The sun’s mellow light slanted through the trees as she eased the bulk of herself down onto to the ground and leaned against the solidness of the door frame. For a moment she rested her head back and closed her eyes. The remaining warmth of the day felt good on her face, and she felt a relief from the tension in her lower back . With her relaxed posture, the little one within her began to move. She opened her eyes and watched as the life within bulged her distended midsection even further and traveled from one side to the other. It was fascinating to watch, uncomfortable to feel. This life, totally separate from her yet completely attached.
When the movement subsided, she took up her sewing from the basket beside her, hoping to get the tiny tunic finished before the light waned. Holding up the needle, she carefully guided the thread through the eye, pulled it long, and knotted it. She then brought the other end to her mouth and used her teeth to snap it free from the skein. Pricking the needle down through the white cloth, back up, then down again, she worked at stitching the hem into place with even, precise stitches.
The sound of a scuffle nearby distracted her. She looked up to see Miriam the mouse come skittering around the corner of the house and make a frantic lunge for her little hollow by the door. Thomas the cat dove after her, but she was too quick for him. He stopped abruptly, sat back on his haunches, and dusted off his paws to save face. Then he stood, arched his back into a lazy stretch before wandering off with a languid sway of his tail. Miriam settled into her nook, her little body heaving.
Resuming her sewing under the mouse’s watchful eye, her mind took to musing. The cat-and-mouse game that played out literally right in front of her was not unlike how people could be with one another. Her affection for both creatures was deep, and they both had been stalwart companions of a sort to her in these last months. She knew they were only doing what they couldn’t help themselves from doing and secretly believed that Thomas would bring no harm to Miriam. But did the mouse feel that assurance? Likely not.
People, on the other hand, could help themselves. They could chose to use their power to help the less powerful. They could find, nurture, and act on an acceptance of those unlike themselves, those whose lives were lived differently from their own. With that acceptance, they could inadvertently invite people from their hiddenness, allowing the small, the insignificant to feel safe, to be free from cowering.
She reflected on the acceptance she had resolutely cultivated for the small one inside herself. It was her hope that the babe felt only love from her. Her own loss of a youthful innocence was hard and came at a cost. Her life would be forever altered. Some of her dearest friends had distanced themselves; they didn’t quite know what to do with her. She sensed their struggle of wanting to be by her side in her plight while also feeling the pressure of adhering to expectations of prescribed ways of thinking and behaviour. She harboured no ill will towards them. With a wisdom that belied her lack of years, she had kept her heart open to them hoping that they might once again be able to share the small details of everyday life that wove together the fabric of their kinship.
While the physical changes happening to her couldn’t be hidden, she wondered at the changes that people experienced inwardly but couldn’t disclose for fear of rejection. She felt an inner reshaping happening to herself, a reshaping that her experience had given way to. This too she accepted as a necessary expanse to hold newness, not unlike that of her body needing to grow larger to prepare room for the growing baby. She suspected that not accepting the changes would only create more discomfort, but like any hard thing, knowing that was one thing, living it another.
Bringing her focus back to her work, she knotted off the thread after the hemming was finished. Across from her, Miriam’s eyes were closed in peaceful slumber. Fondly she gazed at the mouse. On a whim, she reached into her sewing basket and drew out a darker thread. She rethreaded her needle, and studying the shape of the critter, began to meticulously embroider. Soon a tiny mouse was stitched onto the hemline, its dark eyes stoic. Cutting the thread after stitching in the little whiskers, she shook out the infant tunic to relax the creases and to settle the fibers. She held it up with a happy grin, pleased with her creation and saw that it was indeed good.
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The four Sundays of Advent leading up to Christmas are divided thematically into hope, peace, joy, and love. The Carmelites, a religious order that lives contemplatively while focusing on prayer and active service, use the themes of waiting, accepting, journeying, and birthing for Advent reflection. I first encountered the Carmelite Advent themes through the writings of Canadian author, Sarah Bessey, and found the themes to be a fresh point of view on an old, old story. Refreshing perspectives can lend a new light, and I wanted to explore them. While wrestling with an essay style that wasn’t meeting the end that I was after, the idea came (in the way ideas can unfold in the creative process) of writing with imagination from Mary’s perspective.
One of my favourite reads during the Advent season is a book given to me by a friend called “Portrait of a Woman” by Herbert O’Driscoll. It’s a series of meditations about Mary. He writes with a deep tenderness as to what her journey may have been. This book may have subconsciously affected my own creative process.
Lastly and most importantly, people are going through hard things. Not just in a general sense, but very specifically. The sort of hard things that don’t find their way into table conversations, social media posts or requests for prayer on email prayer chains. It’s young people coming up against difficulties that they didn’t ask for and can’t simply be prayed away. It’s older people finding their lives altered and their independence curtailed. It’s families with no money left over to buy food. My hope is that Mary’s musings may light a small candle in their darkness that they may know that they are seen and not alone. And perhaps a whimsical mouse can bring a bit of joy and reignite a child wonder.
