What Do You Have to Offer

Don’t be ashamed of your past, don’t be ashamed because your skin is darker than mine—I’m not white either, but peaches and cream!

               The white race should collectively hang their heads if they think they are superior. We are historically known for being assertive and materialist, for getting things done, but is that really what counts?

               You have traditions, gentler customs than we are known for, and it brings tears to my eyes and I’m not the weepy type. Some of you come from cultures that deeply respect your elders, may God bless you.  When so many from the same area are sweet and mannerly, I know it’s more than just a coincidence.

               Okay, it’s time to get more specific. I was reading Chicken Soup for the Mother’s Soul Book 2 just now and these Native American’s girls had the custom of spending one day alone, each month, during their menstrual cycle to contemplate on what kind of person they wanted to become. Was that part of your lineage? Just imagine the quality of character that could develop from taking the time to prayerfully meditate beginning in your formative years and continuing throughout life.

               Now, let’s go way across the ocean, to the other side of the world, and learn about a different group of women. These wonderful African ladies obviously valued children highly: well before the child was born, even before conception had taken place, they would go off alone to listen to the song of the infant they hoped to carry.  All throughout the pregnancy, they will sing this song, and teach it to the old women and midwives in the village. At birth, the child is greeted by ‘their’ song and soon all the village learns it so that at every high point, or time of distress, it is being sung to the growing child and later adult.

Doesn’t that sound so peaceful and loving? Doesn’t it seem like a beautiful way to knit family members, a village, together? I only wish I knew more details about these wonderful people, where they came from, what their names were, and so on.

               Lift up your heads, you ‘colored’ people, you have so much to offer! (And don’t forget we are actually more colored than you. We blush with embarrassment; turn green with envy, blue with cold, pale with shock, you name it!)

If you like this author how about checking her website: www.marilynshistoricalbooks.com

I ReCALLED It!

RECALL!! Did you order a copy of Two Mothers, Twin Daughters and find that some chapters had been duplicated? If this is your experience please send the copy to me and I will replace it free of charge. (Meet me on Hangouts for my address.)

Two mothers fleeing the British Isles during World War Two. Why does one worry about being a war bride, while the other one, who is married to a widower, seem more content? Why does Grace, the younger one, give one, but only one of her twin daughters away? Why was Grace's husband sent home from the war? What will it be like leaving a city in England while bombs are exploding and submarines lurking, to settle in a Canadian wilderness? What will happen to the identical twins? How will they cope if, or rather when, they find out they have been separated as newborns? 

Book One of the Grace's Dilemma Series.

Check back from time to time and you will find out when the revised version is ready. Yes, it will be better than ever.

www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com

The Twins Are Still Separated

Two Mothers, Twin Daughters

Chapter Nineteen

Some folks seem to enjoy reading excerpts from the book I am writing, so I’ll update you once again.

T hree years went by, and the twins were still separated.

Margaret listened; for once the children were quiet. It seemed they had settled down nicely for their naps, the two younger ones, that is, and Davey Juniour wouldn’t be released from school for another hour or so.  She reached for her Bible on the nearby nightstand and took the latest letter from Marita out from just inside the back cover and clutched it in her hands while bowing her head in prayer.  The much read letter was already a year old so Margaret carefully unfolded the sharp creases to read it once more.

“Dear Margaret,

I can’t bear to tell my dear mother-in-law what we are going through so hope you can take it since I feel I would crack up if I couldn’t share with someone!

Randall’s out of work—again, has been for three months this time. In a way I am not sorry he lost this job but we are in desperate straits. He had had an epileptic fit while on scaffolding and fell. The job wasn’t waiting for him when his leg finally mended.  

Sometimes I am at my wits end to know how to respond to him.  We are hungry nearly all the time but I know he finds enough money to spend on beer. How long must I excuse his behavior on the war? Does David sometimes seem to be unreasonable---still?

Oh, Margaret, what can I ever do? I would offer to take in babysitting but our one room suite and half bath are far too crowded to entertain extra children. 

Thank you so much for the gift of money you slipped in your last letter.  Oh, Margaret, it’s a good thing Randall wasn’t home when the mailman arrived with the cash. I bawled buckets and Emily was all over me trying to comfort me so I tried to tell her they were happy tears.

I  hope I can someday repay you.  I have to dole it out slowly so he won’t get suspicious and wonder where it came from. As it is I have to hide it because he rifles through my purse in the vain hope I’d have some money stashed away.

So far I have only bought a small bag of oatmeal and some powdered milk with the money, and oh yes, a bag of carrots because they keep for a long time in the icebox,  we won’t go hungry for a while.

Emily is healthy, for which I thank the Lord. Her sweetness and innocence helps me to trust our Heavenly Father more. I have much time on my hands so often turn to Mum-in-law’s Bible in time of need. I still worry a lot and get sharp with Randall way too often, but I’m glad I have Emily and I’m glad I have God.

Lots of love, |
Marita

P.S. Sorry for being so full of myself: I really do want a long, fully detailed letter about everything that’s going on in your life and especially about Alice.  (Sorry if I sound selfish.)

P.S. 2. We are in Vancouver now, but I’m sure we will be moving soon.

Margaret refolded the letter then gently placed it back between the worn covers of the Bible.  She sat lost in thought until her burdened heart caused her to slip to her knees in prayer. She laid her head on her arm.

“It’s been so long, Lord. Marita is almost dearer to me that a flesh and blood sister might be. Please be with her. Keep her, comfort her, and help Randall to overcome his drinking habit. Thou knowest what awful memories are still gripping him, and we don’t.  Thou knowest the anxiety Marita faces: please help him to find a good job, and keep it. May Marita continue to call upon you when the floods threaten to overwhelm her—“

“Mommy, Alice spilled the milk on the floor!”

It was obvious that Sally would have gotten the milk out of the refrigerator because Alice was too young to handle the door.  Alice was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor with a tea towel.

“Let’s not use a tea towel to clean the floor next time, okay, Sweetie. Sally, you fetch a rag from the rag bag.”

“But she spilled it!”

“Just do as I tell you.”

 “Alice, wait for Mommy to pour your milk for you okay”— she almost called her ‘Sweetie’ again but  remembered it was too easy to favor the daughter of her troubled friend over the other two.

Margaret was thoughtful, prayerful, as she tended to her motherly duties . They walked to the corner to meet Davey and he prattled joyfully about his day at school, she served the trio cookies and milk, but hardly heard him.

David came home two hours later and once again Margaret was so thankful that the man she married had a steady job as a mechanic. There were still far too many veterans drifting aimlessly through life, addicted to the bottle, and not coping well with their violent past. David seemed to be so steady in comparison. 

Two Mothers TWIN Daughters. (excerpt, don't cry too hard.)

 was a good thing that the rocking motion of the train kept Emily sleeping. For many miles her mother leaned forward, shaking with sobs. Then Marita tried to get a grip on herself.
People will be wondering what's wrong, or think I'm mighty queer if I can't stop being so emotional. She managed to hold it in for about five seconds, then a sleepy movement of Emily's little fingers got her thinking about Alice and the tears rolled down her cheeks.

When Emily woke up she was acting restless and fussy. Marita stared at her; she had never acted so upset in quite that way before.  Why does she twist her head from side to side like that and keep whimpering? Does she have an ear ache? Oh surely not!  I have no idea how to soothe an earache, on a train at that.

Emily's whimpers turned into loud, lusty wails and just as she picked her up, it hit Marita like a rock. Emily is missing her identical twin.

Worry lines puckered Marita's forehead. I thought it was only me that would suffer, but look what I have done to my little girl!

 In her agitation it was impossible to calm the crying three month old. What can I do? Oh, what can I do? People are beginning to stare at me, I'm sure of it!

She felt the back of her neck and ears scorch from the real or imaginary disapproval of those around her. What would Margaret have done? She was always so calm, so tranquil with the crying babies while I would get frantic.

Oh, she often sang.

For a moment Marita could see Margaret in the old, scuffed up rocking chair singing sweetly to which ever baby was upset.  The chair was stuffed into the corner of their bedroom because there was simply no other place for it, but the melodies would float through the small space even on the darkest of nights.

Suddenly Marita realised how blessed she had been to have Margaret help her care for the newborns, especially since she was so young and inexperienced.

The songs started coming back to her, and as she crooned, her own spirit calmed.

"Jesus Saviour pilot me over life's tempestuous sing. Boisterous waves around me roll, hiding rock and treacherous shoal, "(Edward Hopper.)

She rocked harder as the wails grew louder, but Emily's crying wasn't affecting her quite the same anymore.  She was thinking of the words.

"As a mother stills her child, Thou canst hush the ocean wild." Ocean wild: that's exactly what my heart's been like for so long now.
.
That's the secret of Margaret's serenity. She lets Jesus hush the storms, the grief and heartache in her own spirit.

Hot tears sprung to Marita's eyes. Margaret suffered much but she always was there for me.

She let her tears fall on Emily's downy hair.

"Lord, I want what she has," she whispered.

A small child hopped off the chair at his mother's side and stood in the aisle watching her.

Marita smiled at him.

"Baby," he said.

"Yes, she's just a baby. She's sleeping now."

He nodded. "Baby cry. Baby go nigh-night."

"Yes, Baby has gone 'night-night."

He observed them silently.

"What's your name, little boy?"

He didn't answer.

"The baby's name is Emily.  Mine is Mar- Mrs. Smith.  Can you say Emily?"

"Mmm'ee. Baby small."

"Yes, Emily is very small, yet, "

He put his hand on the top of his head, it barely reached. " Me big boy. "

He watched Emily making little sucking noises. "Baby hun-gee."

"Baby's fine for a little while. Are you hungry?"

The small champ nodded.

 Oh dear what have I gotten into?

Marita gently laid the baby beside her and reached into her purse.  Margaret had slipped a small paper sack of crackers into her hand while they were at the train station.

She took one out and showed it to his Mum. "Is it okay if I give him one?"

"Bobby, you aren't hungry, are you?"

"Hun'gee!"

"Oh well, just one then. It will tide you over 'til we reach Toronto, You should have a nap while we wait."

"What do you say?"

"Tang-too!" He made a bee-line for his mommy's lap and snuggled there while munching on his cracker, completely oblivious to the crumbs his mother was patiently brushing off his shirt and her skirt.

By then Marita was singing another song.

"What a Friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear..." She looked at Bobby so sleepy in his mother's arms and wondered if she had ever felt safe and secure snuggled up close to her mother.

 Oh, Lord, give me that feeling of security that comes from being close to you. I want to trust you with my whole life; she gave a little shudder, thinking of Randall in gaol, even the unknown future.  She looked down at Emily again, especially the future.

When Emily woke up, and after she had gotten her little tummy filled, Marita arranged her new woolen coat on the floor with the satin side up. Emily seemed to enjoy being able to kick and stretch in the less confining space.

Emily looked so sweet in the cloud soft sweater set Margaret had diligently knitted for her. Margaret had taught Marita how to make one also, and she felt a bit guilty for taking the better one. It was obvious that Margaret's was so much fluffier.

Marita stooped down to remove the light yellow bonnet from the tiny girl  and was pleased to see that Emily's coppery red hair was definitely beginning to curl.

Emily smiled at her and cooed.

Maybe she will get over the loss of her sister soon. Please God.

You Don't Have to Be a Mother to Be a Mother

Do you have to give birth to a baby to become a mother? I’ll let you answer that for yourself. Winston Churchill is a well-known historical figure who made a huge impact on the world. Because of the influence of his nanny, he believed Nazism was “barbaric paganism” and was determined to keep it out of Britain. And he did.

So let’s talk about this woman, Mrs. Everest. She was a mountain of strength to the poor, troubled boy. He was born into an upper class Victorian home where children were pretty much raised by the servants. Although he loved his mother it was Mrs. Everest, who gave him comfort and direction.

There are many young women, and older ones to, whose hearts are breaking because they have never been able to give birth to a child. I sympathize with you. Without a doubt having your own child is, or at least can be, an incredibly wonderful experience. Please don’t feel you have failed, that you are a failure. I beg you from the bottom of my heart, please don’t despair. Perhaps God called you to service in a different way. That maternal instinct needs to be nurtured, not squelched. Can you do it? Is there some little one who you can touch, bond with and make a difference to?

Do you have a niece or nephew who is experiencing frustrating times? What about the child down the street? By all means make friends with the parents first to prove you are trustworthy. Have you ever considered working in a daycare or being a nanny? These are by no means lowly occupations. The cry for foster parents, especially for older children is ongoing. Do you have a heart that’s big enough to take one of these older children in?  Did I just hear you cry, “I wouldn’t dare?” Good for you if you know your weakness, but did you know that God is much stronger than you? You can hide under His wings and He will go before you and make it possible. You don’t need to do any one of these things on your own. Besides you can start with little baby steps. Try being a respite parent for example, or less than that, smile or offer a cheery word of comfort to that overwhelmed mother at the grocery store. 

So who is a mother, a true parent? Someone who really cares about children, someone who wants to comfort them, guide them and help them to become happy, secure, responsible adults. Can you do it? Of course you can—if you place your hand in the Hand of the kind and loving Heavenly Father.

Do we need true mothers? We sure do! Do your part.

P.S. If you have a father-heart it’s no big deal to change the wording a bit. It applies very much to you also. https://www.google.ca/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAYQjB0&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.militaryhistoryveteran.com%2Fwinston-churchill-and-the-nanny-who-saved-western-civilization%2F&ei=wX7sVJmGNIurogS_vYHQDg&psig=AFQjCNFlwObaWQ6UhAJCTkwAQlmNopfV6g&ust=1424871242650796

Where authors and readers come together!

Seeking Shelter in a Cave

24 Chisleu

December 8^th

I feel that my time is drawing nigh, and I am  anxious. It is

frightening to think of having my baby without my mother, or

a midwife, nearby. I am worried about the baby. What will happen if

He comes before we can move on to a better dwelling? This cave is not

clean enough!

Two of the wayfarers, a middle-aged couple, were cooperative and helped us out, but some of the others growled that they were here first, and were not at all inclined to be agreeable under such chilly weather conditions.

I fear they have been indulging too long in the wine that is red.

Oh, surely, surely Adonai, hallowed be His Name, will be with me during this difficult time. My every breath is a prayer that  Adonai will

protect His own Beloved Son —and me.

By the dejected slope of, Yosef’s shoulders, I can sense that he feels

that he has somehow failed me— and us. I must stop writing, now, and tell

him how warm and inviting it all looks by the light of the lamp. Surely

these stabbing pains will ease off now that I have a place to rest. It seems

 too soon for the little one to make His appearance.

Christmas From Mary's Viewpoint

I dumped way too many pages on all you busy people last time, but I hope this will be more manageable.  The pages are crowded together, not like they’d be in the book to make it more compact.  Enjoy!

14^th Sivan

June 4^th

Yosef has not warmly greeted me for many days. I might as well say

it like it really is; we haven’t even exchanged more than two words. He

is polite, but I have seen him treat strangers with more cordiality than

he has bestowed on me! I feel ill with despair.

15^th  Sivan

Somehow, something, must have leaked out at home, because my younger

sisters don’t treat me so sweetly any more. Dorcas and Naomi give me

troubled looks as if they cannot quite understand what has changed

with me. They are not as spontaneous with their hugs as in former days,

or am I just imagining it?

Hanalei and I used to be as close as burrs in sheep’s wool but now she is somewhat reserved in my presence.

 Imma had thought she was old enough to share in our secret, but from the way she is acting we wonder. Perhaps Hana is concerned about how her friends will react when they find out her older sister is expecting a riba, (child), before the wedding. 

Maybe she is afraid this will lessen her own chances of finding a nice, respectable husband. She had been telling me how much she admires Caleb bar-Reuven, for some time now.

Dear old Abba has been quiet and unsmiling  since our discussion.

I wonder so often what he is really thinking. I wish he would not

council with Yaakov so much since Yosef’s father is so perturbed with me.

Now that Father is so distant, Imma waits until he is out of the

house to show her loving sympathy. It is then that the tears, the soothing

healing tears, flow freely, and we can talk.

Naturally Imma does not feel ill as I do, so she is still quite optimistic

about it all. I know she does not consider my story a fantasy like Abba,

Yosef and his family appear to.

What would I do without my mother to lean on; to comfort me? Imma is touched that a daughter of hers would be considered worthy to be the mother of the son of  Adonai , our Almighty God, but is deeply concerned that Yosef is considering getting divorce papers written out.

Isn’t it strange that two such conflicting emotions can dwell in the same heart?

Being thrilled yet at the same time deeply concerned seem so opposite from each other.

 Imma feels for me, and I am glad she is praying that things will work out somehow.

We have whispered together about how dreadful it would be to be identified as an unwed mother. I do not believe Yosef would ever have me stoned, but would

not the stony disapproval of our community be almost harder to bear?

I know that every day I am growing a little rounder, and someday the

sacred secret will be revealed. But unfortunately, or is it fortunately, I

will be far away by then, for Abba insists that I must go, and for who knows how long?

2^nd Tammuz

June 22^nd

We have arrived at Zechariah’s home. The trip was long and

tiresome, but not as dreadful as I feared.

Zechariah’s stone house is situated in a serenely beautiful valley.

It is a spacious dwelling with many archways and pillars.

It even has marble floors. That is such a contrast to our own dirt floor! Oh, well, I love our little home just as much, if not more, because that’s where my family dwells.

I was so enthralled with the cooling fountain in their courtyard, though, as

well as all the exotic flowers and plants surrounding it. It was such a

refreshing change after trudging through the wilderness for so long.

It is very strange to have a room all to myself, and such a soft, high

bed! Yet I will miss having my sisters snuggling down close beside me.

What a blessing it was to be enfolded in Elisheva’s warm embrace!

She seemed so happy to see me. It was like an unexpectedly warm and

balmy breeze in frigid weather.

We had such a meaningful visit right after I arrived that I did not even remember how exhausted I had been feeling ’til a long time later.

To my amazement she knew immediately that I was carrying Yahweh’s son. The baby leaped within her, and then do you know what?—Elisheva started to prophecy like the patriarchs of old! I have never heard anyone do that before!

It thrilled me right to my toes when she said, nay, almost shouted

“Mary’am, you are very blessed among women! The baby you are

carrying is very blessed indeed! How can I be so fortunate that the

mother of our Lord would come, and visit me? As soon as you called

out, the babe knew who you were, and leaped within me!”

What a shiver of awe ran down my back!

She told me I would be blessed for believing. Can you imagine the comfort that was after the despondent atmosphere at home? She also reminded me that all that

the angel told me would come true.

Perhaps if Abba could have heard her faith, and enthusiastic response to my pregnancy, he would have believed, also.

It filled me with such a deep joy to know that Jehovah has regarded

the low estate of me, His quiet, unassuming talitha, that I clasped my

hands in wonder, and magnified His Holy Name.

Future generations will call me Banoah, (blessed),  and indeed they are surely right. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of aant’at would gladly trade places with me.

 The Mighty One has done marvelous things; holy is His name!

 Somehow I sense that when He reigns, He will not only show mercy to those our generation that fear him, but will extend mercy for generations come! I cannot comprehend it! It is so amazing!

Under His guidance, I just know that wrongs will be righted, those that we call powerful will be of no more value than the poor in spirit; the hungry will be satisfied, but the rich will go away empty.

How can I know these things? I simply don’t know. It does seem like a spirit of prophecy descended upon me also, and I am eagerly waiting to see what it means.

 As you may well know, my despondency has been lifted up, carried away on wings of joy!

I just know these are going to be pleasant, meaningful months

helping Elisheva. I am really looking forward to it! Surely we will have many inspirational visits. I really need them to help me to grow into the role Adonai, ordained for me.

A Woman Dearly Loved

I found a poem today that shares what kind of person I am almost better than anything I could say, so I am going to share it.           

To see and watch her is to know

That she is deeply loved. Her face

Reflects this love. Love has left its trace

In her serenity, the glow

Of deep contentment in her eyes.

Her joyous laugh, the cheerful way

She goes about her work each day.

Love halos women, beautifies

The plainest face, for more than bread

To every woman is the knowing

She is cherished: keeps her glowing

With confidence, affection-fed:

Her happiness, so much a part

Of love, enshrined within her heart.

Velma West Sykes

Foolish Warnings?

“Albert come back!” his mother shrieked as her son ventured away from their grassland home to the cultivated field nearby. Albert cast his mother an impish grin and continued on his way.