Seen!

Next to God, the mother’s power for good is the strongest known on earth. AH 240.1

My mother hated me. Since the day I was born dark skinned unlike her, she hated me. I looked too much like my father too. And what made it worse? As I grew, people from church who had known my father when he was still married to the love of his life, his first wife with whom he had two sons, would always comment about how I looked like my dad’s firstborn son.

He was tall. Dark. Handsome. Did I mention dark? And my mother hated him before she even had me. She erased him and his brother from my father’s presence. When my father’s first wife died, my father had promised his young adult sons that their home (Chosen by apartheid officers) would always be their home even though he had now so swiftly found a new wife. A woman only two years older than his firstborn son! He promised the home he’d gotten with their mofher, would always be theirs.

But my mother made sure they were not only evicted, but didn’t even get a POT that belonged to their mother. The dining room table and chairs I sat on till the day my last parent was buried? It was bought by my father’s first wife. A clock we used all my childhood had been in use since my brothers’ childhood.

It was as if they weren’t to remember they had a mother. But not because she wanted to be a mother to them. Nor to me. The one who looked wrong. And so, I grew up never being seen. Nobody praised me for calmly reading my books, not making a mess. Nobody thanked me for ironing and cooking when I was 13. I was not seen. Nobody acknowledged that unlike my older siblings and my younger, I didn’t cause any stress because I never drank, didn’t make babies while drunk, didn’t make them sit up till the early morning waiting for me to return from the tavern.

Instead, you know the insults and physical abuse I endured. My good qualities were not seen. My good qualities are still not seen by the adult meant to be my partner in life. I ensure Vi and our aide know they she seen and appreciated. I praise them to others in my circle.

And my children? They arise and call me blessed, à la Proverbs 31. Ok, they don’t really. But they see me. Literally too! My ten year old son told me to stop tightening his sister’s locs as I was sweating “terribly” and it looked scary. We are in the middle of a heatwave here.

Look at the cool nature of our hair. This is the part I didn’t get round to tightening this evening as my body is fighting extreme pain.

Compare it to the bottom (the roots) that have been latched into submission.

I love the versatility of our hair, the way we can all have natural hair but maintain it differently.

She herself ensured I knew I was seen. Nothing new there, I know! But it was what she noticed that made me feel warm. She told me, “Mom, I’ve seen the books in your bookshelf. There are so many about understanding and helping children like us! You care about us! How come daddy doesn’t read about us? He only cares amour business, that’s all he reads. But you care about us. I’m proud of you.” 😅

Never did I consider what my books would symbolise to the children.

The love I have for them, is seen. The sacrifices I make, sometimes are seen, by them!

And the way they talk to me, the things they write and say, show me they know they are seen too. Yet another generational curse -broken.

I also know I am seen by my Creator Who is ever by my side or whose angel is ever by my side. Never forsaken despite how alone I may feel. Seen. And so are you in your sphere.

Woman should fill the position which God originally designed for her, as her husband’s equal. The world needs mothers who are mothers not merely in name, but in every sense of the word. We may safely say that the distinctive duties of woman are more sacred, more holy, than those of man. Let woman realize the sacredness of her work, and in the strength and fear of God take up her life mission. Let her educate her children for usefulness in this world, and for a home in the better world. CE 178.2