What would it be like to live in a world where everyone you could see was crippled in some kind of way – everyone except for yourself and your own ‘flesh and blood’? And what if every time you saw these little ones your heart was filled with pity, a pity that made you want to lift them up and carry them?
Where would you carry them to? Who would you carry them to?
What would you give to help them have what you always had? Would you give them your own flesh and blood?
If you did and they killed your own son would you still have pity on them? Would you still carry them in you heart? Would you still stoop down and lift them up to your dead son?
She did. It was her singular priviledge – and the cause of her suffering.
She heard His words: “Let the little chilren come unto me,…” It cost her everything, but she did it for us.