She walked past the plate glass window
next to the booth where I sat with my friend Bill
in the worst hamburger joint on the eastern seaboard,
eating a dripping grease burger
oozing with melted Velveeta cheese of all things
with fries fresh from a year in the freezer.
She was twelve months pregnant, maybe thirteen.
Sashaying her first pregnancy
down the walk and through the door,
showing everybody who she was
and what she was carrying,
beneath her red spandex top,
and navy blue spandex tights,
stopping traffic and conversation,
as all onlookers
(And who could look away?)
paused in what they were doing
to honor, marvel at, rejoice in, worship, relish, adore, and remember
the wonder of a vision
equal in every way
to the one that stunned the angels
who announced the Messiah’s birth
with their hallelujahs, backflips, somersaults and high fives—
and as redemptive!
She redeemed the day, the week, the year, our lives, all of life,
forever, throughout all eternity.
And I carry her memory in my heart
to revere and esteem:
Mary, the mother of God,
ordering a grease burger with fries
and sanctifying the moment, and all gathered there
by the wonder of her grace bestowed upon us,
utterly transforming the ordinariness of our lives.