A Mother’s Mind (and the Quiet Joy of Growing Older, Wiser, with the Passing of the Seasons)

A Mother’s Mind  (and the Quiet Joy of Growing Older, Wiser, with the Passing of the Seasons)

by Kamila More Cabisada

(Writing again. But not without shedding a few tears here and there.
Thankful. 💜)

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There are things you cannot change, and there are things that you can.

You will know. You somehow feel diminished by the former but empowered by the latter. No one knows the depth of that constant interchange of diminishing and empowering inside of you. No one but yourself and your God.

There are things you cannot change. Moaning and whining about them out loud only displays your own powerlessness over them. Verbalizing things also tends to be frowned upon as noise by those who cannot see where you really are. They can only look at what they think they see, and listen to what they assume they hear. It is fruitless to measure your real ability to cope with life through the disadvantaged eyes and seeming deafness of other people.

You can only do this: Take a huge gulp of air from above and then hold your breath as you dive down below. You must do this to survive. Otherwise you will suffer the horrible fate of getting swallowed up by the superficial. And then you will go to your grave not having known who you really are, not having understood what the things you went through were for.

The darkness of the deep is scary. The light that Jesus shines is limitless, but He chooses to show you only the areas of your life that you can bear to see; those that you can understand without the bewilderment that overwhelms the soul.

He is a good God; a wonderful Savior; your beloved, faithful Friend.

He is All you need as you dive down those depths; All you can actually depend on. There is, therefore, nothing to fear.

You will find trash on your ocean floor. The remains of reckless words and decisions. They lie at the bottom of your sea but somehow still have the power to slice through your skin a bit here and there. Immobile though they may be, these tiny daggers hurt whenever you make contact with them. That is the horrible truth about sad memories.

But then Jesus would not have named Himself Jehovah Rapha if He did not know how to heal those little wounds that come and go.

You will find tiny pieces of gold if you look hard enough. They are the tiny ways you loved others, and the ways that you poured out yourself to help or defend those in need—even at much cost to your own personal well-being, comfort, or happiness.

Those things never go unnoticed by the One who said you must not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. He is a seeker of true givers, true hearts after His own. The rewards are eternal. And so if you look hard enough, you will see little snippets, little clues, little glimpses of the unfathomable joy that will be yours for all eternity. They’re all there; tucked beneath some monstrous, dark, slimy boulder lying at the bottom of your ocean.

You may not see those little clues now. But you must trust the Lord’s Word that they are there.

And so with every dive you learn more about your past, your world, your reason for being. You are not a mother; because once your babies grow up and they choose to reject your nurturing hand as they venture out into the worlds of their choice then you shall have ceased being.

You must allow them to make their own mistakes and learn from those. It is how Life shows Himself to be sovereign over all.

You are your own beautiful soul. Why should you doubt that if you are certain that you have been redeemed from eternal damnation by the Lord Jesus? You only need to remind yourself of that truth whenever you get stuck in the murky residue of things past.

You are a new creature in Christ; always being renewed in the power of the Holy Spirit, never dying inside. The enemy of your soul may plant seeds of damning devilish thought into your mind from time to time but he never wins.

How can he win when Christ is forever victor?

Your Christ is pure white light. He is the beauty, and the power, and the consistency, and essence of all the brilliant colors of the rainbow combined.

He is dazzling light; blinding to those who refuse to see, those who prefer to hide in the comfort of their own darkness.

You do not belong to that kingdom of darkness. You belong to His kingdom of light. That light will always shine in the darkness; the darkness of your past, the dark places of your present, the dark threats of your future.

So from the bottom of your ocean pick out the best gifts of the past. Pick up the precious items that the Light shines on, and then carry them with you as you swim upward toward your surface. As you gasp for air above the water, you will find exuberant, inexplicable joy. The little bits of glowing treasures from your deep are enough to get you through the dimness that some days ahead may bring.

The Light is in you and with you. This is a sure thing.

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#kamilawriting
16 October 2018

I am My Own Target Market

I am My Own Target Market

by Kamila More Cabisada
(January 8, 2018)

This cafe is like
Papemelroti in a cup
I am free to just breathe.
Just feel
Just be
I am reminded
I do not have to run
and run all the time
Wearing myself out
for things that are
running away too
Just as I am.

No slave to time
My quaint spot calls me
To sit, sip
quietly
My Papemelroti
in a cup

And think
and dream
of what it would
be like
To have sons
running to your tummy
To squeeze you good night
and daughters
reaching for your photograph
To hug you (sleep tight…)

The cafe started
as a kiosk, the woman said
I now dream of
kiosks and cafes
little stalls and hawkers
orange sellers and waiters
bustling about

And children running in the breeze
To mommies endlessly
Waiting.
Clock-free.
Love-bound.

I am my own target market.

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One Piece at a Time

One Piece at a Time

by Kamila More Cabisada

Sort through
Piles of discarded
Memories, leftover pain
Emptied canisters of
Bubbling laughter

Sort through
Years of tiny
Running feet in
Over-sized shoes
Grimy hands raiding
An overused ref
Makeup kits used
For watercolor art
Empty red checkbooks
Tied up with a band

Sort through
Heaps of music box dreams
Sheets, staves, notations
Audible cats
Scratching lines on the wall

Sort through tears
And dried laundry stains
And doomed coffee acid
Shards of broken glass

Sort through bits
And pieces here and there
Crawl through time
And get yourself back.

one piece at a time -zeke edit