Suppose the Lady made us that we may love Her.
Suppose She already loves us as a mother
Falls in love with her first-born child,
And we are each of us that child.
Love is not love unless I give it freely.
So I must be free even to doubt Her
Or choose not to love Her.
That I may love Her freely, She makes
Sure I am always free to choose.
If She were to appear to me in Her full Glory,
I would have no choice but to love Her,
Yet love without a choice is not fully love,
Talks baby talk, plays Pat-a-cake,
Lets us walk on our own even
Though She fears that we may fall.
Therefore I will always wonder,
“Was that Her?” when so slight a change
Meant that I did not die, when a gust
Like warm air in winter wakes me
Up to feel glad to be alive.