nurturing

The Left-over Transformation

It was one of those evenings I didn’t feel like cooking. So I stopped at ‘China Bistro’ and got some curry chicken, fried rice, crab rangoons, beef with broccoli, and some chicken fried rice on the side; just enough for the family (or so I thought).

We all had our fill; even the kids got second portions. At the end of the day, we had some leftover chicken fried rice, and some crab rangoons. I figured the left-over crab rangoons would make a good snack for me in-between meals the following day, so I put them in a zip lock and made a mental note to get them in the morning. I wasn’t so particular about the fried rice, but I wasn’t going to throw it away either.

“Motherhood is telling people that the only reason why you gain weight is because you eat everyone’s leftover to avoid waste”

#onYourOwn #leftoverfoodplatter #nowastes

So I threw the leftover chicken fried rice box in the refrigerator. I was sure it would be gone by the time I got back from work, or at the most, within 48 hours.

Of course I didn’t forget my crab rangoons the next day. I took them to work, and snacked on them till they were all gone.

Life of the Chicken Fried Rice … Day 1

I got home later that evening, and the left over chicken fried rice was still there sitting in the refrigerator, as intact as I had left it the night before. Everybody wanted something different for dinner; pancakes, eba, pounded yam, noodles, … except the leftover. Somehow, we all agreed on dinner; the leftover chicken fried rice was not in the picture.

The morning, and then the evening, and that was day one.

Day 2 …

I was too tired to cook, but I wasn’t ready to take the easy route by ordering fast food (or having everyone eat out). untitledIt was almost 7pm when I got home. Everyone was hungry and tired. My daughter ranted about how she hasn’t been able to focus on completing her school work because she’s hungry. My husband also looked like all the food in the world had disappeared.

I got the impression that there was absolutely nothing ‘ready’ to eat. I was going to start feeling sorry for them, but I opened the fridge; and there it was – the left over fried rice – still sitting there … in the midst of two hungry people. OMG!!

The morning, and then the evening, and that was day two.

Day 3 …

When I got home from work (tired). I opened the fridge, and little Ms. leftover Chicken fried rice eyed me from its little corner, looking sulky, lonely, and pitiful. “I don’t have time for you today”, I said to myself as I eyed it back from the corner of my eye. I decided to move on with making something fresh for dinner.

The morning, and then the evening, and that was day three.

Day 4 …

I wasn’t going to let this happen. I couldn’t afford to watch Ms. leftover get dumped in the trash. Although I didn’t want ‘her’ myself, I had to sacrifice my diet resolutions, and eat the sad and miserable-looking rice. If I didn’t, I figured it might turn to an ugly disgusting sight within the next 48 hours.

PrintNobody wanted it. I didn’t want it either. Everyone in my family knows how much I do not like throwing food away. In fact, sometimes, I can hardly get myself to do it.

I brought the rice out of the fridge. I was about to violate my diet schedule in order to save this rice from the trash, and add on some six hundred and fifty  unplanned-for calories to my body.

This rice just didn’t appeal to me. But I couldn’t throw it away. As caught in-between as I was on making a decision, it didn’t take too long to conclude. “I will eat this thing”, I thought out loud.

I already had dinner planned and ready, but I decided  to eat this left over, even though it didn’t appeal to me, to avoid throwing it away.

The Transformation …

I got my frying pan and stir fried some mixed vegetables (carrots, peas, sweet corn, etc), tossed the left over rice in the pan and stir fried some more, and then to spice it up, I added some crushed pepper.

I emptied the contents in my plate, and got some orange juice to go with it.

I sat down to eat.

All of a sudden, everybody wanted a spoon of the transformed left over. All three kids sat around me, holding out their own spoon. Ten minutes later, everything was gone.

The left-over food the family rejected has now become the Chief course-meal

(CibM Meme Chapter 101, verse 1)

My thoughts? …

So many times in our lives, we see people (or things) that are leftovers, or look like leftovers – abandoned, sad, ugly, pitiful, and lonely. And really, maybe they are. But when we invest our time and the (little) resources we have in these leftovers, the end-result becomes appealing and attractive. All of a sudden, everyone then wants to be associated with the transformed person (or thing).

As I reflect on this episode, my heart fills with gratitude and joy. I was once a left-over that has been transformed (by God). His transforming-expertise is out of this world.

Whenever you feel rejected, lonely, ugly, or miserable because you are being treated like leftover, be resolved to let the greater power of God spice you up and make you something new.

The greater lesson though is that in this new year, be resolved to transform someone or something that others have labeled as ‘leftover’. Be resolved to be the change and not wait to hold out your spoon after the work has been done.

To those that hold the same belief as I do, remember that we were once leftovers that God transformed. Let that spur you to ‘pay-forward’ because at the end of the day, “The left-over food the family rejected will become the chief course-meal”, and everyone including you can enjoy!

Have a happy new transformation-project-filled year!

happy-new-year-20171

 

Two Pregnancies, and a Birthday

Although this is a late post, the lesson from this story is life-long.

My younger son recently turned three.

birthday-cake-ideas-for-3-year-old-boys-13

It wasn’t surprising that most families and friends that called to give their birthday wishes thought he turned four. The reason being that he acts, talks, and thinks older than his age. I sometimes think too that he’s been in this world longer than three years 🙂

It got me thinking while I was at work that day, as I reflected on my pregnancies, and the years after.

Being pregnant with son #1 …

You see, my older son, who is now four years old was born at 33 weeks. I was so impatient with that pregnancy that I prayed every morning after my thirtieth week that the child would come. I was tired. Suffice to say that doctors had put me on weekly progesterone shots to help prevent preterm labor. Once a week, after my seventeenth week, I would take a drive to the doctor’s office to get my shot. Everything seemed to be great until my thirtieth week.

My wish came true with son #1 …

At about the 30th week, I was tired. I was ready to go on maternity leave. I was looking forward to a get-away from work. God heard and answered my prayers three weeks later. He was born at 33 weeks, weighing a little over 4lbs, and about 19 inches in length.

It was a C-section.

He was small. He wasn’t breathing well. He was immediately taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU).

I did not anticipate the struggles and challenges in the days ahead. Firstly, I didn’t have the opportunity to hold him right after he was born, like I imagined and wished. I cried. Then my stomach would hurt, so I would stop. But I would cry again, because I couldn’t believe I was missing out on holding my son.

The next three weeks were gruesome. I was discharged while he was still in NICU, and I had to make frequent trips to the hospital to see him, and feed him. The chair by his bed was my bed most days. I still couldn’t hold him for a couple of days because he was still too small. I cried almost every day, wishing he had stayed a little longer in the womb; wishing I didn’t say those prayers to have him so early.

When I was finally able to hold him, I was emotionally and physically drained. I felt the discomfort we both shared each time I held him. He would cry. I would cry too.

I should have been patient. I shouldn’t have wished or prayed him out too early. I should have nurtured him in the womb a little more. Maybe then, all these wouldn’t be happening. The time away from work I had looked forward to, became very stressful and frustrating. I spent most of my maternity leave healing. Had I known? All because I was impatient, and maybe a little selfish.

Son #2 …

keep-calm-it-s-another-boy-4.pngHe came a year later. We were excited!! Another boy!!

For this pregnancy, I was once again subjected to the weekly progesterone shots. But this time, I had learned my lesson, so I chose to enjoy this one. I decided I would not complain, or give attention to my tiredness enough to want me wish the baby out.

I focused on the things that gave me joy; my home, my job, church work, and family (not in any particular order). I kept trying to serve at my duty post, even when I was tired from the pregnancy weight I carried. I tried to eat well, and sleep well. I asked God for strength each day; strength to nurture and carry the pregnancy well. I was still looking forward to maternity leave J but I was ready to wait to allow this one ‘bake’ fully.

During one of my routine check-ups, the doctor had told me the delivery of the baby was “destined for 27 weeks”. I chose to be positive, and hoped for the best. In the meantime, I prayed for patience and strength. I wasn’t going to let fear, tiredness, or maternity leave, make me wish for an earlier (preterm) delivery. This one was going to be baked well.

The delivery …

It was very early in the morning. I was 37 weeks, a day shy of 38. My water broke!!!

I got to the hospital as soon as I could. I was admitted. I slept, woke up, slept, and woke up again. Contractions happened in between, from mild to very intense. The pain-relief medication worked great. So I slept again.

I woke up, and this time it was time.

In three minutes, the baby was out. No pain, no unnecessary drama!!! Boy, was this pregnancy and delivery easy or what?

He weighed 6lbs. He cried. He breathed. I held him so close to my chest.

Easiest pregnancy. Easiest delivery. 48 hours later, we were home … together; all because I wasn’t impatient like my previous pregnancy. I waited for God, and on God to do what He had to do. I allowed Him to let this one ‘bake’. He knew the right time.

Lesson learned …

When God gives us a seed to nurture, He expects us to put ourselves into the business of nurturing. And while you’re waiting for the manifestation, be patient. When you allow the seed to take its proper course, it comes out better, and you’re a happier person.

“He blesses without adding sorrow (and stress)”

Just keep trusting, keep working, keep serving, and keep nurturing at your duty post. In due time, the results will be amazing.img_23791

Each pregnancy journey has been a blessing to me. I have learned through each of my pregnancy experiences that my seeds (pregnancies) are meant to be nurtured. And while I’m nurturing, I must be patient so that its manifestation will indeed be a bundle of joy.

So, now that my youngest is three, stay tuned for the how-old-are-you story.