As the coming one,
Imminent from all eternity;
the future one,
The final fruit of a tree
Whose leaves we are?
What keeps you from projecting
His birth into times
That are in process of becoming
And living your life
Like a painful and beautiful day
In the history of a great gestation?
For do you not see
How everything that happens
Keeps on being a beginning?
And could not it be his beginning
Since beginning is in itself
Always so beautiful?
If He is the most perfect,
Must not the lesser be before Him,
So that He can choose Himself
Out of fullness and overflow?
Must He not be the last,
In order to encompass
Everything within Himself,
And what meaning would we have if He
Whom we long for had already been?
In this devout feeling
That perhaps He needs
This very fear of life from you
In order to begin;
These very days of your transition
Are perhaps the time
When everything in you is working at Him.
Be patient and without resentment
And think that the least we can do
Is to make His becoming not more difficult for Him
Than Earth makes it for spring when it wants to come.
And be glad and confident.
-- Rainer Maria Rilke