Where Life Begins

Another Mother’s Day is quickly approaching and my thoughts are on the mothers who raised me; my biological mother, my grandmother, my aunties and the many older women that have mentored me along the way; they are countless and each hold a special place in my heart. I have been a mother now for 15 years and it is by far the toughest job I’ve been tasked with. It’s also a role that continues to grow me, teach me, strengthen me and motherhood continuously challenges me. I would say the challenges are because I operate a single parent household, but that’s not it. I would say it’s because I’m raising my youngest child whose biological father has abandoned her, but that’s not it either. The challenges come with raising children to respect, honor and love themselves and others unconditionally; not allowing anyone to take advantage of them. The challenges come from making sure that they are well educated, active and occupied. The challenges come from ensuring that they are safe, healthy and supported. The challenges come from trying to be the best possible parent to them that we know how, while coping with our own unresolved issues.

My thoughts are also on the many fathers that are raising children where the mothers are absent, the fathers that struggle with grooming their little girl’s hair, but try they best and keep it moving. My thoughts are on countless grandparents raising children, hats off to you. My thoughts are on the women whom lost their children in the womb, after birth and to the streets, my heart cries out with yours. Raising children takes conscious effort; it’s a testament to our unselfishness as parents; putting their needs before our own.

The past few weeks I’ve been quiet and I can’t put my finger on it. My mood has been slightly pensive, in a good way. As a mother, I miss the mark often and I’ve been exploring two very tough questions that I never thought to ask myself before; “What did I miss and How did I miss it,” relating to several situations that caused me pain beyond belief. Maybe these questions have caused my quietness. Some of us love to criticize our peers concerning the way we raise our children, but truth be told, not one of us have any room to do so, which doesn’t stop us, but we need to be careful about that. We all do our best and sometimes our best isn’t good enough and that’s just the reality of it all. In exploring the “what did I miss and how” I hope to become enlightened, recognizing what do to differently next time, that’s all I can do.

This mother’s day, send love and light to the many mothers you know, the many fathers you know raising children without the help of the mother, your aunts, grandmothers, and your sister friends; especially those who are hoping to conceive.

Wishing you a very special and hopeful mother’s day, with love,

~Shamina

THE RHYTHM

The rhythm is in my being

Wrapped up in every fiber I was created with

My womb was created to procreate 

What’s between my inner thighs is more than an opening for you to come inside

The rhythm was placed in my bosom

Hearty 

Beating 

Blood pumping to be a mother

Not for you to use and abuse

My soul was not for me to taint with distasteful morality

The rhythm is in my innateness to nurture

To love unconditionally trusting blindly

Sexed to oblivion and left with resentment stained on my sheets

Savaged violently as if I were a piece of meat

The rhythm lies in my throne to which I am queen

Esteemed with royalty and crowned

You were dethroned as I’ve come into my own

Kingdom of motherhood I own

Matters of The Heart

I thought about writing last week, but didn't want to write about any "heart matters". For some reason, I thought there was not enough substance in heart matters and that maybe some individuals were sick of listening and pondering "heart matters". Well, guess what, matters of the heart is what makes this world go round! Out of heart matters arise growth, compassion, break through, and most importantly, acts of kindness and servitude.

This week there has been allegations bought against a few well known men, Bishop Eddie Long, and Jesse Jackson, Jr., allegations of secret lives and unfavorable behavior. The most disturbing story I heard this week was concerning a father who strangled his four year old son to death, hurt another one of his children and then attempted suicide, all while a grandparent was in the home. These story's troubled me for many reasons, first being, what are we teaching our children? Where are our standards, our morality, our compassion for others? "The test of the morality of a society is what it does for its children", Dietrich Bonhoeffer, German Protestant theologian & anti-Nazi activist (1906 - 1945).

We must raise our children with certain standards, teaching them early about what is good touch and what is bad touch. Teaching them and being an example of what a good person is and how they should conduct themselves. It all starts with raising our children with great standards, values, morals and giving them the opportunity to share their feelings at all costs. Keeping in mind that we were all children once, and we didn't always do as we were told, still don't as grown adults, but making sure we protect and educate our kids as best we can as to the dangers of this word, letting them know that we are accountable for our actions, and all actions will produce an outcome, whether favorable or unfavorable.

There is so much on my mind, so much so, that I can't convey my thoughts in such away that will capture all that is on my mind today. I just know that I am in deep thought, asking God for His direction and clarity in raising my children and being the best Woman in His kingdom that I can be, showing Him gratitude for where I am today and for where He is taking me.

So, today, I leave you with this piece:

Where Are My Words

Where are my words?
Are they lost in my soul or bound up in many different worlds
The worlds of my forefathers, my ancestors…Bound up in time that has past
My childhood, my youth…the pain of so many untold truths.
Where are my words?
Are they written on my heart, stuck and implanted in my unspoken thoughts
Lost in the treasures of my forgotten, tossed to the side unclaimed high school treasures, that no one cared to measure the importance of.
Where are my words?
Are they left behind with the anger of my unapologetic mother… my confused twisted older brother or with the sons of mothers who dehumanized a perfect little sister soldier
Where are my words?
Are they hiding in my pain, covering up what should have not been my shame, unexplained to those who inflicted the pain.
Where are my words?
Are they with my Heavenly Father during my prayers, during my conversations said boldly with confirmation, affirming that I am healed, bold, courageous, prosperous and worth more than 24 karat gold…more than all the rubies and unclaimed stones of this earth.
I ask, where are my words?
Are they with my new lover, my friendships of my true blue die hard sisters, my daughter who I try to keep in line and in order, or my father who has always been a father, but not always the best provider.
Where are my words?
Are they with the geese whom just took flight, the dogs who are strays, surviving with all their might, my people, places and things who are lost and without sight.
Where are my words…where are my words? I ask again, where are my words?
Are they out in the air on a cold brisk winters night, speaking to my homeless brothers and sisters of the night, the pimps, prostitutes, alcoholics, drug dealers and drug abusers, running from those elusive demons…
Are they with my single unwed mothers, my brothers locked up for one reason or another, my people who have lost their father’s and or mothers and other loved ones, my youth who have lost their direction and guidance, missing the opportunity to truly experience what it is like to be cool and not act like uneducated fools.
Are they wrapped up in wisdom waiting to spring forth and become a force, make a difference in this world…sitting with my grandmother and elders who helped build this nation.
Where are my words?

Shamina~