Mary’s relationship with her cousin, Elizabeth has been a source of fascination for me as Christmas nears. God provided much-needed community for the mother of Christ in Elizabeth, someone…the only one…who could begin to relate to what Mary had been chosen to walk though. As I tried to imagine their conversations, whispered by firelight after Zechariah was long-asleep, this poem was fashioned:
PEACE.
Who, besides you, would understand?
This holy secret, silent, yet unknown outside of my womb.
The angel spoke your name, Elizabeth.
He told me of your wonder
and of the babe.
Just look at you.
He kicks and your belly writhes and the smile
oh, the smile on your aged face.
Your wrinkles deepen as laugh-light sparks
from your faded eyes.
Renewed, you are.
Made new, fruitful, forever a part of the grand story,
His story,
of redemption.
Hold my hand.
Tell me what I already know
but need to hear afresh.
How God supplies the strength we both will need.
I am not afraid,
yet I am.
The war in my spirit rages
as the flesh across my belly tightens and bulges.
But here you stand before me,
evidence of our God weaving the promise
of atonement within me.
Within us.
These infant sons we bear,
destined for pain.
We walk the first steps with them on a path
rocky with hate and rejection.
Yet I see in you an acceptance
the peace of God that flows through your fingers to mine.
I feel His presence, overshadowed by Him since that night
the Spirit made me His mother.
Who, besides you, would understand?
I find it not a coincidence that you, my cousin, are the bearer
of the messenger.
Two women, forever connected by destiny.
Your companionship eases my heart.
Your trust increases my own.
Your embrace enfolds me in peace
that I may walk with my eyes fixed on this sacred privilege.
A Life of Simple Joys 