Why should I have been surprised that the God who spoke the world into being, would be discovered amongst us in words?

First there was the angel who sounded heaven into my husband’s ear. Speaking words so beautiful, so longed for, they entered him, as prayer in a temple seeking out the holiest place. He shuddered at their audacity to speak in to his sacred longings, questioned their authenticity and his own belief. Until there was nothing left to be said.

After the words of the angel was silence. Long, heavy, impregnated silence. The absence of Zechariah’s voice was filled with presence; the empty air, solid with knowledge; unspoken, yet telling.

Then there was the sound of my name, the greeting of my young cousin that stirred the very depths of my belly. Her call an echo of your call. Hearing it the child inside me leapt. And from my depths came forth a loud cry: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” And with stomach ripening and cheeks flushed peach-like, Mary’s voice then filled the room with nectared song. “My soul magnifies the Lord”, she sang, on scales of triumphant sound. Her voice clear and singular, yet within that hymn I could hear a symphony of tongues: of those gone before and those yet to come, the cry of the poor and dispossessed, the joy of the meek and the hungry now fed. Voices of longing and hope fulfilled. A hymn of magnitude and magnificence.

And then we filled the room with excited chatter. Enquiries of family and health and well being. We shared tales of doubting husbands and dubious neighbours. We whispered our fears and spoke of our joy. We laughed and listened, giggled and gossiped.

And amongst all of the conversation, the children in us continued to grow. Mine, the voice. Hers, the Word.