She perhaps had few adornments
In that sandy place, perhaps small flowers
Brought back on her way from well, or prayer.
Perhaps she was one of those girls who grow up
Singing, but not speaking much, and who really like
Taking food to ailing friend, or cousin.
I think when she was small, and they told her
About Abraham, she tried to count the stars,
And wondered how many children she would have
When she and her intended finally had their house.
Preparing bread she knew, drawing water,
And praying without ceasing to the God of Israel,
Amidst that bitter Roman hardness,
For the Deliverer to come. She knew
Messiah would come,
For that she wove her prayers
Into the promises of God
(The Lord Himself shall give a sign)
Already woven through with centuries
Of weeping for the Desire of Nations.
What sound then could that word have made
In her, abruptly spoken by that visitor?
Behold a virgin
where comes this terror!
Conceives and bears; the Holy shall descend
Upon, in remembrance of His mercies, and she
I, bear that Son?
And call his name Jesus, for he shall save
From their sins.
My soul, my soul doth magnify the Lord!
For your mere answer, Mary,
(Be it unto me according to Thy Word)
One more generation blesses you
And intertwines our utterance, Maranatha!
Into yours: Come, Lord Jesus, soon.
–Deanna Harrington Christiansen, 2008, used by permission.
Deanna Christiansen is a poet living and writing in Rochester, New Hampshire. “To Whom It May Concern” is in a collection of her poetry entitled Notes on a Flight Home. To purchase her book and to find out more about Deanna, go to her website here.