile right there, my teacher says this is the hardest thing to learn, I laughed so hard that I was picked out, story for another day).

Umm, I have to go do the dishes now okay. Talk soon, Pops!
(Yay, We have a Mexican neighbor, actually he’s Chinese, but they don’t know, remember his twentieth generation father migrated tha… Oh… Gotta go, gotta go now)

Two tear drops stained the note.

Suddenly coming to, she wiped her eyes as the note dropped freely falling from her trembling hands.

Her baby boy.

She could still see his smiles as he toddled and stumbled, hear his stammers as he stuck on pronouncing the word synagogue at 3 years and feel his hugs as he left for school each morning. She’d give everything to have him in her hands again.

Son and mother bonding time.

Her son.

The one who would rebuke his brothers for disobeying her, take Jude cycling and do the dishes after the evening meal.

Siblings playing

Her Lord.

The one they crucified on Friday. The one she prepared spices for last night.

Blinking away memories, she shawled-up and stepped into the bleak sunrise, basket in hand. The ladies had begged her not to accompany them to the grave as it would be overwhelming for her.
She waited their return patiently…

Was that light she saw? No, it couldn’t be! Not possible!
Yet, it was.

The tears of joy pooled on her shawl as she knelt in worship at the sight of the glorified Christ.

Glorified Christ

And as she bowed her heart in worship, hope rose in her and peace flooded her soul as heart soared.

It’s Easter!

May we behold the glorified Christ!
Amen! ❤️

©G.G. Joseph

#easter #retellings #dearabba #letters #motherlove #crib #Christ #resurrection


We are alike in more ways than you know, it's why this blog exists. Every entry is my attempt to show you that your body has ability to heal from all forms of trauma and that the sound of your laughter and joy do not have to be visitors to you. Every entry is an attempt to remind you that peace and wholeness are attainable. I hope you find home here, and I hope, like me, that you fancy dodo, bread and brown pages. Subscribe already. ❤️

2 thoughts on “DEAR ABBA

  1. And I beheld him.. The Glorified Christ seated on the right hand of God

    My soulie has dropped a Piece that gathered the fragments together and aligned every piece accordingly


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