Early Morning

Early morning is so beautiful to me.

It seems somehow more virtuous than late morning.

The hard working people moving about,

many without the convenience of expensive coffee,

or even cars for that matter.

Nursing has reintroduced me to an old love,

the kind I can thankfully revisit time and again,

one that I hope never loses its silent, 

strong, wonder.

I find myself swimming in romanticism these days,

and I have to be honest and say I like it.

Early morning and all that you bring,

I admire you.

Sweetness

And the sweetness is still there
though admittedly tinged with guilt.
Envy of those whose babies gulp,
while mine strains for droplets
from breasts yet unfulfilled.

The sweetness still radiates from bright eyes
and the softest little feet,
raised eyebrows, smiles during sleep,
where dreams I can't begin to imagine fill
a mind developing so fast words fail me.

Frustration still clouds the view sometimes.
While every child seems perfect,
"the only thing greater than thyself",
every parent is certainly not.
The murkier waters of fatigue inspired
doubt, anger, disappointment in self or support,
challenges me (even if other parents remain above the fray).

The sweetness is sweet,
in taste, in sight, in smell, in touch
just so sweet.

Inadequacy

And a sense of inadequacy lingers on,

a bubbling brook, sometimes quiet and soft,

a ravenous river, sometimes overflowing from unseasonably high rainfall.

Some failures shouldn't be conceived of as such I suppose,

some realities, less personal shortcoming, 

more luck of the draw.

Deciphering self can be hard.

I lost my rose coloured glasses with the me setting.

Most of what I see now appears in black, white, and 

impossible to distinguish shades of gray.

Things are easier this time I suppose.

But I still wonder in and out of each day,

questioning who I am, 

and whether I've lived up to my (hopefully) good name.

Trust and Fear

The privacy minded part of me says don't share a word (the world can hear you, can build supposition and profile from what you freely and willingly share)..

But the part of me that wants to be heard says speak.

I'm not sure what the best way to be is, 

I'm unclear if I'm ever making the best decision.

I hope that I won't ever regret being open about my thoughts and perspectives.

I wish I could read the thoughts of my mother, grandmothers, great grandmothers, etc. at my age.

I anxiously await the birth of my second child and I find myself consumed with questions about my ability to mother more than one human being.  

Today we put bibs on backwards and as I sleepily folded laundry, my first born and I pretended to be super baby and super mommy.  Zooming after the cars rushing by my bedroom window between clothes items.  Raising arms to show how we are big and strong.  I wouldn't give up these moments for anything, but part of me feels like I already have.  Will I ever be not tired again in life?  Will my iron rebound?  Will I have energy again?

On Faith

So I think about faith a lot.  At times I have so little that I'm unsure I have any left in me at all.  My current default position is probably belief in a God that we all (each person that exists) meet in our own way.  My way being through Christianity and the church, others through some other organized religion, or an entirely different manner altogether. 

Its paradoxical to me at times.  I feel like I love church folk, more than I love the church, which is different than many who will tell you quite frankly how they love the church, but can't be bothered with church folk.  God as I know God has worked through the church, bringing many many women (for the most part) into my life to encourage me, help me find purpose when I felt lost in the world or disheartened.

But then there are things that I find hard to believe.  How can I believe in Jesus without believing everything the Bible offers as the true uncorrupted word of God? How can I accept certain church traditions, and reject others?  How can I believe in justice and in texts that seem to validate the existence of slavery, the silencing of women, or the favoring of certain people over others for no other reason than personal prerogative.

Sometimes I can't bring myself to go to church.  Sometimes I feel the urge, and at the very least am happy to receive the love that always flows from those church folk I cherish so much.  I suppose its possible I'm wracking my brain for an answer that can only be found in my heart.

My truth though is that wherever I end up, I want to arrive there not as a result of fear.  I have the hardest time relating to the jealous God, the fear of the Lord rhetoric.  Those concepts seem so human to me, and similar to narratives surrounding greek gods and the like.  It would seem to me that "God is" (not needing our praise or acknowledgement, never jealous, not ruling by fear of condemnation or death, rather meeting people where they are, providing solace for the weary, and encouragement for the strong to carry out love in action).

I may be all wrong or sharing too much publicly, but these things... I believe (right now at least :-)).

Priorities

So I made a list of priorities and then was sad to see blogging didn't make the list.  I'm sad about that, but figure its ok if for the moment blogging didn't make it.  I'll be back one of these days, don't give up on me:-)

hard life

And it seems like everyday, my husband and I look at each other, express thankfulness and gratitude for the other, for the amazing gift our daughter is to our lives, and particularly on days like this, with news of a local teen being shot, the Boston marathon bombings, and friends facing trials and tribulations of what seem extreme magnitudes   I say to myself, I shouldn't ever complain about anything, but what I think I mean is I'm sorry that anyone has to endure such hardship and I hope I remember to be ever grateful for the life I live, ever loving toward others.