Cocooning

I've been thinking more about grief, and how each one of us in life has sorrows to carry. Grief comes in all different shapes and sizes, and the reality of it sneaks up on us in different ways.

For some it is like a jack-in-the-box--unexpectedly jumping as we wind and wind and wind through the ordinariness of our days. It surprises, and we stuff it back down where we'd rather it stay--latching the lid tight.

For others, grief is like a thief in the night. Stealing in to our private places and robbing us of familiar pleasures and joys.


"He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised and we esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows. . . "

What a sad image: "Like one from whom men hide their faces." And what a gift: "He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows." It makes me wonder, perhaps people despised their Savior and turned away because He wore grief like skin.


A Blessing for the New Baby
by Lucy Shaw

Lightly as a falling star, immense, may you
drop into the body of the pure young girl like a seed
into its furrow, entering your narrow home under the shadow
of Gabriel’s feathers. May your flesh shape itself within her,
swelling her with shame and glory. May her belly grow
round as a small planet, a bowl of golden fruit.

When you suck in your first breath, and your loud cries
echo through the cave (Blessing on you, little howler!)
may Mary adorn you with tears and caresses like ribbons,
her face glowing, a moon among stars. At her breasts
may you drink the milk of mortality that transforms you,
even more, into one of your own creatures.

And now, as the night of this world folds you in
its brutal frost (the barnyard smells of sin),
and as Joseph, weary with unwelcome and relief, his hands
bloody from your birth, spreads his thin cloak
around you both, we doubly bless you, Baby,
as you are acquainted, for the first time, with our grief.