It is interesting to be named for a woman so associated with motherhood.
I have always felt such a kinship with her.
A woman of pure virtue, a woman of beauty, I always dreamed of playing her on stage, singing songs about her, or being discovered by an artist, certain that I am the very vision of her, and must be the model for his painting.
I also dreamed of and gloried in coming motherhood, from childhood even.
I have always been, profoundly, a future mother.
As I grew older, I knew this to be my chosen path, more important than any career.
College was for growth, and development of talents and interests, and to a lesser degree preparation for a possible income.
Surely I would have many children.
Why bother waiting?
All I needed was the right man, someone I could share every bit of myself with and one who desired children in the way I did.
What a glorious future!
(This pause is for laughing/eye-rolling etc.)
Now, my hopes are so solid in comparison to my girlish dreams.
They are more specific, more based in reality.
I watch friends planning on having a few children giving birth right and left.
We, the little family with grand plans, wait, wait, wait.
Somehow Barren Tree is more a companion, than tiny seedling.
And Mary…Mary!
My hero, my guide.
For the first time in my life, her story gives me pain.
The beautiful, transforming words,
“Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb…,” prick my heart.
Please, Lord, let such words be for me.
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