Propositioned, she consents and finds herself made pregnant. Like millions before her and billions since? She hopes, she fears, she wonders. Pregnancy, the path down which she stares to life’s deep places. Deep joy and deep despair. The intimate connection only mothers know. The pain of parting with a part of you. Like millions before and billions since? The gift of a child. Her very own? Not really. Not for long. The gift of a child, not to her but through her. Given for others. And so she hurts and so she sings. For evermore rendered blue she sings her blues. She sings from deep places. She sings in painful exaltation. She sings the glory of God discovered in what not-her-child will do for others. It hurts. She sings. Magnificent.