In this life we cannot always do great things
but we can do small things with great love.
(commonly attributed to Mother Teresa)
This is no ancient fairytale told of an attending
companion to one crowned by high birth
this – no imagined fabulous fiction
no mere myth of gods and goddesses.
In this story – an angel, a message – a maiden
given a small jewel to carry beneath her gown.
Pregnant with promise beyond expectation she waits
to give birth to something wondrous
waits – dreaming the Light of the World
to be born in midst of behovely darkness falling
silence deepening, deepening.
Who will attend her when her time comes?
In this story – the creaturely gather round
attending the birth of the one promised to illuminate
creation’s embrace of all, even beloved lowly ones.
This is a story of Advent told in a trying season.
In this story – a world gripped by a dark affliction –
an angel unfurling an ancient promise once more
a woman willing to carry it in her being, bearing the message
to Everywoman everywhere waiting
sheltered in place in body, in spirit and mind
insofar as she surely finds possible
her heart carrying the weight of the world.
In the midst of this season darkening to deeper
each singular woman waits, silently chosen
once more to bring forth from within
something wondrous from something small
that she may mother
lifegiving light to all creation waiting
as told in this one ancient improbable story – joyous –
eternal – quite unlike any other.
Written by Margie Dimoplon