“When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit…” – Luke 1:41

I never thought to feel a kick inside.
I’d come to terms with it, at least to see.
Inside I wept the tears which come with loss
of plans and dreams, things yet and not to be.

Then Zechariah came home mute, a shock
that stifled my instinctive laugh.
What partner would not celebrate a bit
to know they’ll now get the last word?

But when he came into the house, his soul
was like a vessel cracked upon the beach.
All I could do was hold his weeping head
and wipe the tears that fell upon my belly.

Six months have passed. His tears have long
since dried, but my belly has grown out
to hold this energetic child, who kicks
and cuffs within as if he cannot wait for birth.

And now, as cousin Mary nears, another kick,
for is there anything to still this child’s leaps?
He strikes again, a pirouette within my womb,
as if to say, “Look there, and wonder, and believe!”

The words gush out with flowing tears
to dampen Mary’s shoulder in our fierce embrace.
He’s kicked again, a blow I know she feels,
and does the one within her womb perceive?

We’re kicked, the pair of us, by God,
and by these lives we’ll nurture long beyond
the days they’re born. We’re kicked into these roles
of mother-prophets, angel-listeners. But now,

In this brief moment of embrace, of mutual tears,
we share the strength and wonder of our miracles,
the shock of being kicked, and finding we
are stronger, wiser, and more loving than

We ever knew.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 1:39-55, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Fourth Sunday of Advent.

The image is The Visitation of Mary, a wall painting from the Sundre Church, Gotland, Sweden. Photo by Wolfgang Sauber – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3170502.