Thank You (The most powerful prayer) 

I was staring blankly out of the window. A storm was brewing and the wind was angry, looking like her man was screwing her best friend. I enjoyed observing the drama.
Drama watching has been my solace for the longest time, although I like to call it “observation”. A spot of research and development, if you like.
As the rain broke, so did my heart. The words on my screen told me of a young woman who was being brutally assaulted by her husband. She was on his visa in a foreign country. She felt trapped.
Although I did not know her personally, my heart connected badly to the story I was reading. I became entangled in a way I did not need. 
I tried to retreat and detach. Back to my spot at the window where I could safely watch the storm drama around me spin and spin in the knowledge that the glass would buffer the harshness. 
My instruction to my heart was clear :

Retreat. You have your own shit to worry about!


After my heart showed me who is boss, I allowed the sadness to flow through me.  The surrender was not magical, like in the movies. It felt weird and hard and there was no feeling of relief at all. My heart was still feeling tight. 
But, surrender was in progress and there was no turning back. 
Staring blankly ahead once more, I sipped my ginger tea and said a simple prayer : “Thank you”

 (Thank you for my home, thank you for my safety, thank you for the rain, thank you for my sensitivity, thank you for a heart in perfect working order) 

  

What makes YOU smile? (You are Enough)

I received an email last week telling me that my poem “YOU are enough” had been pinned to a wall. A real wall in a real office that did not belong to me (or any member of my family).

Do you know what that means to someone like me?  

Firstly, it sows panic. It feels like standing naked at a traffic light. Because, let’s face it, once we have created something for public consumption, there is always the risk that other people think it is crap. The vulnerability is the price we pay for writing heart based words.

But, once the stupidity wanes and the light starts flowing from the ego, through the heart and permeating the creative soul, the gratitude quotient increases almost proportionately to the panic one decreasing.

THAT “ahhhhh” moment is what I experienced today. And, let me tell you, it is a fantastic feeling. It’s a magical place of understanding that my words are doing what they were birthed to do:  change hearts.

THIS is why I write. THIS is what gives me the most pleasure in the entire world.

Allow me to wish that you too find your “thing”. Your spark. Your calling. Your passion.

It’s a beautiful road to walk….

 

(Oh yes, here is the poem):

“YOU are Enough

…The time surely comes

When you put yourself first

When you regain your God essence

When you count your blessings

When you honour your sadness

When you give yourself permission to try

When you name your pain

When you stop calling your passion a “hobby”

When you keep your word

When you kick someone out of your emotional bed

When you alienate nasty creatures

When you write thank you notes

When you take more risks

When you stop trusting losers

When you approach people you need

When you say no to darkness

When you yield appropriately

When you say beautiful words of gratitude instinctively

When you sleep for days

When you trust your internal red flags

When you disappoint another heart

When you run your race and let others run theirs

When you clear everything on your vision board and start again

When you no longer mind being called emotional

When you equate self-respect with breathing

When you allow yourself to dream again

When you listen to a child

When you let yourself be touched

When you honour your calling

When you travel to places that call you

When you risk humiliation

When you press “reset” on your life

When you accept the shape of the parts you disguise

When you simply say “not today”

When you acknowledge those that guide you

When you start imitating yourself

When you draw a line in the sand

When you empower other people

When you forgive yourself

When you delight in the success of others

When you laugh loud

When you kiss your broken heart

When you are your own role model

When you emulate the speckles of light you see

When you tone down the noise

When you soothe your heart with music

When you dine alone

When you share your struggles

When you own your fears

When you unlearn your defences

…and on that day, may you know that YOU are enough YOU have always been enough YOU will always be enough End of story!

Aluta Continua, I say!  The road is long (for me)”

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015.

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and http://www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

 

 

Chaos in the City

A bridge had collapsed across the highway. There was chaos in the city.

I had heard all about it on the news but after collecting my daughter from school, I decided to take the “short cut” and drove straight into the very site of the chaos.

Yes, I know — shortcuts never work.

My daughter fell asleep in the back seat of the car, with the sun giving her whole body love.  I had to keep plotting and planning. I had 12 minutes to collect my son.

I accidently touched some Bluetooth button on the car phone and the stupid thing started dialling! I swear, I tried to stop it but God knows I am a technological snail. It was dialling someone I honestly did not want to talk to. I pulled into the emergency lane, going very slowly to try and deal with the stupid thing.

The man’s voice said “Hello! Hello!” I said nothing. The voice was coming out of the speakers in every corner of the car.

I just kept silent.

I prayed hard that my daughter would not wake up and go “Mama! Mama!”

I prayed even harder that if she woke up and I slid my index finger across my throat (to show her that I meant business if she did not keep quiet), that she would not scream “whyyyyyyy do you want to kill me?” because then the Bluetooth person would surely do an FBI on us.

My prayers were interrupted by a policeman. I was being pulled over for being in the emergency lane. Thank God I wasn’t in the middle of the knife-across-the-throat scene.

I felt like explaining that it WAS an emergency but I didn’t need any further complications with just 8 minutes before my son’s pickup. I also appreciated that a lack of planning in one corner does not constitute an emergency in the other. 

I decided to tell the truth:  I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

They say that the more you sweat, the luckier you get.  Well, the back of my T-Shirt was drenched as I watched the policeman smile and allow me to continue to use the emergency lane.

My daughter woke up just as we arrived to collect my son. She said “I need a drink!”  “We ALL do!” I replied.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015.

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and http://www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

Why I was late, why my iPad was pregnant and why I hate yoga

I believe in being punctual, well prepared and flexible.

I was on my way to a storytelling event. Although I had prepared well in advance, I arrived five minutes late. Now five minutes is no misdemeanor for sure, but for a time-stickler like me, it’s a self imposed spot-fineable offence.

I was late because my direction-bearings were off and I had taken the tram in the opposite direction to where I was going. Then, my Uber driver was grumpy, so asking him to speed was out of the question.

The first person speaker was a beauty. A dark haired woman with the biggest smile — the kind you see in toothpaste commercials.

I caught her story in the middle : her husband was having an affair. 

I listened attentively as she waved her hands while giving an animated (and very detailed) account of how that affair drove her into the arms of a lesbian lover and then right back to the arms of the new and improved version of the very same husband.

She radiated light, vitality and sunshine. I loved listening to her bare her soul. People were drawn to her light.

I was up next. It was a hard act to follow.

I turned on my iPad just to get to the right spot for my storyguide and it was dead. Just dead.  I had no backup notes and as I fumbled in my handbag to try and find a pen, the American voice called out my name.  It was showtime.

Instead of sharing the beautiful story I had written about how I was forced to confront my bully, I had to make some shit up. Fast.

I said “I believe in being punctual, well prepared and flexible. So, I am here to tell you why I was late today, why my iPad is pregnant and why I hate yoga.”

The laughter helped me to relax and I continued to waffle off a lot of crap.

After the event, the toothpaste commercial girl said “You know, your story and mine are pretty much the same.”  I wanted to reply that I had never had a lesbian affair but said “How so?” instead.

She flashed those sick pearly whites and said “In the end, we only regret the risks we did NOT take.”

And, she was right. The risk of telling that story opened up yet another door for me and today I am grateful.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015.

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and http://www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

The Sandwich That Saved My Life 

What makes YOU smile? Today I recalled a lovely Saturday morning memory. 
We always accompanied my dad on his Saturday morning errands. We hated the hot car and the long time we had to sit close together. My siblings and I hatedddddd sitting close together. 
The first stop was the bank. It would take ages.  The next one was the horse betting store. It took even longer. 
By the time we pulled our yellow car into the parking bay at our last stop, we were all moody, hot and thirsty. 
The oasis was a little cafe. 
The man knew my dad from when they were young boys. While they talked about a gangster called “Sharif Khan” and apartheid tearing families apart, the man made the most delicious Indian spiced steak sandwiches. The smell made me dreamy. 
We walked out of the store with 5 hot sandwiches, tangy and beautiful along with the thickest strawberry milkshakes.
Those sandwiches and those milkshakes saved our family from killing one another on the long drive home. It gave us reason to keep looking forward, to keep hoping. It gave us life. 
And now, I have the memories. 

Today, I am grateful. 

Correction

Dear Readers

Please excuse the typo in the first line of the story: Do YOU Over Promise & Under Deliver?

It’s not the kind of thing that happens often but hey, that shit does happen to the best of us.

For a perfectionist like me, I can’t job move on.  So, I assure you, quality control is now under review.

Aluta continua, as they say.  The road (to perfection) is still long for me.

https://aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com/2015/11/03/do-you-over-promise-and-under-deliver/

Do YOU Over Promise and Under Deliver?

I believe in under-promising and over-delivering.

But, if truth be told, I never really feel like I am on top of my game as a parent.

There is always a sock with a hole, a teacher’s birthday I forget or a tooth fairy duty that nearly slips my mind.

As I stood at my kitchen counter, I stared at the half-eaten chicken pie that no one said thank you for. I looked around at the yoghurt smears on my curtains. I read the note in my daughter’s diary, reminding me of an outstanding indemnity form and I thought: Gosh girl!….are you sure you are qualified for this gig?

I couldn’t dwell on the thought because I needed to give my kids a bath. They had jumped into the mud, right after I told them to stay clean.  We were on our way to a dentist appointment.

I snuck in a quick photo (who doesn’t love a muddy face?) before I turned on the bath tap.  There was no water. Our cleaner reminded me that if I had read the letter on the fridge, I would have, and damn right should have, known. Boom!

It was a rough day at Mom HQ.

As I walked into the dentist with the two kids from Mudville, the nurse and I got talking straight away. She was a lovely old woman with a round back — an observation pointed out to me by Miss Mudville herself.

The old lady had lost her daughter 50 years ago. She had been standing on a pavement, minding her own business, when she was knocked by a car. She died instantly. She was just a young girl.

I asked her how she ever found the strength to live and she said “The memories! The memories are all we have in the end!”  She pulled out a small album and shared her most prized possession with me. Her pictures of special family milestones.  I saw muddy faces, spilled drinks, and grazed knees. The other thing I noticed was smiles. Smiles and kisses, hugs and laughter.

I drove home, observing the fighting and moaning coming from the back, and thought: “Of course I am qualified for this gig. The giver of life chose ME by name! Remember?”

We stopped off at the ice cream store and my daughter said, “I thought you said NO ice-cream because we are muddy?”

Now, how do you explain the under-promise and over-deliver concept to a child?…

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and http://www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.