by Rachael McCallum

I see myself in the woman
Who was gifted with a son.

“Elisha, I do not want this—
 I’m content with no one.”

For I had learned to hide my heart,
Though it writhed inside my chest.
Rich in life and favored,
Those around me called me
Blessed.

“Do not mislead me!”
The command came as a plea.

For so long, I had mastered
Masking my own misery—
Still, You gave a son to me.

A gift I reluctantly embraced;
I let my walls come crumbling down.
A final test of faith...
But then the harvest came—

A time to give and reap—
And when You took my gift away,
I was seized by sudden grief...

“Surely You didn’t mean
To abandon my lost soul?”
How naïve I was to love,
For in love I lost control.

But as I wept, You called my name;
You gently spoke the truth—

My child, your tears are sacred ground;
And I make all things new.

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Rachael McCallum is a 24-year-old emerging poet who blends faith and personal reflection in her writing. She explores the raw, often messy aspects of spiritual life and the daily commitment of living in relationship with God.