Sunday, August 17, 2014

A Poem About the Mother of Jesus


She was a real maiden
gracious and virtuous
so she trembled
as any girl might
at an angel’s visit
But she had real faith
in a real God
and she said, “Yes.”

She was a real woman
not blue-gowned in plaster
A poor carpenter’s wife
not an artist’s rendering
gilded and haloed
She bulged big with child
as she rode astride an ass
and during her real travail
brought forth a baby
in a Bethlehem stable

She was a real mother
He was a real son
She nursed him
changed him
bathed and cradled him
as any mother would
She smiled at his first word
saw him take his first step
and when he fell
and scraped his tender knees
she washed away blood
not yet deemed Precious
and soothed him
with soft lullabies

When he was twelve
and they discovered
he was missing
as they traveled home
after the Passover
she was anxious
as any mother would be
and heaved a great sigh
when they found him, safe
in the temple courts

Yes, she was a real mom
and he was a real son
so, it’s not surprising
it was she
who sensed his power
she who encouraged him to act
at the wedding feast
when wine stopped flowing
for she knew
she just knew…

and she was real
at the Crossbeams
Simeon had told her
long, long ago
a sword would pierce her
Though hers be bloodless
it penetrated sharp
and deep, as truly
as the gaping wounds
she now was powerless
to soothe

He looked down
from His agony
into hers—
gave her to mother
his friend
gave his friend
to be her son

It was always about love

She was a real mom
He is the real Savior

Maude Carolan

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