Pregnant…

 

A lovely word.

A female word that sometimes excludes men, but more often contains and holds us all.

A word containing the unknown, the still-to-be, the potential to succeed…

And the potential to utterly fail.

It is a word that is synonymous with Advent. Waiting in hope, uncertainty, and perhaps even fear.

Waiting for something to change, for something to be born into the mess of us all.

I read this today– another one of Cheryl Lawrie’s lovely poems.

Perhaps our mistake is thinking
that love will always come
in the shape we have known it:

a happy ending
a new beginning
a christ-child.

In this pregnant pause
while the earth holds its breath
waiting for what
it does not know,
let us have the faith
that even we,
with all our wise
and cynical
knowing,
would not imagine
the shape that love
will take

and instead just
have the faith
that it will come.

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