how God blessed her
to give life to a little one with tiny face,
with hands that reach out
for what they do not even know. Yet she knows them
and they begin to find the closeness of the one
who gave and then would give.
how desire strong to know—
in the fall and after fire—
would burn not where it should and find
division instead of good.
The giver now discovers less
and in the end sons carry curse.
though pains multiply and swords
would pierce the hearts of those who treasure up these gifts—
the grand design of God
though humble, hidden for a thousand years
through tears and death a firstborn son would rise
and recover more than life once lost.
that the striving of the ground
and every weary sigh
are signs that our lament is not the end but
in a cry of glory sure our hands
are caught up in a grasp of life,
forever held in joy secure.
This poem draws from things said in the Bible in Genesis 1–3, Luke 1–2, and Romans 8 especially. The idea I want to contemplate here is that God’s design for motherhood and nurturing love, though wrecked by the Fall of Adam and Eve and now often painful and tiring, is rescued by Jesus in a way that will eventually bring an end to pain and tears and death. I think that is good news for all of us, and cause for great hope. I fondly and gratefully have my mother, my wife, and many who give motherly love in mind as I write this.