A Mother And A Manger

She held the promise of heaven

in the curve of her trembling hands,

a miracle wrapped in swaddling cloth

and laid upon the straw-soft land.

A manger for a cradle,

yet glory lit the night—

for she had been chosen, favored, called

to carry Heaven’s Light.

She brushed His newborn forehead,

counted tiny fingers, toes—

and whispered prayers of thankfulness

only a young mother knows.

Did she feel eternity tremble

each time He drew a breath?

Did she sense the shadow forming

of a love that conquers death?

She watched Him grow in sunlight,

in laughter, joy, and play—

the Son of God, yet still her son

who needed her each day.

And when He scraped His knee one time,

crying softly in her arms,

did a shiver pass through her gentle heart

of a deeper, coming harm?

Did she wonder, as she wiped the blood,

how much more He’d one day shed—

that the tiny drops on His tender skin

were a whisper of what lay ahead?

Yet even in her mother’s fear,

she bowed her spirit low—

for she knew the One she cradled

was the One who made her soul.

She rocked the Ancient of Days to sleep,

sang lullabies to the Lord of Hosts,

kissed the face of the Great I Am,

and loved Him more than most.

What awe must have filled her quiet nights,

what trembling in her spine—

to raise the One who authored time,

yet lived outside of time.

She watched Him teach, and heal, and bless,

with a smile both soft and wise—

still marveling that Emmanuel

looked back through her own eyes.

And when the weight of prophecy

unfolded on that tree,

her heart was pierced as Scripture said—

yet she stayed at Calvary.

For though she was His earthly mother,

and He was her beloved son,

she knew the day she birthed Him

was the day salvation begun.

So when she saw Him risen,

when the stone was rolled away—

every question, ache, and sorrow

became glory’s perfect day.

And all her wonder gathered

in a single, sacred truth:

that the child she once held close

was now holding her in truth.

A mother and a manger—

a story etched in grace.

For through her yielded “Let it be,”

the Savior took His place.

For in the quiet of that moment

when the angel spoke her name,

she felt the weight of heaven

and still whispered, “I will obey.”

No thunder shook the hillside,

no stars fell from the sky—

just a humble girl in Nazareth

saying yes to God Most High.

Her heart became the doorway

through which glory entered in;

her willingness the cradle

where redemption would begin.

She offered all she didn’t know,

the questions left unsaid—

she trusted in the Author

of the life within her womb instead.

“Let it be,” she breathed in trembling,

and heaven held its breath,

for through her faithful surrender

came the One who conquers death.

And though she could not fathom

the story yet untold,

she wrapped her courage tightly

round a promise centuries old.

For love had chosen Mary,

and Mary chose Him too—

with a mother’s holy bravery

that carried her all through.

She felt His tiny heartbeat,

beneath her own it stirred—

the Savior of creation

in a mother’s love secured.

And there beneath the starlight,

in a stable rough and bare,

a mother birthed her baby—

and her baby answered prayer.

For she did more than bear a child;

she welcomed Heaven’s King—

Her arms became the very place

where hope began to sing.

A mother and a manger,

a love divinely spun—

for in her gentle “Let it be,”

the Savior’s life begun.