Love is serious business

It was while at a friend’s wedding recently that I was reminded of the beauty and seriousness of the vows I made to Mr. O almost 9 years ago. At 24 I was rosy eyed and love stricken, this was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. What that entailed?! – I had no clue. Even with all the counseling, the excitement of walking down the aisle and sharing house with my boy friend got the better of me. Now, almost 9 years later, sitting in the congregation and listening to Flavia saying her vows, set me nodding like a puppet on strings, like I was having a eureka moment.


In marriage, not only do you become one in body, “You become one in thoughts, dreams and aspirations”. It’s the melting and molding of two separate individuals into one – the surrender, sacrifice and selflessness, the encouragement, rebuke and protection that make everything real and hard at times. As time inches forward, our faults and failures are magnified. You get your cute little head out of the clouds and trek the ground with all its rocks, sand, paddles, potholes and parties. Purpose to trek together, support one another and be there for each other no matter the situation. There is an indescribable bond and purpose to life when you work as a team. You have more confidence to face life’s curved balls because you know your back is covered.

The rings are made of earths most precious materials signifying heavens most precious virtue – Love. So, the priceless question is - What is love? Is it the ooey, gooey, mushy, washy, starry eyed feeling that makes your heart go giddy up?
Well, here is another angle:-

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don't love, I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.

Love never gives up.


Love cares more for others than for self.


Love doesn't want what it doesn't have.


Love doesn't strut,


Doesn't have a swelled head,


Doesn't force itself on others,


Isn't always "me first,"


Doesn't fly off the handle,


Doesn't keep score of the sins of others,


Doesn't revel when others grovel,


Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,


Puts up with anything,


Trusts God always,


Always looks for the best,


Never looks back,


But keeps going to the end.


LOVE NEVER DIES.

Love is a commitment not a feeling. It puts up with anything – beat that!

I can’t snap my fingers and say, “That’s it! I’ve had enough of your adulterous, porn addictive, nagging, filthy ways!” You choose to love me even when I’m a disrespectful, stubborn, unsupportive, uncommunicative partner.

There is heavenly freedom and joy in knowing that no matter what I do, you are there, you care. Just the knowledge that you’re accepted is a motivation to be a better person. There is salvation and not condemnation.

We promise to be together “in sickness and in health” but how one’s stomach falls when a partner is diagnosed with a terminal illness – it’s scary. It’s near impossible to shake off the anguish when a child dies or is sickly. The flurry of emotions either strengthens or tears the marriage. The dangerous blame game pours salt in the juice; my children are not as brilliant because of your genes, now they stand a risk of inheriting this disease, I could have had a child of the other sex … As if to say, this was not part of the deal, I expected you to be perfect. Acknowledge the feelings of frustration and accept your partner with the knowledge that certain things are not planned.

Can we Love unconditionally? Not without God’s help we can’t.

As partners, our primary role is to help each other blossom and live up to our full potential. We are accountable to God. At the end of the day you will present you partner before God and He will ask to see how much of a better person you made them.

The world would be a different place if we didn’t give up on each other, didn’t strut or fly off the handle, took pleasure in the truth, always looked for the best, trusted God always…

It’s that serious and that fulfilling.

A day in the life of this expecting mommy

I honk the car horn, throw my head back and wait.
I hear fumbling on the other side before the gate creaks and opens in a haphazard fashion.
There, I see Mich, struggling to drag this heavy metal, pulling it back like a playmate resisting his tag. Tripping over his own feet in excitement , he grins as he lets the car in. I roll the car into parking position and switch off the engine.

I’m exhausted!

My back is on fire, my hands and feet are expanding like they are being pumped with air pressure. My facial features compete for space. My nose stretches east and west, my eyes sink under the flab of chubby eyelids as though in the game of hide and seek. My cheeks are filled up like I’m hoarding nuts on each side.

Then I hear on the radio how some crazy Chinese man stormed a kindergarten and hacked 8 or 9 toddlers to death.

I unlock the door and drag my legs out - one at a time. They slump to the ground and I raise my wobbly self up on their support. The weight of my tummy is unbelievable, it gravitates me towards the floor. Pressure on my pelvis, pressure on my bladder, pressure …
Mich rushes at me like a bullet, his eyes sparkling like diamonds, he screams “Welcome back Mummy”. He slams into my side and hugs me tight, as far round as his little arms can reach. The screech of his voice makes baby leap. I smile. What a heartwarming welcome!

I slowly walk into the house, drop my bags on a chair and slump down on the sofa, carefully raising my legs onto the footrest and sighing.
As I stretch and take a few deep breaths, I muse on the news I heard earlier in the day; a plane - Airways Afriqiyah, crashed landed in Tripoli, all 103 passengers died, except an 8 year old boy.
I think of the joys, the aches and strains of pregnancy, how the body works like a machine to make this baby. The woman’s body takes on a new form, it stretches, internal organs are crammed to make space and to nourish new life. Then there is celebration when this baby is born and starts life on its own.

In all this God’s mercies are new every morning; Chinese toddlers die, a Dutch boy is a sole survivor of a plane crash and this African woman, carrying new life in her womb mourns the death of her grandmother. Rest in peace Tata Apio.

What a day, day, day.

My world

We have come a long way and there is still a distance to travel but I give thanks to God for bringing me this far. It’s a new experience. Feels like I’m expecting for the first time. Touching my belly and feeling parts of this little person’s body is amazing. Obviously I’m doing a lot of guess work but am certain that the head is somewhere around “here”, the butt is somewhere around “here”, the knees or elbows … I can’t tell the fingers and toes apart but I feel him/her drawing circles and lines, punching and poking the trapeze, aka my stomach. Trips to the loo have stepped up to almost every 30 minutes – that can be very bothersome.


My bounce is gone. I have recently acquired the duck walk for balancing purposes but I try to keep it as subtle as possible.

In other news Mr. O is out of town, I miss him sorely. It’s not good for woman to be alone. When lives get intertwined, life is not the same when one party is missing. It’s in the little things: turning on the radio in the morning, driving to and from work together, conversations and remarks, having dinner together…

Mich feels his absence too but I get to face the brunt of zillions of questions. They come in one big wave, as though he were uncomfortable with silence and talking is a calming therapy. He calls me 8 times in one sentence and everything is a question “why did God create men with breasts?” “Did I tell you about Bakugan swam fire?” “What is moisture?” “When is Daddy coming back?” I have to give well thought out answers - the absent minded responses only cause a regeneration of questions. He loves to share new information too like “the smoke that comes out of a ship’s engine is burnt coal” or “we should thank the Indians and Chinese for inventing gun powder” – this is off an education DVD that he just got.

We butt heads constantly these days, especially when he is fixated on disobeying. I tend to miss his subtle manipulation mostly because I’m drained from the days events. On good days I’m able to get a grip on things and think of creative ways of getting him onto my side without exactly being dictatorial. On other days I just lose it. He relates better when he understands the principles but it takes a lot of patience and yet I want immediate obedience. Every day I’m reminded that parenting takes prayer, lots of it, there is no way of carrying out this responsibility without God. I see traits in Mich that I loathe, even more because it’s a mirror of me. I need God to work on my character on a minute by minute basis so I can portray Christ.

Pregnancy and tradition in Kampala

Tradition! tradition!
Just like Tevye would sing in "Fiddler on the roof".
I stumbled on some interesting pregnancy information over the long weekend.

While Helen lived with me, she talked about a herb expecting mothers in Teso take to avoid miscarriage and to strengthen the womb. The ingredients include tree buck and millet grains; it’s pounded to powder, mixed with water and taken 3 times a day.

As the pregnancy progresses to about the 8th month, the traditional birth attendant / "old woman in the village" massages the pregnant woman’s belly to make the baby face down, ready for delivery. The massage is also known to keep the baby active.

The Baganda are hinged to their traditional beliefs more than any other tribe I know and Emily played a huge role in confirming my suspicions.

Her advice; - a pregnant woman must bathe with cold water. It keeps the baby active, gives her energy and wades off nausea and morning sickness. The water should be kept outside overnight and she should shower before 7am. I couldn't bother leaving it out all night, by the time I run the water from the tap, it's as chilly as could be. The moment that water hits my back I'm as awake as an owl in the night. Of course that is after I have counted to 20, taken a few deep breaths and muffled a few screams. I don't know if it cures nausea and morning sickness though.

She should soak certain herbal leaves in cold water and wash with them.
“How does this work?” I ask.
And that is where my adventure begun.

Saturday morning; I met Emily at the taxi park and we started our journey to Katwe. Wading through the park was worse than trying to swim through thick mad. It's overly congested - more complicated for me with my protruding belly. Cars park so close together it’s near impossible passing between them. I took the longer route which was a maze in itself – reminded me of the puzzles I did when I was a kid; “Jane is lost please help her find her way home” your given several possible routes but only one leads home. So, it was up and up, turn left, turn right, turn right, turn left again, move back, watch out for the wheel burrow pusher, move back again, a little forward until finally you get there. We hopped into the taxi and travelled to Katwe market.

The market was packed with vendors selling all sorts of goods; banana fibers, honey, fish, spaghetti, live chicken, carrots, vegetables, tangerines, 2nd hand gadgets, pears...

We were given directions to the women selling traditional herbs where we met a woman in her mid 30’s sitting behind a heap of what looked like weeds that had been uprooted from a garden, hard to imagine that she was actually selling trash; dried yellow flowers, goose berry stalks, pumpkin leaves…But to her and all those who know the treasures beneath these grasses, it’s a lucrative business. That she makes a living off selling this is amazing.

I stood beside Emily as she made inquiries. My tongue was tied because of the language barrier although I understood what was being communicated.

The woman picked out 10 different weeds, which I’m certain to have seen growing in bushes here and there. As she mentioned which ones she considered essential, I asked for an explanation for what each does.

- Akayana
- Kasamba ndege
- Mululuza
- Akabanba maliza
- Oreza
- Ebbobo
- Mukasa
- Namirembe
- Ekyomusayi
- Bbololola
- Akabulula

Three quarters of the leaves were for energy, wading off dizziness, increasing blood levels and making the tummy a perfect trampoline for the baby. I was instructed to soak each type of leaf in a basin of cold water and after taking a normal shower, to wash in the leaves.
I tried the leaves that first night as instructed: soak the leaves in a basin, after taking a shower, squeeze the leaves into the water. I did. The leaves gave off a tantalizing scent, the water turned green and the soil from the roots settled at the bottom of the basin. I didn’t feel that different afterwards but I did struggle to get the leaves off my body. It was a messy process; by the end of it all I was sweating from trying to clear the bathtub of all evidence of this stuff. Because it takes so much time, I doubt that I will be able to do this on a daily basis – it would be so much easier in a grass thatched bathroom.
Next to the lady with the herbs was another woman who sold clay- Bbololola and Akabulula. The former is supposed to be a nice drink that clears the system and the latter is to be drunk in the later stages of labor, it is said to reduce the pain and make labor swift.

Bbololola and Akabulula

Bbololola; pour boiled water into a dish (specially made out of clay) grind the piece of clay into the water until it makes some kind of grayish drink. Unfortunately the little calabash/ dish that I bought broke on the way :-). I’m looking for a new one then I will tell you my experience.

The other clay - Akabulula looked like mad. It’s mixed in a similar fashion but strictly drunk when labor is in the 3rd stage. It’s meant to ease the pain, but apparently should be taken in secrecy – I don’t know how a woman in labor will have the frame of mind to be discrete, especially in the final stages of labor but apparently doctors don’t encourage it that is why it’s done in secrecy.

That is the little education I received over the Easter weekend. I’m not a good student – can’t follow the instructions to the tee but I will keep you updated if and when I notice changes.

The clock is ticking. I have climbed over the 25th mark, just hit 26 and going steady. In a week’s time I will be in month 7 - That is exciting! I’m doing well so far, nothing to complain about except the heat and a few aches. Sleeping is serious business these days, can’t just flip over like I used to. Now I plan the turns - think about it, decide it has to be done lest I get numb, I sit up, shift, turn, and then lie down again. Thankfully sleep is still in plenty even though it’s hiccupped.

YOUR BROKEN HEART MENDED MINE

Your eyes locked in a loving gaze
Words were not necessary - You had been chosen
Papa’s heart was breaking but you knew It had to be done.
A decision soaked in Love and Mercy,
Grace and Compassion,
Sorrow and Pain,
And Passion – a mission!

Wrapped in swaddling cloth and held in the delicate but firm hands of a maiden.
Though she was naïve and inexperienced you saw obedience, desire and wisdom.
How did you feel dressed in human flesh? - A “made-in-your-likeness” baby?
You! Perfectly God yet perfectly man.

32 years on, your purpose unfolded
12 simple men by your side, questioning, always questioning,
Crowds following, some smiling, some sneering
Ladies reaching for your cloak, emptying perfume jars on your feet,
Eager to hear you, feed you and wash your feet with their tears.

The donkey and the Palms
The 12 simple men at the dinner
The garden – bleeding with sorrow
The betrayal
The interrogation
The denial
The crown of thorns
The flogging
The wood plunks, heavy on your back
The excruciating journey up the hill
The nails in your hands and feet
The gush in your side
Aaaah!

Papa turned away
Deserted you to bear it all
You became sin, but you hadn’t sinned
Alone, wounded, mocked, despised
The last breath and you were gone.

What happened down under?
What did you there?
What did you see?

Three days later
You came forth
The stone was rolled away
The BATTLE won
You took the keys of death and hell

Now I immerse myself in your blood,
I use your Name – the password to Life
Your obedience paid my ransom - bought my freedom

You are coming again, do not tarry I pray
But that I would be ready when you return.

Copyright © Mary 2010

HAPPY EASTER!

24 weeks with a stitch and what to expect

When I first became pregnant in 2004, there was one book that moms swore by. It was expensive, those with copies guarded them jealously. I was told the book had everything an expecting mom needed to know about pregnancy and the title – “What To Expect When You're Expecting” said it all. Although I was never able to get my hands on a copy, I visited the website regularly and I still do. What I appreciate about WTE, (apart from the detailed information on various topics) is the humor. It was easy to get a slight smile on my face on days when I was bloated, when the world has a sick smell or when I couldn't lift my head off the pillow.
There is a wealth of information on this website for ladies trying to get pregnant, are pregnant, have just given birth, have a toddler - the whole nine yards. I just love it.

I’m 24 weeks today!

I enjoy feeling baby’s movements, I love the tap tap tap, the pokes and twirls, smooth and reassuring. Some of the kicks have been alarmingly painful though, the scan showed my cervix is already dilating but thanks to the stitch everything is still intact. It might have to be reinforced but I will only know after my doctor's appointment tomorrow. I’ve got to be extra careful. It's not easy, especially now that I feel energetic and want to do so much. It’s exciting to come this far in my pregnancy - Nziiza and Kwizera didn’t get to this point. I also read that babies have a good chance of surviving from now on.

Baby has an interesting sleep/wake pattern; -he is gyming away at 9:00pm when I'm ready to sleep. 5:30 am, when my alarm goes off, he wakes up. At 20 weeks, the alarm would startle him but now, he is used ; he either wakes just before it goes off or just on time. On weekends, he is my alarm, he wakes up at the same time. Who knew sleep patterns could be noted so early?! Can I reinforce this out of utero?! I wonder.

Poof!

My word! Something is going down up in Uganda.

The Bududa landslides that hit eastern Uganda early this month, were a shocker. The destruction and death unfathomable;- whole families suffocated under the mud, children left orphans, fresh widows and widowers. It all happened in the blink of an eye. When King Solomon said life is fleeting, he was spot on, these hard working groups of people woke up to death. No one saw it coming, literally.

Last night, the Royal Kasubi tombs caught fire and burnt down - something like rain in the desert. My jaw dropped in shock. What is going on?

Acts of God, and now acts of man, what next?

I think about the tombs with nostalgia and pride because I ‘m glad I visited this historic site early last year. I saw it in all its glory; the smell of dried banana fibers, dust, coffee beans, backcloth and old wood, now replaced by the choking smell of smoke and ash -all this, turned to ash and emptiness. The relics; the spears, the king’s stuffed leopard, Buganda's history, our heritage ...

David Hoffman has some insights to share about losing everything. His house burnt down and this is what he had to say

My special before picture;

So, hopefully we can take this bad and make something good out of it.