A Mother's Heart

After becoming a mother, many of my perspectives have changed drastically. I look at many things now through the eyes of a mother rather than through the eyes of a daughter. Yesterday, while watching an animated version of the story of Moses, I began to wonder about his mother. More often than not, when we think of the story of Moses, we think of him, how God saved him and so on. Yesterday for the first time, I put myself in his mother's shoes. She wants her baby to be safe, and so she does all she can to save him by putting him in a basket and setting him afloat in the sea. With what feeling that mother must have let go of the basket that carried her precious boy. Rather than see him slaughtered in front of her eyes she chose to let him go, pinning her hopes on her Lord. What faith she must have had to take that step. I imagined myself putting my child in a basket and trusting her to the mercy of the waves, and i am ashamed to say that i could not even imagine doing that. That kind of faith is most definitely not in my bag as yet! And then just think! She finds her son in the very house of his enemy - in the house of the very person who had issued the order to kill him and others like him! What would I have done? Again, I am ashamed to say that my faith would have most definitely faltered. Each day would have been torture. But then, look at how God works! Isn't it amazing that the very person who deprived him of all his slaves, grew up in the Pharaoh's own house! That the very person who went against him so boldly, was the one child who's life he had spared! That almighty God, who made pharaoh's downfall grow under his own protection, gave that mother the strength to go on! What a truly mighty God I serve! I know, that no matter how weak I am, that Lord who gave Moses' mother the strength to do the things she did, will keep my daughter safe, and give me the strength to bend to His will in her life. Praise the Lord!

Thankfulness

I have often thought of myself as a very thankful person, but recent retrospection has led me to believe the opposite. My thankfulness nowadays seems to stop where my purse strings close. That isn’t real thankfulness. Increasingly, financial worry, coupled with being in a new place, with no family at hand has made me less and less thankful and more and more worried. And so I decided that to be really thankful, I would have to start making a conscious effort to remember all the good things that God has graciously offered me. Instead of complaining about the smallness of my storage space, I choose to be thankful for a house, and a place where I can keep the stuff I really need, while I learn to throw out all the unnecessary junk I invariably collect. By giving me less room for storage than I had before, the Lord is teaching me to be less of a hoarder, and anyone who knows me well enough knows what sort of a hoarder I am. Instead of complaining about the trouble my daughter causes me while eating, I choose to be thankful first of all that I have a daughter to look after, without whom life in this country would have been almost a total misery, while so many many people in this world long for a child to call their own. Secondly, I thank the Lord that He has provided me with enough to make her another glass of milk if she spills the first one, while millions of people struggle to feed their children one square meal a day. Instead of complaining that I am bored sitting at home doing nothing, I choose to be thankful that God has given me so much time for leisure for me to pursue anything I want, while in many families, women are struggling everyday, juggling family and work, not as a choice but as a compulsion – to make ends meet, to fulfill commitments, and to give their children the best of everything, trading wonderful family time in the bargain. Instead of complaining about not having medical insurance yet, I choose to thank God for having provided my family and myself with wonderful health and the assurance of His protection from all sickness and disease. There are millions of things, some small, some big, to be thankful to God about, and I have realized, that when you truly spend time thanking God for His provision, you have very little time left for complaining. Try it. Thank Him for the air we breath, our ability to walk, our family, our friends, our capacities, our limitations, our ideas, our insights, our ignorance, our possessions, our weaknesses…the list is always endless. Thank Him more, and see the difference. Sometimes, like for me, thankfulness can be a real effort, but I tell you, it’s worth every cent… 

The Weird Little Dream

Writing about stuff? That’s easy…I could do it…I mean, how difficult can it really be? But then come all the snags, lined up Indian file, fighting to get in front…what do I write about? How do I start? How much do I say? Where do I stop? Do I begin at the beginning go on till the end and then stop?? All these questions vie for my attention, until as a body they all rush upon my brain, cook the little noodle I had in there, and leave me like a Hiroshima after the bombing! By the time I pick up the fragments of what is left of the little grey matter, the muse has left the building, and I am still standing there gaping at the sudden increase in breathing space…breathe in, breathe out…mmm…freshness…the freshness of total lack of thought…the freshness of emptiness…empty space…could be filled with anything…what can you fill it with? Books? Boxes? Crayons? Dolls? Pots and pans? And where is this empty space by the way? Is it a field? Is it among the clouds? Clouds? Clouds…rain…lightning, thunder…a picture of great big clouds rolling around, bashing into each other fills the mind…that’s what my mama told me happened when I heard thunder…my mama…with her bright smile, her long black hair, the wonderful food she made…food…what was my favourite food? Biriyani was always a hit. What else? Curd rice? Noodles? Noodles…I used to eat them on Sunday mornings after I got back from church and before I left for Sunday school. I used to watch Mayavi as I ate the hot noodles, week after week. Mayavi! Mukesh Khanna was the hero. Silly serial really…so many silly serials nowadays…women crying, men getting drunk, children getting lost…is it against the rules for people in serials to be happy? Happiness! What is it? Am I happy? Do I make others happy? What makes people happy? What makes me happy? Reading books makes me happy. Who writes these books? How do they write these books? Does it make them happy to write these books? Will it make me happy to write books? Will it make me happy to write? If it will, I should try it. That should be easy! I could do it! But what do I write about? How do I start? How much do I say? Where do I stop?