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Princess Morag is a stay at home mum who tries to stay sane, hold on to her faith and keep her brain somewhat stimulated

Thursday, December 12, 2013

The little girl in me

The little princess was cute, and she knew it.  And she remembers when that particular currency lost it's value (around age 4).  The new currency was 'being good': doing as she was told, being 'clever' at school and helping at home.  But the new currency wasn't about who she was, it was about what she could do.

She remembers discovering her parents' tape collection and playing ABBA on the stereo and dancing with complete abandon.  Until she realised her dad was watching and despite his pleas for her to continue, she was too self-conscious.

The little girl had also loved to sing, and remembers performing her shy rendition of 'Little donkey' one Christmastime for adult acquaintances.  When she was a little older, she discovered that apparently her parents no longer rated her voice as very good, a brother was touted as being the better singer.  Looking back, the comparison was completely unnecessary, but the temptation to categorise seems to have been too great for them to resist.

The little girl was astute, she picked up on what was said, and what was implied.  She molded and camouflaged herself into the position allotted to her.  She desperately wanted approval.  Unfortunately approval meant silence; a no news is good news kind of a deal.

Now, Princess Morag has a little princess of her own who loves to dance and sing.  What a joy!  What a wonderful thing to celebrate and share.  The princess is rediscovering through her daughter, how delightful little girls are.  She knows this is the truth, yet there is a commentary tape that plays in her head, with barbed and snide comments, that threatens to taint those precious mother-daughter moments.   But the princess is determined to escape from the lies that have infiltrated her consciousness.  She proclaims that those automatic thoughts deserve automatic extinction.  She declares that the attitudes that stink be replaced with gracious incense.  The princess may have been small but she was NOT like the fragile Christmas ornaments or a snowflake so easily melted.  She was, and is, like a little candle burning in the night.  She might be hiding inside her grown-up body, but she has power and perseverance.  Keep her shining Lord.







Thursday, December 05, 2013

permission to...let the tears fall

The princess has never cried so much as she did in that counseling room.  At times, she felt outside of herself looking on at this woman who was a weeping mess, and she thought "wow, what a fuss!"  Tears had always been greeted by her family as a sign of her being 'too much'.  But there, in that room, in the presence of an empathetic soul, she could finally shed so many tears that she'd kept inside for so many years.  And they weren't 'too much', they were 'just right' even if her counselor did gently wonder at how many tears there could be!  They were the silent expression of pain and grief and longing.  And when met with tenderness, they were the most healing relief.

The princess used to laugh when she cried - it was a learned response from example and reaction.  It was a cover.  She has learned not to do that anymore.  She also wants to analyse her tears, and find out why on earth she is doing this strange thing called crying.  But sometimes it doesn't make sense, other than the fact that she is full of emotion, and it has to get out somehow.  At the beginning of advent it seems like tears are coming easily.  Having tried the analytical route and come up with a few ideas but no real answer, the princess is instead going to give herself permission for it just to happen.  The tears aren't for anyone, she is usually alone when it happens, they simply are.

It seems that many different things bring the tears, and not just sad things, but things of beauty, tenderness, innocence, longing, music.  The princess is no longer rock-like, for others to lean on.  She is more tree-like; she is still dependable but she can move, and swaying in the wind of life, she is allowing her tears to fall as the leaves do in the autumn season.