Our Lady
Today's Our Lady's feast day!
I've always loved how the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe is of Mary pregnant. That is such a lovely thought. I wonder how she looked and how big her belly was . . .
Two Christmases ago, when I was six months along with Turtle, I thought often of Mary's pregnancy and what it would have been like. I felt connected to her so strongly -- both of us carrying our first child, a little unsure, in awe of every new sensation and experience.
This Advent, I once again think of our pregnant Mother. This time I feel connected to her through the exhaustion, the waiting and the wondering of late pregnancy.
Two years I wrote the following thoughts about Mary as Christmas drew near. I went back the other day and re-read what I had written and it rang true with me again. Two different years, two different babies, and yet much of the same thoughts are in my head as I think of Her, waiting, wondering, tired and happy and excited as Christmas approaches.
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The day is drawing near. Slowly and surely the hours pass and move closer to the hour that the weary world longs for . . . the Hour of the Birth of her Child.
But, as yet, it is still the hidden time, the time of waiting. And Mary, as the heavens and the earth wait in trembling awe to look upon His little Face, already holds Him, encompassing His tender Flesh in her own.
In the deep warmth of her womb she holds Him, so gently, so securely, so peacefully. In her own body she feels His movements -- flutters and rolls, the caresses of Her unborn Son. With her own hands, her fingers feather-soft, she touches Him--almost--as He pushes His baby Head or Heel against her encircling warmth.
In her heart, beating every beat to give Him her own red blood, she already knows Him, touches Him, caresses Him. The very curves of her body are loving His Divine smallness and vulnerableness.
Her arms ache to hold Him. Her fingertips long to touch His rosy skin and silken hair. Her lips burn to kiss those God-Man eyes that will, at first, only see her. Her heart throbs to feel His little hand pressed against it as with His perfect lips He sucks the milk that she holds waiting for his need.
...His need! That her Lord and God should need her! But yes, as surely as the earth needs rain, does her little Son need her, His creature and handmaid. She is blessed to give Him warmth, and security, and shelter, and food, and oh so much love.
And still, despite the anticipation of the ages and of her own heart, she is content to wait. Soon, very soon, the waiting angels in Heaven and the people of the earth will behold the vulnerable nakedness of the God-Child. Soon, very soon, her hands and lips and breast will know and touch His fragile skin.
But now, still, He waits inside Her body and she is His world. She wants to keep waiting too. She is His Dwelling for just a few more days. Her body will only hide Him for such a short time more. Now He is all her own.
So, she holds Him surer, stronger and sweeter until the Hour comes, for she knows Him already, the first of all creation.
For she is His Mother.
I've always loved how the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe is of Mary pregnant. That is such a lovely thought. I wonder how she looked and how big her belly was . . .
Two Christmases ago, when I was six months along with Turtle, I thought often of Mary's pregnancy and what it would have been like. I felt connected to her so strongly -- both of us carrying our first child, a little unsure, in awe of every new sensation and experience.
This Advent, I once again think of our pregnant Mother. This time I feel connected to her through the exhaustion, the waiting and the wondering of late pregnancy.
Two years I wrote the following thoughts about Mary as Christmas drew near. I went back the other day and re-read what I had written and it rang true with me again. Two different years, two different babies, and yet much of the same thoughts are in my head as I think of Her, waiting, wondering, tired and happy and excited as Christmas approaches.
_________________________________________________
The day is drawing near. Slowly and surely the hours pass and move closer to the hour that the weary world longs for . . . the Hour of the Birth of her Child.
But, as yet, it is still the hidden time, the time of waiting. And Mary, as the heavens and the earth wait in trembling awe to look upon His little Face, already holds Him, encompassing His tender Flesh in her own.
In the deep warmth of her womb she holds Him, so gently, so securely, so peacefully. In her own body she feels His movements -- flutters and rolls, the caresses of Her unborn Son. With her own hands, her fingers feather-soft, she touches Him--almost--as He pushes His baby Head or Heel against her encircling warmth.
In her heart, beating every beat to give Him her own red blood, she already knows Him, touches Him, caresses Him. The very curves of her body are loving His Divine smallness and vulnerableness.
Her arms ache to hold Him. Her fingertips long to touch His rosy skin and silken hair. Her lips burn to kiss those God-Man eyes that will, at first, only see her. Her heart throbs to feel His little hand pressed against it as with His perfect lips He sucks the milk that she holds waiting for his need.
...His need! That her Lord and God should need her! But yes, as surely as the earth needs rain, does her little Son need her, His creature and handmaid. She is blessed to give Him warmth, and security, and shelter, and food, and oh so much love.
And still, despite the anticipation of the ages and of her own heart, she is content to wait. Soon, very soon, the waiting angels in Heaven and the people of the earth will behold the vulnerable nakedness of the God-Child. Soon, very soon, her hands and lips and breast will know and touch His fragile skin.
But now, still, He waits inside Her body and she is His world. She wants to keep waiting too. She is His Dwelling for just a few more days. Her body will only hide Him for such a short time more. Now He is all her own.
So, she holds Him surer, stronger and sweeter until the Hour comes, for she knows Him already, the first of all creation.
For she is His Mother.
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