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.
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