Hannah had her
period
in cycles
like
infinite loops
of the same death
sentence: you
will never be a mom
period.
are a barren stump
period.
always period.
never a comma.
a period.
no exclamation.
But blood led Hannah
to worship, though wordless
her life His
period.
Apparently periods aren’t periods
in the hand of God
life soon swam inside
and Hannah’s song
echoed history’s halls
and Mary’s mouth, the Magnificat
filled the mother of Messiah
he was a barren stump
cut off before bloom
no descendants, doomed
to death sentence
period.
But on a bloody, barren tree
became fruitful womb
birthing children
from every nation
filling the mouths
of would-be moms
with
a more magnificent song:
“By His blood
I am the mother
of many sons and daughters
By His blood
I am honored
both child and mother
period.”
I wrote my poem “Period.” as an encouragement to Christian women who are making disciples for Jesus. I particularly want to encourage women who struggle through infertility, child loss, and other heartaches, which can feel particularly pronounced on Mother’s Day.
Jesus laid his life down and picked it up again so that sinners like us could be received as beloved children of God through faith in him (John 1:12). Not only that, he made it possible for barren women to become mothers of many through the commission he gave us: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:19-20).
Disciple makers are fathers and mothers. Because of what Jesus has done for us, we can rejoice in our inheritance: “a monument and a name better than sons and daughters […] that shall not be cut off” (Isaiah 56:5).
Just as Paul could call Timothy his “true child in the faith” (1 Tim. 1:2), so we can mother and father disciples of Jesus. This kind of parental bond cannot be threatened by sin or death because disciples of Christ will live forever together with him.
My prayer is that this short poem will be a soul catalyst for you, erupting in praise to the God who “gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children” in Christ (Psalm 113:9).