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by Molly Watts (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Australia

Preface: I write these words as a calling, I struggled to handle it but through faith, He made me able. Take it or leave it, But please don’t deceive it. My work of art, pure from the spirit and heart. Run with it, dance with it, feel it truly, smile or cry but hold onto it tight. If you desire the pen or the brush, re-write and express, your story will not end. What resinates let it sit, Reflect and consider, your beloved creator. The club: The music was loud, The voices chattered, My mother saw dad and was amused, My dad strangely confused as she grabbed the skin from his bottom, giving it a slight pinch around near his jean pocket. As months flew by, he saw her one cold night, sitting in the gutter as her heart resembled a shatter. Another season of rain, Passed day by day, I’m pregnant she exclaimed. Part of a greater plan, A story that took years to understand. The Birthing: To be blankly clear, When my body entered the fresh air of the earth, The sound of my cry was described as unheard. Overwhelmed, Flooded in emotions, Excitement and fear, There was absence in her womb as my body was near. To the wonders and pondering of my existence, It soon became evident that I was brought to existence. Unclear as to who or why, My fresh weary eyes were brought to life. After being cut six weeks early from my mother’s womb, God didn’t think I had arrived to soon. From the complications to the lead up to my birth, He provided my identity and gave me great worth. Yet to discover, I grew and grew, This became evident when I come to know you. He knows the numbers of my hair, Clothed me with strength and dignity when I appeared. No clothes of the hospital could fit my shrunken body, Squished so small, Pressed to the wall of my mother’s womb, I didn’t arrive home, I stayed in the hospital room, For many weeks until one autumn noon. The bleeding to the prior, From the womb to the floor, The first child, Potential consequences of enjoying life, May have taken a toll on the freshly birthed child. My mother enjoyed her youth, Dwelling in times of the flesh, by the Grace of God my life began. Living my life in a humidicrib, Being dependant on anyone and everything, My body waivered as emotions drew near, overwhelmed and bounded by fear. Why is there a constant cry? From a place of un-promised safety, To the earth with two souls dedicating this chapter to raise me. In the earth but not of the earth: My father adored me, Gave God great glory, For the arrival of this precious baby. They called me “Molly”; mum was so excited to see me. Raising me wasn’t easy, as sleep flooded me deceitfully, Honest to God, it was through the trials that made me. A little yellow book with red writing captured the memory of my arrival. Unexpected and raw. The writing of the event being clothed by a plastic cover in my favourite colours, like how I was clothed in the colours of my mother’s womb as I grew intricately. As God moulded me, designed me, wrote the story of my life, as vibrant as the books cover, yellow and red. It springs from the colour of the sun and the red symbolising a rich joy. Titled: “Book Mark and Writing Shield”. ‘Feeding at discharge: (state manner), Breast’. The intimate, soul-enriching, nurturing and nature of the mother’s breast pr oviding and changing to the cry of the baby’s needs. ‘Weight, 2300 grams precisely’. ‘Admitted to the intensive care nursery’. ‘Comments, Thrush rash on buttocks. To what significance does this hold? A beginning of a miracle against many odds. A beacon of light. A child chosen by God. A predestined daughter configured through the act of sin. A child from consequence. A child of hope. The raising of a disciple a child that was the start of something new. A daughter who grew up in fear, seeking, deciphering, longing for love and affection.