Will this satisfy a woman satisfied to bear a child?: Practice Resurrection Stories

The latest installment in my series using the Mad Farmer’s words to inspire my own storytelling. I write in hope that something I share will encourage you to think differently about your own life and to respond to that new way of thinking with joy and courage and new ways of becoming more like Jesus and more like the self God’s always imagined for you.

I’m grateful to my mom, Nancy G. Hill, for writing today’s post. This is re-printed from a beautiful project she’s working on with Storyworth. (I’ll share more details at the end of today’s story.) If you’ve been following along in this series of Resurrection stories, you’ll notice my grandmother Geraldine and her mother Calla Mae. Consider today’s story a prequel to this one.

In case you’ve lost track, here’s a description of my current Stories series.

Today’s excerpt from "Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front" by Wendell Berry:

So long as women do not go cheap

for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy

a woman satisfied to bear a child?

Will this disturb the sleep

of a woman near to giving birth?

Resurrection StoriesTamara Hill MurphySeptember 28, 2021mom, Practice Resurrection 2021, StoryWorth, Family

HELD :: Five-Minute Friday

Five-Minute StoriesTamara Hill MurphyOctober 16, 2020Family

BREATHE :: Five-Minute Friday

Has the word ever held more meaning?

In mid-September Brian and I took a four-day retreat to study and pray - an intentional time set aside to breathe, if you will, between the end of summer and beginning of a new ministry season. We've learned the hard way that this transition between summer and fall is particularly tricky. This year, the need felt wonky. After six months of living this bizarre "together but apart-ness" with our community it felt a bit strange to have to add further isolation by getting away to another place.

The solitude of the little kitschy cottage on one of New York's glorious Finger Lakes felt simultaneously welcoming and oppressive. We walked around a lot, looking at the water, trying to settle into the study projects we'd each brought along. The waves were too choppy to spend prolonged time on the boat. The weather snapped from summer to fall within twelve hours of our arrival and we took to walking along the shore with giant fluffy blankets cocooning our heads.

Five-Minute StoriesTamara Hill MurphyOctober 2, 2020Family, Wholeness & Healing

YOUR :: Five-Minute Friday

What can you call your own these days?

I know many of you have found your schedules and personal space trampled by the unexpected changes of this pandemic. Our house was a bit fuller than usual throughout the past 6 months as well, but we're in the season of life where, slowly but surely, the capacity of our home has shrunk to just Brian and me. It's a day I dreamed about for years but then grieved at the way it felt when each of our children moved out. I've learned what lots of folks tried to tell me is true. The doorway to an empty nest is constantly revolving.

I'm terrible at transitions. I like to hunker down in one rhythm and live there until I decide to make the shift. That's not how the world works, of course, and definitely not how the world works for parents of younger children. Your time is almost never your own. And while the spaciousness of what feels like my own has expanded, I'm still figuring out how to move gracefully between what I consider my own and what I give away.

Five-Minute StoriesTamara Hill MurphySeptember 25, 2020Family, Daily Work & Callings

COULD :: Five-Minute Friday

The word evokes possibilities. The often-quoted and ever-hopeful statement "She thought she could, so she did" comes to mind.

It's normal to get bogged down with a "couldn't" mindset. Heck, right now, it feels almost virtuous to meditate on all that we couldn't and shouldn't do. But what if we flip that mindset on its head? What do these constraints make possible? We know what we couldn't do, but what does that mean we could?

My daughter was supposed to be married in a big wedding in the middle of Fairfield County's famous dogwood blossoms on April 25. We couldn't hold that wedding. What we could do is hold a private ceremony with her dad, the priest officiating, and nine people watching from the empty sanctuary. We could invite friends to secretly decorate the newlyweds' car while we tried to reenact a somewhat sad replica of a wedding celebration with a miniature cake and cheap champagne. We could stand outside and blast confetti guns like a little revolt against the death droplets flying through the air.

Five-Minute StoriesTamara Hill MurphySeptember 11, 2020Family

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