Leaning on the words of others when I can't find my own...

Earlier this week one of my former doula clients (now friend) shared this poem with me by Jan Richardson. I have a lot of mixed emotions in this advent season. I connect to themes of darkness and light and to the longing. At the same time I'm so angry about how white evangelical Christianity uses even this season to promote violence and domination. I'm glad that there are many people out there who can parse out the beautiful and share their reflections, creativity and brilliance with all of us. I love this:

Wise women also came.

The fire burned in their wombs long before

they saw

the flaming star in the sky.

They walked in shadows, trusting the path

would open under the light of the moon.

Wise women also came,

seeking no directions,

no permission from any king.

They came by their own authority,

their own desire,

their own longing.

They came in quiet, spreading no rumors,

sparking no fears to lead to innocents’ slaughter,

to their sister Rachel’s inconsolable lamentations.

Wise women also came,

and they brought useful gifts:

water for labor’s washing,

fire for warm illumination,

a blanket for swaddling.

Wise women also came,

at least three of them,

holding Mary in the labor,

crying out with her in the birth pangs,

breathing ancient blessings into her ear.

Wise women also came,

and they went,

as wise women always do,

home a different way.

As I came alongside another family in the long process of laboring and birthing their little one, it felt like such an honor to be able to offer encouragement, physical support and accompaniment. At various points my heart would also feel the heaviness of thinking of the many women giving birth in Gaza every day right now, in conditions I cannot even begin to comprehend. It's so important for birthing people to feel safe and in an environment where they can relax. What happens when that is not possible? What are the short and long term repercussions, for those who make it through the harrowing ordeal? It feels so wrong! 

And here we are on Christmas Eve. A yearly letter from one of my aunts expressed some of what I'm feeling so much better than I feel able to. Words fail me often these days. "How, and whether, to nurture levity of spirit given our trouble globe's ruinous ills." That is the question!

But babies! They just fill me up! Their sweet newness. Their curiosity. Their innocence. Their proclamation of their needs and expectation for them to be met (at least if that is what they have experienced). And the way they slow me down and calm my nervous system. Whether it is holding a little one for the first time that I watched emerge from the womb (as I am here with precious Ruby Jane) or nurturing a growing little one that affectionately calls me "Nel Nel" (thanks Luca!!), this is my happy place!

From my aunt again: "And so, yes, mindful of calamities, we give ourselves over to joy, to foster what is beautiful in the world, to right the balance, and to gratitude that we have so much to treasure and delight in..." Here is us giving ourselves over to delight with the little people we are so privileged to love and care for.

I know no better way to end this short reflection than with my aunt's words once more: "We grieve for those devastated by war's atrocities and for the ensnaring complexities of its waging. We grieve for the planet. We change our habits. We celebrate the spirit of resilience, survival, humanitarian aid. We celebrate the light, the word, the otherwise, spilling through the jamb..."