September 8, 2023

My Journey to God

On the Day You Were Born

In your mother’s arms you stretched and yawned,
Swaddled in a woven cloth of blue.
“Anne, she’s perfect,” your father fawned,
Unaware he had spoken the truth.

“Mary,” said your parents when asked your name.
Unlike you, the name was not unique,
For many a Jewish girl was called the same—
But none could match your eternal mystique.

Your name may have been common, yes,
But none other did it so aptly fit,
For “Mary” means both “bitter” and “blessed,”
foretelling the life you were destined to live:

That one day an angel would greet you
and declare you to be “full of grace”;
That nine months later in a stable rude
You would gaze upon God’s holy face;

That one day a sword would pierce your Son,
O blessed Immaculate Conception;
That dark would descend and banish the sun
as you wept bitterly at His crucifixion;

That He would rise triumphant and crown you
as heaven and Earth’s glorious Queen;
That with your prayers we could know life anew
through your Son, O Mother Most Serene.

Your parents happily knew none of this
As they adored you peacefully sleeping,
Blessing you with many a gentle kiss,
Your little form in memory keeping.

Your mother rocked you as she hummed,
unaware she held the Mother Most Blest,
or that the world’s salvation would come
through one as small as the utterance, “Yes.”

By Natalie Hoefer
 

(Natalie Hoefer is a member of St. Monica Parish in Indianapolis and is a reporter for The Criterion.) †

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