This morning I desired nothing more than deep fried, hashed up potatoes to start my day. These I fantasised, would be delivered under golden arches, in a brown paper bag by an anonymous face. Dispensed into my outstretched hand as I sat in the safety of my vehicle- oh the irony of deeming my car to be safe, only seven days after I was involved in a minor car accident (I’m good y’all, seriously, the car…eh…not so much).
Funny how the things we view as ‘safe’, or familiar, can oft house the most harm.
Still, I perceived my car to be at least emotionally safe, because there in its claustrophobic confines, I could host a casual paper napkin dinner party with Shame, later hiding all evidence, so no one ever need know, unless I chose to divulge.
Tonight this mumma’s heart is burgeoning with an eclectic mix of excitement, anxiety, joy and sadness, none of which I was entirely anticipating. Tomorrow our firstborn child: aka Captain Responsible, Master Maturity or Sir J, departs for his longest stint away from home, and his first of hopefully many overseas adventures; a mission trip to Cambodia with his school.
Throughout these last fifteen years I’ve come to realise that motherhood is simply -oh the oxymoron that is the word ‘simply’ in this context, a perpetual journey of learning to love wholeheartedly, whilst simultaneously letting go.
“When you can tell your story and it doesn’t make you cry, you know you have healed.”
~David Avocado Wolfe
This quote popped up on my Facebook newsfeed a few days ago, it was credited to David (Avocado) Wolfe, so I’m going to go ahead an assume that the sentiment is his also, because you know, the Internet never lies and all of us aren’t continually re-articulating AKA plagiarising the ideas and words of those around us, either intentionally or otherwise. I love David Avocado Wolfe, he’s a wise man, but on this occasion I have to disagree with his stance. And not just for the sake of publicly disagreeing and sprouting my differing opinion to ‘stir the Internet pot’, but for the sake of you, the person who may have read the above quote and become discouraged from sharing your story.
I like closure. I like nice, clean resolutions. Because of this, I’m not a fan of movies that leave you filling in the blanks and drawing your own conclusions- just tell me how to think darn it! I jest, although thinking for yourself is kind of hard work y’all! I like neat little packaged happy endings, sealed with pretty closure bows (they’re totally a thing, trust me). It’s been over a decade since I watched the movie Lost In Translation and truth be told, I’m still not entirely sure I’m over it. And don’t even get me started on The Perfect Storm!
For the last few years corporate prophecy in Australia, and I suspect in nations across the world, has centered on Revival. Many believe that a spiritual pregnancy is currently occurring, and its delivery will be a great awakening of faith that culminates in miraculous manifestations. Surprisingly, given that I try to shy away from spiritual ‘hype’, I agree. I believe that revival is coming. I believe that revival in the church is overdue. The western church, and isn’t it ironic that how as one Body we still divide our self into hemispheric categories, seeing our brothers and sisters as ‘us and them’, has for too long been in a lax state, spending the little energy we do have fighting battles that I just don’t believe are on the Father’s heart.
“I too was once a male trapped in a female body, but then my mother gave birth.”
I’ve seen this meme pop up on my Facebook newsfeed over the past few weeks, and each friend who has posted it is Christian. These are all friends whom I admire and respect, they are not malicious people. What I think perhaps happened, in the moments before they pressed ‘share’ was that they didn’t quite evaluate the possible implications of their actions, they saw only momentary humour.
I’m usually not a huge fan of the Open Letter, though I’ve written one or two before, but every time I read one I find myself wondering why these letters must always be public? Say what you need to say in private and then move along on your merry way. Why the need for an audience?
But ever the hypocrite (aren’t we all just a little, if not very well versed in hypocrisy) here I pen/type yet another open letter. The true recipient and any identifying characteristics shall remain anonymous, but the letter itself public, for my own sake. For the sake of accountability. As a not so subtle reminder to me, of self-responsibility, the responsibility of one who so often harps on about organic community and true vulnerability, then not-so-subtly veers off course.
I’ve seen you around at church. Unfortunately until the other day we hadn’t had a chance to meet, at least not properly, but I’ve been watching you. Yep, I know that sounds creepy. But it’s not in that creepy stalker way, but with curiosity. I’ve been reading you, trying to glean images of your story and put them together.
I could be totally wrong, but I think I’ve managed to view some of the collage that is you…