The truth is, I didn’t get over hiding my body until I was with child. Until it wasn’t my body anymore. Then it became more of a display case, for the life, the girl that was about to be. It became part hers, part mine, but neither of ours, really. It was then that I had nothing to be ashamed of.
I think we’re all ashamed of ourselves until the moment we feel that it isn’t about us anymore. And then we’re too busy giving of ourselves to be conscious that we even have a body to justify and defend. For some of us, we take our whole lives to get there, to the point of surrender, the point where we’ve gathered enough faith to let go.
Some of us never make it there, and still others, get close to the edge, too tired to keep control, letting go out of desperation instead of faith. Most of us want to say we’d never do anything out of desperation, we want to think we’re that noble. But desperation doesn’t derive out of wealth. It comes from a house of poverty, a place of no other choice.
And when these people come running out, with everything they own in hand, we cannot judge. All we can do is help them carry the naked babies trailing behind their feet. You show them that yes, we’re in this together.
And if we’re the ones running out of the house with nothing but dirty clothes on our backs, maybe a few odds and ends, then we have to be willing to throw our hands up in the air and say, “This is me. This is what I need.”
We cannot hide from being loved.
Del.icio.us
RSS feed
Sometimes the truth is