When I couldn’t speak
It’s been four months and
Elizabeth still hasn’t gone out of the house.
She hasn’t said much to me except,
Chatter and busy bodies would sour
the sweetness of this sacred space.
Solitude is her reflex. She is a gift to me.The silence seeps into my soul
reacquainting me with old prayers
full of longing and pain,
that died a slow death
of infertility and resignation.Now they’ve resurrected
out of time, out of reason, teasing me,
reseeding the fallow soil of memory
into a field of fertile hope.With my imagination ignited
I feel young again,
but it’s this old man body
who will be a father! So, Adonai –
O Great Mysterious Impossible!
I finally learned to dance.© 2017 – Laurel Archer
Photo Credits: All – Pixabay.com
Note: This Advent series is using The Jesse Tree, a liturgical ‘tool’ to help guide and direct spiritual reflection. Each day leading up to Advent, we consider one Bible story, or character, beginning from creation, following chronologically (more or less) right up until the birth of Jesus. It’s a way to review the wide sweep of God’s pursuit of humankind across history.
Love this phrase — reseeding the fallow soil of memory/into a field of fertile hope — I can almost smell the rich, pungent soil!