Expect Nothing...but Freedom

Blog # 14 Monica Rae

--November 16th, 2020--

Laying on my bed as a teenager, I glanced at my ceiling covered in world maps, an assignment from my Honors World History teacher. We had to label every capital, country, body of water in each hemisphere of the globe on four poster size depictions of the world. What struck me as odd was the eastern region of Europe and parts of Africa that seemed to be changing land borders even as I was labeling my maps. Countries with names I still can not pronounce were in a constant state of struggle then and now. War, poverty, fear and destruction scattered the generations of these countries.

Their routine of fear was outside my comprehension, their joy at a warm meal and safe home is my expected convenience. And when a new name was announced, and borders were redrawn, I amended my brightly colored ceiling maps with black ink.

I wondered how different their lives were from mine. Were they safe? Were they able to live the life they longed for? Were they free?

In many countries freedom changes everything—in others, freedom changes nothing.

From a distance the borders define our perceptions.

These perceptions lead to arrogance.

This arrogance leads to misunderstanding.

I have spent much of my life longing to climb into the maps I create. To go where I can be a chronic student to the teachers of true freedom…those who walk purposefully in gratitude regardless of their status, race, religion, sex, or political affiliation.

But…what is the freedom we long for?

When we are safe from the fear of harm and unjust leadership.

This is freedom.

When we can speak without fear that we will be judged, condemned, or abused.

This is freedom.

When we can share our differences and celebrate the opportunity to learn what we did not know. This is freedom.

When we can ask questions and receive honest and vulnerable answers.

This is freedom.

When we can breathe fully in the space we were meant to inhabit.

This is freedom.

It is in this freedom we are welcome; we are becoming, we have no expectations…only gratitude resides.

I have spent my life in the American bubble of convenience.

I have also spent much of my life in fear.

Fear of what would happen if I claimed the freedom I longed for. The way I longed to climb into my maps and escape the walls of judgement that seemed to surround me.

I have slowly broken down my walls.

Nah, not slowly…

I have chopped the wood that was used to build them and burned it!

My choices have not been met with unanimous applause. And there was a time when I paused to consider the bystanders heckles.

I no longer pause.

I realized anyone who is looking at my life from a distance will form perceptions based on the borders and walls they put around themselves.

And this burning…this tearing down…it is necessary to the becoming.

When my daughter was young, we would make weekly trips to the downtown library. I made sure my purse had the necessary coins to feed the parking meter. Although more times than I can count I still ended up with a parking ticket, having stayed too long amongst the company of books.

Stacks of Indian proverbs, African art and Spanish number books filled our bags. Her room was piled with animals and literature that I hoped would inspire her to seek the unknown.

Of course, as it usually goes when a parent suggests something, she preferred the opposite—“Fancy Nancy” and “Strawberry Shortcake” to my plethora of maps and international wonders. And while she has my eyes and lips my daughter does not stare at maps or spend her free time reading about women in Gambia and henna tattoos in ancient India.

Currently, I am preparing to go to a land that is filled with the longings and stories I have known somewhere deep in my heart. As I share images with my daughter about what I will find I realize she is watching a story unfold in front of her.

She is watching her mother burn the wood…

My new chapter of life looks different than before and yet it feels like a home that has been waiting for me.

A partner that has waited for me.

A god that has graced me with the unexpected.

Throughout the world people believe in the traditions of faith and culture intertwined. We cook and gather on holidays and milestones to remember…so we do not forget. We put our unwavering trust in the faith we were taught. Holy words and shared moral instruction are passed down from the old to the young. We were created to converse with the creator—to humbly acknowledge the truths planted in us.

These conversations—we call prayers.

Some people pray five times a day, others when church bells ring and others when life circumstances cause them to reach out for an ounce of grace. But why do we pray?

We pray to be heard, to forget, to ask, to acknowledge, to remember.

The voice on our hearts, the whisper of where to step, the dream that manifests itself in so many forms over months or years…What is it? Who knows it even when we can not understand it?

We are all seeking the same.

To be heard, understood, accepted.

Freedom.

“Expect nothing,” my friend said, “and be grateful for everything.”

As a planner I have daily expectations for myself and my child. But I plan differently now…

I have become a student to the unexpected.

Carrying gifts of grace god has placed before me.

I do not tuck my teenage daughter in to bed now with picture books about elephant herds in Asia or the mysteries of South America’s lost cities. She is distracted now by nail polish, coordinating outfits and shopping excursions with her friends. Instead I live beside her, watering the seed of her heart. Encouraging her to open the box of the unexpected.

This week I finish up another semester in the art department at a local university. I am surrounded by students and a professor I have known and respected for over 15 years. A scarf is draped over me as I lean back into a red leather chair worn in from countless poses. My favorite hat creates shadows on my face I can not see but know are there.

As the artists begin to draw I escape into a space invisible to the artists.

I become the story they are creating on their newsprint. Each shuffle of their charcoal is rebellion against the movement of their eyes and stories in their mind.

A battle between what the eyes see and what the mind was taught to think.

“Art is rebellion,” my Agie says.

I let it sink in. This truth.

The borders we draw in expectation and the fear we let crowd our plans is erased as we create something new.

When we create.

When we pray.

When we live intently.

There is transparency.

Freedom.

Those staring at maps but unable to see borders…I want to see through their fear and uncertainty how they rise to meet each day. Those sitting at their kitchen table in worn torn countries, grateful for their bread, their blanket and their god…I want to be on their prayer mat. Those creating with their words, their hands, their music a freer and more rebellious world…I want to be their student.

There is no greater freedom I have found, than being fully accepted. This freedom is ‘grace’ given and received…it is the unexpected gift of gratitude.

DEDICATION: This blog is dedicated to Dawn for being my sister-friend for the last 10 years and Emma’s other mother. You and Ron have given us home and our hearts have seen the mercy of god through you. To Agie, for your fierce commitment to me—freedom is found leaning into you! To my brother in law, Mike—you showed me what to look for. And to Scott for your years of loyalty and partnership in teaching students to “pause, feel the pose and create.” I am the model, but also a humble student of your inspiring mind.