I have not been able to put my thoughts on the Women’s March in writing yet. I’ll get there but it is taking time. In the meantime, I keep coming back to this piece I wrote years ago about Genesis 3:16-19 and my experience of being a woman…
It all seemed so exciting.
The test was positive, I made the call.
He was dumbfounded but this is what we had been waiting for.
I was tired.
I was hungry yet nauseated.
Then it kicked.
Like the thrill of a first kiss
It did flips inside of me.
Suddenly, it was no longer an “it“ but a he.
I could not hide the smile on my face.
My growing belly contained a name, a human, a separate being.
Nine months I waited.
My body was bursting at the seams.
Then the day came.
It was time.
I was well prepared for this.
You are told to have a plan.
My plan included drugs.
I felt pain.
My pain was relieved.
But in doing so, this stopped my labor.
The doctor pumped my body full of meds to try to move the process along.
It didn’t work.
The nurse stopped the flow of all medication to my veins.
Then I felt pain.
Like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
I felt the pain, but in some odd way
I was thankful for it.
It was my action that resulted in a curse.
Experiencing it first hand made me feel like
In some way,
I was paying the price that
Hours later, the curse,
By the perfect being I held in my arms.
The miracle of birth, of life, of this boy.
My awareness of the curse did not last very long.
Still, every spring
I am reminded.
I plan and shop.
I till and weed.
I fill, and plant, and water, and feed.
Why do I not reap what I sow?
The sun beats down.
The weeds grow tall and numerous.
My hands are blistered.
My neck is browned.
The only thing that flourishes is poison on my land.
My miracle son comes inside at night
Filthy, from dirt and sweat, and heat.
His body is torn and bruised and the poison has found it’s way inside.
Bumps form, up and down his legs.
And my fruit withers and dies.
The unripe growths that do form
Nourish the bugs, the deer, not my family.
There is no need for me to toil and sweat
In the dirt, with the weeds.
For I can purchase any and all food that
My heart would desire.
Still pulling the roots that run deep
Through my soil,
I feel as though I am experiencing the curse
And in some small way,
I am paying the price that
Even still I am aware every now and then
When I think about my future.
When I think about my gifts
Of this curse.
I’ve been told since childhood
That my dreams would be limited.
“And he will rule over you.”
Still, I take my sentence.
Dutifully. Like a man…
With my hands in a fist as I experience this side of the curse
In some small way,
I feel that I am paying the price that
As I sit now and curse my nature
And curse this world
And curse this blasted curse
I am reminded that
An hour of pain,
A season of sweat,
And a lifetime of wanting more
Does NOT pay the price for what my sins have incurred.
There is nothing I can do
Between me and the ground.
Between me and this world.
Between me and my God.
Because it was already done for me.
The price —
has already been paid.