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"... Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me." (Isaiah 49:16)

Sometimes, if we are watchful, the scriptures will come to life for us and change our course forever.

I was a single woman, enjoying the sexual freedom of the day. Though told by my doctors that I could never conceive a child - it happened. I found myself single and pregnant with a "miracle baby". I went into immediate hiding from the people who would have me end the pregnancy. I moved into a home for unwed mothers where I was encouraged to carry the baby to term. They expected that I would give the baby over to adoption. I did not.

Our life was a struggle beyond description. I subjected my baby, my dear daughter, to appalling living conditions, poverty, promiscuity and pain. On Sundays, I would send her away in a church van so I could sleep late in quiet.

One Sunday she was returned to my home and as I always did, I asked, "How was Sunday School?"

Her face glowing with awe and amazement, she recited to me how she had finally learned that morning "why He had holes in His hands."

The way that she said it "had" as if having seen something long before she could now say "He had".

I came to full attention and began to probe for details. "Did you get to see Jesus before?"

"Yes! And He HAD holes in HIS hands," she replied with emphasis and obvious excitement. Her eyes were gleaming and her face was brightly lit.

"When did you see Him?" I asked with great fear.

She pondered for a brief moment and related how she had dreamed a dream the year before and it had puzzled her ever since. I asked if she could remember enough to tell me what she had seen.

She said that she had seen "Jesus standing and talking with some guys."

She had learned to count by the age of the three, so the obvious question was "How many men?"

She closed her eyes and squinted tightly, her little head bobbing and nodding up and down as if counting.

"Twelve," she said. Then she paused, staring into space as if contemplating the accuracy of her answer and repeated "Yup! Twelve."

"Were you there?" I asked, "Or were you like watching TV?"

"Oh, it was like watching TV", she said.

"What happened next?" I hadn't heard how she had discovered the holes in His hands.

"They talked for a long time," she said. "Then they all laid down to take a nap."

"Even Jesus?"

"Nope. While the guys were sleeping, Jesus went down and brought back all the other peoples."

While I was trying to pull my chin out of my chest, she continued to tell of the dream.

"Everybody was sleeping when we got there. But after awhile everybody started to wake up. They got to go up and talk to Jesus."

The next question seemed to leap into my mouth. "So," I began, "Were you there? Or were you like watching TV?"

"OH!" she said with a look of wonder and awe crossing her face. "Oh, I got to talk to Him! I got to touch the holes in His hands and the hole in His side."

You could have heard a pin drop in that carpeted room when she stopped talking. It took a few moments for me to digest the import of her words. I choked and began to silently weep. Eventually, I was able to speak again.

Having complete understanding of what she had been privy to witness, I asked, "So? Was Mom there?"

Her answer was a quizzical, "I don't know.... I think so.... Maybe."

It was impossible to deny the attention and care of God when He sent his daughter, my daughter, to personally tell me "... Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me." (Isaiah 49:16)

For her sake and for His sacrifice, I had to do whatever was required, so she will find me there when Jesus brings "back all the other peoples".

Learn more about this author, Sharon Cohen.
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