Of Being Drawn & “Unfair” Beginnings

By May 25, 2016Uncategorized


I’m reading about Moses. I’m reading about myself. I’m reading about you and I. You see, Moses, his entire life, was characterized by transition. His name means “Drawn from the Water”. He was born in troubling times when the powers that be of the day were threatened by the strength, might and prowess of his people – and his people, bless their hearts, were completely unaware – which is typical of most political regimes in Africa today – but this is not a political debate or a political platform so let’s get back to the business of the day!

I wonder how many of you feel like your world has been ripped apart and that this transition is neither deserving nor fair. I implore you to take this journey with me as we explore the twists and turns of he who was Drawn from the Water and see how the seed of greatness in him – just like the seed of greatness in you – must be fed by each and every experience which ultimately leads to your destiny. The secret is not to dwell in the equity and equality or lack thereof, but to find the positive and live the positive. Because your today is fueling your tomorrow and your tomorrow will feed your destiny. Let us begin … … …

I can see his mother hiding her pregnancy because there are whispers that what’s coming is not good. This new Pharaoh is a hard man. He cares nothing for the history of the Hebrews or how they came into the land of Goshen.I see her crying silent tears as she labors to bring him forth into a hard and uncaring world. She daren’t even whimper as they will come for her baby. The most horrific “genocide” is currently on-going. They are taking and slaughtering male children. She knows in her heart of hearts that this one is a boy – Lord please, why must we give birth with such pain, and tearing, and blood. And why would you allow us to watch as they took that which we so dearly and painfully labored for – and kill it so gruesomely in our site leaving us nothing but small, pathetic body parts to gather and bury. I see her struggling in the early days to hide him even as she must go to the fields and make bricks and sneak out and breast feed. This is not the era of breast pumps or expressing or indeed even bottle feeding. I see her crying frantically as he cries in the middle of the night from a fever – this is not the era of medication or hand-held thermometers or air conditioning. I see her growing desperate day by day even as she is released that he has survived this long but knowing that one day soon, if she doesn’t do something about it, she too will bury her son – one piece at a time.

I see her formulate a plan out of her desperation, not knowing the full extent of the pain it will bring her. I see her weaving a basket late into the night because she cannot do it during the day because she must deliver her quota of bricks in order for the family to meet it’s quota in order for her husband not to be flogged. I wonder if she told her husband what her plan was. I wonder if he suspected she was up to something. I see her lining the basket with tar to keep out insects and snakes. I see her laying her baby boy in it with tears in her eyes. This ripping is like her own heart is being ripped out. He cries a whimpering cry and looks at her but she cannot bear to pick him up. She rocks him gently to sooth him and sings to him a lullaby. As he nods off, she looks around her home. Her family is still sleeping but only for a few more minutes. She wakes her eldest daughter, her little helper, her loving first born and sneaks out of the house with her. I hear her silently mourning as she places the basket in the River Nile. Snakes, scorpions and lizards may be held at bay as will hawks, eagles and other predatory birds. But what about the dreadful crocodiles? She falters in the dawn’s early light. What good can she possibly expect to come out of this plan? But even as she does so, she hears signs of life as her people arise and women draw near as they come to fetch water for their morning tasks. She pushes him off into the river and tells her Miriam to follow and not leave her brother until she can no longer follow because the river won’t allow it. She returns home and for the first time, she cannot speak, she cannot eat, she cannot work. She lays down and holds her womb – her empty womb, and hugs her baby’s blanket and drinks in his scent. She can no longer pray to a God who can allow such a cruel fate, but she cannot sit here and not try to protect him – and so she prays fervently the most desperate of prayers: LET HIM LIVE LORD! And that is all she can do.

I hear the desperation in her husband’s voice when he finally manages to get the full story out of her and the anger as he runs towards the river. But alas, it is too late. He returns full of rage and yells, then dissolves into a mess of tears and holds her, and then oscillates between the two emotions. For days he will not speak to her. Not even after Miriam returns with the miraculous news that the king’s daughter has taken in her baby brother. This courageous little angel had the nerve to approach and ask if she needed a nurse. The king’s daughter accepted. Miriam brings her mother to the opulence that is the new home of her baby – but they do not tell his new mother that this is his real mother. Perhaps out of naivety or perhaps out of desperation or perhaps deep down she even knew, the King’s Daughter never suspects or asks if this could be the mother of her new son. The child has wailed for days and refused the nursing breasts of any other. She is desperate and when this mournfully sad but strangely beautiful Hebrew woman holds him, he immediately clings to her and latches onto her breast and suckles for dear life. In a few minutes he is sleeping peacefully and she doesn’t care why. She just cares that he is at peace, fed, and asleep. She doesn’t notice the silent tears of the Hebrew slave nursing her new son. Neither does she notice the silent tears of the Hebrew slave’s child. She only has eyes for the little one who has brought her hope after years of a barren existence where society has cast her out and looked down upon her even though she is the child of a king. The men smile kindly and pitifully and the women look proudly and disdainfully while they all strike at her with their cruel tongues. This child can bee her redemption song. This child will be her redeeming love. This child will put her on equal footing if not higher because of her lineage and social standing – and allow her to hold a conversation and command respect. She did not save this child’s life. This child saved her life!!

And so begins the journey of transition for a child of transition in a season of transition.


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Author Bev

I am Beautiful - Empowered - Visionary

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