She

She wears time like a shroud, gathers clouds for a winter coat.

What forces of nature convince her to hide her bravery in clinched fists?

What propels her onward when the end cannot be seen and purpose seems to hide its face?

When time drones on and on, one day melting into the other with no final destination in sight, hope begins to fade like the light in winter.

 

She builds a shelter out of straw, diamonds out of the fires of her daily hell.

What gives her patience when every problem seems to come to her at lightning speed?

What gives her the will to carry on when no one seems to appreciate the burdens of work, love, and sweat that she has carried for so many years?

When the days are shorter and the sunlight hides it’s face in the early evening, she lets down her hair and brushes out the debris and poisons that cloud her mind.

 

She brings money to the altar, offers a bleeding sacrifice in hopes that any god will hear her.

What led her to believe that having a child would take away the pain of daily living?

What gave her the image of motherhood as a shining beacon of light, a warrior wielding a sense of purpose that she believed would be cherished by the whole world?

When she brought forth her screaming children and endowed life into their lungs, she did not foresee the pain that would be returned to her tenfold.

 

She wishes on twinkling stars, lifts up a prayer of thanks for the gift of life, breath, and pain.

What calling can be more noble and what pathway can be more vital to a hurting world?

What can she give in return for the blessing of providing direction for small, lost souls in a world that seeks at every turn to lead them away from truth and goodness?

When she closes her eyes at night, she accepts the struggle as a willing sacrifice, trusting in her heart of hearts that there is purpose to this pain.