What Water I Have...

I recently began re-reading, Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity and Writing, a memoir-style book by author, poet, editor and mother L.L. Barkat. In it, she says this: "When a writer tries to explain his work to me, I will often remind him, 'If you have to explain your work to a reader, that's a sign that something needs to change; remember, you aren't going to be there when the reader puts on his Land's End swim shorts and goes to the pool to relax with your words.'" 

I'm about to do exactly the opposite of what Ms. Barkat suggests, because I want to share an image that has been meaningful to me in the past few days (besides it's too cold for swimming pools now anyway). 

My friend Bethany, had suggested a few weeks ago that I explore my thoughts on motherhood through creative writing, as a way to prepare room in my heart for this new life on the way. Since she is an amazing artist and mother, I stored her words away and have been waiting on an image to begin a poem. 

I began thinking about how rocky and barren our world can be at times. Best not leave it at that. Hello, firstborn. This world has stones. Then, the Holy Spirit gently reminded me of a story I had heard while teaching at Skyline: "The Brave Little Tailor." In it, a little tailor takes on a huge giant in a show-down of challenges. In the first, the giant squeezes a boulder so hard that water pours out. The tailor tricks the giant by squeezing a cheese so hard that the watery whey drips down. The image captured my imagination.

I've been marveling for weeks at how this little baby I've been nourishing in my belly will continue being nourished only by my body for months. I cannot change the fact that the world she is entering is dark, dangerous, and hard. I can sustain her with a pouring out of my life-blood into milk, a small sign of the sacrificial pouring out of a mother's life for her children. 

We are not giants. We are not Moses. We cannot make water pour from rocks and heal this dry and weary land. We can however, nurse, both literally and figuratively, our children by giving of ourselves, trusting that God will do the rest. It might feel like squeezing, but we will be a part of preparing them to be a gift to a thirsty, thirsty world. 

With all of the explaining I'm not supposed to have done out of the way, I'm sharing a peek into my heart, the poem I've written for my daughter: 

Brave Little

This world has stones,
and I am no giant. 
It has lips parched, 
and I cannot squeeze
hard enough for water.
I can only hope the Tailor 
more skilled than I can
make my whey enough 
to whet your voice
for crying out in deserts.