There are so many of you.
Women who serve.
Women who suffer the pain of childbirth or
the pains of men and their silly insecurities.

Being made in the image of God is one thing
but being made in God’s image
to the extent that life emerges from you
and feeds from you;
well that’s another thing entirely.

Would there still be war
if men were made quite
so much in God’s image as women?
Would men be any less insecure?
Less given to violence if they too bore life?

Women seem endowed with a grace and solidity
which comes perhaps, from hundreds of generations
of molten responsibility
for human life on the planet.

A woman held God in her womb.

A woman had a theological conversation with Jesus
at a well.

A woman and a young man
waited at the cross.

They waited,

so secure in their identity that they

did not try to make change.

Be it unto me, indeed.

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