Pregnant with Love

Proverbs 22:6
Train a child up in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it. (KJV)

Clarke's Commentary on the Bible:
"Initiate the child at the the opening (the mouth) of his path..."
"... he shall not leave it when he is old."
http://www.studylight.org/com/acc/view.cgi?book=pr&chapter=022


~




I imagine standing with her at the end of a long dark hallway - a beam of light flowing from the door that is open to some great outdoors beyond... her tiny fingers in mine - and me... trying not to be scared for her as she trusts me to get her through this darkness to that door.

I feel that tightening in my chest that makes it difficult to swallow and breathe and think - what in the world could have ever possessed me to dare to even dream of being a mom...
... and then I realize it was never a conscious choice based upon looking at what I would face - what she would face - but because I wanted to know what it was to love a being that much.

... In some ways... I suppose that sounds so very selfish...

... In other ways - it makes me understand why God made us.

It's something that baffled me for a long while - why an infinite, perfect, holy being would ever choose to create something with free will if he knew the experiment would fail from the start.
It wasn't out of necessity.
It wasn't even out of fulfilling a need.

I used to think it was simply because it's the nature of Love - and God is Love - to want to Love something other than self - so he created something "other" to love... 

and perhaps that is closer to the truth...

perhaps he simply wanted to love something that much.

It sounds crude... except that I would only want my parents to have me - not because they thought it was going to be fun or easy or a bed of roses or even pleasant most of the time... but because they simply wanted to love me that much.

Love something that really didn't inherently deserve it - and love it so much that it felt like my heart was walking around on those two unsteady plump legs, careening into furniture and people and landing on plump diapers with alternating giggles and cries. Loving that little being no matter what - whether it pees in your face as a baby, or spits in it as a teenager, or abandons you as an adult.

I want to love my son/daughter that much.

Which is what terrifies me so much about this open door and hallway scenario.

Perhaps... perhaps I could take the fact that I had damned myself... but not my daughter or son. Perhaps I could forgive myself for not loving myself... but not if I didn't love them.

This thought arrests and terrifies me.

For they will have as much free will as me... and knowing how I (ab)use my free will - it honestly terrifies me.

Of all creatures we are most cruel in our feelings.


Training you up in the way you should go...
(Don't miss - don't miss those opportunities)
Fleeting chances to tell you how much I love you
How much my heart beats for you
Packing your lunch
And tucking you in at night
Watching you play and watching you learn
hours spent staring into your eyes at late night feedings
when you've woken me up and we're both so distraught all we can do is cry
tracing your eyebrows and marveling at the smoothness of your skin
the delight of your dimples
the curve of your mouth and your kissable nose
You haven't even been born yet and I am in love with you.

When you are a teenager and exercising your independence
Discovering the power of your free will and the ability to inflict pain
I will be distraught when you tell me you hate me for the first time...
... even if I know you don't mean it.
... and more if I think that maybe you really do... 
I will be ripped to shreds with worry on your first date -
no matter whether I trust this boy/girl - because inevitability -
short of Jesus Christ Himself
I will not be trusting them...
or you.
(You are your mother's daughter/son after all.)

I know it will feel like my heart is torn out of my chest your first day of college
your wedding day
every time I watch you leave
and each time I have to say goodbye when you walk down the airport
out the door
to the car
holding your own son or daughter's hand.

And I'll know that you'll always be a step too late to understand
As I am with my parents.

And yet every single one of those opportunities -
I will want to catch every one of them.
Every moment to tell you how much I love you
Knowing I have failed before I have even begun
Knowing that my heart will be stretched - altered - reshaped
and never the same again...
pregnant with love for you...

Standing at that dark hallway with that beam of light shining on us...
I will know that I will want nothing - absolutely nothing in the world
more
than trusting we're going to get through that door...
and I'll choose - I will choose to have and love you...

... if you can call this love a choice...

And I will pray with every last breath in my body 
that this Love will follow you
and you will follow this Love
even when you are olde.
When I'm not even there to finally walk you through that open door.











Don't let me miss these opportunities. Don't let me miss them as a daughter... don't let me miss them as a mom.
I know I will - but for every one I miss - please let me catch ten more.

And the ones that fall through my clumsy fingers - don't let them fall to the ground -
Not One Sparrow -
Without you taking note.

And
thank you.
Thank you for loving us that much...
That for the joy set before you - you endured the shame and pain of the Cross...
before we were even born...
before we were even made...
You knew... and You wanted to love us that much.
So that we could be changed and altered
Forever reshaped
Pregnant with your love.
Thoughtlessly
Carelessly
Freely
Careening around with your heart on our unsteady legs.

We are of all creatures most blest to be thus loved.

Amen.

Grey

today crept up to me gently
on its kitten paws
full of unshed tears
nostalgic memories
woken drowsily from
forgotten dreams --
    replete with tentative hopes
and cautious beginnings. 

God is Love
Author and Mover of Change
Giver of Purpose and Meaning
What Makes Life Possible


Maybe we are all already forgiven
And some of us just don't believe it yet.

Un(Inspired)Beauty

you are beautiful
I want to tell her
crumpled heap on the floor
heart bleeding through tears washing the hardwood
you are brilliant and spectacular
woven colors shot through with radiant gold threads
that wraps cozily around shivering souls

she is silent and broken
snapped and snagged strands from
hasty hands that plucked them out
unwound ribbons unraveled
dissheveled locks that veil
her warm face sticky with snot-tears
caked in layers on hot cheeks
and eyes that spill over upheaval within
racing tracks
down to her chin
to drip drip on my outstretched palm that catches them

i hold her wilted hand
still gorgeous with its capability and compassion

you are intense and wild soft and bright
soul that careens and cries and calls
others to take wing and soar and laugh in spiral
glorious victorious flight

but now -
like small bird seeking shelter
you tuck yourself under my wing
lean your head against my shoulder
and weep

hey love, my love,
you are beautiful
even tearstained
mudsplattered
dusty wornout
uninspired

you are so gorgeous in your splendid
human fraility
and someday I hope that in your
deep down soul intricacies
that heart so magnificently stitched
so wonderfully knitted
so fearfully bound and set free
is so incredibly beautiful
just as it was meant to be.

Letter to A Love (2)

I want to wake up early with you - before the sun rises, roll out of bed, and not even get dressed.

Grab something toasty-hot and fragrantly-steamy to drink. Jump in the car for a cruise up the green mountains, heavy-laden with summer hummidity. We could stop at the top and watch as the rest of the world wakes up - while we, in fuzzy slippers and jammies, at home amongst the trees... breathe life in deep while drinking sweet green tea.

Romans 8:26-27

quiet. soul
you weep
and keep me awake at night

be satisfied
with paltry offerings

this life is full of /breadcrumbs/
and stale ,waterdrops,

you must wait for the nectar
of YWH
to fall upon parched lips
with inward {groans}
and patient peace.

Drag Blues

bodies move
Tangental lines
Like bold dashing cursive
across the floor

the
d  curving over the a  and the flick of the g
on beat

pulse and rhythm
dada_doom/dada_doom
plucked bass strings
in sinking feet
that make glorious love with the floor

{{tintillating piano keys}}
~wail of trumpet
and secret ,sigh, of saxophone

crescendO^ecstasy! that travels up and through toes
wahWAAAH of trombone
with the electricity of - zing! -POW-
through to hips and core to shoulder>through>arm>to fingers *snap*
(bluespocketbeat)

keeping time *sweet*
and hips oomPAH to keep the __drag__
{oh yeah}
in the , ___ , ___
of bluesy swing

Letter to A Love

I feel slightly maniacal today... Like static electricty. I want to curl up somewhere quiet with you and let our thoughts drift. I miss being a kid. Work is silly. Living more important. Why doesn't society get that?

A Wakeless Morning

insomniac moment

he twitches funnily in his sleep

like puppy chasing 

proverbial dreams

my life is full of jealous tendencies

body mind heart

too weighed down

to let drift loose the moorings of 

reality

into sweet oblivion 

even in sleep 

my dreams are misshapen

awkward things

i love/hate this

beautiful/horrid world 

pregnant with unwanted threats/possibilities

they sit heavy on the horizon

of soul

not setting

and steal more wakeless hours 

aborting

my unslept dreams

miscarried early mornings

Today is fingers across the chalkboard
digging into my skin
mind falling asleep with that annoying
buzzing sensation
like limp appendage

it is brokenness

I want to scream.

buildings with no windows
doors that lock behind them
locked into a 4'x6' cube
like a prison cell for the mind

but cushioned by
practical
common
insanity

That loathsome fear of
innocuity
Paralyzes

And I beat my head against proverbial white walls
eyes bash against computer screens
webbed in networked connections and
virtual folder space where
nothing exists
but bytes of data
eating
eating
eating
at creativity.

i only wanted you awake enough
to notice me in bed with you
and love me


you wanted this 3 hours ago
when it was still midnight...
.. and gave in without complaining
when I was too engrossed.


Now sleeping - the selfishness of this urge astounds me...
as I battle with losing resistance the need to nudge you out of slumber
to - hey ! pay attention to me


That you fought and won without uttering
a single word of
remorse
or rancor


with a grace and love
that humbles me.
(but doesn't quell the hunger)

i looked in the mirror
expecting to see my face changed.

New Discoveries always do that to me.

I forget that this is earth -- not Heaven
and Souls are hidden


.

Burrowing After God

I need to remember why I started this... 
I thought to myself ferociously - almost violently
it was for myself - not because I wanted to... not because this was some stupid hobby
but because I needed it. 


Not because I wanted to - not because I wanted attention for it - not because I cared what people thought or even gave a damn if they noticed... but because I needed it. 


i NEED this


and digging with new vigor - with bare hands sunk in deep earth - the grime getting under fingernails and in hair as I ripped through the soft sod that sifted back into place no sooner did I lift it. 


desperate. 


I burrowed in and burrowed through the dark mess, digging deeper and deeper like a dog digging a hole for no reason - up to elbows, up to my shoulders, up to my neck - the desperation also deepening. 


It was here somewhere - this intangible something - this indescribable treasure... something in the midst of the earth would spring forth new and brilliant and I would dig through to the other side until I finally hit sky. 
Determined.


It could go on for days - for months - for years - this digging - a whole lifetime that stretched ahead with the dark sod shifting shifting and the despair grew upon me... 
I need to remember why I'm doing this... 


but the meaning seem to grow less - I've forgotten it - I thought with empty tears streaming down my face. I've forgotten why I was doing this. 


in the deep black hole now walled around me - sat and momentarily cried - tears tracking down the dirt and grime - turning into rivers and collecting like a pool on my collarbone. 






Somewhere - somewhere - I was searching for God. 


Really - was this what it meant to be human?
To know that the treasure lay just inches away - you could hear the heartbeat from the surrounding walls - and yet to never reach it - no matter how hard you dug - it was just as close... and just as far away as your own heartbeat. 


Just as indescribable as your own pulse. 
Just as present and as precious and as ignored and as inseparable as your own life. 


And yet I had to try... 


It's not like there weren't glimpses of something - those incredibly painfully sweet unexpected encounters with It - with Him - that fell in moments of tears - of anguish - in the midst of the route everyday digging - in utter boredom - or in moments of joy - there was no creating them - no pre-empting them or constructing them or manufacturing them - they just happened... whether digging or not... and they could be stretched into hours - or maybe just seconds - and maybe go years before coming again - and they had nothing to do with anything - 
They just happened.


the digging I couldn't explain - it was just the doing... just the doing something - anything --- the movement - the somewhat directed, somewhat blind reaction to life - it just had to be done. It was unstoppable and moments like this... 
this sense of inexhaustible frustration - 
they were unfixable. 
And in the midst of them I rebelled and couldn't stand people trying to fix them. 


Here's a rope - here's a ladder - cheer up - buck up - there's something deeper that's wrong - let's get to the bottom of this - I'm here for you - I'll read Scripture for you - I'll pray for you - I'm there for you - let's work through this... 


... and I just can't.


... it just was what life WAS... or in the very least - at the moment - it just IS - maybe not for everyone - but for me... this digging... it just was what life was...  


And I needed to remember why I was doing this... I was doing it because... 
because... 
I needed it. 
That was it. That was all there was to it... 


i just need to not give up. 
I couldn't... because it's not like I had a choice.


Digging was my existence.
it's just the way it is.


it just. Is.

Belly of the Beast

the earth -- swallowed whole -- 
rested uneasy in the belly of the beast today


spats of lightening flecked as
rumblings echoed off curved walls
phantom wisps, steaming, roil and lift
fomenting smokey clouds that
growled and roared and paced
overhead


waiting to break
with poignant rip as energy flies forth from fired lips


devours more of the universe
in one bite and one grip


...


and,
with weeping voice-


Laments.

Inside The Window

I woke up this morning to the delicious wail of train tracks as they screeched and cried their way in and through the lush mountains of Virginia. 


There is something magical about waking up on second floors when it seems your bed is amongst tree limbs on these lazy summer Southern afternoon morns. The air wafts in, heavy and full from the outside hazy shade that begs and lulls you to stay in bed and watch as time slips by. 


I stretch, luxuriantly exultant in the feel of cool sheets against bare skin and subside again into watching and listening the world revolve outside my window. 
Outside cars pass, the train continues to cry until it has spent itself into the distance. Birds call across to one another in whistles and chirps and far off someone does something useful like mowing a lawn... 
But from inside the window I stay suspended and adrift... hanging by a thin thread of serenity and calm - soaking in the moment so that when time and life pull my limbs from homeostasis stillness and into action I can write it down - with some vague recollection of the eternality of what peace feels like when you wake from sleeping with no agenda and only a window to time. 

Sailing

The wind shook and swayed curled in and over bow and waves swooped down and through the sails with a

POP SNAP CRACK

that made my ears ring -- pushing us hereto forward aft

and back

Making standing small or mild a complicated task

and I waited nervously for the boom SMASH to Papa’s head...

but none came – just the slap slap SPLASH

of waves into slightly damp and musty cabin and a sliver of clever trickle down my chilled neck and back

I am reminded of the
        coagulated duck blood dish
Served at one of my Vietnamese friend's house

The rusted red glaze looks delicious
     but upon diving in
                      it tastes of shit
                                  and violence.

mental trafficking

My mind is dark & silken corridors
cornered whores and wenches
who scream in silent agony
from their
dehumanification
and their men
from animalism.

Your twisted forests of barren limbs
Pale springs growth beneath them
Threat of frosted mist Descends
and envelops them.

Fainting Sensations

He said with a wink:       
I am sanguine today - only
In crimson libation           
which brings                     
          Fainting Sensations

empty hands

this is.
collateral pause,
the sound of a thousand
monotonous bells
tolling at days end for
thoughts to erroneously
magnanimously
rebound
dispel


into something more dark
less sordid
than i 
(thought.) 


i need this
hate it
want it


suspension


the rush of dominoes to fall
and topple
card towers
cloud castles
and anything un-firmed.


into 
-blank-
quiet.

The Communion of Saints (Second Draft)

I imagine you sitting across from me - the soft cloud of brown hair framing your heart-shaped face - legs tucked up in the chair, small hands wrapped around a steaming cup of hot tea.
Your forehead is wrinkled in that same puzzled look, and your eyes turned inward, as you process what I've said.
We've been friends forever - since we were little girls growing up... and yet our personalities always seem to be perpetual, mutual mysteries to each other.


I shift impatiently in my seat.


The motion startles you from your thought and you glance up - your warm frank gaze meeting mine:
"I don't know..." you say, "I don't know exactly what's going to happen or what it means."
I'm frustrated that my questions seemed to be the first time the thoughts even crossed your mind.


"But how... It doesn't make any sense. I believe you - but... I don't understand."


The statement is true. I believe you - in a way that anyone who didn't know you -- to them my faith in you might seem ludicrous. But knowing you, you are the only one with this story that I would ever believe unquestioningly. Apparently, I think to myself ironically, in some ways through the years, maybe you have rubbed off on me... 
Not nearly enough though for me to have responded in the same way you did - had I been in your place. It's that unwavering quality about you, the sense of pure faith, that makes so many people think of you as being a little stupid.


"She's sweet..." Jules said to me once, when I was sharing with her a particularly frustrating conversation I had with you once, with the pause heavily weighted at the end of the statement, "Sweet as she can be, but she seems a little... simplistic. Sort-of childish. Are you sure she really thinks about these things?"
"She thinks," I remember answering her, "She just, thinks in a way that doesn't seem to have any feet."


"How did you agree to it?" I ask you wonderingly, "Why would anyone in their right mind ever say 'yes'?"
You smile a little at that, "What are you trying to say -- that I'm crazy?" You ask teasingly - but I flush slightly on the inside - Good God you're perceptive.
"I wouldn't be the first, and I won't be the last," I mutter, "especially after this." 
You laugh... and I marvel at that. 
"Seriously, though," you continue, "It's really not like there was a question. He just showed up - told me that this was going to happen, and what else could I say other than 'ok.'" 


"No." I said, "You could have said, 'Are you out of your mind? No!'"


You look down again, suddenly tired of the circles of the conversation -- studying your worn out slippers absently, poking your finger in the small hole in the top of the left one. 


"Trust me, you wouldn't have if you were in my shoes," you say softly - so low I can barely hear, "It wasn't something you would say no to. He isn't someone anyone can say no to." You look up at me after that, look up and into me, and something in that statement touches the smarting issue in my heart. The conversation has suddenly broken the circle. 


It's my turn to drop that steady clear gaze.
"But... I wasn't chosen." 
The words drag themselves unwillingly from that honest part of my soul that just won't shut up when I want it to. I watch them tumble out and spill the ugly truth in front of both of us. 


I'm jealous. 


I'm wildly relieved not to be in your shoes, not to be faced with the task that you bear - the child that you bear - and what it will mean. All of what we know it will mean for your future,  and all of what we don't know it will mean. Everything we once knew about your life and your world will be forever changed, and it will all happen a matter of months. 


And yet... despite that honest to God relief -- what stings, the pure truth, is that you were chosen. Chosen to bear the Messiah, out of all the women out there... including me. And why you? Why you? 
... Why not me? 
The thought shames me, and the flood accusing thoughts that follow even more: 
It's not like you're not human. I've seen you lose your temper - be petty - be hardheaded and outright wrong. Is it because you're so much more gentle than I am? So much more obedient - more pure. I look at you so often in my life and my imperfections always seem to stand out in the contrast. I can see that you're human, I've watched you laugh, cry, hurt, and retaliate. But even though I know you're just as human as me, it always seemed like you tapped into something - maybe were born with or blessed with - some store of patience and faith and love - that I always seem to lack. My deficiencies -- my sharp edges, unrefined and rough, seem startling clear when I think of the comparison between you and me, and yet I can't understand... I can't understand the wild difference that set you so apart. 


Your small hand, so child-like in size and shape, crosses my plane of vision and suddenly you are kneeling by my side, your cloudless brown eyes peering up into mine. 
"It's not because it's me," you say, as though you were reading the thoughts as they flashed across my mind, "It's not. I know that doesn't make any sense, but I think it's all Him..." 
You trail off, as though the words had rushed out of you - leaving you breathless. All those thoughts you've bottled up that go high and deep - those thoughts with no feet on this earth, but wings.


"It's not because of anything I've done - or because of any way I am..." You finish, as though you were tasting the words again. You look at your hands resting in your lap now, cradling the space between them. 
You struggle with words - trying to help me bridge this gap between us - but they aren't quite making it to me... not yet.


"One day, one day maybe we'll both understand," you say, that child-like faith again, as you work through your thoughts. This time the words pull out of you slowly, haltingly: "He'll come to you - He'll ask you to say 'yes,' and you'll find that in order not to say 'yes,' you will have had to set your heart against him... and you can't. If you love anything good, anything beautiful, if you hope for any hope, you can't." 
And your eyes capture mine again, "Not when it's him asking." 


I look at you, drawn in by that, and watch as the truth falls unwillingly from my lips again,
"How can you be so sure -- How can you be so sure he will ever ask me." 


You pause. 
"I guess," you say hesitantly, testing the statement like unstable footing, before committing to it, "I guess, because... he already is... right now?" 
You look at me, willing me to help understand, "Somewhere, deep down inside I believe that to be true. I know you don't quite believe me... but I think -- simply because you want him to ask you at all, that's good. So, let's just wait and see. Wait for him with me. Let's just wait and hope and pray on Him together. Because I don't know what else to do. What else is there to do?"
You ask helplessly. 
"You say yes, you wait, you pray. You watch to see what He will do... 
what else is there to do..." you've drawn inward again, your hands still resting on mine. 


The slight tremble in your voice on that echo snaps me out of my self-focus and for a second your humanity strikes me again. In a different way this time -- no longer in accusation. I think of myself in your shoes and I realize that you're just as scared as I would be... as I am. You're looking into all the things that this will mean, and all that we don't know what it will mean, and it's happening. It's like you said -- it's not like there really is a question... it simply is happening. You're sucked into it, like the rip tide in the sea, and you're waiting to see on what strange shore it will dump you.


I reach out and touch your bent brown head and you rest it on my knee. I smooth your hair out. 
"Okay Mary," I say simply and breathe deep--releasing it heavily, "Okay. Let's just wait and see. We'll wait together - with hope." 
"For hope." You amend softly. 
I think about that for a second... I don't mention that hope has a way of breaking your heart... we both know that. Clearly. 
"For hope," I agree. 


We're waiting. I pray silently. We're waiting with expectancy. Okay? okay... we're waiting.
Amen.