The Pajama Party-a coming of age story

I have a friend that I never met in person, we met on facebook her name is Angel and the name fits her. We have shared many desperate prayers; family trouble, sickness, the start of my ministry, my first published work, we have laughed together, cried together and have come to rely on one another's friendship. Last Christmas, even though I was in Florida, she messaged me and asked for the address where I was staying. I thought she wanted to send me another Christmas card, but instead she sent me a pink one piece  footie pajamas. A couple of years ago we were talking on the phone and she mention that she was wearing footie pajamas. I laughed and told her I have been wanting some footie pajamas since we were having a particularly cold winter in Florida that year. Two years later she still remembered that conversation and sent me  pink footie pajamas. It's the small acts of kindness that shows you Jesus in the ordinary and everyday. Her thoughtfulness filled me with joy and gratitude.

Facebook is a place to meet new friends and to reconnect with old friends. I recently reconnected with my very first boyfriend. He's always been a really nice guy, handsome, quiet, and laid back. He now services God. I'm always amazed that the God that walks so close to us can walk with our childhood friends on the other side of the country. His all consuming fire burns everywhere. I know I'm dragging this story out, but I have to put it altogether, because it all came together in bits and pieces, and left me laughing, crying and shaking my head. Be patient with me this might be a long post.

Last night I had a conversation with Angel about the footie pajamas. I have been fighting a cold and walking around with puffy swollen eyes and tissue hanging from my nose. I told her that I was going to put on my footie pajamas and climb in the bed.  I wore them once before; a few days after receiving them while visiting Florida last month. My sisters Jill and Gina  had a field day. They laughed and told me I looked  five instead of fifty and that I would never get a husband(something my family annoyingly think I need-against my protest) if I continued to wear stuff like that. I told them I was bringing sexy back, they said I was setting sexy back. Angel asked me to send her a picture in the pj's, with tissue and all. I promised to do that.

As I was attempting the impossible task of creating a flattering pose in pink footie pajamas, my sister Claudia called. I told her what I was doing. I didn't want to disappoint Angel, but I didn't want to post a picture of myself in an oversize sleeper. For one, I look ridiculous and another, I don't think anyone should post pictures in their sleepwear on facebook. Claudia and I were trying to think of ways to appease Angel and protect my decency at the same time. As the subject of discretion is being discussed, a long forgotten memory emerged from that cobwebbed attic portion of my brain, you know the area that periodically demand a good dusting.

It was  late fall in the early seventies and it was also the beginning of the eight grade for my friends and I. I had just moved back to the quiet black suburban neighborhood where I spent the majority of my childhood. I had three childhood best-friends Cheryl, Fran and Reniece. We have been friends since kindergarten. In the two years that I have been away their maturity level has exceeded mine. They now have boyfriends who are sophomores in high school, and they knew how to french kiss. I was determined to learn how to french kiss and to get a boyfriend. I did just that. With a determination birthed from peer pressure, hormones and a schoolgirl crush, I got my first boyfriend. He was in his sophomore year of high school; a much older man back then. He's handsome with big brown eyes, a warm smile and reserved demeanor. Anytime he came near me, I would blush and forget how to talk. If he noticed my awkwardness he never said so. To my utter amazement, he liked me too. Back then the boy would ask a girl, "How's my chances?," and she would say, something like good or bad. If she said good you automatically became his girlfriend. That's how it happened for me. He asked, I said, "good" and just like that, with one word I went from playing with Barbie dolls to a romantic relationship.

Relationship require work, even the immature teenage kind, and unfortunately for me boyfriends didn't come with an owners manual.  Work to me consisted of french kissing like my friends. So after a few weeks of him hanging around the bumbling mute I had become, we kissed. Our relationship transformed into a few stolen kisses and bright-eyed adoration. I liked having a boyfriend and I wrote our names all over my notebooks, park benches and anywhere else I could use a pen and small carving instrument. I even wore  miniature "T" shaped stickers on both sides of my  face. One teacher asked me did my "T&T" stand for dynamite(totally inappropriate) and I boldly let him know it was for my boyfriend Tommy. Then my three friends and I had  "The Pajama Party."

We planned the party for weeks. We planned the menu, the activities, and the music. We also planned on sneaking our boyfriends in the window as soon as Cheryl's grandmother went to sleep. We decided that we all needed new pajamas instead of the tired ratty ones we wore at home. In the household I lived  new pajamas were available for Christmas presents only. I begged my mother to find it in her budget to buy me new pajamas for the party. On the day of the party, as soon as I walked in from school my mother handed me an unopened package of brand new pajamas. They were soft pink and wrapped securely in a plastic package. I was elated. I packed in a hurry and left to meet Fran and Reniece. We walked together to Cheryl's house. Our party started before dark, we combed each other hair, spraying massive amounts of White Rain hair spray on our kitchen counter hairdos. We gave ourselves facials, which back then consisted of Noxzema and Witch Hazel. We were preparing for our men smelling of a combination of Noxzema, White Rain and Witch Hazel.  After a few hours it  was time to put on our new pajamas. To my absolute teenage horror my soft pink two piece pajamas set had the footie attached like an infant. I was horrified! My mother had pulled a fast one on me. Why would she chose a pajamas party to buy me baby pajamas? There's always that certain moment in  adolescent; when while exercising your independence from your parents  you come to the unfaltering conclusion that your parents are, "Out to ruin your life." That was mine. I turned bright red and lite up like a Christmas tree from embarrassment.

At around eight-thirty or nine o'clock our dates arrived at Cheryl's bedroom window. Cheryl's grandmother went to bed early and slept hard. We had little worry of her catching us. Cheryl also had an uncle that lived in the house. He drank heavy, talked to himself and mostly stayed in his room. I wanted to cancel the visit from the guys, but my friends refused. We devised a plan where I would stay in one of the twin beds in Cheryl's room with my legs under the cover. The boys climbed into the window with little effort. In my memory the boys that came that night were Tommy, Marshal (Cheryl's boyfriend), Kermit (Fran's boyfriend) and Bubba a loud-mouth boy that played too much and was known for his laughing and teasing about your most vulnerable childhood traumas. He is a lot of fun when the jokes not on you. I don't remember Reniece's boyfriend, but none of us dated Bubba that I'm sure of. I wondered who invited him. There was no way I would let him see I had on baby pj's. I would be the laughing-stock of the neighborhood. I had finally lived down getting spanked in front of my friends for sneaking to the movies that summer.

I don't know why the memory came back the way it did. It might have been the soft pink pajamas with the footies that Angel sent, or the fact that I have been in touch with Tommy, or a combination of both.  Suddenly the memory was  vivid and technicolor full of smells, tastes, emotions and sounds. I never left the bed that night while the guys were there. Tommy sat on the edge of the bed next to me and before long we were kissing. I was in a sitting position with my feet tucked securely under the blanket. Cheryl was in the other bed next to Marshal and they were kissing, partly because of raging teenage hormones, but mostly in support of me. She didn't want me to feel alone in my embarrassment so we made it appear as if being in bed was part of our seductive plan. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

 Our kisses were clumsy and unsure in front of our peers, but sweet in that teenage love kind of way. Even though we were on the same bed wrapped in each others arms there was no groping or touching of delicate secret places. We were stuck between the two worlds of children and adults, and we didn't fit either one. That night we tried on our grown-up legs; they were wobbly and uncertain and didn't yet work. His kisses were youthfully sweet and had a slight fragrance of mint and faded garlic. I was guarded and nervous full of raw emotions and fear. My heart beat to loud, I smelled of Noxzema and hair spray, and I held a embarrassing secret under the blanket. In the background the stereo was playing a 45 of the Isley Brother's song, Summer Breeze. That night in my infant pink footie pajamas, I felt as if I had discovered the secret of grown up love and it felt scary and too big.  After about an hour of entertaining our boyfriends, Bubba laughed real loud and woke Cheryl's uncle. He knocked on the bedroom door and demanded to know what we were doing. The boys had to jump out the window in a hurry. The party was over.

Unfortunately like many small towns our little indiscretion found it's way to the rumor mill via- that loud-mouthed Bubba. Our little plan backfired, my friends and I got a reputation of being, "tramps," per the sophomore girls, of which my eldest sister happened to belong. She came home from school that following Monday and informed my mother and grandmother. I got spanked and grounded for a week. Back then there were no laws governing how to discipline your children, we suffered the consequences of our rebellious actions.  As I was telling the story to my sister Claudia last night, she was appalled at the outcome. I laughed, because that didn't bother me as much as those infant footie pajamas did. I said, "I'm just glad they didn't find out about my pajamas." She laughed and said, "Spoken like a true teenager."

Even after I had lain down to sleep last night the memory was so real it kept me awake. Fran and Cheryl both died ten or eleven years ago. Marshal died a few years later. I have not seen Reniece or Tommy in over thirty years. I did see Bubba a couple of years ago. I once read that the best things in life are the people you love, the places you've been and the memories you've made along the way. I'm glad God gave me the gift of my childhood friends. Those are the people that walked with me through those formative years; when I was skinny, and awkward; all elbows, knees and big teeth that resembles Chiclets. Yet they loved me. Last night I wanted, if only for a moment, to be back there in that room that night. I wanted to see Cheryl , Fran and Marshal and tell them that they're important and that their lives mattered. I wanted to hug each of those kids and tell them how much they meant to me. I wanted to relive that night with all it's silly childish chaotic moments.

 Tommy and I broke up shortly after that night (that's another story, and in my defense,-I think we should just let bygones be bygones). Our closeness didn't survive the break-up but we remained distant friends. I realize that he will always hold the title of my first boyfriend, the place of honor reserved for the special. I'm glad he's back in my life and hope we stay in touch, though we both admit we're sometimes slack in doing so. I spoke to Reniece for the first time in over thirty years last year and although we promised to keep in touch, we haven't. I pray that their lives are full of love, laughter and special moments and that they take the time to notice.

I hope they see Jesus in the everyday and the ordinary.

Fearless

Carrying my Cross

Mat 16:24  Then said Jesus unto his disciples, If any man would come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.

Crosses are heavy and dangerous, full of splinters and nails. Have you ever gotten a splinter in your skin or stepped on a board with a nail? Well, I have dug many splinters out of my skin with a straight pin slightly burned at the end to prevent infection. I topped it off with alcohol that burned tears to my eyes. Once as a child I stepped on a board with a nail that pricked the delicate center of my foot. That landed me a trip to the emergency room and a painful tetanus shot.  I walked with a limp for a week when I had to walk. Of course I milked it for all it was worth and demanded (in a weak whisper) my family wait on me, as if I had undergone a  complete leg amputation.

Lately Jesus has been teaching me the meaning of dying to self, and denying myself both of which I have very little practice. As much as I would like to pretend otherwise the truth of the matter is: I lack spiritual discipline at least 95% of the time. Sad I know. The good news is I can rely on grace 100% of the time, but Jesus said it's time for me to grow up. Not that his grace is no longer sufficient, that will never happen, but it's time for me to develop tougher skin. He wants me to understand that a servant will never be greater than his lord and if they called him Beelzebub, they will also call me names.

I come from a large family and a neighborhood full of large families. I was small for my age, quiet and shy. Which left me a target of teasing and bullying my entire life. The bullies never understood  the fact that quiet and shy was the outward appearance. Inside I was fierce and scrappy. I fought a lot to protect myself. They would usually have to hit me first, or if they were too big I would just attack them while they were busy entertaining the crowd. I fought and won all the time. I was never a loud mouth or a bully but I have always been a fighter. Lately Jesus has been teaching me that defending myself is pride and self-righteousness. I have been accused of being self-righteous, I've been called a witch, I've been told that I don't need to pray as often as I do. I desperately want to defend myself and it's been a real struggle not to. I can no longer look at them and think to myself, "Whore of Babylon,"( I used to pretend it was okay as long as it was biblical). God said he would pluck out anything he did not plant. He did not plant little mean vicious thoughts.

Abba knows that I'm scrappy and full of fire, he put it in me, but he wants me to know the difference between fighting in the spirit and wrestling with flesh and blood. I want to retaliate verbally against all the verbal abuse. He told me that carrying the cross (his instrument of capital punishment) was a humbling experience, and so is mine. Crosses are heavy and carrying them hurt. I'm picking the splinter that prick my joy and restrict my vision and the nails that leave me hobbling  in pain.  I will not defend myself. I can not defend myself.

Fearless

Prayer Circle

Jer 9:17  Thus saith Jehovah of hosts, Consider ye, and call for the mourning women, that they may come; and send for the skilful women, that they may come:
Jer 9:18  and let them make haste, and take up a wailing for us, that our eyes may run down with tears, and our eyelids gush out with waters.

We sit in the middle of the floor. There are four of us present; my sisters Jill and Gina, Melodie( friend and sister in Christ) and myself. Our eyes are closed but our hearts are opened. We close our eyes to block out anything in our field of vision that would distract us from focusing on the King of Glory. We want him and only him, our prayers are desperate. I feel the longing in each of us. As I lift my voice to the throne of God I feel a knot rise in my throat. The tears spill from our eyes. I have prayed with each of these women many times. This time it's different.

In ancient Israel for funerals there were women hired as mouners to help the family to grieve. They were known as "mourning women," These women would make sudden outburst of unexpressed grief. In our prayer circle that night the grief hit us. For me it has been building up for over a year. I have held inside of me the grief of God toward his people. I have held his tears and the heaviness of his heart that he expressed to me. I have struggled with what to do with the revelations he has given me. Everyone I try to tell looks at me as if I have gotten to religious, and I wonder if they are right most of the time. I have to tell it though. Love won't let me hold it.

I was praying in the spirit a little over a year ago. Suddenly I had an overwhelming since of sadness. At the time I was going through a lot of changes, I had lost my job where I pretty much ran three Dermatology Surgery Centers. I had started letting my job define who I was. I had heart problems with no diagnosis, I walked through the valley of the shadow of death. On top of all of that I had depleted my savings. However my tears were not for me, because in all of that, I had the pleasure to watch in awe his faithfulness toward me.

What he told me is too much to post on one blog entry but I will write about it in a series soon. Today I will tell just a small portion of what he said.  He said his people honor him with their lips but there heart are far from him. He said that the church is lukewarm and full of not only hypocrisy, but apostasy. He said everyone is concerned with their own house and the children are being introduced to witchcraft and satanism in the schools, and they're becoming perverse and committing suicide and his people are not noticing. He said if we take care of his lambs he would take save our families. I could feel him crying for the babies and his people. He said only a third of the church is going to make it because of the apostasy in the church. He said the time of the gentile is almost fulfilled and his judgment is coming, and when it comes many of his people are going to get angry with him and curse him instead of repenting. They will not repent of their idolatry, their lackadaisical attitude toward the things of his heart, for their lukewarmness and their self-righteousness and many other things. As he cried, I cried with him. I repented for me, for his bride with our many blemishes, spots and wrinkles.

Since then try as I might to have church as usual, I can't. I keep telling people and they're treating me like some sort of self-righteous, delusional self-proclaimed prophet. I'm none of those things. I am a women God talks to, because it pleases him to talk to me( at least that's what he told me). I still sometimes struggle with others opinions of me. The more I see how vicious others opinions can be, the easier it's getting to get past them. Let people think whatever they want about you, but tell the truth their life depends on it. Love will always sacrifice his life for those he loves.  That's the truth of the cross. How can you pick up your cross without laying down your life.

That night in the prayer circle, I could hear the Holy Spirit calling us the mourning women. Like the prophet Jeremiah( also known as the weeping prophet) 9: 17-18 God is calling for the weeping women to wail to cause us to repent, the stench of our sins in the land has reached his nostrils. That night we mourned for the children, the people of God and people that has been wounded by the hypocrisy in the house of the Lord. I could not stop crying. Maybe I cried for all the mess I saw going on in many of the churches I visited while in Florida. I watched the apostasy and total ridiculousness of a few of the preachers, or in my opinion false prophets. I prayed for workers to in the vineyard and Shepherds that are not blind, I prayed for holy boldness, but mostly I pray that the eyes of our understanding are opened before it's too late.

Judgment begins in the house of the Lord.

Fearless

The Vacation

I know I've been gone for awhile. I have been in Florida since the 13TH of December. I'm on vacation! My "vacation" started as nonstop running around for class purpose and for the record I did not graduate. I have two more semesters of full time classes, my credit hours got screwed and I had a couple of incomplete classes (all my fault).

Jill (my sister) and Robbin and Diane (friends) started with a trip to Jacksonville which is 85 miles from Daytona Beach where I have been staying, and where Robbin and Jill live. We were suppose to go to the "Iron Sharpens Iron" conference and than back to Daytona that night. The conference ran over the expected time and we were tired, hungry but spiritually satisfied. No one really felt like driving back to Daytona so we decided to stay the night in Jacksonville. We are hotel and resort queens and we take several vacations or getaways each year though we prefer to call them spiritual retreats. We have stayed in some of the best hotels in Florida and have traveled from Tampa to Key West on our excursions. That's the perks of living in Florida, being single and having grown children.  The only problem this time is- we didn't pack a bag or do like we usually do and over-pack. Jill, Robbin and Diane all were scheduled to work the following morning.  Robbin and Diane are Dentist and Jill assist Robbin (and Diane when she works at Robbin practice). The conference is to continue the following day and none of really wanted to miss it.We have witness God do miraculous things in the Iron Sharpens Iron conference over the years. Robbin cancelled all her appointment for that next day therefore freeing herself, Jill and Diane.

All we have to wear are the clothes on our backs. We all wore blue jeans with matching jackets and different colored   blouses that matched our boots. Or outfits were coincidental and not some pathetic attempt to recapture our lost childhood by dressing alike(and no we're not to old for blue jean suits). We went to Walmart in the middle of the night and purchase underwear, tooth brushes, new matching blouses, night shirts, rollers and night caps. Making the decision to stay in Jacksonville did something for us that night. It made us feel more adventurous and less reserved. Suddenly life was not mundane and planned. We were no longer frightened and ordinary but free and courageous.

It's been eight months since I moved from Florida. I missed my friends and sisters in the Lord. I missed the spiritual connection, the long talks about Jesus and the way we each worship in our own broken imperfection. Since I've been back in Florida I have paid more attention to my friends and sisters in the Lord, and my biological sister Jill. It's almost like my time away made them more precious to me. I found myself really looking at them. Diane made a statement about the women she employs not knowing her and treating her as if she barely exist. I looked over at her and thought about the sensitive, kind soft-spoken women I have come to know as my friend. She has shared her pain and we have learned how to be transparent with each other. I find it hard to believe anyone could come into the present of this women of God, and miss the calm grace that only comes with brokenness. I saw the hurt and confusion in her eyes as she whispered this to me. I could see her vulnerability and distress. I watched as she lifted her hands in praise to the God that accepts her. I see the deep hunger in her to know God better; to go deeper so that she can rise above all the hurt and rejection.

Robbin has a rough exterior and a soft heart. We have had more then our share of disagreements. At first glance you would see her as controlling and bossy. She really not controlling or bossy, she just has a need to make everything pleasant and secure for those around her. She's spiritually perceptive and she's blunt and outspoken, but she always has your best interest at heart. Once you get over the initial deliverance of her message you usually come to see the wisdom in her words. She's thoughtful, generous and funny. It's always a treat to look at the world through Robbin's eyes. She mostly sees the best in people and things. She can make the most mediocre subject interesting and exciting. Her easy excitability is contagious and you'll find yourself sweep-up in her euphoria. I watch as she raises her hand to worship, even her worship is filled with excitement. Her worship is pure and untainted even when she quietly raises her heart with her eyes closes you know Abba has her whole heart.

Jill has never been a quiet person, I watch as she amen the word of God with the enthusiasm only Jill could get away with. Jill is quirky and funny and she makes up words and sayings that spread among her peers. She  original and different from anyone you will ever meet.  For instance in order not to say anything negative about anyone or her state of mind she makes up phrases; instead saying someone is annoying her or "getting on her nerves." she'll say they're "burning her fat." Jill's funny and extremely sensitive though she sometimes hide it. I watched as she worshiped Abba in her loud happy way. Periodically she would look at me. I know that look she has given it to me for years. She is asking me if she's okay, is it alright to express herself the way she did. She has always looked to me for confirmation. And  I, like the big sister I have always been to her; give her the you're okay look. She so soft and vulnerable. We all are.

I chatter on and on sometimes and will repeat myself. My stories are sometimes long and slow, but with each other we have found acceptance, love and friendship. Our mutual bond is our love for Jesus and our need to belong and our genuine like of each others company. I realize how much I have missed them. I'm so glad to be with them again if it's only for a moment. I'm glad that I have found a spiritual connection with such awesome women of God.