Break the Chains... Misty Edwards

The Freedom to Forgive

As I look back on my life, I reflect on the fact that I have been the victim of much slander and vicious accusations. People will say mean things about me for no apparent reason. Sometime I have sifted through it wondering if any of it is true, even when my heart knew otherwise. I guess the bad stuff is easier to believe. I spent many sleepless nights torn between the truth and lies. The lies cuts deep, but the truth cuts deeper. I remember one time in particular. I was accused of an sexual affair with a minister. We were both single and the best of friends. I had no sexual attraction to him at all, and I doubt if he had one for me. Our friendship came under atrocious attack in the church we both attended. There were vicious rumors and mostly my character was assassinated. That's the problem with sharing your past failures. People refuse to believe the power of God to change us. They create God in their image and make him small minded and deeply prejudice. I don't know that God. The one I know is extremely loving and forgiving.

During this character assassination of me, I became despondent and depressed. I never tried to hide my past failures, they have always been a source of reference to the goodness of God's amazing grace toward me. I cried a lot and refused to take phone calls from my friend. I, in my heart was saving him from the slander against him, stemming from his association to the likes of me. He was concerned for me and persistent. I was concerned for him and wanted to save his reputation, he on the other hand wanted to prove we had nothing to be ashamed of, but the backbiter and busybodies did. I didn't want to fight because I didn't know how to fight for me verbally. I had been verbally beat down my entire life. Starting with my siblings, my mother, my sons father  and many of my school friends. I used to pray to God for someone to love me. At the time I didn't recognize my friend as that someone. The Lord spoke to me during this time, he was so sweet and reassuring he said, "You're a blood washed daughter of the Most High God and everything else is a lie, and only what I say is Truth. Jesus is the way the Truth and the Light. I have found the way and in that way, I have found the freedom to forgive any and all that transgress against me. I forgave the ones that wounded me so severely and so did my friend.

My friend left the church soon afterward, he moved an hour away. Our friendship has never been the same, maybe it's distance and time. I have since moved hundreds of miles away. We still talk on the phone periodically. We never mention what happened in our small congregation. There is no need to dwell on forgiven things, we no longer nurse the hurt. We cover it with love. Love is so desperately needed in these perverse times we live in. I know longer pray for someone to love me, instead I pray for someone to love. This prayer has been answered in the most usual and challenging ways(drug addicted women, demon possessed children, etc I don't tell the half of it) yet with each challenged more grace to love is given. Love starts inside of each of us. When this life is over and we stand before the great judgment seat of Christ, I believe we will be judged on how well we loved.

Fearless

This is beautiful

Song by an eight year old girl as a tribute to our troops.

If I wrote a note to God
I would speak whats in my soul
I'd ask for all the hate to be swept away,
For love to overflow
If I wrote a note to God
I'd pour my heart out on each page
I'd ask for war to end
For peace to mend this world
I'd say, I'd say, I'd say

Give us the strength to make it through
Help us find love cause love is over due
And it looks like we haven't got a clue
Need some help from you
Grant us the faith to carry on
Give us hope when it seems all hope is gone
Cause it seems like so much is goin wrong
On this road we're on

If I wrote a note to God
I would say what on my mind
I'd ask for wisdom to let compassion rule this world
Until these times
If I wrote a note to God
I'd say please help us find our way
End all the bitterness, put some tenderness in our hearts
And I'd say, I'd say, I'd say

Give us the strength to make it through
Help us find love cause love is over due
And it looks like we haven't got a clue
Need some help from you
Grant us the faith to carry on
Give us hope when it seems all hope is goneCause it seems like so much is goin wrong
On this road we're on


No, no no no
We can't do this on our own
So


Give us the strength to make it through
Help us find love cause love is over due
And it looks like we haven't got a clue
Need some help from you
Grant us the faith to carry on
Give us hope when it seems all hope is gone
Cause it seems like so much is goin wrong
On this road we're on


If I wrote a note to God

Seeking

Deu 4:29 "If from there you will seek the LORD your God, then you will find him if you seek him with all your heart and soul.

I remember once being asked, if I have every had five star experiences with God. At first I didn't know what they meant by five star experiences. They said experiences that defied human logic. I wonder if there is any other kind of experiences you could have with him. I said yes and I started naming a few.

I told of the time Jesus showed me his face. He isn't handsome in the way society considers handsome, but he is beautiful. I knew at that moment that he is my beloved even though I felt unworthy and sinful. His eyes are soft and pleading not to be rejected. I could tell he is a man of sorrow. How sad it must be to love a people so completely that you would suffer great torment and death to save them from that same fate, and they reject you. That made me sad, but seeing his face filled me with an overwhelming sense of joy. The silly giggly kind of joy that's contagious and before you know it everyone that comes in contact with you are laughing with you(or at you but it doesn't matters).

I once had my car stolen and lost a job in the same week. Life felt like a real bummer, I was depressed, worried, afraid and every other bad emotion you can feel. To make matters worse, I lived next door to my landlord and I didn't have her rent money. I hid in my bed like a fugitive, from my landlord,  and mostly from life. I cried myself to sleep almost ever night, I had only one prayer "Lord help me." I had eight dollars in my pocket and an overdrawn bank account. After a few days I ran out of food. I waited until I heard my landlord's car leave and I slipped out the house, looking around as if I were on a top secret government mission, instead of going to the market to see what food I could afford with my measly assets. I get to the market and I'm trying to decided if I should buy tomatoes or apples. As I try to find a firm tomato, I get this overwhelming sensation of love and joy. Then I hear the Lord say, "I am your portion." The feeling was so strong in my belly it made me double over and say "whoa." I tried to stop my body from reacting, but I couldn't, so I said, "stop it Lord, I'm in public." He continued his shameless love assault on me, until I shouted to a random stranger that God said, "I am your portion!"

From that point until I got a job a couple of months later I got  money from the strangest sources. I never had to ask anyone for anything. I used to just say, Father I'm out of money. Companies and agencies would call and tell me they owe me money and send it(hundreds of dollars) or people would call me and say they just felt like blessing me. I've had so many wonderful experiences.

I also experienced times when he feels distant. I don't hear from him. I despise those times. I have been known to cry and throw a tantrum. I once told him if he didn't say anything to me then I won't say anything to him and folded my arms and cried...Ha! manipulation don't work on Abba at all. Those are the times he wants you to seek him with your whole heart and soul. I have learned that Abba like us, want to be loved. Isn't that the greatest commandment? To love our God with all our heart and soul and mind. I can't think of anyone more worthy of my love. I wish my love wasn't so puny and fragmented. I want to give him love that's not selfish or lazy, that's my prayer for today. Father teach us how to love you the way that you want to be loved. I don't know how too.

Fearless

Torn To Pieces

"Do not give what is holy to the dogs; nor cast your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you in pieces."
—Matthew 7:6

I had the strangest conversation with the guy from my job. For many days I just ignored him. It was easier than trying to talk to him. Not because I held any hostility against him or anything(well maybe a little, but I didn't tell him to rot in hell). I just don't quite understand vicious and vile people. I always look for good in people even when they show otherwise, my sister Jill says I have too much mercy. I don't think it's such a thing as too much mercy. If it wasn't for God's tender mercy we would all be consumed. I thank God for mercy.

A few days ago the Lord spoke that scripture to me regarding what happened the day that guy verbally attacked me. I went to the scripture (Matthew 7), even though I understood the scripture I don't always understand Jesus's ways(they are higher than my ways). I know that he loves us all unconditionally, yet he calls some people names, like dogs, swine, whitewashed tombs, old foxes and generation of vipers. He doesn't pull punches and he's certainly not mealy-mouthed. I, however, am somewhat mealy-mouthed. I think I have adopted the attitude that name calling isn't Christian or loving. Don't get me wrong, I'm not promoting name calling as a Christian virtue. I'm just saying....

Anyway, I look up the scripture and it's part of the Sermon on the Mount. The chapter Jesus talks about judging and hypocrisy, and than right after that he says, ""Do not give what is holy to the dogs; nor cast your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you in pieces." I don't know about anyone else but I personally like to ask "what are you saying Lord?" Was I judging him? Am I a hypocrite?" I don't believe I was judging, because I spoke from a heart of love and a desire to see him set free. I asked Jesus to explain to me what he was saying, and how do you know when you're giving what's holy to the dogs and pigs.

This is what he said---

There are some men that are scoffers, they reject me and my word completely. There is no natural affection in them, their heart is evil continually. I asked you to give me your testimony and you have with much courage. Your past belongs to me as does your future. I am Holy and Eternal and whatever belongs to me is Holy and Eternal. You and your testimony are mine, which makes it Holy and Eternal. What man can stand before me and profane that which is Holy? Who can ascend my hill? Who can stand in my Holy place? Yes, I do equate these men to a dogs; wild dogs without a home or owner, feeding on the filth and garbage of the streets, quarreling among themselves and attacking everyone in their paths. Such is the wild boar. You see that attack as a persecution of you, but it's me he is after. I am an all consuming fire and I will not be mocked. There is no days off in my kingdom, my word says to crucify the flesh daily. I ask for complete obedience. How can you obey if you don't listen. Tell him to repent and be spared my wrath. Only say what I give you to say and no more.

So there you have it, I got in trouble for not listening and doing things in the flesh and not the spirit. My prayer life was off too. Instead of following the leading of the Holy Spirit I took that guys challenge of whom would convert the other. I lacked righteous judgment and discernment(I should have gotten the hint when he said he heard enough about Jesus). I gave someone whose heart was not ready, the holy pearls of God and he trampled them under his feet and turned and tore me to pieces (like a swine). I repented. He asked me to tell him to repent.

I prayed and asked for wisdom to know when to speak. I have to admit I was like Jonah was with the Assyrian city of Ninevah, in that I didn't want to go to him and warn him. There's this mean part of me that didn't care if God beats the hell out of him that's the mean fleshy part, but the part of me that matters, the obedient and loving daughter, knew I had to. The guy came to me and said he really liked me and he knew the things he said were mean and nasty, then he asked if I would be his friend. I listened and only spoke what I was instructed. I told him that God said my testimony belong to him and he should repent for defamation, accusation, persecution, prosecution and his character assassination. I said please repent to God and not me, and he said, thank you and that he would. I told him he's not in a place to be a friend to me and that we have nothing in common. He looks as if he would cry and said thank you again. Then he walked away and called me a false prophet under his breath, and I walked away, without telling him to rot in hell.

Fearless

Remembering

John 15:20 Remember the word that I said unto you, A servant is not greater than his lord. If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you; if they kept my word, they will keep yours also.

I'm a subscriber to the Voice of the Martyrs magazine and email. Once a month the send a publication of the magazine, but I receive many emails. My heart breaks for the many Christians that are martyred regularly for the gospel. I send money when I can; pray and cry for them when I can't. I have suffered persecution many times. My body has never been targeted, no one has ever beat, burned or attempted to behead me. My character has been questioned, I have been called a hypocrite more times then I care to remember, this usually happens when I refused to allow them to take advantage of me because I am a Christian.

I was witnessing to this guy that I work with lately. He's an active crack user and bi-sexual that proudly boasts about his lifestyle. He even told a few people he would corrupt me before I convert him. I never have a problem giving anyone my testimony and him and with I spent many hours talking. I never talked against his lifestyle but he always wanted to have conversation about God with me. I'm certain that if Jesus can save me, no one is beyond his reach. I never browbeat anyone with scriptures but if asked, I speak the truth.

He started shamelessly flirting with me a couple of weeks ago. I just simply told him he was wasting his time, he told me he would have me within a couple of weeks because he would "woo" me. I never took his weak wooing serious. I just spoke my peace (hell no, it's not gonna happen) and tried not to be too rude.

Last week he made a statement that he has come to terms with his crack addiction and it doesn't take anything away from him. A few days before he made that statement two guys came in to buy burgers and my brother-in-law Alvin(owner and operator) was out at the time and the guy had to cook. I pretty much have to watch everything he does. So I went in the kitchen as he was preparing the burgers and noticed that he was using the beef that was in an container that was suppose to be thrown out (it was turning brown with age). I told him that that meat is not to be sold, he put it on the grill anyway and told me he knew what he was doing. I took the meat off the grill and threw it in the garbage. I could see the hostility in his eyes but, quality is more important to me than popularity. When he made the statement about his crack addiction not taking away from him. I reminded him of the meat incident and the fact that he makes bad choices that people in their right mind would not make.

It's something about the truth that some people reject. I think maybe it confirms our own self evaluations. It paints the portrait of ourselves that we think are hidden in our self-deceptions; it unmask our sin and pain, and it pulls the bandages off our infected and pus oozing wounds, and it tears down the stone walls of pride that our callous hearts our hidden behind. The truth leaves us naked and vulnerable and in desperate need of a savior.

He got so angry with me, he called me a hypocrite, a former whore and prostitute, he said I was never raped that I seduced my rapist, and that I was a child prostitute and IV heroin addict and cocaine snorter and that I was a liar, still on drugs and playing with God. He said I left my son and was never more then a person who gave birth. He accused me of the of things that just weren't true, he said, I should never give my testimony ( or write about it) because I was the most disgusting person he knows. He berated me with lies and some half truths straight from the pits of hell. He went on for about a hour until he looked as if he wanted to cry. I never spoke against him or defended myself, periodically I would agree(the half truths) but for the most part I just listened. I looked in his eyes the whole time, sometimes they looked empty and at other they looked evil.

The day before this assault happened I had this vision about this guy. In the vision something was hovering over him. It was large and brown with what looked like tentacles. The vision flashed before my eyes and stayed there for about two minutes. All I could say at the time is "eewe, eewe Lord what is that?" I don't get many vision, but I always get warnings. A big ugly demon was hovering over this guy waiting to attack me. So, I do what the word of God instructed me to do, I put on my whole armor of God. Every assault bounced off of me. It just did not penetrated as vicious as it was.

Earlier this year when I was working on Apostle Kimberly Daniels campaign and listened to the assaults on her past, I was always amazed at her courage and how she took the assaults with such dignity. She has never been afraid to tell the truth of how God rescued her from the crack house and her own self-destructive path. They called her an ex-prostitute and questioned her God given redemption. They missed the beauty of God's Glory that rest in her character. They asked her why she spoke on and wrote about her past drug addiction and prostitution, she answered in a matter of fact voice, "because it's the truth." At that time I often wondered if I could take character assignation as well as she had, or if the things in my past could still cause me shame. I realized that the only shame is the shame of allowing the disease of sin to eat us alive without ever accepting the grace and redemption that's offered so freely to us.

After he was through with his ferocious tirade against my right to exist, He said I have no right to tell him about his drug addiction and he asked me why would I care. I told him because I care about him and see more in him than he sees in himself. He stormed away from me after that shouting over his shoulder for me not to "care about" him. I believe his anger at being sexually abused as a child by a male relative(heard about it by family friend) had come full circle with the truth of my testimony. The stone walls finally came crashing in on him. It's easier to fight than to feel the pain. My grandmother used to say that an angry dog will bite you, God said a wounded bird will peck you. I don't know how much of the assault was the demon, how much was the wounded child and how much was that wall of pride that says, I'm messed up and I know it but I don't want you to know."

I do know that I have to accept persecution with the grace that rescued me from my own self-destructive past. I have to remember that Jesus said to "count up the cost" of following him. There will always be people that will lie on me or bring up my past, like the children of Israel did to Moses when they asked, "aren't you the one that killed the Egyptian?" I realize that flesh has an uncomfortable desire to feel superior and compare sins. Would it not make my sin less smelly if yours were worse? I have been blessed to be pulled out of a dark pit even though Jesus hated even the garment worn by my flesh. I walked deep into darkness and Mercy rescued me. I am truly a women of grace and I will tell it as long as I have breath in my body.

I will also remember that a servant will never be greater then his LORD.

Fearless

The Little Red Shoes

I remember the day I got them, the little red keds sneakers with the patch of white rubber on the top with the alphabets "L" for left and "R" for right written in black ink. I loved those little red shoes. Not only were they stylish and comfortable they helped me to remember my left from my right. The day I got my shoes I came down with the mumps. I had gotten a little dirt spot on my shoes string after insisting on running races all day. I wanted everyone to admire my new shoes as we put our feet at the starting point. I washed my shoe strings in the bathroom sink and laid them neatly beside my shoes on the backyard porch. The sun seemed extremely hot that day so I laid on the porch beside my shoes. I woke in a dark bedroom burning with fever and my cheeks were swollen. I looked like Alvin the chipmunk . I struggled in and out of consciousness asking about my shoes. Finally someone handed them to me, even the insidious mumps couldn't separate us.

I had just started kindergarten and we had to place our right hand over our hearts recite the pledge of allegiance. My greatest fear was that I would get it backwards and everyone would laugh at me like the adults laughed at me(even though I recited it to the "public" on which it stands and "invisible" with liberty and justice). I didn't want my peers to see how ridiculous I could be without even trying. I dreaded school from the day I started, everything about school was alien to me. The mean bully kids that picked on quiet kids like me, the strange hokey pokey dance that always left me confused as to which arm or leg to shake all about, and all the other anxious kids that looked scared and disconnected like me. If this what school was like I wanted no parts of it.

I could count to a hundred, I knew my alphabets, I knew all the basic colors and I could even read a few words(thanks to my parents) but that darn left and right never failed to confound me. All that changed when I got my new red kicks. Ha! Now I was the little girl that didn't put the wrong foot in or take the wrong foot out. I was the little girl that looked at her shoes for confirmation. I was the little fraud and cheat. I wanted to wear them every day so each night I would pray to be able to wear them the next day. Before the red shoes I prayed only the "now I lay me down to sleep" prayer. My little red shoes became sacred to me, my red canvas holy grail.

Then one day after they had gotten too tight and started unraveling on the sides. I awoke to an unspeakable horror. My little red shoes were gone, replaced by a pair of light gray and dark gray patent leather oxfords. I searched under beds and couches, in dark closets where monsters were known to lurk. My little red cheat sheets were gone. There was no trace of them anywhere. I got up the courage to ask my mother. I overheard her talking about me and the "raggedy little red shoes" on the phone once, so I knew their days were numbered. "Mama do you know where my red shoes are?" As many times as she has reprimand us for answering with a question, here she was doing exactly what she hated, "Don't you like your new shoes," she asked, trying to distract me. I would have none of it-she apparently didn't know what was at stake, I would be the only child in my class that funked the Hokey Pokey. "I like them, but I really really like my red ones," I said. She said, "but sweetie they are old and raggedy, your new shoes are much nicer."

That was the end of the conversation, my shoes like my nappy hair didn't fit the image; didn't make the cut. What my mother didn't suspect is that I would pray for my little red shoes. I put my little hands together and asked in the most humble and often repeated prayer, "God please help me find my shoes." Not long after my prayer I found my little red shoes. They were buried in the kitchen garbage under egg shells, bacon greased paper bag and bits of syrupy pancakes, remanents of Saturday morning breakfast. I pulled them out of the garbage and put them on. My little red shoes and I were together again. They saw my through many tough times; childhood illness, my first day of school, the national anthem and pledge, but most of all the dreaded Hokey Pokey.

My last memory of those shoes was the day I pulled them out of the garbage. I sat on the back porch with them on, and even though that had gotten too tight and coming loose at the seams I was happy to have them back. I remember thinking that I would love my new shoes if they were the exact same as my little red shoes. I don't remember what finally happened to them, maybe like an unwanted pet they were taken for a ride or to live on a farm. Maybe the memory is too traumatic for me to recall. They are gone but never forgotten. They live on in my memory and my mother's. She never fails to mention them in one of her, I'm going to tell an embarrassing story about you moments. They go hand in hand with the snaggletooth fuzzied headed picture reserved for unfortunate first dates that meet my mother.

My Childhood again

Since I can remember I have always loved books. Every night one of my parents would read us a bedtime story. I loved all the Uncle Remus tales, my father would make each character come to life in my imagination with amusing voices and funny little songs. My favorite were Tar Baby and Br'er Rabbit before they were deemed politically incorrect. My mother would read Hans Christian Anderson in a soft whispering pitch that would both entertain and pull you into sleep. As I grew older I read and reread Little Women and The Prophet until the pages were puffed and yellowed with the bitter sweet smell of old books and spilled hot chocolate. When I wasn't reading I would make up stories and play them out with my dolls. I must have invented the concept of "me time." I am mostly an introvert. I would spend many hours alone in my head. Family has a natural way of studying your behavior pattern an concluding "that's just how she(he) is." I was known as the one that spent most of her time alone.

I didn't much care to be around a group of adult relatives. The male relatives or Uncles as they were all known would pull handfuls of change and tell me to take what I wanted. That I didn't mind, the fact that I would have to perform like a circus monkey to get that change has always annoyed me. I would have to sing some Motown Hit, like Jimmy Mack, Baby Love and Don't Mess With Bill. Even at the tender age of four I knew all the lyrics; for added measure I would do my best Supremes impersonation. What annoyed me the most is the fact that no matter how serious I became when I made my assessment of their sometimes(more times than not) drunken behavior or some other strange "grown up" thing. They would laugh and say I was five going on twenty five or something of that nature, as if I were the one being foolish; just because I was the singing circus monkey with the fuzzy tangled ridiculous hair.

My Childhood

I guess my childhood was as normal as I knew anyone else's to be. I was born at 5:00 am on a hot June morning having survived seven months (I was a premie) of my mothers irritation at my father. The day my mother went into labor  my father decided to take the car apart. Things must have spiraled from that point. My mother decided to smoke her first joint right then and there, with me hanging between coming out and staying in the only place I had known thus far. I'm thinking I came into this world high on pot and extremely irritable which doesn't make for a good start. To make matters worse, when the doctor smacked my little butt I didn't scream, not because I was too high to feel it, but because my throat and probably lungs were to filled with mucus. I was told the doctor had to stick his fingers in my mouth and pull the mucus out. After that I let out a giant yell announcing my arrival.

I grew up in the sixties in a small suburb outside of Detroit. Periodically we moved to Detroit only to find our way back to Ferndale eventually( we moved back after a year or less). I spent the summers of my early childhood stripping naked and walking our block talking to all our neighbors like the main character in the storybook, The Emperor's New Clothes. What I remember most about those days were how bright the sun shined, and the tall blades of grass with the occasional yellow of the dandelion.

The Anderson girl were three teenage sister that doted on me and loved combing my hair, which was a chore for my mother. By the time I was two years old my hair was a mop of fuzzy tangled curls that flowed down my back. The woman in my mothers family had soft shiny natural waves a reminder of their mixed heritage. My first memory of being different was during one the aunts visit. She looked at me and stated in a matter of fact manner that I favored my mother except for my "nappy hair". There it was, my first taste of discrimination happen in my home with my own kine. In the early sixties black community was divide into two class of blacks, the lighter complexion with the "good" hair were the most acceptable. My hair never made the cut.

There was always great affection from my father and grandfather. I was beyond a shadow of a doubt their little princess. The year after I was born my sister Gina came along( I already had an older sister and brother), by the time she could talk she, talked and play excessively with her invisible friend Jesus. I was no longer everyone's darling I had been replaced by a smaller, prettier, and apparently more spiritual model, not to mention her soft shiny wavy hair. I didn't like her even if Jesus did and every time I expressed the fact that she was a lying, crazy snot-nosed brat, the grown people would spell out the word j-e-a-l-o-u-s as if spelling it would somehow disguised it's meaning. It probably would have if I didn't know what it spelled.

I have always been a strange mix of paradoxes, quiet and shy most days, but then there was the days I would talk so much my mother would start what was known around our house as the quiet game. The person or persons who could stay quiet the longest won a shiny quarter, I never once won that quarter, my sibling and I would make faces at each other to try and get the other to laugh so that we could win. Once or twice a month we had family confession. My sibling and I would all gather around our parents and confess our sins. Our sin pretty much consisted of eating the jellybeans off the big coconut Easter cake, breaking someone else toy, breaking eggs or drinking out of the milk carton. We never got in trouble nor angry after confession even if someone else got a spanking for your sin, it was a way of cleaning our conscious without the reality of consequences.

My father was an artist and like many artist he would suffer with bouts of depression. He drank gin, shot heroin and smoked pot. In spite of his problems he was loving, funny and handsome, but not a good provider. My mother had an exotic beauty that made ,to my horror, strange men stare and whistle. She wore micro mini skirts, maxi dresses, loud powered blue eye shadow and smoked pot when not pregnant(which was rare, she had eight children by the age of twenty eight). I can't count the number of times in my life that I wished for a more matriarchal mother; chubby, slight mustache with silver hair like some of my friends mothers. My parents were pot smoking hippies and sideline flower children.

My parents believe in pure expression especially artistic. Our home was always filled with paint, brushes, crayons, pencils, stencils and diaries. We were always taught to express ourselves whether it was joy, anger, disappointment, pain heartache in words or art. We were a loud, rambunctiousness artistic bunch without traditional rules.

I was number three of nine and before long a middle child, and the carrier of the disease middle child syndrome. It manifested itself as a attention getting brat, who was prone to temper tantrums that made the Tasmanian Devil look like Mini Mouse. I was a happy but emotionally expressive child.

More later

Just Another Manic Monday

This is what you do when you're completely bored and have decided you are the "worst writer in the world."

The First Time

Gen 4:9 And the LORD said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother's keeper?
Gen 4:10 And he said, What hast thou done? the voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground.


I have a lot of first times that I can remember in my life. My first crush, my first kiss, the first book I read, my first communion, my first rejection, the first time I heard the Lord speak my name, there have been many first in my life.

I remember the first time I saw a man die. I was seven years old at the time living in Detroit in an old manor that was converted into a two family duplex. All the homes on the block were old dilapidated mansions. Some had the elderly tenants that lived there most of their lives, others like ours housed the out-cast large families that didn't just fall on bad times, but were born into it.

Our house was connected to a bar. The only thing that separated us from the bar was a rickety wooded walkway that rats used to run between in search of food. The rats were so bad that my mother used to sit food out for them every night hoping to stop them from coming into the house and nibbling on her children. It must have worked; I don't remember seeing any in the house.

The neighborhood was a rainbow of nationalities and cultures. There were black, white, Puerto Rican, native american and even a neighborhood witch whose house we would cross to other side of the street to avoid directly passing. We were all shapes, sizes and colors, but we had one thing in common, we all wore the dark gray tint of oppression. We were the ones that were unaccepted by a society that has no tolerance for the poor, uneducated, the weak, the old and the feeble. Mostly we accepted each other. It wasn't unusual for the families in the neighborhood to share a humble meal of beans and cornbread. However, I said MOSTLY!

It's something about an oppressed people that breed violence, hatred and corruption. Maybe pain, hunger and rejection need an outlet; a way to release your soul from the torment. It was several weeks after the 1967 Riot. The neighborhood had resigned itself into a smothering, burnout decaying cesspool of drugs and crime. As a child I wondered why hate would run so deep; why some people felt the need to exercise lordship over another. If we had a better job, higher education, riches, or lighter skin that made us somehow superior. Maybe it's the dirt part of us, that rat part of our brain where sin reside; that needs to feed the beast of pride, prejudice, lust, injustice and greed.

It started in the bar; a fight started inside and like most fights in the ghetto it worked it's way outside. I looked from a second floor bedroom window as the whole thing unfolded. There were several guys fighting, it was racially motivated, the White against the Latino. I watched in horror as knives, chains, bricks,and pool sticks tore flesh open and thick pools of blood poured through brown and white tissue. Each swing of the weapons seem to land on my heart and batter my young and tender soul. Great torrent of tears rolled down my face, but the most damage was done to my fragile heart.

I watched in shocked disbelief as one of the white guys with blood dripping from a wound in his scalp went inside a truck and pulled out a gun, one of the Latino men followed a few feet behind him. He saw the gun to late and with one quick motion and loud bang he lay in a pool of blood. Just like that the fight was over, all participants left the scene as quickly as they had arrived. All left were the brown skinned man lying in his blood, the sad eyed spectators, and the melancholy little girl in the window with the broken-heart. Hatred is like that, it grows and only death can satisfied it. It'll leaves a trail of tears and broken hearts.

I sit and wonder if like Abel the cry of his blood has reached the ears of the the Most High God, if we will every embrace each others unique differences instead of comparing it. How long will we close our eyes and sleep in our spiritual impoverished death beds? It's sad that some of the human race has lost it's identity as created in the the likeness and image of the Creator and live in the lesser being of the dust it was formed from. How many other little girls will have to experience tragic first times?

Fearless

A cactus blooms in the desert

Isa 35:1 The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose.

I have been in a spiritual desert lately, lately meaning the last several months. When I'm in my spiritual drought I can see the look on righteous people faces when I mention the Lord. They look as if I have to be kidding, I couldn't possibly know him. I'm not deep or profound. My language is broken and I misquote or forget part of the scriptures. I feel unloved and abandoned by God. Like the desert cactus; I am lonely, deserted and unkempt. There is no sitting at Yeshua(Jesus) feet, no waking with the feeling of being encompassed in his love. Deserts are dry and lonely with only the vicious buzzards of doubt, uncertainty and self-awareness waiting to devour you.

I'm quiet and unresponsive to the people that have come to depend on me for spiritual advise. I have none. I have been ignoring their phone calls lately. My grandmother used to say "You can't get blood out of a turnip." And she was right. A turnip doesn't have blood. I'm not a turnip though, I'm more like the desert barrel cactus. I once read where the barrel cactus was once used for food by the native american. They would cook the bloom for food and chew on the pulp for moisture. Even in theses wilderness and desert times there is something life sustaining and nurturing hidden inside of you, but you must find it. You never know what you may have to give. There's always those small unexpected graces that spring unsolicited from the Throne of God.

Today I decided to return the calls I have avoided lately. I was hoping they could minister to me. First, I called my friend and sister Norma we recently got back in touch with one another. She has always been a great friend, good listener and a person that can make you laugh in the midst of encouraging you. After talking to her I felt ready to deal with the rest of the calls. I decided not to be "The one with the answers," but to be the one listening for the answer.

I once heard the desert places that God puts you in is a place of growth; when God shows you something about yourself. As I made my calls and listened( really listened with my heart) God showed up with those beautiful unexpected graces. I realized that I didn't need to have the scripture reference, the wise counsel, the answer or the ego boosting wisdom. The only thing ever required of me is to love. Love doesn't seek it's own, it doesn't have to. Love doesn't need to be deep or profound. All we need for love is each other, and in turning from my love ones I'm actually turning from love. Each person I spoke to today ministered sweet counsel to me. I realized that ego and pride will hide in your heart and disguised itself as a ministry.

I don't know all I have to learn in this desert. I do know that a cactus blooms in the desert.

Fearless

I AM

Psa 139:8 If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.
Psa 139:9 If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
Psa 139:10 Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.
Psa 139:11 If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.

I started a journal a few years back. I wrote and listened; then I wrote what I heard. Every answer I received ended with the phrase I am. It amazed me how everything could be explained in his I am. It's all in his vastness. Nothing is hidden from him, there is nowhere he can't find you. He'll follow you to the dope house, the abortion clinic,and on stage at a topless bar. There is nowhere you can go from his Spirit, nowhere you can flee from his presence. I tried for years to run from him. With reckless abandon I let go of his hand and ran until breathless and afraid I ran to him.

When I was 13 years old my twin cousins(also 13) and I used to spend the summer with our grandparents. Our fathers(known to the neighborhood police as the Hawthorne Boys) had finally made it out of prison. They decided that they needed to be fathers to us girls. They left small children and came home to teenagers. And like teenage girls with not much male guidance we looked for love in the eyes of some pimply face teenage boy. Our favorite spot to meet boys was a neighborhood McDonalds. As soon as we were out of sight of of our grandparents we would tie our tee-shirts up to expose our belly-buttons and smoke stolen cigarettes to appear older and more mature.

The only problem with our daily plan was our fathers. They refused to allow us the freedom we sought. Every day they would ride up to us in an big old blue Buick and demand that we get in the back seat, and for the rest of the day we would ride around with them completely miserable as they drank gin and lectured us on the evil of little boys. We tried everything to get away from them. We even cried when we heard the words get in the car and untie those shirts. We cried snot running tears for the first twenty minutes of the ride or until we realized our cries were falling unto death ears.

So, we started running from them. We were young and our eyesight's were keen so we would run in the opposite direction of any big blue Buick. We would jump fences, hide in bushes and run down rat infested alleyways only to be met by the big blue Buick at the end of our trail with the words "get in the car". They never once reprimanded us for our running, they just silently let us know we couldn't out-run or out-smart them. They were loving and protective in all of their sinfulness and brokenness. So much more will our Heavenly Father Spirit seek us out to protect us. We soon became known around the neighborhood as the Hawthorne Girls, the much loved and protected daughters of the infamous Boys of the same name. I am now known as a Blood washed Daughter of the Most High God. I learned early on you can't hide from love, it's fierce and protective and it doesn't mind stalking you.

That's how Abba's love is for all of his children; relentless but tender, it's always there at the other end of our insanity. You can't outrun his love; it is the great I AM.

Fearless

I am a stranger

Gen 23:4 'I am a stranger and a sojourner with you: give me a possession of a burying-place with you, that I may bury my dead out of my sight.'

I feel so sad today. I think it's because I feel feel like a stranger. I don't belong here. My aunt Mary died last week. I spoke with my mother last week and she told me she's depressed since she left here and went back home to Detroit. I asked her why she would be depressed, her cousin Mary was sick and she didn't know how sick she was until she returned home. Last week Mary was in a coma by the time I talked to my mother she had died.

Mary was one of the family matriarch that rallied around my mom when I lay sick in the hospital nine hundred miles away last year. She was also present when I went home for the family reunion last year just a month after leaving the hospital. I remember how happy my aunties were to see me alive and well. Now just over a year later two of the women in that circle have died. My mother's sister and her first cousin both of whom we loved dearly.

I called my mother and she didn't mention the funeral so I asked her was it sad. She told me she didn't go. I asked her why not and she said she just couldn't do it. I read between the lines. It's getting harder for my mother to deal with the death of the people she's close to, people she played jump rope and ice skated with as a child. They have saw each others through much of life ups and downs. Now they're gone. They were not only family they were her friends and support system. They are all leaving her one by one. Perhaps she's thinking about her own immortality.

My dad died in Feb 2007. I have mostly gotten pass the sadness, but last week I actually forgot for a minute that he's not here to talk to. I had the thought that I should call him, and for a brief overwhelming second I thought I could. That's when the sadness came. I know I'm a sojourner in this place, a ghetto pilgrim looking for a place to bury my dead, longing for a time that I will see them again.

I am a stranger in this land,

Fearless

The Pastor

The other day at the restaurant a man came in for a order. I like to talk to people so I usually strike up a conversation with them when they're waiting. He had what looked like a well read book. I asked him the name of the book. He gave me the name of the book but I only caught one word out of the title and that word was "Radical," I said I love anything radical. He asked me if I loved the gospel. Ha! I find that kind of funny. I told him especially the gospel, because that's my life!

Before long(within seconds) I told that man my whole life story without the horrendous details. I told of my love for a God that saw me laying in my filth and sin and had mercy on me. Not only did he have mercy he found favor with me. Like the apostle Paul, I was the chief of sinners. Yet he beckoned me to his kingdom. I spent my whole life being victimized and victimizing anyone that loved me until he came to me. He came to me like he did the apostle Paul in the form of a light and he spoke to me. The light didn't blind me though; I was already blinded by the darkness surrounding me.

I told him I am radical! I did say that the Lord spoke to me and his expression never changed but I could tell he wasn't so sure. He asked me my denomination. I get that question a lot. I don't have a denomination. I see no need to claim a certain teaching that's the only right interpretation of scripture. That seems to much like vanity to me. I decided early on in my walk with Christ that I never want to be a part of separating his body. How effective is a dismembered body. He defeated death to give life. I see only death in a dismembered body. I tell the truth as he gives it to me. That doesn't always go over well. I have been persecuted more times than accepted.

The man never once said anything negative. He was doing his job; speading the gospel. I really enjoyed our conversation even though it was mostly one sided. He is kind and fatherly. I liked him and asked him where he worshiped. He told me the name is Westside Baptist. I told him I enjoy the teaching of the baptist. Though sometimes I might be too radical for them. Sometimes the Holy Spirit just cannot be contained. He likes to cast out demons and speak with new tongues. He's wild and radical like that and way to powerful for me to hold back. A couple of times I told him(Jesus) he embarrassed me and that because he got loose the people were going to stone me like they did Stephen.
On more then one occasion I behaved like Elijah under the juniper tree, whinny and afraid. He was still faithful to me. He taught me what courage really is, it's not in the not fearing it's in doing it afraid.

All and all I loved this kind stranger immensely. He is soft spoken and unpretentious and his main concern is for my soul(probably even more so after I started talking). I got busy taking orders and doing what real cashiers and service people do. The kind stranger walked up to me as he was leaving and handed me a card and said here's my card. I took it and read it and was so shocked to learn he is the pastor. I said you're the pastor? He said "yes."

I don't know about anyone else but I as a rule only talk to the pastor on urgent matters. I always have this feeling that talking to a pastor or any man of cloth leaves me too vulnerable or exposed. I feel I have to watch my language and be on my best behavior. I guess you can call it putting on my church face. I feel the need to dot my I's and cross all of my t's.Several pastor that I have met over the years seem to have a need to correct me or teach me the church linguistic. So I talked to them as little as possible. Not this kind stranger he let me talk on and on and he listened.

He smiled when I gave him a bucked-eyed stare and ask if he was the pastor. I want to visit his church home soon. I would love to hear him speak, since he didn't get much of a chance with me around.

Fearless

It's Stella Day!

Luk 7:37 There was a woman who was a notorious sinner in that city. When she learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's home, she took an alabaster jar of perfume
Luk 7:38 and knelt at his feet behind him. She was crying and began to wash his feet with her tears and dry them with her hair. Then she kissed his feet over and over again, anointing them constantly with the perfume.
Luk 7:39 Now the Pharisee who had invited Jesus saw this and told himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would have known who is touching him and what kind of woman she is. She's a sinner!"
Luk 7:40 Jesus told him, "Simon, I have something to ask you.""Teacher," he replied, "ask it."
Luk 7:41 "Two men were in debt to a moneylender. One owed him 500 denarii, and the other 50.
Luk 7:42 When they couldn't pay it back, he generously canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?"
Luk 7:43 Simon answered, "I suppose the one who had the larger debt canceled." Jesus told him, "You have answered correctly."
Luk 7:44 Then, turning to the woman, he told Simon, "Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You didn't give me any water for my feet, but this woman has washed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair.
Luk 7:45 You didn't give me a kiss, but this woman, from the moment I came in, has not stopped kissing my feet.
Luk 7:46 You didn't anoint my head with oil, but this woman has anointed my feet with perfume.
Luk 7:47 So I'm telling you that her sins, as many as they are, have been forgiven, and that's why she has shown such great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven loves little."


It's been three years today that my friend and mentor Stella made her transition. I woke today thinking about her. I still miss her. I miss every wrinkle in her face, I miss those arthritis gnarled hands, her smile, her laughter, but most of all I miss her love. Stella taught me how to believe in myself. She taught me about unconditional love. I loved her and she loved me.

When I met Stella I was an extremely wounded women. I had been treated like the women that washed Jesus feet with her tears for years in the church. Stella let me know I was like the woman that washed his feet with her tears. She called me a woman of grace. She admired my tenacity and determination. I came to Jesus in the face of insult, being told there no place for my kind. Like the lyrics to CeCe Winans song no one knew the cost of the oil in my Alabaster box.

Stella had her own Alabaster box that she paid a high price for. She was molested by her older brother and abused by her mother. At fifteen years of age she left home. She took care of herself by using the only resource she had. She soon married and was abused by her husband. Jesus found her wounded and abused. He welcomed her with open arms.

Seventy years later we met. It's something about experiencing and overcoming, abuse, unworthiness, shame and hopelessness that gives you special insight. You can spot another wounded soul in a crowded room. There is an instant bond that transcend age, race and gender. We are kindred spirits that had to walk pass the angry stares of the righteous. Our eyes had met the soft brown eyes of Jesus. We finally knew that we were loved and have always been loved. We love the master with all of our hearts and we want to give him all that we hold dear.

I used to have what I call Stella Day. I would buy a big crazy helium balloon and walk through the store wishing random strangers happy Stella Day. I was always surprised at the happiness on their faces as I called out the greeting. Stella loved the balloons and the fact that I would celebrate her regularly.

I decided to buy a big crazy balloon today to celebrate Stella day. I want to pray and set it free. Part of me wishes it could travel to Stella in heaven and the other more mentally stable me, wants it to float until it reaches some wounded, hurting, hopeless soul. Maybe someone asked Jesus to give them a sign that they are loved and forgiven and the balloon would glide safely into their lonely arms. Just maybe Stella Day is still filled with the grace that Stella was filled with.

Fearless

I need to pray

My prayer life has been off lately (since I've been working at the restaurant). I came to Chattanooga a fireball of prayer, Now I'm a smothering wick. I used to get up at 6:00 am and pray for a couple of hours. Now I sleep until the very last minute and I barely talk to our Father at all. It's not that I don't think about him and talk about him constantly(I really do) but what kind of relationship do you have if you never communicate?

I had gotten like this once(or hundred times) before. Lack of prayer really will make you weak in the spirit; like a lack of food will make you weak in the body. The Lord spoke to me during that one time, he said "Why do you think about me and not talk to me?" I told him it was creepy when he read my mind, he he told me it was creepy for me to think about him and not talk to him.

Once again I'm the creepy one. I don't like the way I feel when my prayer life is off. I'm usually easily annoyed and one step away from spouting out four letter words that would make the devil blush. I don't like the feeling of spiritual hunger. I have a block and I can't seem to break it. I have friends that our prayer warriors, when they call me and tell me they can't pray I'll start praying. It works every time! There's no one here to help me; no phone calls. Just this uncomfortable longing; this feeling of something vital missing.

HELP!

Procrastination cure

"Procrastination is opportunity's natural assassin." ~Victor Kiam

Okay, I'm looking for a natural cure for procrastination. I've been taking online classes for Christian Counseling. I have only two more months to go before graduating with a B.S.

The problem is the school adminstrator knows me all to well. I'm the person that always calling in because my homework is late. I feel so bad at my lack of discipline. I procrastinate to the point of wanting to change my major to something easy; something I'm good at, like cuticle removal or daydreaming. Unfortunately these major don't exist.

I spend way too much of my time putting off until tomorrow. I learned that it's true tomorrow never comes. I'm looking for the cure to procrastination. I have tried prayer, I tried making myself sick with guilt. I tried filling my life with other stuff to do to use as an excuse, but this nagging sensation of not accomplishing my goal will not go away.

I know I need the degree in order to start the ministry. I dreamed there was a group of women waiting for me to feed them. I knew in my heart that my dream was God letting me know there is a ministry waiting for me. I had convinced myself I was waiting on God. It hard to face your own short-coming. I'm the hold up. The harvest is plenty but the laborers are few.

How do you learn discipline? is there any life changing advise one can give that will light a fire under me? I'm deeply disturbed by my lackadaisical attitude. I love God and want to present my body a living sacrifice. I keep falling short.

Fearless

Great is his faithfulness

Lam 3:22 It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.
Lam 3:23 They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.

His mercies are new every morning. I remember when I first heard this scripture. I was still struggling to make sense of my husband bleeding to death in my arms. I was angry and confused. I remember praying that he would be okay; only to listen to him draw his last breath. I spent many sleepless night replaying that incident. I wanted it to have a different outcome, another ending. I wanted the nightmare to end. My stomach felt weak and heavy. I could not stop my mind from rehearsing the scene over and over. My heart was breaking in a million small pieces. Even in my altered mental state I know I needed Yeshua(Jesus)help.

I went one morning with a heavy heart to the small storefront congregation I started my walk with Yeshua. My eyes were swollen and blood shot from crying and lack of sleep. I'm still in shock several weeks later. The heaviness refuses to leave my belly. Heartbreak is the most intense pain you can ever feel; it goes from your heart to your belly and lay there, heavy and relentless. There is no relieve from heartache. I tried everything, tears, screaming, drugs and quiet insanity, nothing dulled the pain.

I got up for prayer. I didn't ask for any certain prayer to be prayed for me. The pastor told me to start praising God. It's hard to find a praise when you're covered in a blanket of darkness, but I started praising with all I had. It was like I was the only person in the room. I started praising God with all I had. I praised him with all my heaviness, I praised him with all the darkness, I praised him with all my heartache, I praised him with all my pain. I praised him with my screams, I praised him with my tears. I hit my knees and gave him all of my faults and failures.

I don't know if if scriptural to give your sad little heart to God or not. I like to believe it is. I know after that night the heaviness lifted was gone the pain was more bearable. I slept that night for the first time in weeks. I read that scripture shortly after that.

I often think about that morning, his tender mercies wrapping me like a warm blanket, his faithfulness covering me, his heart breaking for me. His love never fails in in your greatest trials.

Fearless

Wisdom

Pro 3:15 Wisdom is more valuable than precious jewels; nothing you want compares with her.

I don't know about anyone else, but I know I want a lot of things. I want to be rich, thin, beautiful, young and married would be nice. I'm not any of those things. I'm poor, slightly overweight, average looking, older and single. I have desires that were never fulfilled. I have dreams that never came to pass, but I have wisdom.

Some of the wisdom has come with age and experience; those came with a high price tag. I have made many bad choices and cried myself to sleep more then I care to remember. I lived foolishly for many years. I dwelt in the upmost parts of hell. I have wished for death but was afraid to die.

True wisdom came only when I stopped running from Jesus. I remember when the realization came to me. I lay naked except for a paper gown in a room that was padded in soft but smelly rubber. I had made an half hearted attempt at sliting my wrist. I say half hearted because truly I wanted help more then I wanted to die. It took eight big burly guards to hold me down and strip me. I fought with everything I had left inside of me which wasn't much. I had walked away from Jesus. I started doing drugs on a full scale bases.

My life had lost all meaning, I was only existing. I thought God must surely hate me now. I hated myself. Sometimes we create God in our own image. We make him petty and self-centered, unloving and judgmental. I had no self-esteem or self-worth and my little god had no use for me. I saw through a cracked and distorted mirror and I thought God peeked into that same broken glass.

I went into the store and looked into a camera and stole something on purpose. The security asked me one question, "Why?" All I could do is tell him it was because I wanted someone to help me. Later that night I made my cry for help. I was tired of holding on to the guilt I felt after my husband murder. If I was not such a horrible person, he would still be alive. I was tired of living with the shame of being raped as a teen-ager. I took the fault for that one too. Guilt and shame hung off of me like a cheap suit. Unworthiness was my constant companion. Grace followed me into that padded room, that's the strange thing about grace there's no where it will not go to find you.

I laid in that padded cell and cried to my Abba. I begged him to help me. I asked him what was wrong with me? What was so broke inside of me that I would walk away from his love. I remembered that girl that he found covered in the filth of her sins. He didn't judge me or condemn me. He picked me up, washed me clean. He covered me with his love. I knew back then what I had forgotten. God loves me! He loved me and I walked away.

I cried and asked for forgiveness, I asked for healing, I asked for wisdom. I asked him to accept me back and clean me up again. I asked for a sign that he forgives me, that he heard my prayers. I promised not to run from what he asked me to do. He said, tell my people about me. He simply asked me to tell the truth.

The bible says the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. I do fear him. I fear that he will take his spirit from me. That if I'm foolish enough to walk way again that I wont make it back to him. I fear he will talk stop talking to me. I fear the fact that without him life is not worth living. Without him is truly death. I fear of being separated from him eternally.

The next morning I woke to a woman standing over me with a bible in her hand. I knew at that moment all the pain and heartache, unworthiness was over. It's been a long hard road but, he healed me, delivered me, gave me the wisdom and self-worth to make better decisions. He set me free!

I love him so much because he first loved me.

Fearless

The Restaurant

The Restaurant opened yesterday. To my surprise I was asked to help for a few days; since the young cashier did not show up for her first day of work. My first day and first time using a cash register went quite well. I was not the older extremely slow woman on the cash register. I am the older woman that looks as if she know whats she's doing, but of course I don't have a clue. My only saving grace is the fact that I prayed before I started which is always my saving grace.

I took orders, bagged food,answered the phone, smiled gracefully and even busted a few tables. I made a three dollar tip(from my brother in law's brother). I actually had a good time and met many nice people.

I like the ideal of having a ministry of helps. I can be a do anything, help everybody person. Just a few months ago my sister Jill told our friends in Florida that I have always been selfish. A couple of them said it to me. I remember how sad I felt that Jill would say that about me and they would say it to me. I cried and searched my heart. I asked myself have I truly been selfish? And if it's true, then why?

I want to be known as an honorable woman that loves God. I asked them what did I do to be considered so selfish. I don't want to do that again. I wanted to pray and repent and asked for forgiveness to everyone I have hurt, or overlooked. The answer was that I am always talking about love and wanting everyone to love me. I guess I can see if I'm always looking to be loved that could actually be a problem. People that want to be loved can be clingy and needy, and are even willing to compromise. So I asked if that the problem. Jill finally answered, she said that I have always been the favorite of my mother and father. That I got all the attention.

In a way I guess what she said is true. As a child I did demand a lot of attention. I was a quiet, withdrawn third child of nine. Most days I felt just as invisible as Jill apparently felt. Jill got her attention by doing things that got her in trouble; I got mine by trying to be perfect. I made the honor roll every semester, I spent way too much time working on being perfect. I took the family responsibility on my tiny shoulders. I thought if I was perfect and worked to make my siblings and parents perfect that we would be acceptable and accepted,that no one would continue to address us as, "All of Trisha's kids and her dopefiend husband." I did want to be loved but love was hard to obtain when you're little and unimportant and from a family that's socially rejected.

It was not until I met Yeshua (Jesus) That I felt as if I belonged. He knows my pain and understood. He was despised and rejected of men. A man of sorrow and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him, he was despised and we esteemed him not. I am in good company!

Fearless

The Cold Case Crazies.

It is true! The mind really is a terrible thing to waste. Not only is it a terrible thing to waste it's full of dramatic crazies. Or at least mine is. Yesterday me , my mother and my sister Karen went to the mall then out to lunch and from the restaurant we went back to my sisters house. I had made a mistake(or not) and overate. Over-eating for me makes me uncomfortable. So when we got back to my sister house I went to sleep. I slept for a couple of hours by mistake(or not).

My bother in law is opening a restaurant next week and asked me to be his interior decorator. I like colors and textures and spending others people's money so I said, "Yes." I had a great time in the last few weeks, picking themes, colors, designs, frames, etc. Since the walls are all different colors I let my imagination go vagabond. Everyone around loved my ideas.

Well, yesterday evening after I finally woke up still a little food groggily. My bother-in-law Alvin asked me if I was ready to go work on my "project." At first I said, "NO" but I felt bad that I made the commitment and did the easy part (shopped) and had not gotten around to actually doing the work. Very reluctantly I agree to go and do the work. Did I mention I am doing it for free?

We go to his newly leased building with wall art, theme supplies, tool box, three miniature terriers named Cody, Bella,and JoJo. As we pull up there is a car with the flashers on and Alvin says he wonders why that car has been there all day; he knows it belongs to a white lady that either lives or works near by because he sees her often. We go into the building still unsure.

Alvin is in the kitchen doing some last minute paint touch up and cleaning while I'm in the dining area working. I decided I should start by hanging the pictures. He hands me an hand held electrical drill some screws and brackets than he walks back into the kitchen. I have never in my life used a electric drill and it looks as if it would drill holes in my fingers. I would usually hire someone to do anything that required any tools beside a hammer or Phillips screw-driver. I stand where he left me armed and dangerous, wondering what I was suppose to do. So I call to Alvin and say, "Alvin, I never used a drill before." He comes back into the dining area and shows me how it works and it looked easy enough, but alias, I have yet another problem. I'm in desperate need of a measuring tape. There's nothing worse to the eye than a crooked frame. Then the unthinkable happens...

Alvin walks out the door with Bella, Cody and Jojo following behind him. He tells me to lock the door. I ask where he's going and he says he's going to his friends house up the street to borrow a measuring tape. It's about 10:00 at night and his restaurant is located in a business area and it's dark and spooky 10:00 at night. I lock the door and that's when the whole diabolical plot registers in my brain. Alvin must have some kind of secret insurance policy and he's setting me up to be murdered. First he hands me the drill, a weapon of mass destruction in my hands, then he leaves me alone in a empty restaurant awaiting the hired killers. Or worse he's really did want to get a measuring tape but the kidnappers of the white woman whose car is left on the side of the road is still in the vicinity and they watched as Alvin left me alone, now I will be their next victim. Me and the white woman sisters victims fighting together, dying together in a blood bath and my finger would have holes drilled in them (From my attempt at using a drill). I hear the voice of Bill Kurtis as they air the story of our demise on Cold Case Files. "And the case goes cold," he'll say in his all to familiar voice.

By this time my mind is in a complete panic, I call my sister and whine. "Alvin left me all alone in this empty building and he even took the dogs. You know I watched Cold Case Files." She asked me one simple question, "Why didn't you go with him?" I didn't know what to say to her. Should I tell her because he handed me a drill and at the time I was more worried about my fingers? And now I have the Cold Case Crazies? So I ignored the question and continued whining, "I came here to help him and he just left me." She said what any other big sister would say, just make sure the doors are locked. I knew she would call him and tell him to get back to me...and she did just that.

Five minutes later I heard him pull up. He came right back without a measuring tape. He said he told my sister he had to get back to me since I was so afraid someone would rob me (I let him believe that, I see no reason he should know about the Cold Case Crazies). He also said Karen and I were the scariest women he knew and we loved the Lord so much yet were afraid to die to be with him. I told him I'm not afraid of dying, if I were I wouldn't be learning how to use a drill.

I did get the decorating almost completed and it looks really good for an amateur. I find out that my white sister victim is only the victim of car trouble. And all is well. I have swore off of Cold Case Files for now or I will have to change my name from...

Fearless

The Shrew!!

Okay, it's official I can't do anything right! As hard as I have tried to please my mommy I can't do it. I have been in Chattanooga for two weeks nursing my mother (who's sick from mold and unable to breath) and my oldest sister (who had back surgery). I get up early every morning and cut up fresh fruit, cook bacon and eggs or whatever they desire. Only to be told the fruit isn't sweet, the bacon to hard, the eggs too cold, etc, etc by my mother.

For a week straight I listened to her complain and waited on her as any dutiful daughter would do. There's nothing particularly self-sacrificing or honorable in serving your family when the need arrive. You do it because you love them. I however have been living alone for many years and have all but forgotten how to serve anyone else. My life has been simple, there has been no relationship that I had to post, "It's complicated," about. There is no husband or boyfriend not even a pet dog. I spent my days dreaming of remote villages in Africa where I would start and orphanage. In my dreams I'm always the selfless woman of God, fighting for the rights and freedom of the down-trodden. I'm the provider of love, the hero that saves the day.

Boy, am I full of delusions. It's strange how who we are and who we see ourselves as, are always at odds with each other. I'm not a injustice fighting hero. I'm a dreamer! I'm not selfless, I'm mostly selfish. I can't save the world, I'm working out my own soul salvation with true fear and trembling.

I made my mom a cup of tea this morning and she complained that I drink large cups of coffee and give her small cups of tea. I wasn't trying to deprive her of tea. Over the years I have sipped tea from tiny delicate china tea cups and drank coffee from mugs. My mother has had to sacrifice so much for her nine children. She has had to drink her tea in jelly jars or plastic cups. There was no delicate china for her or fancy church-lady teas with big hats, great manners and fake grins. It hasn't been an easy life for my mother. It's been only disappointment, faded dreams, hopes, pain and misery. If you want to know what happens to dreams deferred, look into an elderly black woman's eyes.

My mother's complaint in her eyes is legitimate. I, however must be the worse shrew God ever put breath into. I can't believe my actions after she made that one small assessment. I asked her if there was anything I could possible do right. Than I asked her if she could show just a little gratitude. I stormed out of the back door and sit alone of the balcony and cried. I am so ashamed of my actions. This week has taught me that I am human and very limited. I could never be a saint because being human is hard enough. I must rely on God for everything, even the grace to honor my mother.

Fearless

In The Waiting

It's been over a year since Yeshua (Jesus) took me off my job. Over a year of endless waiting for my life to begin; or this useless feeling to end. As hard as I try to feel some sort of sense of self-worth, dignity or pride nothing is forthcoming. I remember my grandma used to say she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I wonder if this is the place she was talking about. I have not made a contribution to anyone. Two years ago the Lord told me to learn how to "Be" and he would "Do." I went on a quest to learn how to be, the problem was I had no idea what it was I was to be. I asked everyone that mentioned the Lord and "Be" in the same paragraph. Some said for me to "Be," myself others thought it meant "Be" still and some like me did not have a clue. Than one Saturday morning after only six months of soul searching Yeshua told me what it was I was to "Be." He said "Be"...loved. Yes, my beloved just want me to learn to be loved and only in that being could there ever be any doing. I must "Be" and he will "Do."Once again he's teaching me deep truth about ministry. I have to wait until I have something to give. There is a reservoir of grace that's big and bright. Like the apostle Paul I am blinded by that light and my own self-righteousness. I'm learning to let go of all that I think I have to offer to the ministry and become an empty vessels.

Every step I take has to be in total obedience to the Holy Spirit. I have nothing to give except my body as a living sacrifice and it must be holy and acceptable. I have learned in my waiting that I have been the problem and not the solution, the hold up of the ministry. Me in all my inability wanting some kind of control. Maybe even some vain glory. I have nothing to offer the world except what I have learned in my years of being that broken but much loved vessel. Like the children of Israel he passed by me and saw me polluted in my own blood and he said to me to live. It's only in that life that I can give life; that a ministry can birth and bring forth life. It's only in the receiving that I have anything to give.

I wait..

Fearless

Does Anybody Hear Her?

Today I feel discombobulated; a tangled mass of raw emotions. For the last couple of days I have questioned my judgment, I ran to feeling that I ran from more than half my life ago. Life is strange and full of twist, turns,and heartaches that spring up without my permission. Past pains and regrets slowly creep in the corridors of my heart, they walk out of their hiding place and reintroduce themselves to me. And I remember what I tried to forget.

I remember that young woman.

He loved her and thought she was beautiful.

She hid her face from him. Her face housed her eyes and her eyes held all of her secrets. Her secrets were all she had left of that carefree girl she used to be. They were her's and her's alone. How could she tell him she was tainted? That someone had spoiled her. That the man before him that should have loved her beat her black and blue. That her own father abandoned her and didn't protect her. Would he understand that when she looked in the mirror she didn't see a beautiful young woman. How could she articulate that she was unattractive and unlovable?

He loved her and wanted to marry her.

She kept her mask in place. She didn't want him to know she was ugly and ruined. She said "Yes, she would marry him." She loves him and wants him to protect her; to keep the bad things out. The problem is the bad things are inside her. How can he evict an unwanted guess he can't see? How can he destroy the monsters under her bed when the monsters reside in her head?

He loved her and looked everywhere for her.

She ran away from his love, it was blind and unconditional, it was strange and uncomfortable to her. Her fear refused to let her give into it, for fear of losing it. So, she ran with tears in her eyes and her mask still safely intact. How could she tell him she's unattractive and unlovable. Couldn't he see? Didn't he know the mirror she looks into is cracked and broken? She's a cistern that can not hold water? How can she tell him he's better off without her? She let him go to free him from her torment.

She ran and ran it was easier to run then to face her demons.

She loved him...

She let him go...

She's crying even as she types this.

Fearless

The Strange Television Men

My niece Abby comes home from work and I had laid down to take a nap. She asked me if I knew that some guys were parked in the driveway. I told her no, I had no knowledge. Abby asked me because we have had a reoccurring problem with strangers from the barber shop and bar next door parking in our driveway. Mostly, because we don't have a car(I sold mine before leaving Daytona)and my sister has given permission to a few of them. I started charging them five dollars, mainly to discourage them from wanting to park.

Abby comes back into the house very upset and yells, "Auntie they're selling stuff in our yard." I jump out of the bed with my hair standing on my head and sleep imprints on the side of my face. As I reach the porch and I see several guys with the monitors of flat screens televisions on our lawn. At this point to say that I'm shocked is more than an understatement. My niece Abby stands behind me with hands on hips and indignant look on her face, waiting on me to put a stop to this unauthorized yard sale.

I do what any self-respecting authority figure would do, I cleared my throat and said the the men, "AHEM, excuse me(always mind your manners). One guy turned around and asked the unthinkable, he asked me if he could HELP ME! Then he asked if I would like to buy something, I went from beyond shocked to extremely perturbed in a matter of seconds. I gritted my teeth and said as calmly as possible, No, I do not want to "BUY," anything I want you out of my yard, than I added in a mincing voice, I have asked you nicely(barely concealed threat that means you have been warned).

They apologize and start packing up their, no doubt in my mind stolen merchandise. One of the guys standing on my grass walks toward me and introduce himself to me. He told me he works next door at the barber shop and informs me that, "She lets us park in the driveway."(she referring to my sister Claudia) I inform him that "She" is not here and "I" Don't want them in our driveway and "I'm" sure "She" did not give permission for the television men to set-up shop in "Her" yard. Then he adds they're selling televisions,( I guess I was suppose to say, "oh why didn't you say that, carry on.") I asked one question, "IN OUR YARD?"

Okay, maybe I'm old fashion or unfamiliar with the ways of Lexington, but where in the world is it alright to park in someones driveway, set-up a stolen television shop in their yard and attempt to sell them the product? I need help processing this! I think the problem is they have watched and know my sister is a single mom since her and her husband split last year. I guess I didn't look like much of a threat neither.

After they left I started thinking, it times like theses that we need a man to guard and protect us. Then Yeshua(Jesus) reminded me that he is our protection. That we are hidden in the shelter of the Almighty. We are safe, even from television salesmen in our yard.

Life in Lexy

I'm an official occupant of Lexington Kentucky. I say occupant because I haven't received my Kentucky drivers license yet. I arrived on a rainy June morning three weeks ago. The first thing I did was take a long walk, mostly to familiarize myself with the neighborhood. I live near downtown Lexy,the neighborhood is filled with historical homes, art galleries and small private shops. It's a place where artist dwell in old Victorian Mansions hidden behind antique, lace and a kaleidoscope of colors. It feels like home.

Since I've been here I have had the privilege to reacquaint myself with my nieces and nephews. What a joy they all are; each with their unique personalities and tender-hearts.

Today I was sitting on the porch and I noticed a wounded bird in the middle of the road with cars passing by barely missing hitting it. On the other side of the street was a cat waiting for the traffic to clear to pounce on his injured prey. I watched for a few minutes, I didn't know what to do. I stuck my head in the door and told my nieces about the bird. My niece Nia,is a shy, withdrawn, extremely intelligent fourteen year old. Nia has a way of walking up on you to talk to you. It's not her nature to shout across the room to get your attention.

She walked outside to where I stood and said in her little Nia way, "Go get it". I said, "What?" She repeated it. Then she said "I mean it!" Then I gave her my best bucked-eyed scared look and thought to myself, what if I get hit by a car while bending over the bird and the cat attacks me and scratch up my face all the while the two big birds hoovering near start pecking at my eyes, wouldn't she feel bad! Finally she said "I'll go with you." I reluctantly agreed, but I told her I need to put my shoes on and get something to pick it up with. I went and got a pair of sneakers and she handed me some paper towel and a small waste basket. Don't get me wrong I'm all for animal rescue but, I wasn't feeling picking it up with my hand, especially since I saw it start pecking at the cat when it got near.

I grabbed the dust pan.

We get close to the bird and it's so still we wonder if we're to late. Nia being braver than I bent down and touched it. The poor little frightened bird began to fray wildly. One side of his body was bloody and limp. Nia grab the paper towel and gently placed him on the dust pan. I placed him in the makeshift nest Nia made out of the waste basket lined with paper towel. We took him in the house and accessed the damage. There is a small wound where his tail feathers should have been and his leg is broken. I get my emergency medical kit and we clean the wound with peroxide and apply antibiotic ointment. He screeched in pain when we attempted to bandage his leg.

As I watch him peck at our hands when we're cleaning his wound I'm reminded of a time several years ago when the Lord had me start a women's ministry. There was a woman that use to give me such a hard time. No matter how hard I tried to help her she fought against me. Finally I went to the Lord in prayer (mostly complaining) and told him I can't take her anymore. She was difficult and gossipy and she didn't like me. He told me, "A wounded bird will peck you."

That's one of the greatest lesson I have had to learn when it comes to wounded women. Like that bird we have survived against all odds. The bird survived the traffic, a vicious attack on his life, a family that loved him but didn't know how to save him. My wounded sisters and I have survived much worse.

Fearless

Moving on

I've been living in Florida for the last five years. I have many good friends and a strong support system here. We have laughed together, cried together, and prayed together. I'm moving to Kentucky in a week or so. One by one I meet with the faces that I come come to love dearly. They all seem to want to avoid talking about my leaving, instead they want to go to crowded places and laugh too loud and avert their eyes from meeting my eyes, they desire one last hoopla. They want me to remember the laughter. I'm persistent, and when they're not busy "Having fun," I whisper to them how much I'm going to miss them. And the tears finally come.

Everything is moving fast and changing quickly. My time in Florida is up. I have to go to Kentucky to start a ministry for women of the streets. I have known for a couple of years that I would be leaving. I just wasn't prepared for the pain of the emotional separations. It is in Florida that I finally learned how to be loved. Not in a couple, man-woman way, my love came through an unexpected source; it came through a lot of spiritually strong women. The kind of women that you could rest your head on their shoulders and cry when life seemed big, spooky and unfair. They taught me what holy women looked like, and that I really am beautiful and I do have worth, and gifts and talents to offer the world. They have encouraged me and bragged on me, and never let me believe less of myself.

When the Lord first told me to move to Florida it was with much protest. I laid before him and gave him all the reason I should stay in Michigan, I cried and begged. I had to leave all I held dear, my mother my son, my grandchildren. He wasn't the least bit moved by my childish displays, so with a heavy heart I left Michigan. I cried myself to sleep many nights the first year away from my grandchildren, but I took up my cross and followed him. Jesus told me he required all my trust. He has always demanded all of me. My passion, my pain, my insecurity, my weakness and my sins. He wanted it all and I gave it though sometimes reluctantly.Trust and Faith is scary and uncertain, you can't see it; it's like walking in the dark in unfamiliar territory. You do it all the while hoping your eyes would adjust, hoping to see just a few feet ahead.

Today my cross feels heavy and bothersome, with prickly wood that tear into my skin and leave splinters, but Like Simon the Cyrenian, I pick up the cross that I may bear it after Jesus. I carry it for love.

Fearless

Computer problems

I have major computer problems and many written assignments to complete for my online Christian psychology classes. What a mess but my life is filled with messes to miracles. I make a conscious decision to walk by faith and not by sight. I trust God.

Adopting a senior for Valentine Day

I had a great time this evening. My sister Jill had an adopt a senior for Valentine Day Celebration through the singles ministry she oversees. We had a great time with the seniors. We all adopted one or more seniors and took them out to dinner and gave them flowers and little bags of whatnot's. We started by giving them little shiny heart-shaped stickers and told them they were the perfect Valentine. The stickers made them so happy, I wasn't sure if we should give them to them and voiced my concerns( I thought they may have been too juvenile). My Valentine was a feisty woman named Louise. I love fiery older women. She is one of the bad broads that came to Jesus messy and found grace and the courage to be themselves devoid of pretensions. With her what you see is what you get. I loved her instantly. She walked up to me complaining that her friend Alberta was trying to boss her around and Jesus is her boss and she doesn't need another one. I lead her to our tables. We had three long tables pulled together with red chairs with heart-shaped backs. We put red and white heart confetti centerpieces on the tables.
Carlean and Louise 2/14/2011

We had the perfect date for Valentine Day. We catered to our elderly and that seemed to breath more life into them. The evening brings us all joy and comfort. I realize again that all we really have to offer each other is our tattered and worn hearts, with a smile.. a touch.. a moment of gladness and that's enough. James said pure religion undefiled is to visit the fatherless and widow in their affliction. In our visiting we found an unexpected grace, Jesus met us there. I like that Jesus is into the small things, a glass of water, a shared meal, crazy heart-shaped stickers,and me.

As we left the restaurant Louise called after me with one simple request; CALL ME.

Fearless