Again the kingdom of heaven is like into a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls: Who when he had found one pearl of a great price, went and sold all he had and, and brought it.
Matt 13:45, 46 KJV
I listen intensely as Jody reads the scripture. My finger massage the smooth surface of the pearl, a present from my pastors Alyosha and Jody. They have just returned from China. This is the first time I've seen Jody in several weeks. I missed her. Jody is my safe person, the first one I've had in my whole Christian walk. That's the sad truth of twenty years of church abuse and the authoritarian movement. I feed on her love like a hungry babe feeds on it's mother breast. I came to her and Alyosha hungry for love in the body of Christ. I have been wounded by the people I thought would love me. I have travel the road of the cross. I was lonely, rejected, persecuted and hated without a cause. I bore it all with silent prayer.
Alyosha and Jody brought the women in our women group a pearl necklace back from China. Each was different and had one exquisite pearl. Jody tells us of the story of how her and Alyosha spent hours picking each one, making sure all were perfect. she said that we were all different and perfect..a pearl of a great price. We all carry something special, love from the Father. She asked us to remember that every time we wear the necklace. Jody is the embodiment of a pearl of a great price and a great blessing to me. Her and Alyosha are as much a gift to me as the pearl that I hold tenderly between my fingers.
fearless
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Recovery
A last love
proper in conclusion
should snip the wings
forbidding further flight
But I, now,
reft of that confusion
am lifted up
and speeding toward the light
Recovery by Maya Angelou
That's for all the hurting women, whose last attempt at romance snipped your love wings forbidding you further flight. For every tear that was shed recently. For the way you grasped for understanding as you looked in the mirror wondering why you're not lovable. For all the hurt and disappointment you suffered at the hands of the men that should have loved you. For the way you've looked for meaningful words when there is none forthcoming. For the end of the pain medication that's used to try to numb the pain that's much deeper. For all the beautiful fragile flowers of God's garden, It's time to recover. We deserve to be loved richly
Speeding toward the light,
Fearless
proper in conclusion
should snip the wings
forbidding further flight
But I, now,
reft of that confusion
am lifted up
and speeding toward the light
Recovery by Maya Angelou
That's for all the hurting women, whose last attempt at romance snipped your love wings forbidding you further flight. For every tear that was shed recently. For the way you grasped for understanding as you looked in the mirror wondering why you're not lovable. For all the hurt and disappointment you suffered at the hands of the men that should have loved you. For the way you've looked for meaningful words when there is none forthcoming. For the end of the pain medication that's used to try to numb the pain that's much deeper. For all the beautiful fragile flowers of God's garden, It's time to recover. We deserve to be loved richly
Speeding toward the light,
Fearless
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Love's Tender Eyes
I look in the mirror one last time. I have on waterproof mascara and lipstick that last all day. I want to be beautiful today though my hair has gotten to long and fuzzy to make sense. I'm on my way out to sit between real beauty. I want to look beyond the graying hair and frown lines on my forehead. My mother stand behind me annoyed at my ability to maintain the family record of being the last one ready. She makes a statement about my pants being to tight and my butt to big. I ignore both. I refuse to be annoyed today. Yesterday was enough.
I remember the icy stare of hatred and the wild-eye look of mental instability. Those were the eyes of an enemy that stared back at me yesterday. I wish I could say I handled it well, that I was Jesus to them. Maybe I did resemble Jesus. The Jesus that turned over the money table because he was angry and discussed. My flesh desired to tear at those eyes because sometimes I think I can fight my own battles. Mostly I wanted God to be my pitbull and attack my enemies. Sort of like he did for Moses when he opened the ground and swallow up his enemies. He didn't.
We walk into the restaurant my friend Stella, my mother and I. The walls are a deep mahogany the decor is masculine but chic. We are met by the rich aroma of baked apples and potpourri. As the waiter ushers us to a table; I look in the eyes of my favorite patient. She's ninety-four years old and beautiful. She came from old money and she has had a passion for sailing most of her life. She fought and won the right to sail in races against men back when such a thing was unheard of and scandalous. Against all odds she won the races too. She has outlived all of her relatives and her only son. I love her dearly and sometimes I call her just to check on her. She says I'm a bully and crazy but she loves me anyway. She's sharp and fiesty and she always gives me a hard time. I give her a quick hug and introduce her to my mother and Stella.
Stella is eighty-six years old and my dearest friend whom I worship with in a Messianic Jewish congregation. She prays for me and encourages me to follow my dreams. She believes in me and helps me believe in myself. Stella life has never been easy. She left home at fifteen because of her mothers indifference to her beautiful female child. She's down to earth, funny and beautiful and I make-up holidays to celebrate her. She teaches me Jewish prayers and whispers to others that she loves me, as she asked them not to tell me. I love her dearly.
My mother raised eight of her nine children mostly single-handed. She has always been there to pick me up when I fall. She has endured more then her share of tragedy with a strength that could only be born in suffering. She loved me through childhood illness, teenage rebellion, as well as adult failures and mistakes. She has dealt with my selfishness, insensitivity and indifference without ever once complaining. She is self-sacrificing, soft, gentle and very wise. She's prayed me through the worse of times. Her love has never failed. She's beautiful and I love her dearly.
As we eat food we can barely afford,Prime rib and lobster and drink wine and margarita. Stella gives me a prophetic toast that Mr Wonderful is coming soon, I said good I'm tired of the Mr Not-So-Hot's. We get tipsy and giggle like schoolgirls as Stella flirts with the thirty-three year old waiter. Then my patient slowly makes her way to our table. She says she just want to tell my mother what a wonderful nurse and person I am. Then Stella join in and they say the most wonderful things about me. I look up into three pair of eyes that love me. Eyes that transcend race, culture, time and financial status. Eyes that have known hate, prosecution, prejudice and rejection. Eyes that have cried themselves to sleep. Eyes that turned away in tears when they had to give away the children they loved because they couldn't financially care for them. Eyes that watched helplessly as their child took his last breath. Eyes that were turned black and blue by the men they loved who should have loved them. Eyes that have known pleasure and pain. Eyes that have found a place in love where failure is in the past and there is only grace in the future. Eyes that really love me, and I'm glad I'm wearing waterproof mascara.
And maybe the eyes that were hateful and icy, wild and unstable are the same kind of eyes, just closer to the pain. Maybe my eyes shouldn't judge or condemn, but should look with the same love and understanding that I received today. The tender eyes of love.
And you know what, my pants are to tight and my butt is to big, but I feel beautiful.
Fearless
I remember the icy stare of hatred and the wild-eye look of mental instability. Those were the eyes of an enemy that stared back at me yesterday. I wish I could say I handled it well, that I was Jesus to them. Maybe I did resemble Jesus. The Jesus that turned over the money table because he was angry and discussed. My flesh desired to tear at those eyes because sometimes I think I can fight my own battles. Mostly I wanted God to be my pitbull and attack my enemies. Sort of like he did for Moses when he opened the ground and swallow up his enemies. He didn't.
We walk into the restaurant my friend Stella, my mother and I. The walls are a deep mahogany the decor is masculine but chic. We are met by the rich aroma of baked apples and potpourri. As the waiter ushers us to a table; I look in the eyes of my favorite patient. She's ninety-four years old and beautiful. She came from old money and she has had a passion for sailing most of her life. She fought and won the right to sail in races against men back when such a thing was unheard of and scandalous. Against all odds she won the races too. She has outlived all of her relatives and her only son. I love her dearly and sometimes I call her just to check on her. She says I'm a bully and crazy but she loves me anyway. She's sharp and fiesty and she always gives me a hard time. I give her a quick hug and introduce her to my mother and Stella.
Stella is eighty-six years old and my dearest friend whom I worship with in a Messianic Jewish congregation. She prays for me and encourages me to follow my dreams. She believes in me and helps me believe in myself. Stella life has never been easy. She left home at fifteen because of her mothers indifference to her beautiful female child. She's down to earth, funny and beautiful and I make-up holidays to celebrate her. She teaches me Jewish prayers and whispers to others that she loves me, as she asked them not to tell me. I love her dearly.
My mother raised eight of her nine children mostly single-handed. She has always been there to pick me up when I fall. She has endured more then her share of tragedy with a strength that could only be born in suffering. She loved me through childhood illness, teenage rebellion, as well as adult failures and mistakes. She has dealt with my selfishness, insensitivity and indifference without ever once complaining. She is self-sacrificing, soft, gentle and very wise. She's prayed me through the worse of times. Her love has never failed. She's beautiful and I love her dearly.
As we eat food we can barely afford,Prime rib and lobster and drink wine and margarita. Stella gives me a prophetic toast that Mr Wonderful is coming soon, I said good I'm tired of the Mr Not-So-Hot's. We get tipsy and giggle like schoolgirls as Stella flirts with the thirty-three year old waiter. Then my patient slowly makes her way to our table. She says she just want to tell my mother what a wonderful nurse and person I am. Then Stella join in and they say the most wonderful things about me. I look up into three pair of eyes that love me. Eyes that transcend race, culture, time and financial status. Eyes that have known hate, prosecution, prejudice and rejection. Eyes that have cried themselves to sleep. Eyes that turned away in tears when they had to give away the children they loved because they couldn't financially care for them. Eyes that watched helplessly as their child took his last breath. Eyes that were turned black and blue by the men they loved who should have loved them. Eyes that have known pleasure and pain. Eyes that have found a place in love where failure is in the past and there is only grace in the future. Eyes that really love me, and I'm glad I'm wearing waterproof mascara.
And maybe the eyes that were hateful and icy, wild and unstable are the same kind of eyes, just closer to the pain. Maybe my eyes shouldn't judge or condemn, but should look with the same love and understanding that I received today. The tender eyes of love.
And you know what, my pants are to tight and my butt is to big, but I feel beautiful.
Fearless
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Love Story
I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine: he feeds among the lilies.
Song 6:3 KJV
Yesterday I was invited to a dinner at a good friend's home, her home is beautiful. I fell in love with the landscape and view. Her place is off the beach with the backyard overlooking the river complete with her own private pier. There's an oak bench that sits in the center of the backyard near the pier. I sit in silent meditation while everyone else mingles and socializes. That's semi-normal for me, I'm sometimes awkward and shy, introverted and alone. Other times I'm friendly and loud, full of laughter and joy. Today joy feels like a unattainable mystery that God has hidden from me. The scenery is perfect but I am not. I'm shattered and broken, like shard glass, in a million small pieces. My way is foggy and uncertain. The water is loud and brooding like my soul. I listen to the sounds of the crashing waves, in the river of despondency.
My beloved spoke and said unto me Rise up my love my fair one and come away
Song 2:10 KJV
"What's troubling you so?" he ask. I reply as I did previously "You know", "Are you questioning my knowledge of the fact that you are God?" "No" he replies I'm questioning your knowledge of the depth of my love for you."You see, I loved you when we first thought of you. I loved you when you were knitted together in your mother's womb. I loved you when you were tiny and fragile, asthmatic and weak. I loved you when you were a skinny kid with poor coordination, all skin and bones, rolling eyes and smart comments.
His left hand is under my head and his right hand doth embrace me
Song 2:6 KJV
"Yes, but do you love me when I'm full of lust and desires? When I rather settle for lust because love seems to vast and great for my selfish nature? Did you love me when I willingly participated as my friend tried on his male whore shoes? When I'm wet and messy full of secrets and fears? Did you love me when I was all hands and arms, groping, feeling, touching places that are sacred? All because I want to be loved. Did you love me when I felt desirable but undesired? Did you love me when I was rejected like the last kid on the playground to be picked? Do you love me when I'm crazy, unbalanced and full of the emotions that I know I shouldn't have? Do you love me when I run from your love; only to run to it when my light is dim? Did you love me when the flower of my virtue appeared as withered as a unscented piece of potpourri? Did you love me then?"
I am the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley
Song 2:1 KJV
"Yes, I love you especially then. I love you when you are confused and unwilling to trust me. When you are selfish and self-centered full of manipulation and lies. I love you when you stumble that's why I never let you fall. You see, I loved you as I counted every hair on your head. When I bottled every tear you ever shed. I love you when you walked away from me to follow other gods. I cried as you walked away. I loved you as I searched high and low for you, only to be met with indifference. I loved you when you rejected my love like the last child picked on the playground. I loved you when I felt desirable but undesired. Did you doubt my love when I accepted you back without hesitation? Did you doubt me then?
I sleep but my heart waketh, it is the voice of my beloved that knocked, saying open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled for my head is filled with dew and my locks with drops of the night
Song 5:2 KJV
As I sat with teary-eyed amazement pondering the greatness of his love against my smallness. I watched as the clouds hid the moon and formed a heart shape formation that appeared to be surrounded by ribs. I felt an overwhelming warmth that seems to ingulf every fiber of my being. I realized that I was in the center of his heart listening to the warmth of his life force. And it was great and vast and higher then any thoughts I had. Lately I have wanted to lay on someones chest and listen to their heartbeat, a life force, to love and be loved. I have wanted to belong to someone. And my beloved willingly participated in my quirky love Jones, because his love is bigger that my smallness. His love is warm and fuzzy, overwhelming and intoxicating. I woke this morning to the sound of my heartbeat it was loud and fast with a rhythm reserved for my beloved.
I am my beloved and his desire is toward me.
Song 7:10
Fearless
Song 6:3 KJV
Yesterday I was invited to a dinner at a good friend's home, her home is beautiful. I fell in love with the landscape and view. Her place is off the beach with the backyard overlooking the river complete with her own private pier. There's an oak bench that sits in the center of the backyard near the pier. I sit in silent meditation while everyone else mingles and socializes. That's semi-normal for me, I'm sometimes awkward and shy, introverted and alone. Other times I'm friendly and loud, full of laughter and joy. Today joy feels like a unattainable mystery that God has hidden from me. The scenery is perfect but I am not. I'm shattered and broken, like shard glass, in a million small pieces. My way is foggy and uncertain. The water is loud and brooding like my soul. I listen to the sounds of the crashing waves, in the river of despondency.
My beloved spoke and said unto me Rise up my love my fair one and come away
Song 2:10 KJV
"What's troubling you so?" he ask. I reply as I did previously "You know", "Are you questioning my knowledge of the fact that you are God?" "No" he replies I'm questioning your knowledge of the depth of my love for you."You see, I loved you when we first thought of you. I loved you when you were knitted together in your mother's womb. I loved you when you were tiny and fragile, asthmatic and weak. I loved you when you were a skinny kid with poor coordination, all skin and bones, rolling eyes and smart comments.
His left hand is under my head and his right hand doth embrace me
Song 2:6 KJV
"Yes, but do you love me when I'm full of lust and desires? When I rather settle for lust because love seems to vast and great for my selfish nature? Did you love me when I willingly participated as my friend tried on his male whore shoes? When I'm wet and messy full of secrets and fears? Did you love me when I was all hands and arms, groping, feeling, touching places that are sacred? All because I want to be loved. Did you love me when I felt desirable but undesired? Did you love me when I was rejected like the last kid on the playground to be picked? Do you love me when I'm crazy, unbalanced and full of the emotions that I know I shouldn't have? Do you love me when I run from your love; only to run to it when my light is dim? Did you love me when the flower of my virtue appeared as withered as a unscented piece of potpourri? Did you love me then?"
I am the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley
Song 2:1 KJV
"Yes, I love you especially then. I love you when you are confused and unwilling to trust me. When you are selfish and self-centered full of manipulation and lies. I love you when you stumble that's why I never let you fall. You see, I loved you as I counted every hair on your head. When I bottled every tear you ever shed. I love you when you walked away from me to follow other gods. I cried as you walked away. I loved you as I searched high and low for you, only to be met with indifference. I loved you when you rejected my love like the last child picked on the playground. I loved you when I felt desirable but undesired. Did you doubt my love when I accepted you back without hesitation? Did you doubt me then?
I sleep but my heart waketh, it is the voice of my beloved that knocked, saying open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled for my head is filled with dew and my locks with drops of the night
Song 5:2 KJV
As I sat with teary-eyed amazement pondering the greatness of his love against my smallness. I watched as the clouds hid the moon and formed a heart shape formation that appeared to be surrounded by ribs. I felt an overwhelming warmth that seems to ingulf every fiber of my being. I realized that I was in the center of his heart listening to the warmth of his life force. And it was great and vast and higher then any thoughts I had. Lately I have wanted to lay on someones chest and listen to their heartbeat, a life force, to love and be loved. I have wanted to belong to someone. And my beloved willingly participated in my quirky love Jones, because his love is bigger that my smallness. His love is warm and fuzzy, overwhelming and intoxicating. I woke this morning to the sound of my heartbeat it was loud and fast with a rhythm reserved for my beloved.
I am my beloved and his desire is toward me.
Song 7:10
Fearless
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Spinning
When I was a child I used to spin around in a circle until I got dizzy. I would fall to the ground and look up at the clouds and watch them spin. I would repeat this game until I would feel nauseated and have to quit before I lost my last meal. My brother Jimmy told me that the earth moved continuously and we had to spin to feel it. He also told me that we could dig a hole to China. We attempted that feat once, my grandma made us pick a switch ourselves for the spanking we got when she saw the hole we made in the backyard; not to mention the time she had trying to clean the dirt out of my hair. However it's the spinning I've been reflecting on today...
That's what my life feels like lately as if I'm spinning in one big circle and I'm falling to the ground dizzy, trying to feel the earth move. I'm a stranger in this land, a sojourner in a place that is not my home. Everything feels foreign, even my emotions seem counterfeit. I do the same things, but I'm strangely detached. I pray and ..nothing. No lighthearted banter from the lover of my soul, no stern rebukes just this unbearable silence. This silence is terrifying, I try to remember his last words to me. My mind is so crowded with the debris of self-pity and doubt the words just refuse to come to me. I scan the bible in hopes of finding a scripture that would alleviate my suffering; a word to draw faith from..nothing. I feel so empty right now, alone in a place where no one knows my name. All I want is Jesus; I want to dwell in his presence and remove my shoes because I'm on holy ground..nothing.
He is silent and like David my plea is please don't take your holy spirit from me. Where are you Lord? I know he will never leave me or forsake me, but his silence unbearable...no it's not the silence that I can't bear, it's my thoughts that I can not bear. Every fear that I have ever entertained has made an unannounced appearance to fill the void of this silence. I keep spinning in a circle going from faith to fear and back again. I'm dizzy and falling, the earth is moving and I'm just laying on the ground looking up. I'm waiting to be able to rise again.
That's what my life feels like lately as if I'm spinning in one big circle and I'm falling to the ground dizzy, trying to feel the earth move. I'm a stranger in this land, a sojourner in a place that is not my home. Everything feels foreign, even my emotions seem counterfeit. I do the same things, but I'm strangely detached. I pray and ..nothing. No lighthearted banter from the lover of my soul, no stern rebukes just this unbearable silence. This silence is terrifying, I try to remember his last words to me. My mind is so crowded with the debris of self-pity and doubt the words just refuse to come to me. I scan the bible in hopes of finding a scripture that would alleviate my suffering; a word to draw faith from..nothing. I feel so empty right now, alone in a place where no one knows my name. All I want is Jesus; I want to dwell in his presence and remove my shoes because I'm on holy ground..nothing.
He is silent and like David my plea is please don't take your holy spirit from me. Where are you Lord? I know he will never leave me or forsake me, but his silence unbearable...no it's not the silence that I can't bear, it's my thoughts that I can not bear. Every fear that I have ever entertained has made an unannounced appearance to fill the void of this silence. I keep spinning in a circle going from faith to fear and back again. I'm dizzy and falling, the earth is moving and I'm just laying on the ground looking up. I'm waiting to be able to rise again.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Heart palpitations and Hospitalization
I just got out of the hospital, I stayed three days and two nights. I make it sound like a vacation resort, and it was a nightmare. Don't get me wrong the staff were really wonderful especially the nurses. I just found it a little disarming to change places. I was no longer the nice nurse; I was the disgruntle patient. I took my role very serious. They say medical people make the worst patients...they told the truth.
Lately I have been having heart palpitations, the day I went into the emergency room it had gotten so bad that it scared me worse then the other times. My sister Jill and I where in the car, I felt the increase in my heart rate and the blood rush to my head and my heart felt as if it would beat out of my chest. It had been going on for over a month and I had not mentioned it to anyone; I decided to break my silence that day so I said "Jill something is wrong with me", she said "What?", I said "I don't know my chest hurt". I was so matter of fact she didn't see any cause for alarm. I want to go to emergency.
We enter the emergency room, I'm glad to see that it is empty except for one other person, he's reading a newspaper and for some reason he looks to me as if he's waiting for someone already in the back instead of waiting to go back..Maybe it's the calm resignation on his face. I fill out a form for the triage nurse. I know from my many years of triage that I will go straight to the back. The triage nurse takes one look at my chief complaint and calls me to the back. I look back to see if the man reading the newspaper is irritated; so I could give him my best sorry they called me first look. I'm not sorry it's just another heart sickness that I have chose to ignore. The nurse checks my vitals and runs to get a wheelchair. He said he doesn't want me walking as he pulls up with an oversize wheelchair like the ones my three hundred plus pounds patients use. I think of a smart remark to make about the size of the wheelchair, I don't say it..criticism disguised as humor). My heart is racing. I try to get Jill's attention her head is down and she's reading. I'm disappointed that she missed my dramatic exit.(I have no words for that)
The nurse rushes me to the back calling out "Chest pains and tachycardia". The next minute I was in a room surrounded by nurses and medical staff shooting questions, removing clothing, sticking with needles and applying electrodes. All this took place in less then seven minutes. When they where satisfied that I was completely discombobulated they left the room assuring me that the doctor would come to see me shortly. I pick up one of the three magazines I grabbed from the waiting room. As I scanned the front cover for an article of interest the doctor walks in. I think to myself (these people are fast) as I wonder if I was the first patient they had all day. He asked the same questions that two or three other staff members had asked previously. Another rude remark crosses my mind as I look into the softness of his sea blue eyes and melt into the warmth of his smile. I answer his questions with a smile of my own, his smile is contagious. He leaves the room content with my answers. Sure that I was not a code blue.
Dr. Colgate Smile returns twenty minutes later and ask if I drink water, I say "Of course I drink water", he says "Well you are dehydrated", "Well obviously not ENOUGH water", I say and he laughs and promises to let me leave as soon as I finish the IV drip. I promise to drink more water. I look at the IV as he leaves the room, and think to myself I'll be leaving shortly. This was not to be so.
He walks into the room and there is something about his presence that says authority, he is short and balding and wearing a scowl instead of a smile; I want Dr. Colgate Smile back. he introduces himself to me and all I hear is "The head of", he pulled rank, and told me that they are going to keep me overnight for observation and a stress test in the morning. Dr. Colgate Smile walks in with a sheepish look on his face and asked me was I disappointed with him. I felt bad for him and took an instant dislike for the mean, Head Dr. Scowly Face (was that a judgment). My heart races.
Jill brings me the bag I had packed and left in the trunk for "Just in case they keep me", it was full of pajamas, books and toiletries and it was heavy. The orderly weighed my bag and it weighed twenty pounds, that was a standing joke between staff for the whole of my stay. I settled in the room with quiet resignation until the nurse told me that I would have to wear the hospital gown to bed so that I wouldn't disturb the electrodes and IV. I refuse, I protest, I plead. Then the phone rings it's my mother. I whine and complain I don't want to wear a hospital gown. She agrees with me that hospital gowns shouldn't be an issue. We hang up and my sister Mair calls, I whine and complain she agrees with me also, we hang up. My sister Gina calls I'm still whining she tells the nurse that Divas don't wear hospital gowns or anything else that would leave our asses out. Finally the nurse laughs and gives in (was that murmuring and complaining along with a strong dose of pride and vanity) I put on blue and pink pj's yet I have the strangest feeling that my ass is out, I definitely just showed it!). My heart races. Father what's wrong with my heart.
Day one has ended.
It gets worse!...or should I say I get worse?
Lately I have been having heart palpitations, the day I went into the emergency room it had gotten so bad that it scared me worse then the other times. My sister Jill and I where in the car, I felt the increase in my heart rate and the blood rush to my head and my heart felt as if it would beat out of my chest. It had been going on for over a month and I had not mentioned it to anyone; I decided to break my silence that day so I said "Jill something is wrong with me", she said "What?", I said "I don't know my chest hurt". I was so matter of fact she didn't see any cause for alarm. I want to go to emergency.
We enter the emergency room, I'm glad to see that it is empty except for one other person, he's reading a newspaper and for some reason he looks to me as if he's waiting for someone already in the back instead of waiting to go back..Maybe it's the calm resignation on his face. I fill out a form for the triage nurse. I know from my many years of triage that I will go straight to the back. The triage nurse takes one look at my chief complaint and calls me to the back. I look back to see if the man reading the newspaper is irritated; so I could give him my best sorry they called me first look. I'm not sorry it's just another heart sickness that I have chose to ignore. The nurse checks my vitals and runs to get a wheelchair. He said he doesn't want me walking as he pulls up with an oversize wheelchair like the ones my three hundred plus pounds patients use. I think of a smart remark to make about the size of the wheelchair, I don't say it..criticism disguised as humor). My heart is racing. I try to get Jill's attention her head is down and she's reading. I'm disappointed that she missed my dramatic exit.(I have no words for that)
The nurse rushes me to the back calling out "Chest pains and tachycardia". The next minute I was in a room surrounded by nurses and medical staff shooting questions, removing clothing, sticking with needles and applying electrodes. All this took place in less then seven minutes. When they where satisfied that I was completely discombobulated they left the room assuring me that the doctor would come to see me shortly. I pick up one of the three magazines I grabbed from the waiting room. As I scanned the front cover for an article of interest the doctor walks in. I think to myself (these people are fast) as I wonder if I was the first patient they had all day. He asked the same questions that two or three other staff members had asked previously. Another rude remark crosses my mind as I look into the softness of his sea blue eyes and melt into the warmth of his smile. I answer his questions with a smile of my own, his smile is contagious. He leaves the room content with my answers. Sure that I was not a code blue.
Dr. Colgate Smile returns twenty minutes later and ask if I drink water, I say "Of course I drink water", he says "Well you are dehydrated", "Well obviously not ENOUGH water", I say and he laughs and promises to let me leave as soon as I finish the IV drip. I promise to drink more water. I look at the IV as he leaves the room, and think to myself I'll be leaving shortly. This was not to be so.
He walks into the room and there is something about his presence that says authority, he is short and balding and wearing a scowl instead of a smile; I want Dr. Colgate Smile back. he introduces himself to me and all I hear is "The head of", he pulled rank, and told me that they are going to keep me overnight for observation and a stress test in the morning. Dr. Colgate Smile walks in with a sheepish look on his face and asked me was I disappointed with him. I felt bad for him and took an instant dislike for the mean, Head Dr. Scowly Face (was that a judgment). My heart races.
Jill brings me the bag I had packed and left in the trunk for "Just in case they keep me", it was full of pajamas, books and toiletries and it was heavy. The orderly weighed my bag and it weighed twenty pounds, that was a standing joke between staff for the whole of my stay. I settled in the room with quiet resignation until the nurse told me that I would have to wear the hospital gown to bed so that I wouldn't disturb the electrodes and IV. I refuse, I protest, I plead. Then the phone rings it's my mother. I whine and complain I don't want to wear a hospital gown. She agrees with me that hospital gowns shouldn't be an issue. We hang up and my sister Mair calls, I whine and complain she agrees with me also, we hang up. My sister Gina calls I'm still whining she tells the nurse that Divas don't wear hospital gowns or anything else that would leave our asses out. Finally the nurse laughs and gives in (was that murmuring and complaining along with a strong dose of pride and vanity) I put on blue and pink pj's yet I have the strangest feeling that my ass is out, I definitely just showed it!). My heart races. Father what's wrong with my heart.
Day one has ended.
It gets worse!...or should I say I get worse?
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Carried
He sweeps me in his arm with very little effort on his part, he's strong and I am weak. I can not walk it's to painful. My body is wrecked with fever my feet are swollen and blistered. I need medical attention he needs to comfort and reassure his baby that daddy is here. I try to make out what's going on, I know my daddy is with me. I put my arms around his neck and gently relax my head on his chest, I smell the scent of old spice and cigarettes. He carries me to the car and places me on the back seat. I hear the sound of my mother's voice in the background "Give her her pillow", one of my many siblings handed me my animal pillow. It's a lion my mother handmade from a pattern she purchased from McCall's, I slept with it every night. My sister Jill said "She's hot enough to fry an egg on", my brother Jimmy told her to shut up, that I was sick and it's not funny. I mentally thanked him. The car broke down on our way to the hospital and he carries me the rest of the way. The memory is dark, but clear. Like an old yellow stained cobweb overrun bottle, clear but the luster is gone.
Father why did you bring this back to me now? I was six years old when that happened.
I wanted you to remember how much you trusted your earthly father to carry you when you were to weak to walk.
Why? I know you, you have something to tell me, to teach me what is it?
I love you more.
I know.
I can carry you. Can you trust me to carry you?
Yes, please carry me; I'm so weak right now.
I am.
Father why did you bring this back to me now? I was six years old when that happened.
I wanted you to remember how much you trusted your earthly father to carry you when you were to weak to walk.
Why? I know you, you have something to tell me, to teach me what is it?
I love you more.
I know.
I can carry you. Can you trust me to carry you?
Yes, please carry me; I'm so weak right now.
I am.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
The Still Quiet
As I listen to the hum of the air conditioner and the still quiet of the house; I hear the echo of her voice. She is gone. I feel her presence and smell the scent of baby powder. There is no jumping, running, laughter or playing just this still quiet. It's relaxing and unnerving. My baby is gone home and grandma is alone again. There are no toys to step on, nose to wipe, no skinny arms encircling my neck, no big jumps with out stretched arms to express how big their love is for me. There is just this still quiet; I love it and I hate it. I will sleep alone tonight for the first time in five days, I will not feel the warmth or her body nor hear the sound of her gentle snore or feel the wool fur of Johnnie the bear( who by the way wears spiderman pants and his name is spelled with a "A"). My baby is gone, and I miss her. We had fun and it is over for now. We have been apart for a year out of her four. I missed her first day in headstart, her first dance recital and her fourth birthday party. Thanks to new technology I have it all on CD and DVD, but it not the same as being there.
I wanted to do as much as possible on our visit together, so we went to Universal to the Dr Seuss theme park. I was so excited; we rode the Red fish Blue fish (a favorite book of mine as a child, I had my parents read it to me so many times that I could recite the book page by page, their friends and my sister Gina thought I could read. I also took a picture with Thing1 and Thing2 from the Cat in the Hat. Nia was afraid to take a picture with them, because she said they where standing to close to the Grinch. (I was the only one standing near them!!) Then we went to the beach, and played in the water and made a sandcastle that I was not making "look pretty", because I forgot her sand pail, and everyone knows that a sandcastle made with grandma blood, sweat and tears could never measure up to one made with a shovel and pail. So we had to return the next day with shovel, sand pail (and the Grinch) in tow. I told her to call me grandmommie dearest, she didn't. We made a beautiful sandcastle and I started singing Stevie Wonder's "Castle of Love" and she joined in after listening to the words for a while. I cherished every minute of our time together, and I silently and some times not so silently praised God for every moment.
Every morning we had "praise and worship" together and she said she liked "praise and worship" with me, even though she told Aunt Jill she didn't. She liked to make Aunt Jill tickle her. And every night we watched "Chicken Little" on DVD(over and over) and she know every word, song and dance, and before our time together was over I knew them too. We had a great time and now she's gone home. All that's left is the still quiet. I am happy and I am sad.
I wanted to do as much as possible on our visit together, so we went to Universal to the Dr Seuss theme park. I was so excited; we rode the Red fish Blue fish (a favorite book of mine as a child, I had my parents read it to me so many times that I could recite the book page by page, their friends and my sister Gina thought I could read. I also took a picture with Thing1 and Thing2 from the Cat in the Hat. Nia was afraid to take a picture with them, because she said they where standing to close to the Grinch. (I was the only one standing near them!!) Then we went to the beach, and played in the water and made a sandcastle that I was not making "look pretty", because I forgot her sand pail, and everyone knows that a sandcastle made with grandma blood, sweat and tears could never measure up to one made with a shovel and pail. So we had to return the next day with shovel, sand pail (and the Grinch) in tow. I told her to call me grandmommie dearest, she didn't. We made a beautiful sandcastle and I started singing Stevie Wonder's "Castle of Love" and she joined in after listening to the words for a while. I cherished every minute of our time together, and I silently and some times not so silently praised God for every moment.
Every morning we had "praise and worship" together and she said she liked "praise and worship" with me, even though she told Aunt Jill she didn't. She liked to make Aunt Jill tickle her. And every night we watched "Chicken Little" on DVD(over and over) and she know every word, song and dance, and before our time together was over I knew them too. We had a great time and now she's gone home. All that's left is the still quiet. I am happy and I am sad.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
DIVINE SECRETS OF CW SISTERHOOD
The sky in the east is turning a tangerine and blue and the stars are disappearing to make room for the sun. We walked in silence each in her own private thoughts. Or maybe our thoughts are still asleep, lost in the twilight of yesterday. The sun will rise in a half an hour, and we are on our way to the ocean to welcome in the morning with prayer. Jody and Anne are in the lead, how appropriate I think to myself that the leaders of the congregation would lead us even in this, Robbin is to the right of me and Dolores is close enough in back of us; for us to speak to her without raising our voices. Joanne and Connie are a distant behind. I walk with an awkward swagger to our destination, feeling more like a slug then a captivating women. We laughed and talked to late into the night, and with the combination of this early morning rise my determination has turned to a voiceless resignation.
We reach our destination within minutes, a washed out oak platform with seats built in the center on both sides and steps leading to the ocean. We sit and admire the scenery before us. The ocean and sky gave way to the breath of the early morning and has come alive with a whitewash of colors. Jody said the sky "looks like a seashell", and it did. The sun appeared to slightly peek tangerine rays between the thick blue of the early morning sky and the creamy off white clouds. The ocean caught the beauty of each color and mixed it with the aqua blue crystal of it's own. It was beautiful.
Robbin holds the book with her left hand and the flashlight with her right, as she explains the commander of the morning prayer, how we as the sons(or daughters) of God have the authorithy to come into agreement with the heavens and impregnate the morning with spermatic word prayers; that will give birth to the will of God when the sun breaks forth. We all nod an understanding as she begin to recite the prayer from Kim Daniels book "Give It Back". Robbin hands the book to Jody after she read half the prayer. Jody is seated across from Robbin and I, and I am amazed at the way the flashlight illuminate the softness of her features. She finishes the prayer and we sit in silent meditation, believing that the morning has opened it's ears to our soft spoken authoritative decree, we are the daughters of God and we are loved.
We reach our destination within minutes, a washed out oak platform with seats built in the center on both sides and steps leading to the ocean. We sit and admire the scenery before us. The ocean and sky gave way to the breath of the early morning and has come alive with a whitewash of colors. Jody said the sky "looks like a seashell", and it did. The sun appeared to slightly peek tangerine rays between the thick blue of the early morning sky and the creamy off white clouds. The ocean caught the beauty of each color and mixed it with the aqua blue crystal of it's own. It was beautiful.
Robbin holds the book with her left hand and the flashlight with her right, as she explains the commander of the morning prayer, how we as the sons(or daughters) of God have the authorithy to come into agreement with the heavens and impregnate the morning with spermatic word prayers; that will give birth to the will of God when the sun breaks forth. We all nod an understanding as she begin to recite the prayer from Kim Daniels book "Give It Back". Robbin hands the book to Jody after she read half the prayer. Jody is seated across from Robbin and I, and I am amazed at the way the flashlight illuminate the softness of her features. She finishes the prayer and we sit in silent meditation, believing that the morning has opened it's ears to our soft spoken authoritative decree, we are the daughters of God and we are loved.
Monday, July 30, 2007
The Touch
She pushes her way through the crowd with determination born out of desperation. Her head is slightly bowed and her eyes downcast. The years of shame, unworthiness, heartbreak and pain are etched on her forehead and around her mouth. She wraps her shawl tighter around her shoulders, not because she felt a chill, but because sin and shame have a way of trying to hide to cover up. She increases her pace with her eyes focused on him.
She remembers when in her youth she tried to follow him; he seemed so distant, unreachable and her view of him was distorted. There were so many obstacles back then. She was a teenage mom. She remembers, with surprising clarity, the shame of her growing belly, the heartbreak in her parents eyes, but more then that she remembers the day her son was born. His newborn scent, the swirl of dark curls at the crown of his head, the selfishness of her thoughts of having someone to love her. She loves her son even though his dad walked away from them when her son was four months old. She was not married to the new guy, but he was willing to take care of her son. She even stayed after he started hitting her. The sin and shame increased and she lost her focus.
The dust rose and settled in symptomatic rhythm and rested on his sandaled feet. His saunter was self-assured, his Deity unmistakable and she was drawn to him; though she feared him. I have to reach him she thought with a familiar ache. Was she mistaken or did she notice his stride slow as if to wait for her, as if he knew she was behind him. No, he would never wait for anyone like me, she thought with cynicism and bitterness bred from unforgiveness and pain.
The crowd appeared to narrow as she meandered her way to where he now stood. His back was to her, her heartbeat raced and sweat ran down her brow, the closer she got to him the more her body trembled. She was close enough to touch him to call to him, to beg for mercy, to ask him to please help her. Time seemed to stand still as she stood in his presence his virtue overpowering her sinfulness, her weakness. At that moment she knew she could never face him, she was not worthy she thought as her head resumed it's bowed position, but before she could turn and walk away her eyes caught the sight of the end of his garment, the hem. She had come to far, life has been so hard and she has overcome to many obstacles to leave without what she fought her way for. She needed a touch, just one touch would help; it would make her whole. She raised her feeble shaking hands and lightly touched the hem of his garment.
He turned and asked, "Who touched my clothing". He looked around until his eyes fell on her. She lifted her head and their eyes met. His eyes where full of the fire of God and a tenderness reserved for those in pain. At that moment she knew that she was loved have always been loved; and tears stream unabridged down her cheeks. With tears in her eyes she fell down before him and told him everything. She's crying now as she types away on this keypad tears of gratitude and thankfulness. Jesus I love you so much thank you for making me whole.
She remembers when in her youth she tried to follow him; he seemed so distant, unreachable and her view of him was distorted. There were so many obstacles back then. She was a teenage mom. She remembers, with surprising clarity, the shame of her growing belly, the heartbreak in her parents eyes, but more then that she remembers the day her son was born. His newborn scent, the swirl of dark curls at the crown of his head, the selfishness of her thoughts of having someone to love her. She loves her son even though his dad walked away from them when her son was four months old. She was not married to the new guy, but he was willing to take care of her son. She even stayed after he started hitting her. The sin and shame increased and she lost her focus.
The dust rose and settled in symptomatic rhythm and rested on his sandaled feet. His saunter was self-assured, his Deity unmistakable and she was drawn to him; though she feared him. I have to reach him she thought with a familiar ache. Was she mistaken or did she notice his stride slow as if to wait for her, as if he knew she was behind him. No, he would never wait for anyone like me, she thought with cynicism and bitterness bred from unforgiveness and pain.
The crowd appeared to narrow as she meandered her way to where he now stood. His back was to her, her heartbeat raced and sweat ran down her brow, the closer she got to him the more her body trembled. She was close enough to touch him to call to him, to beg for mercy, to ask him to please help her. Time seemed to stand still as she stood in his presence his virtue overpowering her sinfulness, her weakness. At that moment she knew she could never face him, she was not worthy she thought as her head resumed it's bowed position, but before she could turn and walk away her eyes caught the sight of the end of his garment, the hem. She had come to far, life has been so hard and she has overcome to many obstacles to leave without what she fought her way for. She needed a touch, just one touch would help; it would make her whole. She raised her feeble shaking hands and lightly touched the hem of his garment.
He turned and asked, "Who touched my clothing". He looked around until his eyes fell on her. She lifted her head and their eyes met. His eyes where full of the fire of God and a tenderness reserved for those in pain. At that moment she knew that she was loved have always been loved; and tears stream unabridged down her cheeks. With tears in her eyes she fell down before him and told him everything. She's crying now as she types away on this keypad tears of gratitude and thankfulness. Jesus I love you so much thank you for making me whole.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Love's threshingfloor
There are times in life, when others use words to describe you or some characteristic you possess. Words that uplift, encourage, inspire, some may even offend, however what she called me shocked and left me speechless.
There has been a lot of friction in our office lately; more than usual. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE (with the exception of myself), has something against someone else. No matter how much I pray, speak peace and play mediator the best that happens is a temporary cease fire. The tension is so thick you can almost see the heavy, gray mist of the fog of bitterness, envy, unforgiveness and feel the cold chill of indifference.
In the midst of these adverse circumstances, I lay on love's threshingfloor. There are seasons of love's planting where love ploughs the fallow ground of your heart and plucks out the tares of selfishness, judgement, hypocrisy and self-righteousness; and sow the seed of mercy, compassion, justice and righteousness. Then there is the season of love's threshingfloor; I'm in that season.
It's not easy laying on love's threshingfloor, but here I lay crying out in agonizing pain, for me; for the women on my job. I feel each heartbreak, rejection, unworthiness, shame, guilt and broken dream-and it hurts!
I watch as they attack, backbite and lie on each other. I watch as they do the same to me. I pray, I mediate and speak peace.
I forgive, hug and love. I'm on loves threshingfloor and it hurts.
A couple of days ago one of my co-workers came to me and said, "We were talking about how you are always forgiving and you never let anything change your disposition, we have decided you're just holy...I was shocked and speechless.
Though I could have come up with an argument to convince her of how mistaken she was. I didn't..
Not because I wanted to wear a mask or disguise and pretend that holy would be a word used to describe me. I didn't deny it because it was too precious to me. Like Mordecai, I was honored to wear the King's apparel, if it was only for a moment. I'm still on love's threshingfloor.
There has been a lot of friction in our office lately; more than usual. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE (with the exception of myself), has something against someone else. No matter how much I pray, speak peace and play mediator the best that happens is a temporary cease fire. The tension is so thick you can almost see the heavy, gray mist of the fog of bitterness, envy, unforgiveness and feel the cold chill of indifference.
In the midst of these adverse circumstances, I lay on love's threshingfloor. There are seasons of love's planting where love ploughs the fallow ground of your heart and plucks out the tares of selfishness, judgement, hypocrisy and self-righteousness; and sow the seed of mercy, compassion, justice and righteousness. Then there is the season of love's threshingfloor; I'm in that season.
It's not easy laying on love's threshingfloor, but here I lay crying out in agonizing pain, for me; for the women on my job. I feel each heartbreak, rejection, unworthiness, shame, guilt and broken dream-and it hurts!
I watch as they attack, backbite and lie on each other. I watch as they do the same to me. I pray, I mediate and speak peace.
I forgive, hug and love. I'm on loves threshingfloor and it hurts.
A couple of days ago one of my co-workers came to me and said, "We were talking about how you are always forgiving and you never let anything change your disposition, we have decided you're just holy...I was shocked and speechless.
Though I could have come up with an argument to convince her of how mistaken she was. I didn't..
Not because I wanted to wear a mask or disguise and pretend that holy would be a word used to describe me. I didn't deny it because it was too precious to me. Like Mordecai, I was honored to wear the King's apparel, if it was only for a moment. I'm still on love's threshingfloor.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Falling
I am falling. Falling rapidly into nothingness.
Fading fast
I am no longer me, but us and we.
Drifting into parallel
I am falling. Falling slowly into light.
Diminishing swiftly
I am no longer me, but us and we.
Vanishing into truth
I am falling.
I am falling.
John 12:24 Verily verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abide alone; but if it die it bring forth much fruit. KJV
Fading fast
I am no longer me, but us and we.
Drifting into parallel
I am falling. Falling slowly into light.
Diminishing swiftly
I am no longer me, but us and we.
Vanishing into truth
I am falling.
I am falling.
John 12:24 Verily verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abide alone; but if it die it bring forth much fruit. KJV
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Missing You
I miss you.
I miss everything about you.
I miss the excitement in your voice, every time you heard mine. I miss the way you called me if to much time had passed since our last conversation. I miss you leaving voice messages saying it's been "way to long" since you talked to me. I miss having you to talk to about "anything". I miss your smile, your voice, your encouragement and your love. I miss your laughter and the shape of your hands. I miss running my hand through the silky texture of your white curls. I miss the gentle kisses on my forehead you always gave. I miss being your baby, I miss being called your baby. I miss the bond we shared that no one else understood. I miss being told what a wonderful daughter I am. I miss you Daddy...I miss you Daddy.
Several times recently I picked up the phone to call you, only to remember you're no longer here; and a whimper inadvertently escapes me. I am missing you.
I miss everything about you.
I miss the excitement in your voice, every time you heard mine. I miss the way you called me if to much time had passed since our last conversation. I miss you leaving voice messages saying it's been "way to long" since you talked to me. I miss having you to talk to about "anything". I miss your smile, your voice, your encouragement and your love. I miss your laughter and the shape of your hands. I miss running my hand through the silky texture of your white curls. I miss the gentle kisses on my forehead you always gave. I miss being your baby, I miss being called your baby. I miss the bond we shared that no one else understood. I miss being told what a wonderful daughter I am. I miss you Daddy...I miss you Daddy.
Several times recently I picked up the phone to call you, only to remember you're no longer here; and a whimper inadvertently escapes me. I am missing you.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Singleness
My co-worker got married this weekend in Jamaica, I didn't go to the wedding, but she e-mailed me the pictures and they were perfect, The tropical outdoor background was a perfect match for her ivory knee length dress; trimmed in black. There appeared to be a soft ocean breeze that gently swayed the chiffon of her dress as they stared each other in the eyes and exchanged vows. She is stunningly beautiful, he is handsome; they are very much in love. It is perfect.
I am single. I've been single since the death of my husband eight years ago. After eight years, I still have not found comfort in my singleness. I have, however, found moments of contentment. I ask a lot of my single Christian friends, how to find comfort and I seem to get mixed messages. The younger ones encourage me to date, get out more, e-harmony; the older ones say I should be more spiritual and the desires for a mate will disappear. All advice is welcome, if not well received. I can't imagine myself on e-harmony with two-hundred choices(the mind games I would play with myself) or even worse having to resign myself to the lie that I don't desire a husband, because it's easier than saying none desire me.
I look at the photos of my co-worker and see perfection for a day. I realize that after the wedding there is real life; and in real life there will be hurt, disappointment, disagreements and a constant exercise in forgiveness. Then I wonder if I should adopt a cat. He could curl up beside me to comfort me in times of loneliness and distress. We could share a meager meal of tuna as I tell him about my day. It would be perfect.
There is a stigma attached to being single in the body of Christ; an unspoken insinuation that you are not whole. Some times it comes in the form of a look, a gentle pat on the shoulder and some times it's voiced in an awkward attempt at match-making. It's hard to find comfort when others around you are so uncomfortable...I am content, satisfied in the knowledge that I'm not alone, I'm loved and desired... I matter and I belong. My hope is eternal, where one day there will no longer be singleness, but unity. All united as one, a bride.... His bride.. Yes my bridegroom waits in anticipation for his his bride; he waits for me, for us..It will be perfect!!
I am single. I've been single since the death of my husband eight years ago. After eight years, I still have not found comfort in my singleness. I have, however, found moments of contentment. I ask a lot of my single Christian friends, how to find comfort and I seem to get mixed messages. The younger ones encourage me to date, get out more, e-harmony; the older ones say I should be more spiritual and the desires for a mate will disappear. All advice is welcome, if not well received. I can't imagine myself on e-harmony with two-hundred choices(the mind games I would play with myself) or even worse having to resign myself to the lie that I don't desire a husband, because it's easier than saying none desire me.
I look at the photos of my co-worker and see perfection for a day. I realize that after the wedding there is real life; and in real life there will be hurt, disappointment, disagreements and a constant exercise in forgiveness. Then I wonder if I should adopt a cat. He could curl up beside me to comfort me in times of loneliness and distress. We could share a meager meal of tuna as I tell him about my day. It would be perfect.
There is a stigma attached to being single in the body of Christ; an unspoken insinuation that you are not whole. Some times it comes in the form of a look, a gentle pat on the shoulder and some times it's voiced in an awkward attempt at match-making. It's hard to find comfort when others around you are so uncomfortable...I am content, satisfied in the knowledge that I'm not alone, I'm loved and desired... I matter and I belong. My hope is eternal, where one day there will no longer be singleness, but unity. All united as one, a bride.... His bride.. Yes my bridegroom waits in anticipation for his his bride; he waits for me, for us..It will be perfect!!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Mouth almighty
I grew up in a family that expressed themselves. We were loud and voiced our opinions, every one of us in our own way. We were never stopped from expressing our feeling, whether it was hurt, disappointment, anger, joy or laughter. Feelings were never right or wrong, they were simply feelings. I remember once in my early teens, feeling unwanted and unloved, so I came up with the conclusion that I was adopted.
I decided to let my mother and grandmother know that I figured out the truth, and I didn't appreciate being taken from my "real" family to be unwanted and unloved by them. I stood in the middle of the living room floor as my captive audience looked on from the couch. I cried and told them everything they had done wrong to me--in my opinion. I cried "real" tears, nose running tears. My performance ended after about twenty minutes, I thought they had had enough and would be ready to repent of their evil deeds. They gave each other a quick glance, as if to say, "you want to take this or should I". My grandama won. She gave me a look of compassion and understanding. I had won... She said "Who told you ?, I told them not to tell". I stumped away muttering something about them "always trying to be funny".
They enrolled me in drama class shortly after that, I was good,too!
I told that story to say I was never taught how to hold my tongue, especially if I thought an injustice had occured against me or someone I loved. I was notorious for defending the underdog, and myself if pushed enough. I was so use to saying what I thought or felt, that when I went to stay with my grandma's sister the summer after the second grade; I was shocked and confused as to why I was being spanked for my "smart mouth". She gave me lots and lots of spankings... I never stopped.
I work in a place that If you visit every three months, you will meet a brand new staff, some don't stay that long. Several people went to lunch and never returned. There is always injustice, and there's me (mouth almighty). I never thought it was a bad thing, until Jesus whispered to me one morning as I was mentally preparing the nasty, cutting remarks I was going to make that day. He said "I never uttered a word"....Huh....what..."You want me to be quiet?"
I want to be like Jesus, I want to melt down and pour into the character of Jesus, I was made in the likeness and image of God, it shouldn't be this hard to keep my big mouth shut. It's been such a struggle for me. I had a few victories, I told everyone that would listen about them, but I lost more then I won. I seem to have a two day rule, I'll allow the injustice, verbal abuse and nit-picking to roll off my back for two days, then on the third day I'll let them have it with a barrage of words that would probably make a demon blush or very proud. Where does it come from, this fiend in me that would rather battle than exercise self-control. I can't help but feel there's some hidden place in my heart desperately in need of healing. When Jesus first said to me that he never uttered a word, I was quiet for two weeks. My boss came to me crying and apologized! I got two raises in two days!!
Today I got rude, nasty and mean, I feel awful; like a giant God-failure. And it hurt to fail God... I know all my well-meaning friends would tell me don't beat yourself up. I don't want to hear that! I want to know how to be obedient to the Father's will. I need to know how to love him enough to get pass my own discomfort. I need to know how to love others enough to see the person Jesus loves, even when they're being nasty, mean and rude. I need to know how to be like Jesus and not them. I need to repent and to cry. I need to get this right. I need to be still and quiet. My sister Jill and friend Melodie prayed with me and decreed a speak-no-evil fast. It will probably be easy for Melodie, it would be easier for me to give up food and water for forty days. I'm determined to do it though, I'll get it right this time.... I'll pray. I'm realizing that it's not about fighting injustice, it about a soul Jesus want to draw. It's about love and nothing else, (nothing).
Pray for me.
I decided to let my mother and grandmother know that I figured out the truth, and I didn't appreciate being taken from my "real" family to be unwanted and unloved by them. I stood in the middle of the living room floor as my captive audience looked on from the couch. I cried and told them everything they had done wrong to me--in my opinion. I cried "real" tears, nose running tears. My performance ended after about twenty minutes, I thought they had had enough and would be ready to repent of their evil deeds. They gave each other a quick glance, as if to say, "you want to take this or should I". My grandama won. She gave me a look of compassion and understanding. I had won... She said "Who told you ?, I told them not to tell". I stumped away muttering something about them "always trying to be funny".
They enrolled me in drama class shortly after that, I was good,too!
I told that story to say I was never taught how to hold my tongue, especially if I thought an injustice had occured against me or someone I loved. I was notorious for defending the underdog, and myself if pushed enough. I was so use to saying what I thought or felt, that when I went to stay with my grandma's sister the summer after the second grade; I was shocked and confused as to why I was being spanked for my "smart mouth". She gave me lots and lots of spankings... I never stopped.
I work in a place that If you visit every three months, you will meet a brand new staff, some don't stay that long. Several people went to lunch and never returned. There is always injustice, and there's me (mouth almighty). I never thought it was a bad thing, until Jesus whispered to me one morning as I was mentally preparing the nasty, cutting remarks I was going to make that day. He said "I never uttered a word"....Huh....what..."You want me to be quiet?"
I want to be like Jesus, I want to melt down and pour into the character of Jesus, I was made in the likeness and image of God, it shouldn't be this hard to keep my big mouth shut. It's been such a struggle for me. I had a few victories, I told everyone that would listen about them, but I lost more then I won. I seem to have a two day rule, I'll allow the injustice, verbal abuse and nit-picking to roll off my back for two days, then on the third day I'll let them have it with a barrage of words that would probably make a demon blush or very proud. Where does it come from, this fiend in me that would rather battle than exercise self-control. I can't help but feel there's some hidden place in my heart desperately in need of healing. When Jesus first said to me that he never uttered a word, I was quiet for two weeks. My boss came to me crying and apologized! I got two raises in two days!!
Today I got rude, nasty and mean, I feel awful; like a giant God-failure. And it hurt to fail God... I know all my well-meaning friends would tell me don't beat yourself up. I don't want to hear that! I want to know how to be obedient to the Father's will. I need to know how to love him enough to get pass my own discomfort. I need to know how to love others enough to see the person Jesus loves, even when they're being nasty, mean and rude. I need to know how to be like Jesus and not them. I need to repent and to cry. I need to get this right. I need to be still and quiet. My sister Jill and friend Melodie prayed with me and decreed a speak-no-evil fast. It will probably be easy for Melodie, it would be easier for me to give up food and water for forty days. I'm determined to do it though, I'll get it right this time.... I'll pray. I'm realizing that it's not about fighting injustice, it about a soul Jesus want to draw. It's about love and nothing else, (nothing).
Pray for me.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Darkness
I sit in a corner of my back room in complete silence, except for the sound of thunder outside of my windows. Even the monkey chatter that usually goes on in my head is strangely silent. You know the kind, the conversations you have in your head, some you may have had previously, and they rekindle themself a week later with you being the victor(this time!). And it's dark...
With this silence there is a restlessness and darkness, I don't know where it comes from or how long it will stay. It comes without forewarning and it departs just as quickly.
I watch as he hovers over my head, dark and brooding. "What do you want? I ask, He laughs in his deep sinister baretone voice and said "your joy and laughter of course". "Is she with you?" I ask, knowing the answer.
They always travel together, and like Bonnie and Clyde they're a vicious team. "Would you like a cool drink or something to eat", I ask; trying to divert their attention as I hide the vial containing my most precious treasure. She noticed my pathetic attempt at deception and they pounce on me; with a volley of physical and verbal assaults." You're stupid, ugly, and no one loves you", she says as she digs her claws into the flesh of my clenched fists. "Where is your King?", he asks as he reigns brutal blows to my head, I feel white hot searing pain...Then total darkness.
I wake still clutching my vial, the pain of their assault visable in the bloody, battered mess that was once hopefully optimistic. I cling desperately to my vial, as I stumble into the restless, dark trap they have set before me. I search for light, in this pool of darkness. "Where is it?" I wonder as I grapple in the darkness for my Bible, I chastise myself for my lack of consistency and discipline.
They follow, taunting, laughing, hitting, kicking and insulting. I search the regions of my mind to no avail. My mind cannot comprehend the things of the spirit. I remember! it's my heart! My heart screams his name, as I look out the window toward the hills; I see a flicker of light, is it lightning? I wondered in my battered haze.
No, it not lightning; but Him, clothed in all His Glory and Majesty, I get oddly brave as I watched our enemies flee in terror at the roar of my Lion, The Lion Of Judah. "What took you so long?", I ask in a weakened voice, still reeling from the beating I sustained. "Come on let's go get them!", I say as I march toward the now departed pair; I marvel at the newfound bravado, where moments before I cowered in the corner with fear and trembling. He didn't move, he just looked at me with questioning, soft brown, compassionate eyes.
"Buttercup, what did you do?", he questions. "Nothing!", I say looking around at the broken, bloody. and tattered mess. " It was them, Depression and Loneliness that made this mess, they hit me, kicked me, tried to steal my vial and called me a whore". "Come on let's go", I repeat.
He rephrased his question, "Did you let them in?" And at that moment I finally remember my key. I franticly searched for my key. "It was in my hand when they knocked on the door"! I say . Then I noticed it glistering in a puddle of blood, my blood mixed with the blood of the Lamb. "Oh no, did I let them in?" I wonder as I retrieve my key. The key with the inscription "Love and Trust". He searches the eyes of my heart for the truth.
I answered," I forgot the part of the key that said trust", as I hang my head in shame and remorse. "These are hard lesson dear one, but you must learn them", he says as he tenderly reaches under my chin and holds my head upright and tends to my wounds. "You can only love me as much as you can trust me; love and trust is the key that will lock them out, and the lack there of, will let them in. Never entertain them, not even for a moment", he said, as he soothed his healing balm over the last of my wounds. "I gave you the key, you must use it". "Thank you Jesus", I whisper in a sleep induced wimper, as he kisses my forehead and says, "Rest precious".
And I rest.
Fearless
With this silence there is a restlessness and darkness, I don't know where it comes from or how long it will stay. It comes without forewarning and it departs just as quickly.
I watch as he hovers over my head, dark and brooding. "What do you want? I ask, He laughs in his deep sinister baretone voice and said "your joy and laughter of course". "Is she with you?" I ask, knowing the answer.
They always travel together, and like Bonnie and Clyde they're a vicious team. "Would you like a cool drink or something to eat", I ask; trying to divert their attention as I hide the vial containing my most precious treasure. She noticed my pathetic attempt at deception and they pounce on me; with a volley of physical and verbal assaults." You're stupid, ugly, and no one loves you", she says as she digs her claws into the flesh of my clenched fists. "Where is your King?", he asks as he reigns brutal blows to my head, I feel white hot searing pain...Then total darkness.
I wake still clutching my vial, the pain of their assault visable in the bloody, battered mess that was once hopefully optimistic. I cling desperately to my vial, as I stumble into the restless, dark trap they have set before me. I search for light, in this pool of darkness. "Where is it?" I wonder as I grapple in the darkness for my Bible, I chastise myself for my lack of consistency and discipline.
They follow, taunting, laughing, hitting, kicking and insulting. I search the regions of my mind to no avail. My mind cannot comprehend the things of the spirit. I remember! it's my heart! My heart screams his name, as I look out the window toward the hills; I see a flicker of light, is it lightning? I wondered in my battered haze.
No, it not lightning; but Him, clothed in all His Glory and Majesty, I get oddly brave as I watched our enemies flee in terror at the roar of my Lion, The Lion Of Judah. "What took you so long?", I ask in a weakened voice, still reeling from the beating I sustained. "Come on let's go get them!", I say as I march toward the now departed pair; I marvel at the newfound bravado, where moments before I cowered in the corner with fear and trembling. He didn't move, he just looked at me with questioning, soft brown, compassionate eyes.
"Buttercup, what did you do?", he questions. "Nothing!", I say looking around at the broken, bloody. and tattered mess. " It was them, Depression and Loneliness that made this mess, they hit me, kicked me, tried to steal my vial and called me a whore". "Come on let's go", I repeat.
He rephrased his question, "Did you let them in?" And at that moment I finally remember my key. I franticly searched for my key. "It was in my hand when they knocked on the door"! I say . Then I noticed it glistering in a puddle of blood, my blood mixed with the blood of the Lamb. "Oh no, did I let them in?" I wonder as I retrieve my key. The key with the inscription "Love and Trust". He searches the eyes of my heart for the truth.
I answered," I forgot the part of the key that said trust", as I hang my head in shame and remorse. "These are hard lesson dear one, but you must learn them", he says as he tenderly reaches under my chin and holds my head upright and tends to my wounds. "You can only love me as much as you can trust me; love and trust is the key that will lock them out, and the lack there of, will let them in. Never entertain them, not even for a moment", he said, as he soothed his healing balm over the last of my wounds. "I gave you the key, you must use it". "Thank you Jesus", I whisper in a sleep induced wimper, as he kisses my forehead and says, "Rest precious".
And I rest.
Fearless
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Come
As the music swirls around in my head I feel a pull, not in my body, but my spirit. Come...Come, Don't be afraid come.
"Jesus"?
"Yes, Carlean I want you to come closer, but only your spirit can come", he said as he extended his hands to me.
I reach for his hands and I see him, his face. I grasp as my breath feels as if it been taken away, my heart races and I have a feeling of what can only be descibed as ecstasy. My soul wants to run, my spirit wants to hold his hands forever.
"Come" he said.
"You are beautiful", I say; and I know at that moment; Jesus is the beloved, my beloved. "Where are we going?"
He gives me a shy smile, and said "I want to show you something".
My heart is overwhelmed that Jesus wants my love and attention. "Show me what"?
He didn't answer, We just held hands, and swirled to the music, laughing.
"You want to show me your home"? "Are you taking me to Father"?
He said "yes, but not now".
And like two young lovers we laugh and dance. The music stopped and our dance ended, and his hands were gone, his face is no longer there.
"Where are you? Please come back! Please! This place is so empty without you, please"!
"I am here" he said.
"I just want to be with you, I don't want to be here anymore, please let me stay with you" I beg.
"Not yet, you have work to do", he said.
"Can't you find someone else, someone wiser, more knowledgeable in the scriptures, understanding, more disciplined, not as scared"?
"You have chosen greater then these things, you have chosen to place all your love on me, now GO".
I cried, as I walked away, only Father's will, I said as I soldier on.
And I GO.
"Jesus"?
"Yes, Carlean I want you to come closer, but only your spirit can come", he said as he extended his hands to me.
I reach for his hands and I see him, his face. I grasp as my breath feels as if it been taken away, my heart races and I have a feeling of what can only be descibed as ecstasy. My soul wants to run, my spirit wants to hold his hands forever.
"Come" he said.
"You are beautiful", I say; and I know at that moment; Jesus is the beloved, my beloved. "Where are we going?"
He gives me a shy smile, and said "I want to show you something".
My heart is overwhelmed that Jesus wants my love and attention. "Show me what"?
He didn't answer, We just held hands, and swirled to the music, laughing.
"You want to show me your home"? "Are you taking me to Father"?
He said "yes, but not now".
And like two young lovers we laugh and dance. The music stopped and our dance ended, and his hands were gone, his face is no longer there.
"Where are you? Please come back! Please! This place is so empty without you, please"!
"I am here" he said.
"I just want to be with you, I don't want to be here anymore, please let me stay with you" I beg.
"Not yet, you have work to do", he said.
"Can't you find someone else, someone wiser, more knowledgeable in the scriptures, understanding, more disciplined, not as scared"?
"You have chosen greater then these things, you have chosen to place all your love on me, now GO".
I cried, as I walked away, only Father's will, I said as I soldier on.
And I GO.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Scribbled Gray
All my life I loved colors, pastel watercolors, yellow , pink, powder blue and lavender. Then there's the deep rich hues; red, purple, hunter green and midnight blue. I love them. Colors have meaning though I'm not sure what...The one I'm most familiar with is gray...
My acquaintance with gray started in the third grade. I was the only black girl in my class, and one of only three blacks in the class. I had two bestfriends in class, Ann and Angie. We did what eight year old girls do, we giggled and talked about how stupid and smelly little boys are. Especially Charles. Charles always interrupted our girl time to tell me how nice I looked or how much he liked my plaid skirt with the giant pin on the side. Charles was the neatest boy in class, His blond hair was alway cut to perfection and he wore beige pants and crisp white shirts (always). He was also the one we giggled at the most but he didn't seem to mind...he always came back.
One day, we decided to draw each others picture. I drew what I thought was a perfect picture of Angie and Ann. I proudly gave my rendiction. Angie had yellow hair, blue eyes surrounded by the same color blue cat-eyed glasses. I captured Ann's page-boy haircut and brown hair as best I could with my limited color options. I thought they were masterpieces!
Judging by the frown on her face, Ann did not!
Angie drew a picture of me with the two ponytails and the bright orange ribbons I wore that day. I thought they were all perfect. Apparently, Ann did not! She snatched the picture Angie drew of me and scribble my face gray, and said " this is the color you are". I stared for what seemed hours at the charcoal gray as hot, salty tears ran down my cheeks and seeped into the corners of my mouth. I was different! I was gray! And they laughed!
I did what any self-respecting eight year old, who was unprepared to face the evil of a falling society), would do I grabbed a pink crayon and tried to color them different, and I scribbled so hard I broke the crayon. It was too late, my spirit broke long before that crayon. The veil had been lifted, the veil of innocence that protected me from a world where you are judged more by the color of your skin then the content of your heart. A world where little girls are scribbled gray and pink.
I don't remember being friends with Ann and Angie after that. I mostly kept to myself. I did, however, get a new school companion, a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach that attacked me every morning before school, and stayed with me the rest of the day. I resigned to my new identity. I was gray and I didn't fit.
That summer while at vacation Bible camp, I met a lowly carpenter that didn't fit either. We fit together perfectly, it took years for me to realize it, and a whole lot of colors. My portrait was gray.
I went on to other schools, schools where everyone was black like me, I wasn't accepted there either. I got new colors "yellow and red", and slapped once because I was "yellow and thought I was pretty". It's hard to think you're pretty when you are gray.
For years my world was gray, but that carpenter that fit so well didn't see it. He saw beauty in the midst of all the grayness. He saw all the colors of the rainbow. He rended the veil, and he loves me.
I no longer see gray, my life is now full of a kaleidoscope of beautiful colors and people. I see Jesus in the soft brown of Jody's eyes where there is love unmeasurable and when needed a stern rebuke. In the twinkle of Stella eyes and the beauty of her arthritic, gnarled hands that always reach for mine. In the gracefulness of Ann's walk that reminds me of a beautiful swan; did she ever feel like an ugly duckling? Was she ever scribbled pink or gray? In the light of Robbin's smile, she can always light up the room. In the humbleness of Joanne's spirit, in the joy of Connie's giggle. In all the beautiful people I worship and fellowship with. Yes, I see Jesus and a multitude of colors. I see the color of love.
My acquaintance with gray started in the third grade. I was the only black girl in my class, and one of only three blacks in the class. I had two bestfriends in class, Ann and Angie. We did what eight year old girls do, we giggled and talked about how stupid and smelly little boys are. Especially Charles. Charles always interrupted our girl time to tell me how nice I looked or how much he liked my plaid skirt with the giant pin on the side. Charles was the neatest boy in class, His blond hair was alway cut to perfection and he wore beige pants and crisp white shirts (always). He was also the one we giggled at the most but he didn't seem to mind...he always came back.
One day, we decided to draw each others picture. I drew what I thought was a perfect picture of Angie and Ann. I proudly gave my rendiction. Angie had yellow hair, blue eyes surrounded by the same color blue cat-eyed glasses. I captured Ann's page-boy haircut and brown hair as best I could with my limited color options. I thought they were masterpieces!
Judging by the frown on her face, Ann did not!
Angie drew a picture of me with the two ponytails and the bright orange ribbons I wore that day. I thought they were all perfect. Apparently, Ann did not! She snatched the picture Angie drew of me and scribble my face gray, and said " this is the color you are". I stared for what seemed hours at the charcoal gray as hot, salty tears ran down my cheeks and seeped into the corners of my mouth. I was different! I was gray! And they laughed!
I did what any self-respecting eight year old, who was unprepared to face the evil of a falling society), would do I grabbed a pink crayon and tried to color them different, and I scribbled so hard I broke the crayon. It was too late, my spirit broke long before that crayon. The veil had been lifted, the veil of innocence that protected me from a world where you are judged more by the color of your skin then the content of your heart. A world where little girls are scribbled gray and pink.
I don't remember being friends with Ann and Angie after that. I mostly kept to myself. I did, however, get a new school companion, a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach that attacked me every morning before school, and stayed with me the rest of the day. I resigned to my new identity. I was gray and I didn't fit.
That summer while at vacation Bible camp, I met a lowly carpenter that didn't fit either. We fit together perfectly, it took years for me to realize it, and a whole lot of colors. My portrait was gray.
I went on to other schools, schools where everyone was black like me, I wasn't accepted there either. I got new colors "yellow and red", and slapped once because I was "yellow and thought I was pretty". It's hard to think you're pretty when you are gray.
For years my world was gray, but that carpenter that fit so well didn't see it. He saw beauty in the midst of all the grayness. He saw all the colors of the rainbow. He rended the veil, and he loves me.
I no longer see gray, my life is now full of a kaleidoscope of beautiful colors and people. I see Jesus in the soft brown of Jody's eyes where there is love unmeasurable and when needed a stern rebuke. In the twinkle of Stella eyes and the beauty of her arthritic, gnarled hands that always reach for mine. In the gracefulness of Ann's walk that reminds me of a beautiful swan; did she ever feel like an ugly duckling? Was she ever scribbled pink or gray? In the light of Robbin's smile, she can always light up the room. In the humbleness of Joanne's spirit, in the joy of Connie's giggle. In all the beautiful people I worship and fellowship with. Yes, I see Jesus and a multitude of colors. I see the color of love.
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