Mary's Song

Ethiopian Theotokos

Mary's Song
by Luci Shaw

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast
keep warm this small hot naked star
fallen to my arms. (Rest …
you who have had so far to come.)
Now nearness satisfies
the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies
whose vigor hurled a universe. He sleeps
whose eyelids have not closed before.
His breath (so slight it seems
no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps
to sprout a world. Charmed by doves' voices,
the whisper of straw, he dreams,
hearing no music from his other spheres.
Breath, mouth, ears, eyes
he is curtailed who overflowed all skies,
all years. Older than eternity, now he
is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed
to my poor planet, caught
that I might be free, blind in my womb
to know my darkness ended,
brought to this birth for me to be new-born,
and for him to see me mended
I must see him torn. 

Poetry Wednesday

Russell's Namesday (Almost a Month Late)

The twins in a rare moment of wearing the same clothing. Russell and my traditional lenten chocolate namesday cake celebrating the life of his patron saint, St. Matthew the Evangelist.  Russell was very pleased about his special day and throughout the day, he reminded all of us that it was his and his day alone. Probably pretty significant for someone who is a twin.
May God grant you many years precious son!

Happiness

What Thomas drew after church last Sunday. Mary, Jesus, the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove (though strangely looking like a blue bird), and my personal favorite, the Cherubim/ Sun. And please, please do not miss the Cherubim's many eyes in the sun's rays. To me, this drawing is pure happiness.

And thank you to Elizabeth for introducing me to the poetry of Jane Kenyon.

Happiness

Jane Kenyon

There's just no accounting for happiness,

or the way it turns up like a prodigal

who comes back to the dust at your feet

having squandered a fortune far away.

And how can you not forgive?

You make a feast in honor of what

was lost, and take from its place the finest

garment, which you saved for an occasion

you could not imagine, and you weep night and day

to know that you were not abandoned,

that happiness saved its most extreme form

for you alone.

No, happiness is the uncle you never

knew about, who flies a single-engine plane

onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes

into town, and inquires at every door

until he finds you asleep midafternoon

as you so often are during the unmerciful

hours of your despair.

It comes to the monk in his cell.

It comes to the woman sweeping the street

with a birch broom, to the child

whose mother has passed out from drink.

It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing

a sock, to the pusher, to the basket maker,

and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots

in the night.

It even comes to the boulder

in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,

to rain falling on the open sea,

to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.

Poetry Wednesday

-arise, my soul; and sing (part two)

Water for Christmas well in Gbeivonwea, Liberia

Watching this just made me teary. A blessed Thanksgiving to you all.

And thank you to Tesi and Leslie and our local Water for Christmas team for raising another $10,000 for wells in Liberia at the recent Wine to Water event. And to my egg lady and friend, Cathe, aka Miss Effie, who generously donated 100% of the proceeds earned in one day at her Summer Kitchen for this amazing charity. Inspiring.