Daisies in Diaries 3: The Best Wedding Ceremony Ever

Hello dear sisters, and welcome to Daisies in Diaries.

 

What we do here is very simple. We retell diaries that were never really written down, but could have been. These women from the Bible, from history, from the faith, lived real lives, went through real struggles, cried real tears, and made real choices.

 

So we take one moment from their story, and we imagine it in diary form to make it close, alive, and relatable. We picture what they might have thought, what they might have whispered, how they might have prayed on that day.

 

Each time we meet, we pluck one daisy, we open one diary, and we let their story speak into ours.

 

Tonight, the diary we are opening is from Mary of Nazareth. This entry is titled: The Best Wedding Ceremony Ever.

 

DAISIES IN DIARIES 3- THE BEST WEDDING CEREMONY EVER!

Oh, my hands are trembling as I write this. I cannot believe what my eyes have seen today. Truly, this day will remain with me forever. 

 

Some weeks ago, the invitation came. Rishika was getting married. A sweet young woman, her family dear to us. 

 

When I went to Jesus and told Him, I asked gently, “Will you be going for the wedding?” He smiled. That quiet, knowing smile of His. And said, “Yes, Mother, I will go.”

 

My heart leapt. I was so glad! I don’t know why His answer made me so happy, but it did. 

 

Perhaps because it has been so long since we sat together at such a joyful feast. 

 

Perhaps because weddings always remind me of God’s covenant love. 

 

Or perhaps because deep in me I felt though I could not explain, that something awaited Him there.

 

So we began preparing. We stitched our clothes for the day, hemming the fabric, adding the simple embroidery by hand. I fussed like any mother would as I smoothed His garment, making sure it was just right. He laughed at me, holding my face to detract me from my serious mending, saying, “Mother, it is well.” 

 

And oh, how my heart swelled at his laugh, as always! A beautiful smile crept up my face.

 

The day came. The sun rose bright over Cana, and the whole village buzzed with excitement. Jesus walked with me, and some of His friends came along. Oh, those dear disciples who had already begun to follow Him! They were eager, hungry for His words, always clinging close. I watched them, and in my heart I smiled. I could understand them. My Son makes me feel like that too. 

 

My Son, yet, my God!

 

The courtyard was alive when we arrived. Flutes played, drums beat, children ran between the tables, women served bread and figs, lamb roasted over the fire. The smell of honey cakes filled the air, and flowers crowned the doorway. 

 

Sitting right at the center of the room, the bride’s face glowed, her veil long and flowing, while the groom tried to look brave, though his cheeks were flushed with playful excitement. They both shared secret glimpses at each other. Perhaps they thought no one was noticing. I chuckled.

 

We sat at the tables. Jesus across from me, the disciples near Him. The guests laughed, sang, and lifted their cups. For a time, everything was joy.

 

But then… my motherly instinct caught something. My heart felt uneasy. A shadow. A shift. I noticed the servants whispering to one another, their faces pale. The steward’s brow was furrowed, his lips pressed tight. The women in the kitchen rushed faster, trying to hide their panic.

 

I leaned closer, listening. And then I heard it.

 

The wine was gone!

 

My stomach dropped. My heart squeezed. 

 

A wedding without wine is a tragedy in our land. It should not be heard! 

 

The shame, the disgrace would mark the family for years. My eyes darted to the bride and she was still smiling, unaware. The groom’s laughter rang out, but the danger crept nearer.

 

I could not sit still. I rose and went to Jesus. I bent close, my voice low. “They have no wine.”

 

He looked at me and His eyes pierced deep. He was calm, yet there was a weight in His gaze, something eternal, wiser than His age. 

 

“Woman,” He said softly, “what does this have to do with Me? My hour has not yet come.”

 

My breath caught. My heart pounded. His hour… His hour. I have heard him say that a number of times. He just always has that sense that His life is bound to another clock, another plan, as though it was not His to determine…

 

For a moment, I almost stepped back.  But then… oh, I remembered. Bethlehem. The angel’s words. Simeon’s prophecy. The boy teaching in the Temple. All the mysteries I had carried in my heart. I had a certainty in my heart. He won’t cast aside the cry for help!

 

So I did not argue. Instead, I persisted.

 

I turned to beckon to the servants near me. The poor young men, trembling, eyes wide, and I said firmly, “Whatever He tells you, do it.”

 

Inside, though, I trembled. Would He do something? Would He do nothing? How would a miracle happen from nothing? And fast at that!

 

My hands grew damp, my stomach tight. I folded my shawl tighter around me.

 

 I also waited, waited for an instruction, the miracle.

 

Then came His voice, steady, clear: “Fill the jars with water.”

 

Six stone jars stood nearby, heavy, cold, used for purification. The servants glanced at each other, bewildered. Water? For wine? 

 

They turned, almost in unison, to look at me. As if to ask: Is this reasonable? Is He in His right senses?

 

They stayed frozen at first, then left to get little jars for fetching water. Their eyes still had questions written on it but they were servants after all and they had to do as bided.  Their eyes darting nervously at one another, hanging in it was such uncertainty, questioning the instruction.

 

Perhaps they were questioning their own right senses…

 

For a moment, I too hesitated. My breath caught, my palms grew damp. I was expecting help but not this way. Not that I had an idea conjured up in my mind. But at least not water. I mean… water… jars… purification… What under heavens was He doing?

 

But then, oh, in that single heartbeat, my mind flew backward, racing through years of wonders.

 

I saw Uncle Zechariah, struck dumb in the Temple for doubting the angel and then, at John’s birth, his tongue loosed, and his voice thundered praises.

 

I saw Elizabeth, my dear cousin, once barren, once mocked, her belly swelling with joy in her old age, her laughter filling the hills of Judea with the impossible made real.

 

I saw myself, oh, how could I forget the very story of my existence… a virgin, untouched, overshadowed by the Spirit, pregnant without ever knowing a man. I had carried the Holy One in my womb! 

 

I saw Joseph, my good Joseph, ready to put me away quietly, shame weighing heavy on his brow. And then how the Lord Himself sent an angel to him in the night, whispering truth, calming fear, binding us together in God’s plan.

 

I saw the Magi from the East, their caravan glittering, their arms heavy with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. How did they know if God had not ordered their steps to us? Oh, how those treasures sustained us! Without them, how could we have fled into Egypt, how could we have survived in that foreign land? God Himself had provided.

 

I saw the dream that warned Joseph to flee, the narrow escape from Herod’s sword, the dark nights in Egypt where God kept us safe until it was time to return.

 

With Him around, there has always been help. We were never stranded even after Joseph died. We somehow always had just what we needed and to even share. 

 

Times when I would almost worry about the flour running out or actually running out and He’d come in with a sack full. Sometimes, I wondered why my jar of olive oil never seemed to decrease. It would feel like it never went down. 

 

Not that I could point to particular actions of Him doing miracles but then His presence is always a miracle, a wonder. Miracle upon miracle. Wonder upon wonder. Proof upon proof that the Lord’s hand was in this.

 

And now here we stood in Cana, at a wedding, with servants staring at me with each holding a water jar to fetch into the large cisterns. My heart trembled, but how could I doubt His words? Hadn’t He been faithful every step? If He said “water,” then He meant it.

 

I blinked, tears pressing at the corners of my eyes. My lips curved into the faintest smile, and I nodded. “Go on,” my eyes told them. “Do as He says.”

 

They obeyed. Reluctantly at first, then with more resolve. They lugged their little jars from the well, arms straining, backs bending. Water sloshed over their sandals, splashed onto the stones. Sweat poured down their faces as they filled each jar to the brim.  The sound of pouring echoed in the courtyard, steady, rhythmic, like the heartbeat of faith.  They kept pouring and each time it felt like time was dragging.   

 

And I stood there, chest tight, whispering to myself, ‘Yes, Lord. Yes. You have always been faithful. You will still be faithful, always!’

 

Soon enough, they finished. I watched as they went close to Him, looking into His face like their lives depended on the moment. 

 

Then He said, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the feast.”

 

 

Oh, my soul! My breath stopped. Draw water… and serve it as wine? My cheeks burned hot. What if it was only water? What if the steward scolded? What if they laughed? My heart thumped in my ears. 

 

 

It seems it wasn’t just I who felt this way. The head servant went ahead to the jars with a serving cup. I could see so much doubt written on his face. 

 

 

The servant dipped his cup and took some of the water. He started towards  the master of the feast. As he was about to pour the wine into the steward’s cup, the liquid shimmered, clear at first… and then… oh, I saw it.

 

It darkened, thickened, blushed into a deep, rich red. Wine. Wine is more fragrant than any vineyard.

 

The steward lifted it to his lips. We held our breath. He drank. His eyes widened. He laughed aloud and called for the bridegroom. “Everyone serves the good wine first, and when guests have drunk freely, then the poor wine. But you, you have kept the best wine until now!”

 

The courtyard erupted. Laughter returned, stronger than before. Guests cheered, cups lifted high. The bride’s cheeks flushed with relief. The groom beamed. 

 

And I… I stood still, my heart trembling. Oh Jesus. My child whom I once cradled, whom I nursed at my breast, today He turned water into wine.

 

My eyes did not leave Jesus. My Son, yet not mine. I cannot describe how my heart worshipped Him. 

 

The servants were still standing near the jars, their mouths half-open, their eyes wide with disbelief. One whispered, “Did you see? I poured water!” 

 

Another shook his head, whispering back, “I tasted wine!” Their hands trembled as they passed more cups, their eyes darting again and again toward Jesus.

 

The disciples sat close to Him. They said nothing, but their faces told the story, eyes wide, lips parted, hearts shaken. I could see it in their gaze: awe, fear, wonder. They had heard Him teach, they had chosen to follow, but now, now they had seen something they could never forget. 

 

And Jesus? My Jesus? He sat calmly, as though nothing had happened. His face was quiet, almost hidden, as if He wished to draw no attention to Himself. He spoke softly with the disciples, lowered His eyes when people looked around, sipped His cup with a gentleness that almost made me weep. He seemed to be saying without words, “Not yet. Do not speak. Not yet.”

 

And He meant it, He sought no glory for Himself but for His Father in Heaven!

 

But I could see through it. A mother always sees. 

 

Oh, my heart trembled. My lips could not form words. Inside me a storm was raging. This is real. This is Him. This is the One the angel spoke of. This is the child whose name was announced before His birth.

 

This is the Son I bore into this world, the Son I nursed at my breast, the Son I raised in Nazareth.

 

This is God , God living in my home.

 

Tears filled my eyes. I bent low, whispering to myself: “Lord… how could You choose me? That You, O God, should be formed in me, should drink from my table, should walk under my roof. And now… now You reveal Yourself before my eyes. How can this be? This mystery, I will never understand, not until I go to the grave.”

 

I pressed my hand against my heart. This is real. Wow! 

 

Oh, tonight I cannot sleep. Tonight my diary holds a secret that the whole world will one day know. That at Cana, the water blushed into wine, and my son, erm, the Lord, revealed His glory.

 

The joy I feel is indescribable. 

 

Lessons from Mary’s Diary

• Jesus lived His life according to the Spirit’s leading. He would not move to do a thing unless He got the go ahead from the Holy Spirit even when it is a noble deed. This is how we all should live. Our lives should be in sync with heaven’s timing, the Holy Spirit’s leading. This is how we can learn to please God in all that we do.

 

• Like Mary shared, God will not despise the call for help. As women, we sometimes act as though we can do all by ourselves and we make God our last resort when there is a problem. Mary learnt to cry for help, Mary saw Jesus as her first point of call. 

 

• Even when the realities of the times and seasons do not match up with God’s instructions, like Mary, we must encourage our hearts to trust God’s Word and take it that it will never fail. They could have chosen not to obey but they did. They were not disappointed. The water changed to wine after they had obeyed the instruction to draw it and serve it. God will not work according to our thoughts and plans. His ways and thoughts are so different and higher than that of man. 

 

• Mary had and lived in the reality that Jesus is 100% Man and 100% God. This is a fundamental truth in our walk with Jesus as His disciples. Jesus was fully God and fully Man. He did not use His God-privileges as a Man on earth. He chose to live this way so that He can understand us, relate with us on our own grounds and by this pave the perfect path for us, leading straight to our Father in heaven, Himself. If Jesus walked perfectly on earth as a Man, we are with as much hope as we keep pressing on to perfection. 

 

• Jesus did not seek glory in the honour of man even though He has performed a great miracle. This taught Mary too that only the Father must be glorified. Though she had birth and raised the Son of Man, she did not take pride in it. Instead, it humbled her and she worshiped. 

 

Rounding Off:

And here, sisters, we close today’s diary. What a fragrance it has left with us!

Do you want to read more diaries? Read other Episodes of Daisies in Diaries Here

Until next time, when another story unfolds, may your own life and mine also become a diary that whispers God’s faithfulness to generations after us. Amen.