on honor on parenthood
"My son, if your heart is wise, then my heart will be glad indeed." Proverbs
23:15
One Report is spiritually-minded content for and by young people. This publication is borne from a reflection of the teachings of the Baha’i Faith and many of our contributors are Baha’is, but not all. The goal is for One Report to offer space for people from all faith backgrounds and beliefs to discuss issues of faith and spirituality. In a time of turmoil, One Report hopes to be a source of unity and collaboration. It is an opportunity for young people to learn from one another and share reflections that feel relevant, pressing, stirring, and elevated. Thank you.
One Report is edited by Anisa Tavangar with Maya Mansour. Images in this issue are by Emma Crossley, Elsie Crossley, and Juliet Crossley.
the last of your milk Written by Esther Maloney
The last of your milk is light like your wispy curls. The last of your milk gathers slowly and I watch it pool down the drain of this bathroom sink as you sleep. The last of your milk tastes as sweet as the hugs you spoil me with each morning, afternoon and night. Perhaps it is noble or trendy or both to give eternally of ourselves. I have come to know my own power requires the honouring of an ever-stronger voice within me. A voice that advocates for some independence, separateness, a new chapter. All things in nature root, rise, blossom, and wilt in their season. Am I not another element of this majestic system? Are you not an independent constellation of stars, a boy who eats blueberries, chicken, cheese, peanut butter, potatoes and carrots? One partnership, one form of motherhood dissipates, one feed at a time, and with this last loss, a new form emerges, always to meet your maturing needs and capacities. My love is constant, eternal, and vast. My love is present in these last drops of milk but it is a force that will penetrate the fabric of your heart, a force that will shape your thoughts for years to come. You belong to the Universe. You belong to no one but God. Your belong to the world of wonders.
A letter from your mother Written by Anonymous
Dear baby M, I love singing to you. I wonder what you’ll look like, what your hugs will feel like, what delightful and painful and insightful and inquisitive things you’ll say. I wonder how you’ll see the world. I wonder if I’ll be able to make it magical for you. My entire orientation is changing and I’m feeling the growing pains of that. I feel fear. I feel embarrassment. I don’t ever want you to know that. I don’t want you to feel like you’re a burden or a problem, or that you changed the trajectory of my life in a way that I didn’t want. Because in a sense, there was no trajectory. That’s not to say you’re my entire world, you aren’t (and sometimes I forget you’re going to show up in about 4 and a half months); it’s to say there was no real goal or end or focus apart from being as accomplished and prestigious as possible, which is lonely.
I think you’ll love our dogs. They already love you; the puppy has been sleeping curled up to me every night since I got pregnant. Your daddy loves you, he’s busy getting ready to meet you. Your grandma is knitting you blanket after blanket— I think you will absolutely adore her the way I do. You’ll have the best time visiting your grandmas and grandpas, I guarantee it. You have so many aunties and uncles excited for your arrival. Your ancestors are smiling down on you, I can feel it. I think I love you too. I know I do, but I won’t know how much until I meet you. In the meantime, I sing to you and talk to you every day. I hope that helps. Love, Mom
“The fruits of the tree of existence are trustworthiness, loyalty, truthfulness and purity. After the recognition of the oneness of the Lord, exalted be He, the most important of all duties is to have due regard for the rights of one’s parents. This matter hath been mentioned in all the Books of God...” Baha’u’llah
life as a magnet. life as a stone. Written by Esther Maloney
Embrace whatever is happening now Is happening now The $3 tulips on the table That somehow last a week The ever-improving tenor of the consultations in our marriage The way the sun pours into the apartment in the afternoons The songs Liam sings at full volume More than this though. Under this. Through this, is a kind of game I’m playing with myself. A sort of massive letting go while also zeroing in. Letting go of the need to please while zeroing in on needing only God’s approval. In all things. I am limited. Time is scarce but energy is limitless, from a spiritual source. And that is mine to nourish, to measure, to use as a force of guidance and attraction. Letting go of the need to change, organize or correct others, replacing this with love and gratitude for every tiny thing. Zeroing in on my own impatience, resentment and challenges. Where can my heart grow? Practicing life as a magnet that attracts rather than a dog chasing any flying bone it sees. Drive the car to the beach
This shifting from first-second-third and drive again! Alone. Gloriously. Sitting atop the metal lifeguard chair watching the water ripple slightly, radiantly reflecting the sky, breathing in, out, in, out. I am like one of these stones below. The deadlines. The projects. The meetings. The discipline of each week cut into tiny blocks of time for laundry, phone calls, readings, essays, time together, clearing the fridge, cutting Liam’s nails, showering, vacuuming. The water laps over and over my rough edges. Years. Months. Weeks. I am shaped by this.
changed identity & expectations Written by Homa Tavangar
When an esteemed member of my community found out I was pregnant for the first time, she rubbed my belly and said, “I just can’t imagine you as a mother.” When I tell this story, 27 years and three daughters later, everyone is shocked. Today they can’t imagine me not being a parent. About six months after our first daughter was born, I walked alongside a friend in the storied Chestnut Hill neighborhood of Philadelphia. Everything felt charmed. My friend had her beloved Chow Chow on a leash, while I pushed my adorable baby in the Italian stroller we splurged on before the dot-com bubble burst. When the first person who approached us, exclaiming from many yards away, the cuteness she couldn’t believe she was seeing, I smiled knowingly, readying myself for the compliments. But once she was near, she bent down to pet the dog, the real object of her affection. This happened at least two more times that day, where strangers exclaimed my friend’s dog’s cuteness and all but ignored my baby and me. That was a walk I’ll always remember, marked by my presumption starting out, the humility that followed, and the laughter that lingers. In many ways, these two episodes encapsulate the lifealtering experience of parenthood: It’s a transformational, identity-altering, surprising, roller coaster of expectationbusting humility, joy, heartache, ridiculousness, anticipation and wonder.
I grew up in the Baha’i tradition, where the role of mothers is revered as the most noble, as a means of worshiping God: “O ye loving mothers, know ye that in God’s sight, the best of all ways to worship Him is to educate the children and train them in all the perfections of humankind; and no nobler deed than this can be imagined.” Motherhood has felt a little like walking alongside the Chow Chow: If I expected some form of divine confirmation to shine down on me, the validation, praise, and sense of peacefulness usually seemed to be diverted elsewhere. I was used to straight-A’s and promotions and knocking on opportunity’s door. But, especially in the early years, society didn’t reward or compliment me. In fact, it took strength to not feel invisible. Like the humor and humility that came after that walk, I realized the external praise would become rarer and the inner work became vital. I needed to dig deeper into my own well of strength to discover the person I truly wanted to be, the type of mother I would become, be grateful for small victories like staying calm through a temper tantrum, and start laying the foundation for realizing meaning in my life long after my children flew from the nest. While the memory of the walk with my friend and her Chow Chow have stayed with me more than 25 years later, neither of my friends involved in those stories remembered them ever happening. That’s another lesson I take from parenthood, the noblest undertaking: It’s not for anyone else to remember each episode. But each intimate, humble, sometimes lonely, awe-inspiring and love-expanding moment is etched in my heart. It has changed me and is the greatest gift of my life.
"The Yaksha asked, 'What is weightier than the earth itself? What is higher than the heavens? What is fleeter than the wind? And what is more numerous than grass?'
Yudhishthira answered, 'The mother is weightier than the earth; the father is higher than the heaven; the mind is fleeter than the wind; and our thoughts are more numerous than grass.'" Mahabharata
Growing closer Written by Geoffrey Tyson
Before your birth, Soleimon, I was quite preoccupied with the past. I was wrapped in all the most subtle memories between my own father and myself. For days, I felt my past, my childhood. It was painful at times— not because my father failed me, but how I had, often only in my own mind, let him down. I remember when I first saw his shortcomings, and, because of my own weaknesses, he fell. This was painful, my sweet son, because I then thought, “Will my son think of me this way someday? Will he think less of me too?” But now it is 3am and I’m attempting to soothe you to sleep. And as I hold you close to my chest, I feel compassion. My dad must have felt this way when he fought through sleepless nights. To be compassionate, Soleimon, means to be in a state of suffering with others, to understand and experience love and fear together. When seeing with the eye of compassion, suffering is transformed. It is purposeful. It produces light in darkness. You may eventually think less of me too from time to time, Soleimon. But my spirit is no longer weighed down by this thought. With your coming, I have grown closer to my own father. With your arrival, I have caught a glimpse of the love God has for all of us.
"Also a father and mother endure the greatest troubles and hardships for their children; and often when the children have reached the age of maturity, the parents pass on to the other world. Rarely does it happen that a father and mother in this world see the reward of the care and trouble they have undergone for their children." Abdu'l-Baha
red leaves Written by Esther Maloney
Red trees Red leaves Hibiscus in my cup Balmy sunshine in October The very slow settling in And the voice of negativity comes like a wave With urgent questions I cannot answer Feelings that catch in my throat That transform into daggers thrown The mirror is always true This fortress, our marriage is good to me. A bitter poison at times Under the current frustration If God is merciful, if God is kind What is this narrative of failure? So deeply rooted So vastly destructive A beast I wrestle At every turn This time taunting me with my inadequacies My limitations And what’s the actual difference? I am but one person One woman With one man
And one child Beaming, bright ray of light. His clothes grow small The yearning for what’s next is complex, deep and full What is the scope of our contribution through these brief moments? Bestir yourselves, He writes. And in the fortress, the mirror looks back and says ‘you’re growing so many beautiful things as it is’ Tears come like a waterfall To grieve what we cannot encompass In this mortal realm Of childcare. Finances. Housing and Time. But also to grieve who are not, despite our principles and values My awe for Motherhood, for its stillness, for its brutal monotony, for its heart-rending power to transform society. Alongside it and through it, the need to write, to move, to walk, to make, to talk, to cry, to make. Limitations both crush and humble me today.
Celestial being Written by Shahrnaz Javid
During this restless night for both you and I, I lay awake in a frenzy You’re six weeks away How can I lay here with you holding you not in my arms but my flesh. While we are all made of stardust— you truly are a celestial being. If I never believed it before, I know now it is absolutely possible to carry heaven within. You are an angel soon to fall to this base we call earth. And I will be there to deliver you to your landing. Although I’m nearing the end of this journey— It is still impossible to fathom what I’ve done. This gestation, impregnation. And how will I handle parenting?
In the midst of my bewilderment, I know that I have been blessed. Your presence has been so kind to me. The thought of carrying two souls Has been much more of a positive fervid tangling intertwined. I think the best thing I could do for you other than provide Is stay true to myself So often do I see parents get lost in their roles And (some, not all) lose sight of themselves But I want to be part of the wave that breaks the tide By keeping identity in mind I hope that you grow with a strong sense of your own I want you to be total and absolute To move self assured You are Love and loved by me However you come out and whoever you will be. The rug-maker always says “Nothing is perfect but Allah” but Allah or however you’ll come to know him Told me that you are a very, very special, celestial being.
“O CHILDREN OF MEN! Know ye not why We created you all from the same dust? That no one should exalt himself over the other. Ponder at all times in your hearts how ye were created. Since We have created you all from one same substance it is incumbent on you to be even as one soul, to walk with the same feet, eat with
the same mouth and dwell in the same land, that from your inmost being, by your deeds and actions, the signs of oneness and the essence of detachment may be made manifest. Such is My counsel to you, O concourse of light! Heed ye this counsel that ye may obtain the fruit of holiness from the tree of wondrous glory.” Baha’u’llah
radiance Written by Esther Maloney
The radiance fills my heart, my chest, my throat, my tired everything. It fills me up, up, up. “And do not doubt this” All the big unanswered questions All the material concerns In this moment they dissolve and I am one with my voice and the voices of others and the drum, the rhythm, the chant. And now I see myself so many nights nursing him alone as he grew. And I see other Mothers in this same act. And I see my own strength and steadfastness. And I see myself exerting effort. And how held I am in that. How protected I’ve been. As though I have also been being nursed in a time I imagined myself alone. “Be patient even though great calamities may come upon thee” As the singing continues, I gather my things and walk into the wet cool California air. Life is relentless it seems. Dishes. Bills. Laundry. Groceries. Neighbourhood activities. Readings. Research. Friends. Sex. Prayer. Playtime. The loop goes on and on. And to just stand here tonight and see these stars. To just sing here tonight and miraculously have the energy to do so. To stand with a cup of hot tea and watch the mist rise
from the green grass amidst the tall trees. To feel warm and held. To wake in the night to the steady rain on the roof of the cabin. A gift to this soul. Just enough that the problems seem to dissolve in these tired hands before the suddenly obvious patter of God’s unceasing Love. Puddles. Darkness. Radiance.
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