Thursday, February 24, 2011

moryfolk



Every so often I look at myself in the mirror and I don't recognize the girl staring back.  You know, I recognize myself.  I know it's me standing there. But there's a little bit of me that sees my face as a strangers face.

It's a very strange and curious feeling, and when it happens I try to hang onto the moment as long as possible so that I can try to see myself as others see me. But it is a fleeting sensation and seldom lasts very long.

A friend once told me that it is a phenomenon called moryfolk. I really wanted to get to the bottom of the whole thing so I called the radio show called "A Way With Words" and I asked them if they knew of this word, moryfolk.  Well, I asked their answering machine.  I have actually called them three times and they have never returned my call.  I think it is because they don't know the answer. Sugar Daddy thinks it's because it just isn't that interesting.

I have Googled the crap out of the word, trying all different spellings and such and I got nothin'.

But here's what I do know: (C.S. Lewis said it perfectly.) You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.

I know I am not my body.  Every time I look in the mirror and see a strange girl staring back, I know this to be true.

I am in here. In this body. Sometimes I wish I had another body, but mostly, I'm just happy that mine is healthy and strong.

Every so often,  Birdie will give me a look and all I can see is her birth mother.  A roll of the eyes or a lazy smile.  And at these moments I get the same strange feeling as when I don't recognize myself.

And I've come to realize something wonderful.

When I look at my children, I see their souls.  I see them for who they really are.

My children have beautiful healthy bodies.  I sincerely wish I could lay claim to Birdie's almond eyes and Frankie's button nose. Alas, those good genes were a gift from another beautiful girl.  I would like to point out, however, that The Boy got my childhood sprinkling of freckles across his nose, which makes him uber cute and irresistible.

No one would argue, (as least not to my face) that my kids aren't gorgeous.

 I love their little bodies.  But their souls, well, they take my breath away.

10 comments:

PaperPumpkin said...

Such a beautiful post...

moreygirl said...

beautiful...
i get that feeling sometimes too, but you're right, i cant keep a hold on it.

laurie said...

I know what you mean about your kids taking your breath away...mine do the same for me, my daughters laughter and how she looks like her handsome daddy...my teenage son looks like a clone of my mother who passed when I was nine, so it's like I still get to look at her...and my baby, he's got the bluest eyes on the planet, they make me smile all day long.

Shane, Meg, CJ, RJ, and AL said...

A.men. Thanks for sharing. I could definitely not have written it better.

Rebecka said...

Sometimes when I look at my nieces, I see my own face. It's a little weird, but it's good, cuz these are some beautiful young ladies.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I see my grandmother. I wonder if she saw herself in my face?

Beautiful post.

Erin said...

Loved this post! Beautiful! (And I'm glad I'm not the only one who experiences this once in a while!)

Rossylalah said...

I love the C.S Lewis quote. It makes sense. I love how everyone celebrates the little things in their children. Mine are adults now but I still love to bury my head and kiss that "certain" little spot on their neck. I think I'll go look in the mirror.

From the Kitchen said...

Memento mori is latin for "remember your mortality". I wonder if the term "Mory (maybe mori?) Folk is related?

Love the post.

Best,
Bonnie

margie said...

love love love this post...
we are not our bodies...
we are our spirits...
i feel so grateful that the Lord saw fit for our spirits to know each other...
love you...
m

Cindy at LottieBird said...

This is a beautiful post. I haven't been here for a while, I've missed you. Now I remember why I like visiting.
Thank you for giving me ponderings.

(and have you ever looked into the eyes of someone with dimentia? I swear, I can see right into the soul of my birth grandmother, even though I only met her a few years ago. There's something about not having the social awkwardness that normally comes with staring that opens up the world within. It's really beautiful. It reminds me that everyone has that soul within)