Behold, thy King cometh unto thee,
        meek and sitting upon an ass.
        Matthew 21:5

        I've been wondering, Mary, about this day we call Palm Sunday.
        Were you there when they ushered your Son into Jerusalem like a king?
        Did you watch, proud and silent, from some nearby hill as enthusiasm mounted and garments were spread on the dusty road before Him,
        palms swaying in acclamation, and shouts of praise resounding in the air?
        Did you smile and say, "Now isn't that just like Him, to choose a lowly donkey for His mount?"
          Did you marvel to think that this man (now proclaimed king! Messiah!) once drew sweet nourishment from you?

        Did this royal welcome call back for you that other glorious night,
        when shepherds fell down before your Baby's lowly bed
        and said they'd heard the angels sing that this, your Son, was born to be a king?

        On that day at Jerusalem, while you watched the swaying palms, did you try to remember the feel of His tiny body, asleep in your arms?

        I can relate to that. John, my youngest son, is sixteen now, but I can close my eyes and feel him new and fresh, wrapped in a Winnie-the-Pooh receiving blanket and smelling of Baby Magic.
        I can't remember the pain of childbirth. The last of it dissolved when Rex kissed my forehead and pronounced those blessed words,
        all run together, "We-have-a-son-I-love-you." 
        Did Joseph do that, too?

        As you watched your Son choose a humble donkey for his steed that day in Jerusalem, did you think back to other times when He'd shown you the glory in common things?
        I've done that kind of reminiscing, too.
        One day, during John's sandpile years, he called to me from the porch. "Mommie! Come quick! There's a great big pumpkin in the sky, and cotton candy all around it!"
        I was in a hurry to finish the dishes. Company was coming. But I'm so glad I dried my hands and went to share the flaming sunset with him.
        The gift of my senses made fresh with little-boy wonder! What wealth could be a present equal to that?

        Ah-h, yes---is that the Palm Sunday message I see through your eyes, Mary? Miracle and majesty abound in common things for those who see with childlike eyes.
        Truth may be born in a stable, or ride on a lowly donkey, or paint a glory scene across a wide Nebraska sky.

        Today, Lord, as I march in the Palm Sunday procession, singing "Hosanna!" and proclaiming You King,
        I'll not forget to also look for Your transforming touch in everyday things.

        SATURDAY (before)