There's so much in your
conversation
that isn't words.

How do I respond
to the hurt in your eyes
when your words say
"I'm fine"?

The nano-seconds
of flickering emotions
in your face
tell me you don't agree
with yourself.

Your physical self
is trying so hard
to contain the emotional.

I wish you were confident enough
to tell me with words
what you really want to say.

Exodus 2:9 And Pharaoh's daughter said unto her, Take this child away, and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages. And the women took the child, and nursed it. (10) And the child grew, and she brought him unto Pharaoh's daughter, and he became her son. And she called his name Moses: and she said, Because I drew him out of the water.

This story is much harder to read now that I have children of my own. Now I can feel the mother's anguish and desperation as she searched for any solution for the survival of her child. I can feel her joy as God miraculously made a way. Then I can see how she probably had doubts. Wouldn't a dead innocent child be better than one who grew up to defy the Holy One of Israel? And in the surroundings Moses was to grow up in, she had no way of knowing how he would choose. (Not that we ever do.) I can see how each moment of physical nurture, also became one of spiritual nurture. I can see her trying to ingrain the Torah into her child and whispering "Hear, Oh Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord" to him while he slept.

Since it was common to nurse children into the 4th year and sometimes up to the 6th, this makes this story come to life even more for me as I watch my own 4 year old. I see, now, how critical those years are for spiritual development. I see her sincere hunger for God and immeasurable faith. She teaches me about God every day. I pray that I am also teaching her the right things about Him.

Proverbs 12:22-23 "Lying lips are abomination to the LORD: but they that deal truly are his delight. A prudent man concealeth knowledge: but the heart of fools proclaimeth foolishness."

I was born with a strong desire to please people. Self-sacrifice was many times worth it if I could get affirmation. This generally meant my parent's and teachers... thankfully I was sheltered and this trait was not exploited. As I grew, this sometimes meant that in order to please someone, the story I told them would be "tailored" to them. In the beginning stages of maturity, I didn't have the discernment to know how that could easily lead to lying. Eventually, I saw what I was doing as wrong and developed a strong desire for the truth in every area of my life, even when it was painful.

First, that meant that I just didn't talk in public as much. There are too many nuances and social expectations that multiply exponentially with each added person that challenge a dedication to truth if you have not developed that trait in the public arena. It's one thing to be brutally honest with yourself, but to keep that distinction in casual conversation is often easily construed to make you appear as if you think you are better than others, or cold and unfeeling... sometimes it's just better to keep quiet when you're trying to learn to speak only in truth.

Eventually, this meant that I became a better listener. I learned to more accurately see what someone was feeling and trying to say that their words weren't conveying. I realized that people have so much built up inside of them from trying to verbally prance through the social arena where frank speaking isn't exactly encouraged, and everyone seems to just be speaking at each other with few listening, that someone who would just listen to them would eventually let them get past the fluff and tell you what they really felt. This heightened my desire to say what was true to me and to speak what I knew with conviction.

I'm still an evolving truth speaker. I constantly come away from conversations with a pricked conscience and find myself repenting, yet again, for careless words. But I'm learning, and figuring out that the next step for me is not only speaking truth, but love. Looking at others through the black and white lens of only truth is disheartening and easily becomes judgmental.

Ephesians 4:14-16

"That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive; But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ: From whom the whole body fitly joined together and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love."

When I let love be the motivation behind the truth I am saying, it is a healing experience-sometimes for both of us. There will always be human error in every human gathering. My natural tendency is to isolate myself from people to minimize the room for error... and while I will never be the extrovert and will always need time for myself, I need people and God provides His grace for this. A verse that I have been clinging to that addresses this is 1 John 1:7.

"If we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship one with another and the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses every sin."

Birth can be healing. I've read that at birth, not only is the child born, but at that moment the mother is also is born- she didn't exist before that moment in that capacity. It's true for me, but to a different layer. The first time I experienced birth, it was with major bonding issues, which produced guilt and other complications. The second experience has been completely opposite. Each step has helped me realize what should be- should have been. While I still struggle with guilt for not being as good with my first baby as I can be with the second one, I realize that I honestly did the best I could. More than that, I'm learning to forgive myself. I'm learning how love multiplies instead of divides with a second child. Oddly enough, it's like each good thing that I unlock with my second child, I also learn how to apply it to my first. The strong bond I've formed with my new baby has only shown how much stronger I can love my first- and strengthened that relationship. However, I realize how symbiotic this relationship is: without the struggle and pain of learning through much trial and error with the first, much of the sweetness I'm experiencing now with the second wouldn't be happening- both experiences are enriching the other.

The great fear I had of repeating my first experience has been replaced with more gratefulness than I can explain. I realize how blessed I am- I KNOW what could be, and isn't. It strengthens my desire to help other new mothers struggling with their firsts. If I can ever use my pain to bless someone else in helping them avoid it, it helps my struggles seem less meaningless and they become redeeming.

To all of the mothers who helped me through that time, bless you. I'll never forget it.

He was a small guy, compared to the rest of us 5th graders. I remember him looking as if he would physically fit in with the 3rd or 4th grade. His skin was shiny from a day of school and waiting out in the sun for the bus. The mischievousness that kept him in trouble wasn't apparent at that moment. The curving hill that sloped down around the bus stop was teeming with different sections of elementary school kids, each in their own group. This arena-like setting amplified his seriousness. He wasn't often still, even now he was pacing around watching the other kids. Finally, standing with feet planted, facing the multitude, he took in a deep breath and yelled what was on his mind:

"THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS!"

The 5th grade teachers looked puzzled and amused. We were studying this in our literature unit, but it had never provoked this response.

"THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS!" he yelled.

"THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS!" As if it were his last chance to warn his own people.

It was the first time I saw literature deeply impact someone.