Make Room

“No room,” they say.

“All full,” we’re told.

“You’ll have to go somewhere else.”

But what I’ve come to learn that they are really saying,

is that they are full. 

That their capacity for love is limited - 

their imagination inaccessible.

Closed off.

Gone.

They carry the weight of a heart that is heavy and hard

and no longer grows.

It’s like a cage around their loved ones

and what they already love –

no room for anything new

or unexpected or unlikely

or different or strange. Or stranger.

But what I’ve learned about room 

from countless people, my mother-in-law for one,

and certain Christians and immigrants besides,

is that there is always more room.

Room to pull another chair up to the table.

Room to add another table to the table.

An overlooked nook

an undervalued cranny –

all free. Open real estate, 

that if not prime, is still available.

And what I know about room, 

from my own observations,

is that a body that’s full of love

will always scooch over,

just like a heart that’s full of love

can always love more. 

Like a deep well

that never runs dry.

Like the flour in the jars

of the widow of Zarephath

whose hand dips in

expecting to scrape the bottom

for the last handful and die,

but instead of the cold, hard bottom

feels the light softness of flour

day after day after day and laughs.

Flour that’s soft, like a heart

that grows three sizes some days

that opens and expands

beyond the known and loved,

to the new, the lonely, 

the unexpected, the unlikely,

the different or strange. Or stranger. 

Always, always, it’s wide enough

to wrap around them,

a hug of love

yet somehow stays light enough

to carry around and fold another in

How is it that some people always seem to make more room, smiles and doors wide, while others are all filled up, faces and doors closed, seeking just the right spot in the room?

Even the disciples argued about this

and Jesus had to remind them 

of all the rooms in his Father’s house. 

"Enough!"

There would be enough.

There is always enough. 

How do you make room?

Bit by bit.

Scooch over a little.

Find the margin.

Listen.

Listen to the story

which breaks open your heart

wider and wider still

and like the miracle it is  

still always holds more.

Love. Grief. Hope. Pain. Connection. Joy.

“Here’s some room,” they say.

“Take mine,“ we’re told.

“I’ll move over.”

This is how the room is made.

by Michelle Mejia, Advent 2023