So what am I doing
In the kitchen
If Mary has chosen better?
Who else will knead the loaf
Arrange the olives and dates
Count and place
The cups and plates
For the crowd at the door?
Yet He says she’s
Chosen better
To sit, to hear.
Then I, lesser?
He doesn’t say.
But He will surely
Bless and eat the meal…
Maybe hers IS the better.
I see it on her face
Tilt up to His,
The world and men stilled,
While my hands are rough
And swollen
Frustration and duty
Inflame my bones,
Harden my heart.
But what if I
Lay down
The knife and spoon?
Douse the flame?
What if she
Unencumbers me
And comes to aid?
Will He
Bless both?
Let my spirit rise
My body, rest, too?
Can He raise the bread–
And raise the dead?
Do they not both serve
Who listen and knead
Learning at His feet
And preparing His meal?
Selah
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