Saturday, October 18, 2014

Wrestling with Wonder by Marlo Schalesky

Wrestling With Wonder by Marlo Schalesky
Wrestling with Wonder

Here’s a new book that uses both fiction and nonfiction to explore the life of Mary, Jesus’ mother, in a unique way.  It’s called: WRESTLING WITH WONDER, a Transformational Journey through the Life of Mary

HERE’S A BIT ABOUT Wrestling With Wonder: 

You’ve never seen Mary, or her God, like this!
Who is this God?  Who is he who calls us to surrender and then leads us on a journey of twists and turns, ups and downs, unlike anything we could have ever expected?
Who is this God who calls a young girl to birth a Savior and then watch him die on a Roman cross?
Who is he who fulfills every promise and yet shatters every expectation?
Come, join Mary, Jesus’ mother, on a journey of discovery.
Hear the angel’s call, walk the long road to Bethlehem, give birth in a barn, search for a lost son, kneel at the foot of a cross, and experience the wind of the Spirit.
Come, walk with Mary, and find your own journey in hers.

Because life rarely turns out the way we planned...
Because we lose the wonder in the disappointments of life ...
Because being highly favored does not mean being highly pampered ...
Because Mary shows us God -- Passionate, breath-taking, and unpredictable...


While I was writing WRESTLING WITH WONDER, I had the opportunity to perform two monologues as Mary at my church, using material from my book.
I thought it would be fun to share here one of those monologues...

Narration -- What Kind of King?

He was born.  Born in a barn, wrapped in rags, laid in a feeding trough.  No palace, no crib, no soft silk meant for a king.  The animals were our witnesses.  Lowly shepherds our first visitors.
What kind of King is this?
I held him in my arms. He nestled, and nuzzled. So normal. So real. He let out a cry, his mouth open, searching. I smiled and guided him to eat.  He was strong, this newborn son of mine. Of God’s. This Messiah.
I rolled the word over in my mind as I gazed down at his pink cheeks, his stock of curly black hair. His eyes were closed, his lashes dark against his skin.
Messiah. Rescuer. Deliverer. Redeemer. King … Baby.
What kind of King is this?
He grew up, my Messiah-Son.  And was nothing like I expected.  He didn’t conquer Rome, he didn’t rule the nations, he didn’t raise an army or free Israel . . . at least not in the way I had dreamed.
Instead, he asked me to face my deepest fear. My darkest doubt. My nightmare.
A young man came to me in the night. He came disheveled and out of breath. Told me they had arrested my son. Men came—soldiers, crowds, but not only them, the priests came too. The leaders of my people. They came by night to a garden with clubs and torches and swords. And they took him.
They took him to Gabbatha, the Stone Pavement. The place of judgment.

I stood there, shaking, in a courtyard with a crowd. The noonday sun beat down on us, illuminating the stones, the people, the priests, Pilate, and my son, wavering on the platform before me. A glance stole my breath, constricted my heart. I barely recognized him. His eye was swollen, his clothes bloody. He looked like a lamb already slaughtered.
What kind of King is this?
He wore a purple robe, as if to mock him. And on his head ... Oh, Lord ... My soul shattered.
On his head was a crown made of the thorns of the akanthos bush. Blood runs down his forehead, his cheeks.
Akanthos, a symbol of my people’s shame ...
Pilate held up his hand. “Behold your king!” he shouted.
I covered my face, peeked through my fingers.
“Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?”
For a moment, hope soared through me.
And was crushed by a single word: “Barabbas!”
Just days before the crowds welcomed him like David coming into his kingdom. They laid palm branches, they cried hosanna! They sang, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the king of Israel!” They threw down their coats so the colt’s hooves would not even touch the dirt.
And I believed he rode in to claim his kingdom at last.
But what kind of King is this?
A king isn’t beaten.
A king isn’t bloody.
A king doesn’t die a criminal’s death.
Or does He?
Pilate spoke again. “What shall I do with this Jesus?” he cried.
The question drove into me like a soul-piercing sword. It drove through me, became my own. What shall I do with this Jesus? What shall I do with a King destined to die?
What shall I do with this kind of King?
Marlo Schalesky
doing Mary Monologue
You can find out more (and even read a sample chapter) at Marlo Schalesky’s website: 
or join Marlo on Facebook at 
or on Twitter at

Find the book on Amazon at:

If you enjoy this book, you will also like Awakening Your Sense of Wonder by Janet Chester Bly. Find it
Awakening Your Sense of Wonder