Showing posts with label vulnerability. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vulnerability. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Ceasefire

A comment I recently posted in a mum’s Facebook group received more than 50 "likes" in the hour following my scribing of it.
At my last check of it, it had exceeded 100.

We are a lazy bunch in the Miller household.

Steve’s alarm goes off at 6am (when he actually gets up is debatable) but Zella and I are only awake before he leaves if thereis a feed to be done or a poop explosion to clean. Some days 8, some days 9, on the lucky ones 10am is the hour we make it downstairs.


I still breastfeed Zella, in spite of her clamouring on top of me as if I were some gymnastics apparatus, and the occasional nip from the four teeth she has recently acquired. I am more than happy feeding her in public: on the bus, at cafes, at others houses, in parks, and, if the moment arises, while running to catch a train.

Some days, we hang out and play with the toys, some wooden, some with batteries. Often the only toy she’s interested in is my phone or the video baby monitor. I know I use technology around her too much because she can swipe the Mac and change my screens, and enjoys sitting back and looking through the morning’s Instagram offerings. I do try and do reading everyday as well, to make sure she is a book geek like me.

Sometimes we head to the park, or go on the swings. Yesterday we did this on the way to Tesco. That Tesco trip where I brought more than I could carry, and had to pile the buggy high and carry Zella home. Which wasn’t a problem…until it started to rain and I had to fashion a covering for her out of the shopping trolley seat cover I have because I don’t want her to get germs. Because for me, the germs in Tesco on the carts are far worse than the germs from the raisins I let her eat off our living room floor. I have also unknowingly taken her to this den of bacteria when she had a viral infection. I'm clearly going for mum of the year. 


Often we go clothes shopping. I often get caught out and spend far too long shopping and socialising in town and am suddenly faced with a screaming babe. I hastily feed Zella the baby snacks and pouches of puree, trying not to condemn myself for not preparing an organic feast fit for The Savoy. At home, dinner times are a happy chatter amidst of baby-led mess; our kitchen tiles’ the loser, splattered with the disregarded and thus flung regurgitations of our child.


And on our favourite days, we hang out with other mums and babies. A year ago, I didn’t know anyone in Birmingham with a young child, but classes and playgroups have grown our circles wide. One mum and her son live nearby so we often meet spontaneously and talk about cloth nappies. Another mum teaches and is full of advice for Steve as well as support as she has carried on full-time breastfeeding. One mum is ten years older, a classically trained musician and a highly disciplined individual; on paper we should have nothing in common, but she makes me laugh hilariously and we have great conversations.



The reason my comment on that post
Seemed to resonate with so many others
Was because I attempted to speak out
Against, what I saw, as an unfair judgment of amother

Breastfed vs Formula
Baby-led weaning vs Purees
Co-Sleep vs Cot
Cloth vs Disposables
Baby carrier vs Buggy
Pacifiers vs Thumbs
Staying at home vs working outside of the home

In our attempt to make ourselves feel better about our choices
Often others are put down for theirs
We draw battle lines and the mama wars begin once again
With angry and judgemental words
The media provoking and antagonising
This fervent fire

A fire that causes another mother to weep
Pushing back the waves of post-natal depression
As at her most vulnerable
One hand cradles her babe
While the other shields her heart and mind

Why do we choose “versus”
Rather than “and”, “with” , “or” ?

I am more than aware that I’m not theperfect mother
I write my daily choices to show they are
Both good and bad
But am learning
Steadily
To rejoice in the fact
I am a mother
With healthy child
Who delights in my face
Who delights in our life

I look at so many of you and think you are thriving
Although you may only see your flaws and failings
But the truth is
We are all doing our best
Serving them best
Teaching them best
Loving them best

And our best is more than good enough

Though we act like these decisions
Are life and death
Denying child a place at Harvard or Oxford
In countries near and far
The abuse of children is far more abhorrent
Than the outcome of these differing views

For my friends
With babes unborn
Uncreated
Unfertilised
Dreams in your head for the future
May you carry the baton
Of freedom in motherhood
And support and love
In the face of this torrential storm ofwords

May we be free from the judgement
Free from the lies
Free the tangled webs of the enemy
That would convince us otherwise
Of the simple fact

You, my precious fellow mother, are doing a phenomenal job.

And as gummy smiles and toddler eyes reveal
That we are succeeding
May we take these words
And be a blessing to others.


Saturday, July 16, 2011

Sick



I am not sick.
Scratchy throat.
Mucus overflowing.
Congested eyes.
Kleenex empty.
Orange juice overdose.
All a mere coincidence
Because
I am not sick.

Why do I not want to be “sick”?

Because to be sick
would mean to take
medicine
to a take a tablet that says
condescendingly with little blue face:
“There is something wrong with you;
you need to be fixed.”

The shame of feeling wrong
Being incomplete
Not 100%

The stigma of not being all put together
The pity eyes that say
“Hope you feel better soon”

I am not sick

Because I don’t want to be vulnerable.
I don’t want to be weak
Not strong enough
For the callings of day-to-day existence
When millions of others
Handle same situations
Just fine
But I cannot.

And that brings me shame.

I am not sick.
I don’t want to be sick.
I can’t be sick.

And because I refuse to take on the sickness
Confess the ill
Own the weakness
Admit my lacking

I will not be healed. 

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Risk

The flimsy fabric hung out to dry
Hung out on the line
Out in the open
The stark sun shines straight through
The drizzle of rain dampens and wrinkles

Transparent.

On the stage for all to see
Stepping out to who knows what response
Belting out ‘Delta Dawn,’
revealing what’s beneath

Exposed.

Like gold refined
I am burnt in the fire
Destroyed by agonies
Purified into something more
Laid out bare.

Vulnerable.

There must have been a day
When I stepped out from behind the curtain
When my hand raised up
I decided to speak bold
And once I started
Rollercoaster never ending
Looped and looped
Country to country
City and towns
Camps and fields
To speak aloud

this generation screams
loud from the rooftops
seeking authenticity
search party sent out
running hectic from street to street
desperate for truth
desiring the real


And I said,
“Here I am Lord
Speak for your servant is listening
Send me
To proclaim good news to your people.”

Cut open eyes
That you may see the beauty around
See through the pain that blinds.

Tear through limbs
For as you stumble
I seek to uplift, to carry.

Dissect the heart
In the hope others will hear the beat of life
Once again.

Transplant me Father into the lives of others
May I not live
For myself alone
For greater love has no man than this
That he would lay down his life for another
So I lay down my pen
Fingers to print
And lay it bare
So we may all be healed.

“Thank you for your honesty, it inspires me”
“Your honesty is powerful”
“I love reading your notes, because you are so transparent”
“Thanks for sharing this”
“Just what I needed to hear”
“In the middle of all this, you can still write that”
“Your vulnerability and honesty has healing power in it to bring release & wholeness to others!”

my words are yours, dear reader
my thoughts are shared with you

“Yes we all have bumps and scars, but you make it beautiful to have them all”

“Beautiful indeed”
as we lay ourselves bare.

There is no reward
Without a risk.

----------

All quotes in “italics” are comments I have received for my writing.
Thank you for your continual encouragement as I seek to serve you all, and serve Father God through my writing.
I pray everyday that I would be some sort of blessing to you.




Sunday, June 19, 2011

Fragile

You hate to be the “fun sucker”
The one who sits on the other side of the fence head in hands
Sulky face
While others run circus style
With joy and laughter
And hope
And point at you wondering why you
Insist on being so dull
Not joining the party

But you sulk and whine
Attempting to disguise
Sadness at the fact
The tear-stained cheeks
At the party’s strict guest list
And you’re can’t possibly be on it

Because you don’t have a dad.

In family portrait where biological father should be
Stands shadow of a man
I do not know
Cannot know
Will never know
Would not delight to know

For what would a coward of a man
Defiantly and flippantly
turning back on responsibility
Possible have
To offer me

I am not his daughter.

Mother does what mother should
Arms wide, full of love
Shopping trips with bargains
Late night gossips over hot chocolate
At home relaxer mishaps and remedies on scarred skin
Cooks well enough to feed both stomach
And heart

But mother cannot do what father should
For that is not her role
That is not her portion
That is not her blame

For she held the bike as I nervously stumbled
Traipsed to parent teacher meetings alone
Taught half-naked toddler to read and write

And took my arm and gave it away
Entrusting into arms of a man she deemed fit enough

 A man who wouldn’t leave me behind.

You see,
The fatherless heart is a precious thing
Broken so early on
Barely even functional
Stone walls surround
Yet bribes are taken
For despite how much I know I can’t trust
And don’t want to be vulnerable
A smile and promise can lead you in

But cement lines show
New layers added
As promises are proven to be empty
I am blessed for in the gap
So many have stepped into
Willing to take the place where one wouldn’t go


For years or for seasons
They have shaped me
And weaved me
Mended me
Resuscitated me
Blank field on birth certificate proves a painful reminder
But I choose
To twist it around
Words of a teacher
Etched in my heart:

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

For I am a joy
A princess
A jewel
Worthy of so many crowns
A fighter back in the ring

For “fatherless” will not be my definition
Not my crutch
Nor my excuse
For phoenix rises from ashes

Of statistics and stereotypes
To prove I am more than enough

And though earthly situations
Led to spiritual deformations
And I struggled to trust
In a Father who cared
Who would stick around long-term
Fulfilling his word

Oh Father God you have shown yourself strong.

My past has shaped,
But it will not dictate.

So today, will you not
Dry the tear
And be around 
And sit and support
The ones just like me.

For we are a fragile kind,
In need of a unshakeable Father.


------ 

Happy Father's Day
Father's, Step-dad's, Adoptive Fathers, Papa's, Grandpa's, Pops', G-Pa's, Uncle's, Foster dad's, Cousin's, Mentors, big brother's, men of the community....never forget what a difference you make in the life of a child, just by simply being there...

...without you, they would be fatherless.