A delicate and beautiful white Orchid.

I think of Mary most this time of year.
I picture her in a darkened room
Bare earthen walls with windows and a doorway carved within
Perhaps a straw mat for sleep
A hearth on a roof above her head.
She’s settled in for the night.
She’s alone, which must have been rare.
She’s dozing, if not fully settled into slumber.
The room begins to warm in a glow of light.
Does it dazzle and shine?
Does it flash and glare?
As she finds her way to the surface of awareness
She senses the presence,
Is she blinded?
Or is she squinting into a shadow of a being?
An angel.
The Angel.
In flight?
Walking in through the doorway?
Stepping through the opening of a window?
A message delivered.
An important message.
A message never before delivered to anyone at any time.
In spoken words?
In sensed, wordless understanding?
In a sudden knowing?
Of favor.
Setting fear aside.
A conception of an important life.
The most important life.
From an overshadowing Holiness.
One quick question.
How can this be?
Only one answer.
Here I am…
Let it be…
Nothing is impossible…

By Susan B Ceely Philips

One response to “Mary”

  1. Susan, thank you for this beautiful poem. How beautiful to imagine Mary receiving words of a gift that would change and transform us all. Merry Christmas indeed!

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