The Mother and the Wren

a poem

Photo by Boldizsar Bednarik

The Mother and the Wren
(For Joy, whose due date draws near)

The wren is calling to her mate,
a lawn has just been mown. Now,
the worms will be easier to find,
closer to the surface to pluck and
gather under the dusky orange sky.

Seek and sustain us, Lord, as You
do the suburban wrens and desert
ravens. Hold together the life inside 
the Mother who has been carrying
so much. She worries and she hopes.

She knows that, already, her almost-
here daughter is a precious aroma
to the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Ghost. She knows that, already, her
child’s days are set, measured and held 
dear. And still, as the time draws near,
surround her, God, with shouts of
deliverance, for we are dust. Cover 
her with wings of soft feathers, for 
we can’t always see Your unfailing 
love through the haze of past grief.

Oh God of the old and the very young,
bring this life, safe and squirming, into 
the land of dawns and sprinkler games,
train-sets, communion, and freshly cut 
grass. Make this moment of surrender,
fear, and joy last only as long as it must. 

For we all desire to go home at the end 
of the day. We all desire to grow, gather,
then rest and pray: Thy will be done 
on earth as it is in heaven, and please,
O Father, do not forget our daily bread.

And the evening wren sleeps with
her children, full from dinner, nestled 
safely under her soft peace. And the 
whole world hums and is still, all at 
once. Creation creaks and rejoices with 
the anticipation of new life, soon among us.