I am thinking a lot about my two Grandmothers this season. Both of them are now at an age where they are in homes full time. And I know that if I sent them a card or a present this Christmas they wouldn’t know who it is from. I feel like they are missing from my Christmas.
On Saturday, I had the opportunity to attend a gather and grow with Amanda Viviers. An introverted group of writers gathered around the table. All of us came with no clue if we knew anyone or not. All of us came with a desire to learn and an open heart to growth. And so this reticent group slowly and quietly aired their questions, and shared their fragile dreams.
And I came away thinking. “Yes! This is what it is about”.
When I started writing this blog in May 2010, My eldest was 9 months old. And I started writing in order to have a moment to myself, a moment of reflection and contemplation. I had two readers at that stage, Mr and my sister. And I was quite happy with that!
One of the images I took a mental snapshot of was a broken China plate on the side of the road. It was crisp and white with the rose pattern standing out. A glimpse of beauty in amongst the rubbish and dirt of the slum.
It is an image I can’t shake and it sums up the contradictions of Cambodia for me so far … beautiful but broken, flowers amongst the rubbish, stark white catching my eye from the dirt.
I have had a wonderful Mother’s Day, being thoroughly spoilt by my girls (with quite a lot of assistance from Mr).
I have enjoyed celebrating with my church family, and my mum and I’m looking forward to celebrating with my mother-in-law this evening.
But something about all this praise and focus on me is bugging me. Because it is not just me that is raising these children.
I was having a particularly hard day so I texted my best friend … “I’m struggling, and Mr has just called to say he will be late”.