and then Narnia: surprises in new motherhood

M is for motherhood. It is also for Mystery, misgivings, mistakes and marvelous things!

I invite moms to share this month here. We begin with a new mother, Rox, who describes herself as 'an accidental saty-at-home mom, former slave to the corporate world; now a happy slave to her son Max'.

Look at Max, such a happy chubs ~

"Entering motherhood, for me, was like opening a wardrobe and stumbling into Narnia - a foreign land and a whole new world. 

w o n d e r 

There are battles to be fought, discoveries to be made and victories to be won. My identity and role as a woman shifted from a wife to also a mother and yet there were times when I felt as helpless as a newborn and as clueless as a child sometimes would with a new experience. 

I was suddenly set on a path to distinguish parenting truths from myths, to separate science from superstition and to sometimes decide between listening to my instincts or well-meaning advice. There is a barrage of choices to be made and theories to be tested; from breastfeeding to exclusively pumping to formula feeding, having schedules in place or following a baby-led routine, how to sleep-train and so on. Some choices seemed to invite judgment which then made me feel less of a mother and some made me feel wrongfully superior. More significantly, there will be choices that reflect my values as a parent; values that will inevitably be passed on to the child and could potentially shape his behaviour and beliefs. The voices of the world are many, loud and confusing, so it is a relief to know I could always turn to the voice of God, our perfect parent, for instruction, assurance and comfort.

And then there are the surprises; the loud burps that I can never imagine would come from such a tiny human being, the embarrassing farts that I thought could only belong to the husband, and the baby's ability to always wake up when I'm in the middle of a shower! I discovered that my physical and mental resilience could be stretched, that it was possible to function on little sleep and still remain joyful. I even started to exhibit sacrificial behaviour, putting the baby's needs before my own, letting my stomach growl angrily while satisfying his hunger. The maternal instinct that kicked in caught me by surprise - I became protective and passionate about every aspect of his well-being.

As I became more comfortable about my new role, the journey began to be filled with many magical moments - they say a picture is worth a thousand words but some emotions cannot be captured with either pictures or words. Thinking that newborns mainly eat, sleep and poop all day, I was proven wrong when my 2-month old son started responding to me with a variety of sounds - it gave me such a rush to be able to have a conversation with him, sort of. When he shows interest in a book or song, I wonder if he'll love reading or music as much as I do. I started to think about where his strengths and passions will lie and what kind of character he'll turn out to be!

Finally, I've come to realise what a privilege it is to be able to influence and disciple my child and I can't wait to see what God has in store for him.

Rox & Max

Mother's Day Solidarity Call

I know many mothers; and have met many more.

There are no accidental mothers; just that not always, it was a woman's free, willing, ready choice.

Here are two photos of moms I love: a simple Indian woman with her half-clad babe and the blonde with her dark African babe.

Mothers come in so many shades.

There are Mothers in India, Thailand, Indonesia... the ones who live far away from the bright city lights and are not tethered to a cable that wires their imagination to a world of 'have's'. Those mothers? They have stomachs to feed.

Then there are those mothers I read about and weep. Those mothers who roused to the sound of sirens and grab their kids, kicking dust for miles with only the clothes on their back. Those mothers who in the mob moment loses grip of the child and now are haunted by that moment as they pray and cry till there are no-more-tears in the camps. Those mothers who have watched as their children are taken, ravished, killed. These kinds of mothers? I have no words for what they suffer.

Usually when we mothers think about 'mothering', we see ourselves, our moms, and maybe other moms we know personally. But there are so many mothers out there!

We need to set our lives against the larger canvas - and what we juxtapose it with makes such a huge difference!

I will tell you this too: I have met and known mothers who are 'tais tais'; rich and robed in splendour - but living with an inner posture of poverty and want, literally worried sick over house and husband and offspring.

Fellow mothers, what is this wondrous, painful, incredible, and tremendous thing we have been called to?

How do we respond to it? 

How do we know when we do it well, or not? 

Do we ever fail?

Fellow mothers, in a world that says "if it's worth anything, it gets paid, handsomely" - how do we continue in our daily trenches when the affirmation cracks like thin ice?

How do we keep going when there is no interlude with popcorn and streamers?

I remember my own mother - whose life I described as both entrancing and repulsive to me at the same time. I adored her passion for life and her endless capacity to care; but I felt unnerved to think that a woman's lot is so much sacrifice.

She was three when she lost her dad. With a mom who gambled away the meagre earnings, she learnt to be resourceful and to provide, cook, clean, plan, and scheme! She raised her mother and brother. Later she would marry my dad and repeat the whole thing over, this time, including a mean-spirited mother-in-law, and nine children! 

She never had a boudoir but wore mostly the same few clothes and her shoes were hospital-issue where she worked. She would walk with aching legs to save the few coins for a larger meal for us. As a litle girl, i believed my mother could do anything! She cooked, cleaned, sewed, made pretty our sparse home, told stories, comforted us, laughed at our antics... and with each season, she just kept growing and glowing. It wasn't until we were grown and started supporting her that she began to spend on herself.

Most of my growing up years then, I admired my mother and wanted her grace and prowess - but  - I told myself I would not lose so much in the process.

I didn't understand.

The paradox of dying to live and giving to receive stumbles us. It is a faint voice, seemingly unreasonable, even foolhardy with the noisy clatter each day of 'get what you want', 'don't let others take advantage of you', 'watch out for yourself'...

I'll be honest. I still don't get it quite yet. Maybe I am too tethered to the world and need to cut loose some more.

If Jesus invites us to be the branches extending from him as the vine; I am the branch with many other IVs inserted into parts; busily drinking off approval, competition, strife, fear... I am not pure juice. I am sloshing a little tipsy with the flavours and favours of the world.

So  --

when my sweet child grows up as she must and turns into a stranger; I panicked that I have lost years of pure maternal investment and career sacrifice.

when others cringe at the son's outburst and hurl accusations, I am a crumpled heap.

when the future possibilities for my children could turn out to be sloppy-artist and itinerant juggler (no kidding) I pace within my heart and wonder what went wrong.

You see how quickly I move dead centre and it becomes about me? I think it negates the whole idea of sacrifice and being for others when little old me walks on stage and demand the floodlights shift to reveal a star!

I need other mothers to mother - well.

So here's what I figure. I need to issue a call for solidarity. Mothers, let us stand together. Let us cheer each other on. Let us remind each other of the sheer nobility and washboard-knuckle pain reality of this thing we call 'mothering'. Let us also step back often enough to see the larger canvas, and weep along with fellow moms. We fight different battles. But one thing we all do: we fight: for life, for hope, for love.  And our --

laying down,
letting go,
leaving it aside... 

it is all Jesus' way...  I always wondered how as a gal I could be like Jesus. Mothering showed me a deep, amazing way to be so. He laid aside His majesty. We may too, with wrinkly bosoms. He lets his right go. We may too, when we drink from the sippy cup, go de-caf, stop smoking... He left a lot aside; the reasonable stuff of income security and a carpenter's dream workshop perhaps...and more. For some of us, the children we have demands we be certain kinds of moms: stay-home, doing odd jobs, regulars at hospitals, special services. principals' offices...

Jesus gets us!

At that cross. His mother stood with him. A child and a mother can get each other that way when they were both willing to drink from the same cup. We can get our God's heart (and he is wont to use maternal images: the mother hen being a favourite) and enjoy a solidarity there.

In our crosses, Jesus stands with us.


As fellow moms, let us stand with one another.


Solidarity challenge this mother's day season:
1. pray or send a gift to a mother with less
2. don't compare, complain or compete with another woman (especially your mom!)
3. give thanks for being a mom
4. share this post and solidarity challenge!

I will not be silent !

When I miss a post,

I sweat a little.

Here's why.

I'm not a professional blogger, paid to write. Nor do I have eager fans waiting for RSS updates... So why fuss over how long since I last wrote?

There are many reasons one sweats over missing a beat.

One is driven to meet certain expectations (real or imagined).
One is a stickler for routine/habit.
One is guilt-stricken because one has made a promise to self or others.
One is worried to lose readers (social media gurus' mantra: don't miss a post!)
One loves doing it!

I am somewhere in the midst of all that, to be honest. On different days, different things propel me. It may be the same for you  - for coaching your kids, baking, designing or fishing!

But here's my top 2 reasons for keeping at it - giving it time, energy, attention - even if it doesn't pay any bills or bring other rewards commonly hoped for including fame (or infamy) and a following!


reason #1 : writing 'saves' me.

It does not save me the way God my savior does. But it is an ally in the process. Writing is the instrument of choice when it comes to gaining clarity, solidifying conviction, gathering heart rhythms onto a score sheet to see what tune it is playing.

I did not see it coming. But I have been teaching Journaling as a Spiritual Discipline for three years now; and it is such a delight to see hearts and minds awaken to deeper things!

Personally, with many thoughts and ideas bobbing around the waters of my soul-brain; I always feel much better each time after I write.

This belongs with a strange paradox worded like this by Jesus ~

"unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it remains but a seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds." ~ John 12v24

When we give of ourselves, we take a risk and die to any self-preservation and protection. What I write can be misunderstood, misread or taken out of context. I could be labeled, accused, or bound up in some neat box by someone's notion of sensibility and right/wrong.

It isn't just writing. It is doing anything we find worthwhile and for which we will labour and 'put yourself out there'. Artists of all stripes understand this.

But this is God's way. Life comes on the back of sacrifice.

And lest we fed on a diet of heroics think this is Life for others; I have found, it is much more Life for myself first. Writing is like other aspects and areas of work and commitment: if God has called us to do it; the many seeds it produces is harvested first from our own lives.

Ask the mother who has the satisfaction of seeing her child come of age and mature well. In truth, the fruit of her labour and sacrifice were being carved onto her soul as she doles out the love each day.

Or the pastor / coach / manager who sees his efforts bear fruit, those hours of being alongside now seeing fruition as the mentoree / athelete / protege rise up to their potential. In truth, their persevering, believing, offering of second chances shaped their leadership ethos deeply.

I find that what God calls us to do serves us more than it serves Him. In his sufficiency and unfathomable wisdom; I doubt my few words put a dent in his univaserse. If it does, there is no way I can measure it. Sure, a comment or two may pop up (and that's really nice!), but where I can measure the difference is right here between the ribs!


reason #2: writing is words is meaning is power

Since God spoke the first words that became solid colour, design and life.
Since the Law was given.
Since the prophets railed and ranted.
Since The Word came in the flesh.
Since the bible was compiled.

There has been a battle to silent the Word. 

'Did God say...?' -- doubting the Word, began in the garden. It continues through the ages with skeptics, cynics, critics and couch potatoes. The word is sneered at, made light of, out-rightly rejected and rebutted.

What strange power. Sounds represented by letters strung together explode into embodiment of value, principle, truth, Life. Or else, falsehood, vain glories, exaggeration, simplification or distortion. It is an amazing thing this!

Today, this power is buzzing in many hands that hold a little device which allows each one to set forth their views and feelings with little censure.


So since God tapped me on the shoulder and pointed me in the direction of my bent - this love for words, this quest for meaning - He has given, shaped, edited my life and given me words for what I think, feel, intuit... and then He had said, "be bold and say it". I choose to believe that my very clumsy, often inadequate words are resonating a deeper, stronger Eternal One.

So reason # 2 can also be called Obedience.

Again, I do not always get to see the outcomes of my obedience. But as a child eager to please the parent, I am eager to do what blesses my Father's heart. And if the little lad and his lunch of fish and bread instructs me, I only have to bring what I have -- He takes it, breaks it, and can use it to satisfy the hunger of who-knows-how-many? I wait with wide-eye wonder to see what all the words over time will do.

Together with reason #1, this writing, this post, is then a Joyful Obedience.

Perhaps a cheeky borrowing of a famous verse ~

For God so loves me 

that He called me to write

to save my own soul

and encourage others.