meeting mary– the morning after

meeting mary–the morning after

It is still so hard for me to believe, the things she whispered to me
last
night. It feels like a dream. For so long, I have been told in so many
ways
that it is unacceptable to be the way I am. My family, my village, my
religious leaders, all have scorned me and I have willingly accepted
their
perception. And yet somehow I hoped. In the silences of my house, far
away
from eyes and voices, I could at least pretend that I was beautiful.

Now I feel as if I have a secret that they cannot touch. It fills me
with
such hope, a hope that grows each day, this idea that I, odd and ugly as
I
am, am somehow carrying the very seed of God within my being.

I long to shout it from the village square, not so that they would look
at
me differently, but so that they could all somehow see themselves in the

mirror. This morning when I awoke, I looked long at my own reflection,
and
what I saw was not different than what I see each morning. The colors
and
the shapes, the contours and the shadows, the pools that are my eyes are
the
same as yesterday, yet today I saw such beauty where yesterday there was

shame. I am the same Mary I have always been, but today I know that I am

loved, that I am special. That I have been created, molded, and chosen
to be
blessing. Today, I walk inside the same body, yet today I know that it
is a
vessel of God’s becoming, just as it is, just as it always has been.

Oh that everyone could know this secret! What an honor and a privilege
they
would find life to be. How their own hearts could rejoice like mine. Oh
god,
I want this feeling to be everyone’s. Come whisper it to everyone this
night..for I know that were I to shout it from the village square, they
would surely stone me. They never would accept such words from me. Who
am I
to tell them they are loved, who am I to tell them they are Love? It
would
be as blasphemy, such words of god coming from the lips of one so lowly.

Oh, it fills me with sadness..I do not understand why my people always
kill
the bearers of good news.. I cannot comprehend why they are so afraid of

being loved.

But that they could also hear the whisper, god, feel these stirrings of
divinity within. remember who they are.

As I walked to Elizabeth’s today, beneath my shroud, I peeked. And God I
saw
you everywhere. So many faces God are yours. So many infants yearning to
be
broth forth, to be swaddled, to be fed, and to be loved. It made my
heart
rejoice and break at once.

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