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
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