Mary

I confess to you, Father,

That I am afraid of what is to come in time,

Yet I know you've chosen me for a reason,

To bear your one and perfect Son,

To carry within me,

The King we've been promised from so long ago,

The Messiah who has come to save us,

But, Father, why me?

Yes, me, the common woman that I am,

A sinner, a lowly, ordinary soul,

What could you possibly see in me?

I am unworthy of this divine task,

Of this heavenly honor,

Yet I celebrate the gift of this infant King,

Perfect, dwelling in an imperfect body,

The image of the Almighty in flesh,

Stirring within me, and waiting to enter into our world,

In awe do I place my trembling hand on my stomach,

And cry,

And feel the tiny, kicking feet of this child,

This precious baby boy I will deliver soon,

The one who has come to deliver the world,

How can this be, Father?

Do I truly hold within me the promised Savior?

The perfect King?

The one pure and spotless Lamb?

I await him in wonder,

Beneath the starless, foggy sky,

And I think of him as I breathe the warm scent of stable hay,

I long to reach and touch his face,

Brush my calloused fingers along his flawless skin,

Soft as angel's wings,

Created by the Maker of the universe,

In admiration of the miracle that he is,

I will worship my child, my son,

Your Son...

Welcome, baby Jesus.