Her belly bulged. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Scorned by eyebrows raised she retreated within herself to the trove of treasures. Two hearts beat within her. Hearts that held the hope of redemption beat blood that would be spilled. Unfathomable grace in the pangs of birth and the pains of death. Did Mary expect such wonders, such shame, such unconditional spousal love?
My questions rub harsh. If she was such an honored woman for bearing such a special child what good did the humiliation and humble surroundings serve? If he had found such a virtuous girl to marry why did his name have to be dragged through the dirt? What purpose does such incongruity serve? The answer goes against the grain and scrapes all the easy away.
“Redemption birthed in incongruity paid the unfair price for humanity.”
This plane grinds daily for a few years now. Each stroke of expectancies adjusted cuts away at the jagged pride of know-it-all-ism. The stripping back exposes raw stripes of my core being.
Now the questions drip bitter like sap, like tears, like a bleeding side. If we have seen Your goodness over and over again how long must I battle with doubt and ulcer inducing fear? If we are doing the things thought saintly by others how much shame should I feel at debilitating fury in the face of lack? What purpose does such incongruity serve?
“Your life is the resurrected, alive again and walking around example of redemption birthed in incongruity which paid the unfair price for humanity.”
Seen in the big and the small these uneven edges of life knock me off balance. They told us four months. Did we not hear the twenty that was supposed to come before the four? The propaganda is prolific painting pretty pictures of adding by adoption. Does the fine print on the posters say anything about being too exhausted to even try to get up the gumption to try to want to connect? So she can dress herself and count to eleven but she freezes when told to do simpler tasks that should be a breeze but instead are a thick fog .
I know I am too hard on myself. I know I am too hard on my kids. I know I am too hard on others. Do I adjust my expectancies? Do I have any other choice? Did Mary?
It wasn’t just a weird dream when the truth was confirmed by missing once, then twice. Adjusting expectancies amidst incongruity boggles the analytical, pattern seeking brain. Adjusting expectancies amidst incongruity wages war on logic to allow sanity to win. May I have the same peace of mind and ability to remember a crazy dream so that I too, like sweet Mary, can just learn to go with it.
Redemption birthed in incongruity paid the unfair price for me.