Writing Isaiah: Entry #3

Writing Isaiah

Entry #3

May 13th, 2013

Wade Meyer

In the interest of spontanaity, here are the first two questions I thought about.

I will consider it some more and send other questions if I come up with something.

1. Take a few minutes and just listen. What is Scrappy-Do saying to you right now?

2. What organ are you most aware of right now? What does it feel like?

I ask these questions because I'm curious about how this little life form is forming its own voice - even though filtered through you right now. Also because I believe there is communication from and within our bodies themselves all the time. My feet have a story to tell you, for example. And I have always been curious what it feels like - what it really feels like - what physically it is like to have this little bunch of tissues, this little alien that's you and not-you, and it's growing fast!

Emily Joye McGaughy-Reynolds 

My Dear Dear Wade,

What I wouldn't do to spend time with you in Oakland or Rockridge right now, sipping on Blue Bottle Coffee, grubbing on dark chocolate, coasting on the streets, checking window-front titles, talking queer life, talking religion, death, love, sex and human fucking beings. All the stuff we always touch on, munch on and sift through. God, I miss you. 

I want to answer your first two(ish) questions, but I've got to say that I feel most intrigued by your follow-up paragraph, particularly this "little life form forming its own voice - even though filtered." So, in the interest of spontaneity...

1. At this very second Isaiah seems to be completely still. What might he be saying in his stillness? I don't know, to be honest. Perhaps that he is busy growing and needs rest. But I choose to interpret this stillness as an invitation to rest myself. Like if he needs it, maybe I need it too. 

It was beautiful to get centered in my belly for a moment of pure listening. Thank you for that invitation. 

2. Today I am most aware of my breasts. Because they keep being experiencing shooting pains, like their internal composition is shifting. It's actually quite excruciating; but short, so thank G-d for that. I don't remember this with my first pregnancy. I wonder if these sensations are due to weening Rory or if it's my breasts getting ready for Isaiah. They are totally in transition. Who knows. 

Now. 

In terms of the formation of voice in utero, throughout pregnancy, into the world--perhaps we detour for a moment to a topic you and I have wrestled with in seminary and over the years. Prayer. It's a temporary detour, or maybe not one at all, but a segway. 

When I first learned of my pregnancy with Aurora, I began lathering my belly with lotion every day, paying close attention to the words or phrases that came as I tried to physically and spiritually connect with her (developing self). This felt like a prayer practice: listening, expressing, connecting both to the truths I bear but also the truths that come from somewhere/someone else. Over time I accumulated 6 words and I repeated them every time I got out of the shower and caressed myself/her: strength and resilience, integrity and humility, harmony and beauty. Again, this felt like a prayer practice, or maybe chanting of a kind. 

I have begun the same practice in my pregnancy with Isaiah. Very different words and phrases have come. This time I've got compassion, mercy, positive power, passion in purpose, safe arrival, healthy thriving. Where do these words come from? Why are they so different, one child from the other? Are they about my hopes or are they related to my innate knowledge of this growing life that is not (at this time) separate from me? 

One of the central wrestlings of parenting, in my experience thus far, is the thin line between exercising respectful agency/influence as a parent and exerting control by imposing too much of one's (in this case, the parent's) will. Like who am I to thrust these particular words/phrases, these intentions, these prayers/chants onto a child I've never met? It's rather presumptuous right? Are Aurora & Isaiah in any way speaking these words to me that I then speak back on them? That is my hope. 

What is the human voice? Is it our capacity to speak? I cannot believe it is only this, for certainly there are voices within me that never get spoken. I think of someone like Micheal Campos for instance. He has a quiet spirit. He does not talk a lot or for long--at least not in my experience. And yet his voice constantly echoes in my heart. Things he said to me 5, 6 years ago still ring out when I'm contemplating certain questions about ethics, gender, pedagogy. Is that Micheal's voice in my head/heart? I guess what I'm wondering about here are the limits and freedoms, the specific incarnations and transcending tendencies of expression itself. I can't know whether Aurora and Isaiah have given me these words because in all honesty I don't know where they begin and where I end or where I begin and they end. This is especially true when the babes are in utero. 

When it comes to the formation of voice, the developmental phases that either encourage or shut-down the capacity of babes/children to express themselves, I must admit that I think parental listening is huge. In fact, maybe this is true in general. Like can anyone find voice, ever, without having space to be heard? In some ways, you, Wade, have been one of those spaces for me. I learned some of my own languages because of your listening presence, particularly languages about self-love and the need to be gentle with myself when shit gets rough. You remember that line from Nelle Morton, right? About the need for feminist womyn to "hear each other into speech?" Yeah. Mary Tolbert loved to quote that in our NT class. Anyways, I think parents need to hear their children into speech, witness their children into expression, lovingly host their children's developing voice. Paul Tillich said something similar along these lines: "the first duty of love is to listen."  

Let me be real: that shit is hard sometimes. Sometimes Aurora says "hi" 300 times in a day. Am I listening intently on the 289th time? Not so much. There are also times when what she's expressing doesn't fit my framework for listening, like I literally don't understand her right now. She is babbling a ton, and based on her inflection it's obvious that sometimes she is asking (for?) something, sometimes she is demanding and sometimes she's just oogle-googling for the sake of it. Because she doesn't use letters and sounds the way I do, I don't always know what she's asking for or demanding. Which can almost immediately foster a sense of powerlessness in me. It reminds me of my interactions with congregants who want to know the "why" of their suffering. Because I don't use theology the way they do, nor do I always fit their notion of what a pastor should be (i.e. one who gives definitive answers), we are often at an impasse in terms of care. Again, in light of their particular communication, I feel powerlessness. So the first duty of love is to listen. But fuck it's hard sometimes when you listen but don't/won't/can't understand.  

What gives me great hope for my children is that I won't be the only one trying to hear them. Their voices will emerge because of the plethora of people who provide them with space/place/time. I mean, think about it. How many people have 'heard you into speech' in your life time? It's unquantifiable, right? Again, I think different parts of who we are come out based on what gets heard, what gets seen, what gets hosted. So part of my parenting work is to surround Aurora and Isaiah with people and to encourage them to surround themselves with people who are capable of hearing, seeing and hosting the stuff I/we cannot. 

In closing, I hope you know how important it is to me, Wade, that you--gentle, powerful, strong and sassy you--are one of those people that surround my children and draw them out. 

All my love,

Emily Joye