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
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
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
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
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
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
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
Thursday, September 15, 2011
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
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
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!
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!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
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
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
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