Boaz, the Donkey Who had Carried the Lord

My name is Boaz, and I've carried my share of burdens. Bundles of wheat, sacks of olives, and even a grumpy old merchant named Ephraim. But no burden—or blessing—was as great as the one I bore when I carried him.

​I was just a young colt then, living in the bustling village of Bethphage, near Jerusalem. It was a chaotic life of sun-baked days and cold nights. One morning, two men came and began to untie my rope. I was a bit nervous; I'd never been ridden before. They led me down the dusty road and into the village. There, waiting for me, was him. The man they called Jesus.

​He didn't look like a king. He didn't wear fine robes or a golden crown. He was dusty and tired from his travels, but when he looked at me, his eyes were kind. I felt a sense of peace I'd never known before. He sat upon my back, and as we entered Jerusalem, the crowds went wild. They waved palm branches and laid their cloaks on the road. They shouted, "Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" It was a glorious day, a day I'll never forget.

​But the cheers soon faded. My next memory of him is darker. I was in a field, grazing, when I heard the commotion. The shouts weren't of praise, but of anger. "Crucify him! Crucify him!" I saw him being led away, a heavy wooden beam on his back. A man named Simon from Cyrene had to help him carry it. He stumbled and fell, and my heart ached for him. It was a brutal, terrible sight.

​Later, I was used to carry food to the tomb where they laid his body. It was a grim, silent place. The air was heavy with despair. I stayed there, just a simple donkey waiting. Then, something changed. There was a bright light and a shaking of the ground. The great stone was rolled away. Soldiers who had been guarding the tomb scattered in fear. Mary Magdalene and the other women came, and when they saw the empty tomb, they were confused. But then they saw an angel, and they ran back to tell the others.

​The next time I saw him, it was after his resurrection. He was different, yet still the same. He was luminous, full of peace, and no longer bearing the marks of his suffering. He spoke with his followers, and there was a great hope in the air.

​My life went on. I carried more sacks of wheat and olives, and the occasional merchant. But I was never the same. I had carried a king. I had seen him celebrated, and I had seen him suffer. I had witnessed his death, and I had witnessed his triumph over it. And from that day forward, I was Boaz, the donkey who had carried the Lord. My life was no longer just about carrying burdens. It was about carrying hope.