Things We Carry

Women carry,

right from the start,

stuffing little purses full—

favorite toys, candy hearts;

Propped high on a little shoulder

Just so, tilted up,

She carries like you,

training wheels for her life.

 

Men dressed in denim,

or linen or wool,

walk strongly beside us,

arms swing in full stride;

While we with a purse

(with a household inside),

dollies and Bibles tucked under our chin;

Heels click on pavement in staccato tap time,

Then he sweetly inquires

Dear, can you carry my pen?

**

 

From where does it stem,

Our call just to carry,

without questioning first

which load God would choose.

Some weights come in our teens,

Worried skin, weighted woes,

too red or too brown,

Olive thin or too full;

 

Body images blur,

comparisons fluster

as on to our shoulders

we add strive for perfection.

Accepting society's pressures,

Satan’s images blind,

we head into our life,

competition ingrained--

May the best woman win:

Education, home making,

or how well we cook,

each day loads to breaking.

As weights pile high,

muffle quiet our calling--

precious gift bearing only,

Let Me choose what you carry.

 

**

She shall be saved in child-bearing,

Her seed stand on sin’s head,

The Promise was true,

As His Word always is,

but somewhere in translating

God’s message to Eve,

She heard only carry,

 regardless of need.

**

From Eve to Nicole,

though Millenia pass by,

from womb to soft swaddling,

child carriers press tight--

over shoulders, around waists,

spines pulled taut from the strain

yet she’s glad just to carry,

life’s most precious weight.

From inception’s first knowledge,

or love’s call to adopt,

hearts are conditioned,

love’s reason ingrained.

Bladders press spines

by life carried inside,

holds tighten for life,

cords weave as they turn;

Love strengthens her hold

with each new labor pain.

**

By the time cries break silence

of nights' healing rest

carrying become

second nature to us—

She slips out of bed,

lifts God’s gift to her hip,

the calling is answered,

love’s cord slipped in place.

**

Then, for duty alone,

taught by women before,

we walk till our heels bruise

seeking gifts for our world--

honoring husbands and children,

and kindred we sigh,

but in truth,

lodged inside us

lives the gatherers cry;

With arms loaded full

shopping bags piled high,

we spot one more gift,

try to shuffle the load,

but no way can we add

this last perfect must;

So we sigh and move on

to stand holding in line.

 

**

Cellaphaned little baskets,

satin ribbon and wire,

foil wrapped boxes

virtually every size,

Satin bound sachets—

Gift bags all in tow,

Weights go unquestioned,

though knees softly moan;

Carry on girl,

aching shoulders denied,

our gifts we must carry,

by a will grown inside.

**

Hot sun on her back,

she bends low over crops,

gathers food for her table,

spins cloth for their backs;

she’s cleaned every corner,

served guests’ every need,

Now too tired just to sit

at His feet and be fed.

Had Martha’s young sister

filled her arms with such weights,

she could never have carried

pure spikenard to pour

on her Lord’s precious feet.

 

Dear God let me learn

Mary’s choice to break rank,

turn my Martha around,

let me fall at Your feet.

Choosing only the load

You’ve chosen for me,

lay all else aside,

but what’s precious—to thee .

Amen.

--A Carrier