My heart is so heavy, I don't know how I will
ever rest again. How can I sleep when all my hopes, my expectations for my
family's future have been dashed to the ground? We'll be laughing-stocks; no
one will respect any of us again. And why? Oh, God, how can I bear this? The sweet taste of
honey in my mouth is replaced by bitter gall. The pain of childbirth is nothing
compared to this. No more joy, the future holds nothing but heartbreak for me.
Childbirth. Ah, that pain was tempered by
anticipation of joy. Besides, there would be an end to it. Not like this pain,
which will pursue me until death and beyond. No ointment, no opium can still
it.Such hope, such celebration, to finally give
birth to my darling girl. Such companionship we would share as she grew. I
would teach her all those things a Godly woman must know, all the skills she
would need to run her own household someday. I would receive honor through all
her successes, all the wisdom and good works she would accomplish throughout
her life which loomed brightly ahead.
God! How dare you repay my reverence with such
betrayal? The wicked should be punished, yes, but your faithful servant should
be esteemed by those around her, should receive the reward she is due. Why did
you not send a lightning bolt through my heart and finish my suffering? Do you
really expect me to carry my head high as I travel through the community, to
continue to be an example of purity and loyalty to the other women in church?
Who would listen to anything I say now? Why would they believe I know anything
worth their attention? They turn their eyes away from me now as I pass them in
the street, they avoid speaking comforting words to me.
All the hours I spent on my knees in prayer, all
the hours in community service in your name, wasted! I could have taken my ease
at home rather than working until my back cried out, my legs turned to jelly,
with a sweet smile still on my lips, gladly helping others in times of trouble,
dispensing encouraging words to the heartbroken. Where is my comfort, my help,
my encouragement? Look to the Lord", I'd say. "We may
not see until eternity why these things happen, but we must trust that He knows
best." Trust! Such piety. My own words reproach me, lie in my belly like a
cold fire. Perhaps faith is only there when you give it away; maybe it's not
something you can keep and count on. All is lost.
Even my own husband is silent. There's no
comfort there. He tries to go on as though the world had not ended, but when
our eyes meet, I'm scalded by the reproach I see. I have failed as a mother, as
a woman. It's difficult for him too; I know that full well. But these things
are a mother's responsibility, guilt adds to my burden. Besides, men don't feel
things as deeply as women do, despite their protests to the contrary. If they
did, they couldn't go about their business as usual, they would collapse at
home behind closed doors. Like me.
She was a happy, loving child, well-behaved and
obedient. She would follow her older cousin around constantly; they played at
being grown up with dolls for children as they practiced the skills they didn't
realize they were learning -- they thought it was only fun. Then her cousin
began to grow up, sooner than my darling child, and began to spend her time
with a young man destined to lead a worship group in a little town some
distance away.
When they married, I was concerned at the
loneliness I saw on my child's disconsolate face. But her sunny disposition
soon reappeared through the clouds of grief caused by loss of her playmate and
she began going out to play again, alone. When she came in after hours of play,
she would run to me and tiptoeing, would embrace me, hugging and kissing a
greeting. Before much longer, she was as tall as I; her kisses fell on my brow
instead of my chin. Her countenance grew in beauty; in her presence I felt a
peaceful happiness, a satisfaction that she was growing up and would in such a
short time, become a charming young woman. My heart would give a little lurch
as I realized she would not forever reside within arm's reach but would some
day soon look forward to a home of her own, a husband and children to care
for --like her dear cousin, who finally
had a child coming, after long years of waiting.
I would rather my own child had died in my womb
and I would have gladly missed those joyful years of proudly watching her grow
up, rather than live to see her hopes dashed to the ground, our hearts broken,
along with any future happiness she may have hoped for.
All the sacrifices we made, all our love, our
efforts to raise her -- as was our responsibility, understand. This was our
duty under God's law, not a gift to her, not something she was required to
repay (except the honor any child owed to her parents under God's same law). We
were repaid, but not with honor or respect. In return, we received grief,
regret, shame and she could not even explain to us how or why we were so
betrayed. She said she was bound to secrecy (as though any promise to another
could take precedence over her loyalty toward her parents). She said we would
understand in time. But when?
We had no choice but to agree to her hasty
marriage to this man -- this man, years older than she, who should have known
better, who should have realized she was too young to understand the
repercussions of such behavior. Oh, we did everything right, the wedding party
included all the best people, all the refreshments; the decorations were as
fine as money could buy. The guests came, ate and drank, tittered or giggled
behind their hands when they thought we couldn't see or hear, watched my
beloved daughter and her new husband and nudged one another, whispering. They
made sure we knew they weren't taken in by our masquerade of apparent
celebration of the nuptials. They slyly slipped in snide questions with their
congratulations, such as why had we not waited until she was older; surely if
it were true love, he would have waited for her. Our heads held high, we
ignored the stabbing pain of their jibes and looked at the innocent (what
irony) gaze of our daughter into the uneasy eyes of her bridegroom. He knew, if
she did not, what their lives would be like.
I was relieved when a short time later he came
to us, saying he must make a long business trip and his wife would travel with
him. It might be, I thought, that he was looking for employment possibilities
there and they could start over where no one would know of their unsavory
beginning. To be fair, he had been a loving husband and treated her very
tenderly; he provided for her every need and reassured her, bringing a smile
back to her face, whenever she became fearful or felt poorly because of the
pregnancy. She was so young!
She bravely waved and smiled her farewells as
she rode away. Who knew when we'd see her again, if ever? So many things could
happen with a first baby, such a young mother, and so far away from any women
in her family who could see her through this time and help her after the birth.
It wasn't wise to travel so late in her term; I was uneasy though I knew it was
best if the baby were born far away from the gossips and tattle-tales of our
small town. Oh God, help her. Help my child through this difficult time. Keep
her safe, hold her future ---
Yes, in spite of my grief, my anger, I can't
withhold my prayers. God is. He won't disappear just because I keep silent and
ignore him. In the scriptures it tells how King David cried out angrily over
his hardships, his troubles, yet it says God called him a "man after his
own heart". I never understood that, but I guess God doesn't hold grudges
when we blame him for our pain.
Light from my window. Have I truly lain here
awake all night? My ears! What is that humming sound; it grows louder. And the
light! Surely the sun never shone like this before. Surely it will explode and
the world with it; that will end my sorrow.
Her face, my darling daughter's face in the
midst of that unearthly glow. The baby! She's holding her child and I see her
tender gaze as she nuzzles that downy little head. Oh, I remember that first
sight of my own dear child. And behind her, other faces like none ever seen,
radiant and joyful and singing, they're singing of great joy, peace come into
this world with that child. Whispers of sorrows ahead but promises that she
won't have to go through them alone, that God is with them, this family, this
daughter who once belonged to me.
I'm on my knees, Lord, hands reaching toward the
warmth of this brilliance filling my room. I will weep no more. Hail Mary, full
of grace. Blessed art thou among women, blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.
