Do You Know How Much You Have to Offer?

Don’t be ashamed of your past, don’t be ashamed because your skin is darker than mine—I’m not white either, but peaches and cream!

               The white race should collectively hang their heads if they think they are superior. We are historically known for being assertive and materialist, for getting things done, but is that really what counts?

               You have traditions, gentler customs than we are known for, and it brings tears to my eyes and I’m not the weepy type. Some of you come from cultures that deeply respect your elders, may God bless you.  When so many from the same area are sweet and mannerly, I know it’s more than just a coincidence.

               Okay, it’s time to get more specific. I was reading Chicken Soup for the Mother’s Soul Book 2 just now and these Native American’s girls had the custom of spending one day alone, each month, during their menstrual cycle to contemplate on what kind of person they wanted to become. Was that part of your lineage? Just imagine the quality of character that could develop from taking the time to prayerfully meditate beginning in your formative years and continuing throughout life.

               Now, let’s go way across the ocean, to the other side of the world, and learn about a different group of women. These wonderful African ladies obviously valued children highly: well before the child was born, even before conception had taken place, they would go off alone to listen to the song of the infant they hoped to carry.  All throughout the pregnancy, they will sing this song, and teach it to the old women and midwives in the village. At birth, the child is greeted by ‘their’ song and soon all the village learns it so that at every high point, or time of distress, it is being sung to the growing child and later adult. Doesn’t that sound so peaceful and loving? Doesn’t it seem like a beautiful way to knit family members, a village, together? I only wish I knew more details about these wonderful people, where they came from, what their names were, and so on.

               Lift up your heads, you ‘colored’ people you have so much to offer! (And don’t forget we are actually most colored then you. We blush with embarrassment; turn green with envy, blue with cold, pale with shock, you name it!)

MMMarvelous Memories of a Mom

There is nothing so thrilling as delivering a baby and having it laid in your arms for the first time. Many times before my first wee one was born I dreamed about her, and, in fact, I even dreamed that she was a red hair and I’d call her Audrey. What delicate hands she had! Oh, those sweet little fingers wrapped around my finger were so adorable. With all my heart I wanted to be the best little Mommy a woman could be. Even before Audrey came into the world, we communicated: I loved to sing to her and read Bible Stories out loud to my Little Blessing. It was such a lot of fun banging on the side of the tub with the hard handle of a brush while watching her kick back in response! Another time she let me know that my stress was affecting her. I was getting some dental work done, and she kicked wildly.

With e

The Unknown Voice...in the Night

Mom, Hey, Mom

I woke up abruptly at 4:28 this morning. Someone said “Mom, hey, Mom “clear enough to get me out of bed and look out our bedroom door. We have a daughter who has moved back home so I thought it might be her, but no, no one was there. I even checked where she sleeps, but all was quiet and darkness in her bedroom, and she later told me it wasn’t her.

Was it you? Did you call out last night? Did you need something, or someone? Was/ is your heart aching, or sadder yet, breaking, perhaps because of some terrible turn of events in your life?

Something nudged me awake. Someone called out in anguish, perhaps unknowingly, but God let me hear the message. I just want to let you know you have been in my heart and prayers ever since.

Call if you need someone to talk to. 
echoingheartbeats@gmail.com

Or hangouts.

P.S. Several hours after posting this, a girl read it and messaged me on hangouts. Yes, she had called out to me, screamed actually. She was totally alone, and I walked her through the process of giving birth!!!

Who Was the Victim

I’m finding it very hard to write this exact post, maybe it’s because I haven’t been completely reconciled with my past or something.

Okay, I know I am going to confuse some of you because earlier I leaped back into my eleventh year to bring out some Memory Files and this was after sharing what happened when I was a young teenager. Now I’m back into my teen years, got it?

Do you remember me telling you about being ‘kidnapped’ by a couple of uncles?

Well, here we are, a new life is before us. Now we are living in a proper home once again, one with running water, lights, and all that good stuff we were used to in this modern day and age. I assume Mom’s brothers and church family were instrumental in having that happen though it is a piece of the puzzle I never actually searched for.

We were given a warm welcome: I remember the girls my age, a couple of them which were my cousins, putting on a party which included presenting me with a homemade scrapbook where they had each added a page or two.  It was a very nice gesture.

But somehow, what lingers most warmly in my mind is going to school on that first day of grade ten. Just inside the glass doors of the big school were two girls waiting for me. They became my best friends.

  Okay, I guess I need to venture into what’s really hurting, can’t skirt it any longer.  Mom had gone home to her people but she wasn’t ‘one of them’ in spirit, if you catch the drift.

I’ve always shielded myself from this fact because it hurt too much. It was easier to say that Mom was depressed because of all the pain she had gone through, but the truth was I, we, were hurting and she wasn’t there for us. 

The silent disapproval I had already felt as a child remained, and I found her quite unapproachable.  Once, maybe a year or so after we got there, she shared her heart with me. It was a heady experience for a fifteen or sixteen year old, but I was too young to really help her. 

So what did I do? I turned to writing and finished my first novel while in my teens but later threw it out. I also wrote poetry that expressed my anguish and other moods. 

I still quote these lines from one of the poems from time to time: ‘Chains of darkness flung around me binding me with fear’, hmm, the rest of the words are escaping me. What were they? I wrote about the ‘echoes from the past’ meaning the sexual abuse that had such a damaging effect on my ego.

Teenage years can be tumultuous even for those from a stable home, and mine wasn’t easy. I had such extreme mood swings that on one occasion I took way too many aspirin in a desperate attempt to end it all. Did I have side effects? Not really. Did Mom know? Shrug.

But was God there? Yes, He most definitely was, and although at times I couldn’t feel Him, looking back I realized that what I thought were stumbling blocks were really stepping tones that shone like jewels on my way towards Heaven.

Take A Peek into My Upcoming Book (but don't cry too hard.)

It  was a good thing that the rocking motion of the train kept Emily sleeping. For many miles her mother leaned forward, shaking with sobs. Then Marita tried to get a grip on herself.
People will be wondering what's wrong, or think I'm mighty queer if I can't stop being so emotional. She managed to hold it in for about five seconds, then a sleepy movement of Emily's little fingers got her thinking about Alice and the tears rolled down her cheeks.

When Emily woke up she was acting restless and fussy. Marita stared at her; she had never acted so upset in quite that way before.  Why does she twist her head from side to side like that and keep whimpering? Does she have an ear ache? Oh surely not!  I have no idea how to soothe an earache, on a train at that.

Emily's whimpers turned into loud, lusty wails and just as she picked her up, it hit Marita like a rock. Emily is missing her identical twin.

Worry lines puckered Marita's forehead. I thought it was only me that would suffer, but look what I have done to my little girl!

 In her agitation it was impossible to calm the crying three month old. What can I do? Oh, what can I do? People are beginning to stare at me, I'm sure of it!

She felt the back of her neck and ears scorch from the real or imaginary disapproval of those around her. What would Margaret have done? She was always so calm, so tranquil with the crying babies while I would get frantic.

Oh, she often sang.

For a moment Marita could see Margaret in the old, scuffed up rocking chair singing sweetly to which ever baby was upset.  The chair was stuffed into the corner of their bedroom because there was simply no other place for it, but the melodies would float through the small space even on the darkest of nights.

Suddenly Marita realised how blessed she had been to have Margaret help her care for the newborns, especially since she was so young and inexperienced.

The songs started coming back to her, and as she crooned, her own spirit calmed.

"Jesus Saviour pilot me over life's tempestuous sing. Boisterous waves around me roll, hiding rock and treacherous shoal, "(Edward Hopper.)

She rocked harder as the wails grew louder, but Emily's crying wasn't affecting her quite the same anymore.  She was thinking of the words.

"As a mother stills her child, Thou canst hush the ocean wild." Ocean wild: that's exactly what my heart's been like for so long now.
.
That's the secret of Margaret's serenity. She lets Jesus hush the storms, the grief and heartache in her own spirit.

Hot tears sprung to Marita's eyes. Margaret suffered much but she always was there for me.

She let her tears fall on Emily's downy hair.

"Lord, I want what she has," she whispered.

A small child hopped off the chair at his mother's side and stood in the aisle watching her.

Marita smiled at him.

"Baby," he said.

"Yes, she's just a baby. She's sleeping now."

He nodded. "Baby cry. Baby go nigh-night."

"Yes, Baby has gone 'night-night."

He observed them silently.

"What's your name, little boy?"

He didn't answer.

"The baby's name is Emily.  Mine is Mar- Mrs. Smith.  Can you say Emily?"

"Mmm'ee. Baby small."

"Yes, Emily is very small, yet, "

He put his hand on the top of his head, it barely reached. " Me big boy. "

He watched Emily making little sucking noises. "Baby hun-gee."

"Baby's fine for a little while. Are you hungry?"

The small champ nodded.

 Oh dear what have I gotten into?

Marita gently laid the baby beside her and reached into her purse.  Margaret had slipped a small paper sack of crackers into her hand while they were at the train station.

She took one out and showed it to his Mum. "Is it okay if I give him one?"

"Bobby, you aren't hungry, are you?"

"Hun'gee!"

"Oh well, just one then. It will tide you over 'til we reach Toronto, You should have a nap while we wait."

"What do you say?"

"Tang-too!" He made a bee-line for his mommy's lap and snuggled there while munching on his cracker, completely oblivious to the crumbs his mother was patiently brushing off his shirt and her skirt.

By then Marita was singing another song.

"What a Friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear..." She looked at Bobby so sleepy in his mother's arms and wondered if she had ever felt safe and secure snuggled up close to her mother.

 Oh, Lord, give me that feeling of security that comes from being close to you. I want to trust you with my whole life; she gave a little shudder, thinking of Randall in gaol, even the unknown future.  She looked down at Emily again, especially the future.

When Emily woke up, and after she had gotten her little tummy filled, Marita arranged her new woolen coat on the floor with the satin side up. Emily seemed to enjoy being able to kick and stretch in the less confining space.

Emily looked so sweet in the cloud soft sweater set Margaret had diligently knitted for her. Margaret had taught Marita how to make one also, and she felt a bit guilty for taking the better one. It was obvious that Margaret's was so much fluffier.

Marita stooped down to remove the light yellow bonnet from the tiny girl  and was pleased to see that Emily's coppery red hair was definitely beginning to curl.

Emily smiled at her and cooed.

Maybe she will get over the loss of her sister soon. Please God.

Guess What I Found!

Guess what I found on the internet today? No it wasn't in an archeological dig way out in the Middle East somewhere, but it was still fascinating. It was a book. It looked old fashioned in a way and the pictures were kind of blurry, but the cover sure looked antique! I thought the pages would have been more yellow with a parchment-y look, but I guess they are better at preserving things that we figured, eh? Anyway, it was a book called Mary's Diary. WOW! I mean double-wow! Who could have had a more intimate relationship with Jesus, the Son of God, than His own birth mother! Who could have cared more to get the facts right and to portray His life in a as loving a way as possible? And guess what?! It even covers those hidden years of when He was a little boy in Egypt. (He must have been such a cute, sweet little fella.) .
I'm quit bugging you so you can find out for yourself. https://www.createspace.com/4837922
http://www.amazon.com/dp/1511783966

What Are You Doing, Child?

Brenda  was in a hurry so she had intended to just quickly run the vacuum over the living room floor before getting on with other things, but Marissa had her dolls spread out all over the carpet and what she was saying to them seemed so intriguing that Brenda quietly busied herself with rearranging the flowers in the vases and polishing the furniture while she unobtrusively tried to figure out what was going on in her little girl’s mind.