Fearless Reflections

Adoption: part one

2012-02-02T16:05:00.009-05:00

I know this post would not go over well in some religious circles. It really doesn't matter does it? We should always tell the truth as God gives it to us. I'm definitely not a biblical scholar, I lay no claim to anything except a relationship with my heavenly Father. This is not a disclaimer, just fact. Some will think that I'm insane or unstable, I'm not! What I'm about to expose on theses pages are true. I have changed the names of the children to protect them. I may not be as nice to the witches-oh well. You know who you are and so do I. You will find out why. The bible says to have no fellowship with the works of darkness, but rather reprove(expose) them. I have enclosed prayer in this post.

Father, I asked you to bless those that read and believe. I bind all demonic and second heaven activities, and every spirit assigned against my assignment. Holy Spirit have your way. I bind all mind binding, and blinding spirits that would try to come against anyone reading these pages . I pray that you exposed the enemy and bring him to an open shame. I decree and declare that the people of God will exercise discernment between what is light and what is darkness. I ask that the eyes of our understanding be open to your Divine truth. I declare that the people of God will not be ignorant of the devices of the enemy. That they will sharply detect the wiles of the satan. I come up against witchcraft in all it's forms in the name of Jesus. I break in pieces every spiritual cauldrons, and stirring pots, I break the power of all incantation, proliferation, chains, fetters, snares,and all witchcraft spell, voodoo spell, satanic spell, hexes, vexes, and curses, Father I ask that you destroy the power of all witchcraft prayer, psychic prayers, every idle word spoken against your original plan in Jesus name. I decree and declare they will not stand; they shall not come to pass; they shall not take root and all their violent verbal dealing are returned to the sender double-fold in the name of Jesus. No weapon formed against the people of God shall prosper, and every evil trap lain in the spirit is set off before we get to it.. In Jesus name!

It started one day about two years ago. I was working at a dermatological surgery center. I was overworked and wore many hats in the office. I was the mother hen so to speak. All staff, doctor, accounts payable and receivable, pay check , billing issues and some patient care hung on my shoulder. It wore me down. I had a constant headache and had started experiencing heart palpitations. In order to get through the day, I would go to work a hour early, so that I could pray for that day. I would sit outside in front of the building and cry out to God in distress. The office building next door to the office had been empty for the four years that I had worked for the company. The building had recently opened, I was curious to what company had required the office space. I found out it was a school for high school children that had emotional and behavior problems in the public school system. Now every morning during my quiet prayer time, I would hear the robustious ranting of teenagers going down the wrong path.

During this time my prayers started to change. I had asked the Lord to teach me to pray. He told me don't be afraid to pray the Psalms and he started teaching me what some biblical words meant, like Belial-worthless, evil and wicked, he would say stuff like I hate that spirit Jezebel, it kills my prophets. He taught me to pray spiritual warfare prayers. For years I had gotten the prophecy that I would cast out demons. Even though that's what Jesus and the apostles did, I wanted no parts of it. God would not let me get away from it. I ran like Jonah ran from Nineveh. God pursued me and put me in situations that had me so scared; I would make a mistake, and allow his spirit out, the demons had no choice but to flee.

Four years earlier: While attending a different church, in a different state strange things started happening in church. I find out that people in the church were using witchcraft, one lady went to a voodoo priest to get something to get rid of me, permanently. A couple of month before that incident the Lord spoke to me and said, "they're going to want you dead, but nothing by any means will harm you". I had no idea what he was talking about. I didn't think I posed a threat to anyone and I definitely didn't feel as if I had any enemies. My ministry had just started and to be honest I didn't have a clue as to what I was doing. I didn't want to be the target of death threats, so I told the Lord, "No thank you, I'm not signing up for that one." In the army of the Lord some people can enlist and some are just drafted. I was drafted, he didn't care that I was a flatfooted, lilylivered coward. He told me I had courage because he put it in me. That's when he gave me the name Fearless.

The day the hex was to be put on me I prayed the 91st Psalms before service. I found out later that- Two women in the church came up with a foggy wet substance from some voodoo priest. One women thought her husband was attracted to me and the other felt I was favored, because I had been given the Wednesday night slot for ministry, and I had to speak on some given Sunday's. As scared and unsure of myself as I was I would have gladly given her have the floor. I had no desire for the others one's short fat balding potbellied husband, in my opinion both of them were being ridiculous. Ridiculous or not, they devised a scheme for my demise. They were bigger than me, scary and refused to hug me before church started this particular Sunday. One even walked up to me and put her hand out to me as if we were about to become opponents in a match that she was sure to win. I reluctantly shook it, mostly because the church was filling up and I didn't want to appear rude. The two of them walked to the back of the church, leaving me trembling in fear of getting beat-up. I got up and started silently quoting Psalms 27. When they came back to were I was standing one was coming up to me as if to hug or pray for me. I could see the foggy substance in a small oil bottle. As she got to me and hugged me, I whispered in her ear, Shirley I love you , but I'm standing on the truth. Then I hear a loud growl come out her mouth and suddenly without warning, I hear and feel something really loud and powerful come from me. It reminded me of a train. It had totally taken over my body. Shirley's body was twisting and distorting as this power came forth. What was in me was clearly the aggressor and seemed to back Shirley up into a corner. I could not hear what was coming out of my mouth, I could only feel it. From my peripheral vision, I see the other woman (the one who shook my hand) grab her bible and run out of the church. Finally Shirley lay in a heap and I hear myself saying in a loud voice, "LOOSE HER". I looked up and everyone in the church is staring at me with their mouths hanging open. I put my head down and sit down in embarrassment. In my head I reprimanded Jesus. "I wish you would have let me know you were going to do that, now they're going to hate me for real." No one said anything to me the rest of the service or afterward. I wanted to defend myself and explain that that wasn't me but no one gave me a chance.

I thought I gotten my chance when at 6:00am the following morning the pastor called me, but before I could make it known, he attacked me and asked me "Who gave you the authority to cast out demons in my church." If he would have worded it any other way, I may have tried to explain myself and Jesus. With God things has a way of going his way. My reply was not the self-defense one I had rehearsed for the past several hours. I said , "You know who, if you have a problem with it, I suggest you take it up with Jesus," in a snarky voice, before hanging up the phone on him. I never went back to that congregation, although several members called me and told me what had really happened that day. The one who ran out the church confessed the plot, swearing she was an innocent player. A few weeks later God told me to move to Florida. I was there within a week. I started attending a nice Messianic Jewish congregation. God told me he was giving me pastors after his own heart, because I needed to heal. He also told me my biggest problem is that, I don't know who I am and that he didn't want me in ministry now, he wanted me to learn to "rest," in him. It seemed like a good plan to me, one of the best God had come up with, so far as I was concerned.

I love my new pastors Alyosha and Jody and they love me. They called themselves my spiritual abba and emma. Hebrew for mother and father. Jody always calls me her, "Beautiful One," and I loved my new moniker. In their congregation I found true acceptance, and healing of all the wounds that life and the church had afflicted on me. I was loved as I rested in my heavenly Abba. Like all good things, after awhile it came to an end. Four years after meeting them, God moved them to Israel to ministry to his beloved Israelis. The day they made aliyah(legal immigration to Israel) I was livid.

Before they left, they were instructed by God to have a service to bless me to go forth into ministry. My time of healing and waiting was over. I didn't want to feel grown-up and responsible again. The day of my service, Alyosha who also happens to be a Psalmist played a beautiful heavenly melody that Abba gave him just for me. To this day I can not hear it without crying in thanksgiving and gratitude. Alyosha also told me what my name means in Hebrew, it's Abria and it means strong and High Father and Father sees. When Alyosha told me that it meant strong, I frowned because all the other women in the congregation, who got the meaning of their names, were named after flowers. You would have thought he said, my name is Samson, but all of a sudden things became clear to me. God told me I'm a blood washed daughter of the Most "High," God. My Father is HIGH and I'm strong and I have always been strong. No matter what oppositions I had faced in life I overcame them because, my name meant strong. All through the bible names have meaning and the character of that person fit. Sometimes he changed their names and their character; like Saul to Paul, he let Peter know he was a "rock.' Each time he spoke their names to them they were transformed. My identity had been spoken into me. God let me know who I am. And I remembered him telling me that my biggest problem was, " You don't know who you are.".... That's when I met the children.

At this time, as I'm sitting in front of my place of employment praying for some release from the stress of that job. I get bombarded with these juvenile delinquents. They're loud, obnoxious and disrespectful. I started watching them and praying for them. My prayers changed from those beggy, desperate prayer to prayers of deliverance and healing for these children. I asked the Lord to send someone to help them. Unbeknownst to me that someone, is going to be me. The first child that spoke to me is a boy of sixteen or seventeen, we will call him James. He's tall and handsome, but very hyper. He moves the entire time we're talking and his eyes are moving fast and unfocused. His starts the conversation by asking me my name. I tell him my name, then he says in a matter of fact tone, "I got raped."

The Pajama Party-a coming of age story

2012-01-29T19:52:00.067-05:00

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; the death of her family member, 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

2012-01-26T17:18:00.002-05:00

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

2012-01-23T13:44:00.001-05:00

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

2012-01-10T18:55:00.001-05:00

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.

Break the Chains... Misty Edwards

2011-12-09T14:43:00.000-05:00

The Freedom to Forgive

2011-12-06T15:03:00.001-05:00

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

2011-11-20T19:51:00.002-05:00

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

2011-11-14T20:22:00.001-05:00

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

2011-11-05T19:03:00.005-05:00

"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

2011-10-27T14:46:00.001-05:00

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

2011-10-20T13:07:00.003-05:00

I remember the day I got them, the little red keds sneakers with the patch of white rubber 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 and 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 were 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

2011-10-14T17:13:00.001-05:00

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

2011-10-13T15:25:00.002-05:00

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

2011-10-10T17:44:00.001-05:00

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

The First Time

2011-10-07T19:29:00.003-05:00

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

2011-10-03T15:40:00.001-05:00

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

2011-09-28T14:04:00.000-05:00

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

2011-09-27T11:07:00.001-05:00

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

2011-09-21T22:00:00.000-05:00

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!

2011-09-15T15:03:00.003-05:00

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

2011-09-13T16:22:00.000-05:00

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

2011-09-07T15:27:00.000-05:00

"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

2011-08-30T15:13:00.000-05:00

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

2011-08-23T16:49:00.003-05:00

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

2011-08-18T16:07:00.002-05:00

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.

2011-08-13T22:10:00.002-05:00

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!!

2011-08-08T10:02:00.002-05:00

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

2011-08-02T11:30:00.000-05:00

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?

2011-07-20T15:30:00.009-05:00

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

2011-07-20T11:15:00.001-05:00

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

2011-07-08T00:29:00.002-05:00

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

2011-05-07T00:58:00.002-05:00

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

2011-03-03T20:02:00.000-05:00

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

2011-02-14T23:48:00.002-05:00

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

The Psychologist

2011-02-11T01:10:00.005-05:00

I was sent to a psychologist recently. Since my heart problems my doctors haven't released me back to work. There's no records from the hospital saying I have mental issues, but the Social Security offices decided I need, in their words a "Mental Examination." At first I was more then a little annoyed, as a matter of fact I was down-right infuriated. I have learned that being sick is a nightmare. I have worked most of my life. I got my first job at fourteen and have worked every since. I have been gainfully employed for over thirty years. So, when I was advised against working right now and the staff at the hospital started this process of disability I thought it would be easy. I did after all actually die..HA! How naive was I? I have had to write books of paperwork. These people have dug their inquiry so deep I feel violated. I want to hold my hands in front of my chest and ask "Is this really necessary." They didn't need all that information to take money out of each of my paychecks or the extra money I paid almost every year from the beginning.I have however been very cooperative. Mainly because I have no other alternative right now.

I go to the referred psychologist office. I passed the place twice looking for it. It was a small building that look as if it may have been a single family home at one time but was now converted into not just the doctor's office but a lawyer as well. I drove into the parking lot and there was one other car in the lot a Volkswagen Beetle, yellow of course. I proceed with caution, because if I was the only patient I thought surely he would at least had a staff member. I rationalized, maybe the Volkswagen belong to the receptionist and the doctor wasn't in the office yet. I walk to the door nearest the parking lot and there's a sign on the door that reads DR ----- office north entry with an arrow pointing, I follow the arrow even though it doesn't look like a door until you get in front of it. Now I feel a creepy sensation as if I'm walking up to the Bates Motel and Norman Bates is standing behind the door waiting to strike. I waited for this appointment for three weeks. I had a vision of a average doctors office, moderate building small but cozy waiting area with two or three other patience in the waiting room that I would start a conversation with just so I could let them know I'm not crazy that Social Security requested I visit.

I walk in and the first thing I notice was not only the lack of other patients but the total lack of furniture in the small waiting room. There's someone standing behind a closed in receptionist office. There is no chair or receptionist. The psychologist stuck his head around the corner and asked "Are you Carlean?" I said "yes." he directed me to come in and go to the back to the last room to the left. There are two rooms both to the left. To the right there's a wall. As I walked the narrow hallway I notice the first room door is closed. By this time my mind is in a total frenzy. "what can I use as a weapon of self-defense? where's his receptionist? did he kill her? I wonder if he need an assistant? should I ask him if he's hiring? is this set-up part of my mental exam?"

I finally reach the last room to the left, I stop at the door and peek inside not sure what to do. The room is scantly furnished and what furniture there is looks miniature, there is a small dark brown table that reminds me of an interrogation table you see in the movies only smaller. On the east side of the table is a lilliputian dingy green and beige chenille fabric chair, directly across from it is a lighter brown wooden chair with two pieces of paper and a stop watch laying on the seat. Near the wall closes to the door stood a empty corner plant stand except isn't in the corner and like everything else in the room it's extremely small, next to it was another small wooden desk chair.

I tried to figure out where the doctor would want me to sit, where exactly would a totally sane and rational person sit. I decided to sit in the chenille fabric chair, It was the biggest chair and the only one with the slightest bit of cushion and even that was minimal. My senses were alert, I wanted to make sure this man with the shabby "little" office didn't get in my head. I had nothing to fear!

He comes into the room and sits across from me. He introduce himself and asked me did I know why I was there. I told him as a matter of fact I didn't since there is absolutely nothing wrong with my mind. He went on and explained that Social Security sent me. I told him I was very much aware of that fact..what I didn't understand is WHY. He said he didn't know but he had some test he wanted me to participate in that would take 30 to 45 minutes. I said okay but I'm not crazy(told him since there was no patients in the waiting room to tell).

He asked me to remember these four things, 1) a table 2) a chair 3) a tree 4) a elephant. Then he asked who's the president, what day of week is it, how many weeks in a year, who's Martin Luther King, and name three presidents since I've been born, then he said four numbers and asked me to repeat them, then six, he asked me to count by threes he stopped me at thirty. He asked me to repeat the four things he first gave me. Apparently I pasted the mind examine with flying colors because after that simple test was over he told me there's nothing wrong with my mind. I wanted to ask him, "How in the hell would you know?" You can go to any house for the criminally insane and get the same if not similar answers( but I held my peace). What kind of little furniture possessing quack are you?" So I decided to give him a mind exam, I asked him what he thought of manage care--Obama healthcare reform? he gave some generic answers, I wasn't the least bit impressed. I knew by his answers he was absolutely clueless, or he was defending the government since they were the only business he had.

He asked me have I ever been to a psychologist before. I told yes I have. I have been to four of them. It started in kindergarten. I was extremely shy and never really spoke beyond a whisper. One day I was called out of class by one of the school office staff. I walked quietly behind her listening to the sound of her foot steps, all the while nervous and wondering why I was the only one called out of the class room. We get to this little office. There was this youngish guy(back then all the teachers looked ancient) in his early twenties. He told me he was the School Psychologist. He showed me ink stains and asked what they looked like, I said butterflies because everything was butterflies to me, even the big black spider I once put in my mothers hand(that didn't go over well). He gave me a bag of potato chips and sent me back to class. I never went back to his office. The second time was another school psychologist this time it was the six grade once again my shyness resembled mental illness. This time I got a place in the big brothers, big sister club. I got a beautiful big sister who took me places like skating, bowling, I never went back to that school psychologist either. The next was after my husband bled to death in my arms, this time I got a diagnosis, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and weekly visits. I would have preferred a bag of chips. I ended the sessions when one day during a session she started crying, my story was too sad for her. People often tell me they don't know how I survived without being crazy. I always tell them it was God and him only. He is and will always be married to the backslider, even the one that makes the biggest mistakes.

The Disturbing Rape Blog

2011-02-07T01:59:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I, as I sometimes like to do- went blog browsing. I like to peer into others lives, mind, heart and thought. I sometimes even go on Facebook and look at new posted pictures of random strangers and their families. I laugh when I see a dogs with shiny ribbons around their necks cuddled up next to their new owners. Life is innocent and free, full of promises and small graces wrapped in ribbon laced dreams. Or so I would like to believe. Yesterday that wasn't the case.

I went into this blog of a woman that decided to remain anonymous, her blog was about many years and generations of incest in her family. She started the blog in 2007 and only posted three times. She stated her daughter had (without her help) just been instrumental in sending her abuser to prison. She spoke of the pain and regrets she felt at not protecting or helping her daughter, or having the courage to help herself. She was a prisoner of silence locked behind the walls of the guilt and shame of her own tortured past. I know that prison very well, every dirt stained wall, every bob-wired fence and demon guarded gate. I lived there for many years.

I was raped as a teenager by a cousin of a friend. I survived and overcame only by the grace of God, the blood of the lamb and the words of my testimony. Unlike the anonymous woman I told my story in a book (Sistahfaith) for the world to see. I bled on the pages and opened my infected wounds so that I could heal and to help others to heal. I did it to save my life and the life of rape victims everywhere. I believe God set me free from my prison to be a ray of light to lead others from that same prison; to offer hope and healing.

My heart went out to that anonymous woman and I searched for a way to talk to her a way to reach out to her and offer her a hand of friendship, love and understanding but as hard as I searched she remained anonymous, another faceless static. Then I found on her blog a beacon of light. She had posted a link to a blog which simply said "Incestblog." I thought it was a great that she found a community of support in whom to find understanding and help. I wanted to join and start a forum or discussion. However my experience is somewhat different. I'm not and incest survivor. So I decided to look for a rape blog. I'm an avid google user and think google knows everything ( I can't seem to hide anything from them). So I googled rapeblog. Nothing prepared me for what I found.

The very first thing I saw was in bold large black letters RAPE BLOG. It boasted of video of vicious rapes,"The Ultimate Rape and Forced Sex Portal · Sweetest Most Innocent Teens! BEST PORN FOR YOU," and that was the non x-rated description. I was mortified and appalled by the sick twisted site. How could someone make movies and videos of the demoralizing,degradation of another person, of innocent teens? What has our society succumb to? Where is the shame and conscious of the person or persons responsible for this trash? What happens to a society where women and children our reduced to objects to be viciously brutalized, used for the satisfactions of twisted lust and discarded and left a broken shell of their former selves?

I envisioned some guy in a dirty trash filled apartment with a small head and big serial killer glasses (like the ones worn by Jeffrey Dahmer) going to that blog, watching the videos and doing some disgusting self-gratification until the videos are no longer enough. I see more victimized and crushed souls. I am sickened to the core of my being. I'm trying my best to write this without throwing up. Lord have mercy...Have mercy.

Jesus asked me where I thought he was when I was brutally raped on a musty pee stained mattress sitting on the floor of a dark and dreary apartment. I told him I didn't want to know. We were getting along fine and I didn't want to be mad at him. He insisted and I resisted. Finally he broke through my resistance and told me. He said he was sitting on the edge of that mattress crying. The King of kings was there with me, hurt with me, entering into my suffering. After he told me that the scripture "Jesus Wept," took on a whole new meaning for me. I believe he not only wept for me but also for that young man that was so sin sick that he could commit such a vile act against me. He was probably a victim of pornography.

In a way we are all victims of an evil ploy to destroy us. That website is pure evil in all it's form and it must be stopped. For the sake of the children, the women, the lonely little headed guy in the big glasses, for you, for me, for our society, but mainly for Jesus.

Jesus Wept..

Fearless

Death to a webcam!

2011-02-04T23:46:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's official I'm going to murder my webcam. I'm so annoyed with it right now I can scream. I see myself as the person who could actually assassinate a webcam. Call me crazy if you want but I see no reason whatsoever that this stupid piece of plastic and whatever else it's made of should live if it refuses to do what it's created to do. I bet if I start stomping it, it would actually record that just for the police. Not only is it annoying me but it's trying to witness it's own demise. What a twisted and evil device. I'm going to cover it's with my red socks and completely destroy it (no sinister plot on my part, my red socks just happen to be in eyesight).

The Psalmist

2011-01-31T17:50:00.002-05:00

She sits directly in front of me with her guitar. Her eyes are closed but her heart is open. From the soft strumming of her guitar to the soothing words of her songs she worshiped the King of Glory. She sung the psalms in perfect harmony. Her smile is radiant as she sings about her beloved. In between songs she gives her testimony. He found her in her brokenness and emotional deficiency. I feel a knot form in my throat. I want to cry, not out of sadness but from a heart of love and gratefulness. He found me in brokenness and emotional deficiency too. Her words stir my heart. I want to worship him, so I sing with her. Her voice is soft sweet and in harmony. Mine is loud and off key. He loves her voice; he loves my voice.

She went on to tell the story of growing up feeling as if what she had to say wasn't important; her parents being emotionally unavailable and not listening to her when she wanted to voice her emotions. One year leaving bible camp she ran to tell her Pastor of the wonderful worship in a parking lot. Like her parents he stops her, he tells her he already heard. That incident devastated her; she walked away crushed, no one thought what she had to say was important.

Jesus met her in that hurt and devastation he told her he wants to hear what she has to say no one else can express it like her. She went on to say we all are unique and special to Jesus and equally as important. I heard people say things like that before but I could tell they really didn't believe it. Most thought they were much more important. She was honest and her words pure. I loved her instantly. After the service I ran to her to hug her and blurted that I wanted to write about her. I don't know why I'm so socially awkward and strange sometimes. She just smiled and said something like "that's sweet".

Her name is Kathy Fisher she sings the Psalms in full, the only known artist that actually gets the whole Psalms in her songs. You worship and learn the word at the same time. She's truly an awesome and anointed blood washed daughter of the Most High God. You can email her for one of her CD's at kathykenny123@att.net

Fearless

The Ladies at the laundry mat

2011-01-28T15:48:00.002-05:00

I finally made it to the laundry mat yesterday. I had three huge hampers full. I think laundry is my least favorite thing to do other then dishes or cooking. Lets just say I'm not the most domesticated women alive. I'll do it eventually but not with pearls and a smile like Donna Reed. I'm more like the one with the frown and mustard stain sweats. I live alone so it's permitted if not required.

At the laundry there were two women that captured my attention mostly because they smiled and spoke to me. One, a young woman with a baby that looked to be in her early twenties, the other, an elderly women that looked to be in her seventies. The baby looked to be about seven months old. The young women fed or attempted to feed the baby in between loads. The baby was more interested in smiling at and watching me. Since I was behind them it was difficult for her mom to feed her with her head turned around. I made some nonchalant statement about the baby, the mom smiled and said she was very curious baby. What really captured my attention is the patient way in which the young mom dealt with her duties. Even though I could see the how much of a struggle she was having the kindness never left her continence. She was my hero. I was once a young single mother and unlike her, I was the epitome of shrew. She seemed to do everything with such love and kindness. She put the baby in the basket with an Elmo doll that keep saying he was ready to go home. I was amazed at the way between folding she would tenderly touch her baby.

The older woman came in and sit beside me and started talking. She told me she had a washer and dryer at home but was having some plumbing problems. She explained that if she uses her washer her kitchen sink will flood, but she paid 140 dollars for plumber then another 350 dollars to have her backyard drained. I asked why didn't it worked after all that work..she said, "That was the bathroom and it didn't have anything to do with the kitchen plumbing!" I gave her my best I'm not confused by this conversation look and said, "Oh." She told me to remember that lesson so that if I ever have any plumbing problems I would know. I said "Okaaay." She went on to tell me about her trip up north and getting stuck in an airport, the name and ages of her children, grand children and even an eighteen year old great grand. Meanwhile the young woman had her baby in one basket and was filling another with clothes from the dryer. The baby started getting curious so I decided to watch her, she started to stand up and was reaching for something on a seat next to the basket. I was intently watching the baby so that I could catch her if she started to fall. The elderly woman noticed I had stop listening to her and was watching the baby. So she said in a loud voice, "She's not watching her baby?" I said equally as loud, "it's hard when you have a small baby", mainly to let the young mother know I was not being critical. She looked at us and I smiled at her letting her know I'm on your side.

The young woman turned to look then she grab her baby and held her in her arms as she continued. I walked up to her and asked if I could help her. She was hesitant but smiled and said, "yes." and I did help her, me the one that hated laundry. I helped her because loved required that we lend a hand when we see a need. It's something about love that spreads like a wildfires. In the midst of my helping I turn and see the older woman holding the baby as the young woman and I put her laundry in the car. My grandmother used to say that whatever virtue or non-virtue you feed would be the strongest. I chose to feed love and not criticism. I do however thank the older woman for saying what she said, it gave me the courage to look beyond my own self-centered thoughts and do what needed to be done.

Fearless

2011-01-23T05:28:00.002-05:00

My Aunt Patsy Jo died a few hours ago. She's a thousand miles away from me like most of my family. Patsy Jo is my mothers younger sister. My mother called and left a me message on my cell phone crying. She lost a sister last year too. It's a very difficult time for her. I have rarely heard my mother cry. I think this is only the fourth time in my life. I missed her call because I was carrying a hot pot of lamb stew to my car, I was taking it to my sister Jill. Before I make it to the parking lot of my apartment complex my brother Pete (he informs me of Patsy's death) and my sister Gina call. Gina is crying. I don't feel anything, I'm numb. Patsy has been battling cancer for over a year this is expected. I'm the strong one. I get to Jill apartment (which is only five minutes away) and she's crying. I have dinner with her and wash the dishes. I'm strong and there to comfort her, all we have is each other in Florida.

I get back home and now I'm alone with my thoughts. My memories of a very special woman that I have known all of my life. The memories are quiet and sneaky like an ally cat; purring to life in my psyche. One by one they creep in uninvited. I can't think about her right now. I'm the strong one, I'm a christian and we're suppose to rejoice when someone dies. I don't feel like celebrating. Every selfish motive and thought that I possess comes out of hiding and run through my heart as the tears run down my face. I want my aunt here with me for when I need her again. I don't want her in a better place. I find no comfort in that.I want to hear her laughter and look in her face. No, of course I didn't want her to continue to suffer, I wanted her to get better. I wanted her to beat cancer's ass.

When I was two and three years old I had a small problem with streaking (I used to like to do it). My aunt who lived a on the same block as we did would walk behind me picking up my clothes, protecting me but allowing me to be me. My mother would ask her why didn't she put my clothes back on me. She always said she didn't see the point I was on my way home. I remember her wedding day, and what a beautiful bride she was surrounded by her beautiful sisters; her brides maids. A year later she came to our house and announced that she killed the rabbit and my mother hugged her and I asked her why would killing a rabbit make her happy(I thought it was pretty vicious myself) She had to explain to me that she was having a baby. As I got older I used to babysit for her and spend the night. Her husband used to make me giant pancakes in the morning.They would be as large as the cast iron skillet he used. As a teenager I almost lost my virginity on her couch( I stopped him before it happened). I told her about it that next morning,she was the only grow-up in then family that I could tell the struggles of my new and strange desires. I was a girl and I was a woman. She advised me not to rush myself to stay focused in school, but if I didn't think I couldn't control it to tell my mother so I could get on birth control. I wish I would have taken some of her advised...any of it.

I went home twice last summer. The first time I only stayed for six days. I went looking for her every day. She was never home. I missed her on that trip. My mother went with her to her chemotherapy sessions and was amazed at her cheerfulness. Her spirits were always so high the doctor thought she could beat cancer even though it looked bleak. I went home the second time last summer after my health problems started. I got in home in time for our annual family reunion (I missed the last five). Patsy was there with some of the other older women in the family. Waiting to hold me. I had just had a defibrillator put in my chest. They were worried about me and I could see it in there eyes. I told them not to worry I now have a "Heart that can't be broken." She hugged me and said "That's right baby," but my heart can be broken, because it's broken right now. I'm sure she knew my heart would probably break again she just wanted me to remember to find the good in every situation. She did.

I have cried for the last four hours. I was seeking good in losing her but the good isn't in losing her it's in loving her and having had her in my life. It's the memory of her laughter, in her love for life and the courage she showed facing death. We had a heart to heart after the family reunion. She had no regrets, bitterness or anger. She encouraged me, she loved on me. She was still walking behind me picking up my clothes.

She's gone...

I miss her.

The Great Transgression

2011-01-14T23:54:00.001-05:00

Psalms 19:12 Who can understand his errors? cleanse thou me from secret faults.
Psalms 19:13 Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me: then shall I be upright, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression.
Psalms 19:14 Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD, my strength, and my redeemer.

I attend a Friday night worship service. We call our meeting "One New Man Arising," We are Jews and Gentile coming together to worship; Jesus having broken down the wall of partition between us and made into himself one new man. I have been with them for five years, we are not perfect people, though outwardly whole inwardly we're not, we come together like the lame, blind and the leper seeking Jesus. Each searching for love and acceptance; looking for our place in a world that has little tolerance for differences.

We come from all walks of life and background, professionally and personally I have little in common with any of them. I am one of two black women in the congregation the other being a dentist) I dropped of college. We're the only blacks. The other black women asked my to read a piece that I blogged I named "Never alone Martin," in memory of Martin Luther King Jr. since tomorrow is his birthday I gladly said yes.

I read my piece with shaking hands and throbbing heart mainly because I don't share my heartache and struggles as much in the meeting as I do on my blog. After I was finished the room got deathly quiet. I wrote about prejudice and pain. It's easier for me to have strangers in far away cities peer into the dark and secret places of my soul. I like to believe that would make the rejection and judgment less painful. It doesn't!

Tonight during worship I looked around at everyone there. Everyone's eyes were closed in adoration of our Heavenly Father no one paid attention to my observation. I looked at one young lady totally immersed in worship; last year during worship every time her eyes closed her face would fill with tears. She was going through a painful separation from her husband. Her sadness filled my heart and I would go to comfort her, we became one in her sorrow like Jesus I shared in her suffering.

Every face I looked upon a different memory came to me. We have seen each other through so much. The death of our fathers, loss of jobs, sickness, our pastors moving to Israel, delinquency and alcohol trying to rob us of our children. We are broken people bringing our fragmented hearts as a offering to our Heavenly Father and each other. Our love is not perfect; it's sometimes zigzag and jaded.

As the meeting ended tonight the other black women read Psalms 19:12-14 and said we should all search our hearts that she believed there was prejudice among us and that she had discovered some in herself and she thinks that prejudice might be "THE GREAT TRANSGRESSION." The thought of that makes me so sad. I certainly don't want anything That sinister and insidious hiding inside of me or the people I love. I think God made color differences just to see how many of us would get beyond it and see him in each other. He remembers our frames and knows we're but dust. There's no superior dust. These bodies are just a place he chose to put his spirit to mock his enemy. He put his spirit in dust and made us his children. We are the children of the MOST HIGH GOD. Each uniquely different and precious in his sight.

Fearless

What iniquity part 2

2011-01-13T01:01:00.001-05:00

Jeremiah 2:5 Thus saith the LORD, What iniquity have your fathers found in me, that they are gone far from me, and have walked after vanity, and are become vain?

I took a few days off from blogging, but I am back. Anyway the rest of the story:

RECAP: That Friday night I get thrown off the alter and probably for good reason. I was annoyed at the stinky breath pastor that was praying for me. I never spoke louder then a whisper but I did challenge her so called spiritual authority. I didn't like anyone twisting my words. She disliked my challenge. So off the alter I was thrown.

I left the church that night feeling vulnerable, hurt and embarrassed. I couldn't sleep that night. The Lord is talking, my spirit is troubled. the LORD tells me he caused the scene that left me shaking my head and troubled because I compromised. I told him that I didn't find it in the least bit humorous. He let me know it wasn't funny and he gave me that scripture (even though I didn't know until later that it was scripture) and told me to go back and ask them "what iniquity did they find in him that they would go far from him and walk after vanity and become vain. I wrestle with him all weekend. He would listen to my protest but not relent. I said I wasn't the right person to send I just got out of rehab, they wouldn't listen to me. I beg him to send some holy vessel that they would respect, they threw me off the alter, they would probably stone me like Stephen( I mention the stoning of Stephen every time he sends me on a mission; it's my hold card I try to play a mind game with GOD it's my way of saying if you love me you wouldn't send me to a hostile crowd..It never works! I was chosen. He has chosen the weak thing of the world.

Sunday morning comes. I wake-up shaking; my stomach is nervous but I'm determined to do as instructed. I'm on the way to the church. The closer I get the more the butterflies in my stomach dance. By the time I get to the door of the church I'm sure they're having a rough and tumble break-dance contest. I walk in to the church wondering if anyone remembers I was the horrible person thrown off the alter just a couple of nights ago. No one greets me. I'm a stranger, a lone soldier and once again I don't belong.

I sit and silently pray. I don't know when or how to say what I have to say. Do I say it during praise and worship? Do I stand to give a testimony and say it? Do I scream out like a crazy women like I did when they grabbed the injured guy? I don't have an instruction manual. I change my mind about saying it. LORD please don't be mad at me but I don't want to say anything bad to people.. Give me something good to say. He said "Everything I say is good." I tell him I don't know when to say it, so I ask him for a fleece like Gideon. If you really want me to say it then make a way for me to talk to the apostle. The congregation is singing a beautiful song. I can't remember the words verbatim. The song was of deep longing to see Jesus face to face one day. I started crying. The tears were running uncontrollably down my cheeks. I didn't want them to see Jesus with their hearts far from him. I have to say it!

After praise and worship and testimony it was time to give an offering. I walk up to the front of the church in a nice neat line that the ushers had formed. I'm in the midst of the crowd. The Apostle reaches out to me and grab my hand as I give my offering and ask me am I "OKAY." I tell him I am fine but I need to talk to him. He says "Okay after service we will talk."

I started going over in my mind how to say what I had to say to him. Do I say the words and walk away? should I write it on a piece of paper hand it to him and run? do I say thus saith the LORD like I imagine Elijah would do? If they try to stone me can I call down fire from heaven?

Service end and I go to the Apostle he beckons the pastor and his wife that's over the congregation and ask them to talk to me. I wasn't aware that he didn't pastor the church. I never saw these two before. I turn to go with the pastor and his wife and she dismisses me with a wave of her hand and say "I don't have time for this. she walks away. Her rejection didn't bother me much. I was too focused on my assignment.

The pastor takes me to this little room slightly off from the alter. There's three or four others people in the room. I asked if we could go somewhere private he says it was okay to talk where we were at. I first asked him was he at the church on Friday and he said no. I asked did he know about the guy that got thrown out he said he heard about it (he probably heard about me too). I asked why they threw him out of the church in such a cruel manner. He said the Lord lets him and the apostle no what spirits to put out of the church. So I asked him if the LORD made the difference in which demons to cast out and which persons to cast out? Was he beyond deliverance? I said he never did anything? Why would he get cast out of the church, what was his crime? He told me he wasn't there it wasn't him. I said but you told me that the LORD lets you know whose beyond deliverance or not. So, tell me does the LORD tell you whose to far gone? He started getting loud and aggravated I see spittle shoot out of his mouth and there is fire in his eyes. I was no longer afraid. I was surprised by the wisdom that comes out of my mouth and the calm of my demeanor. After a little more discourse (I don't remember the words) He yells, since you're so smart tell me what the Lord said. It strange how you can fear a situation until you confront it. I looked in his eyes with my hands on my hip, head rolling, colored girl don't play attitude voice and said. "HE said ask my people what iniquity they found in me!He never let me finish, he shouted "that's stupid there's no iniquity in GOD". The Lord told me to walk away. I walked away in a hurry. I said Lord he's not the one that I should have talked to.

As I was walking out the door who but the apostle is sitting where I could walk right by him. That was not to be. He stopped me and asked if I was satisfied now that I had talked to the pastor. I sit down beside him and asked him if the injured guy had previously come in a caused a problem? He said no, I asked what did GOD mean when he said ask if they found iniquity in him. He said God is holy there's no iniquity in him. He said I belong at that church and demons was trying to stop me from attending. I asked him if in the future he threw someone out can I go behind them to check on them. He got angry and said "NO, THAT'S MY SIN." The Lord told me to walk away and don't go back until they ask me back. Years and years later I still haven't gotten an invite. I never went back and somehow I don't think I was missed.

Fearless

What iniquity

2011-01-07T16:51:00.004-05:00

Jeremiah 2:5 Thus saith the LORD, What iniquity have your fathers found in me, that they are gone far from me, and have walked after vanity, and are become vain?

Some scriptures I read speak to my heart and some remind me of times, places and people. Jeremiah 2:5 will always remind me of the first time the LORD told me to go tell, "His People," something. To say it wasn't easy is the understatement of the century. I was scared!

I was only a few months out of a Christian based drug rehabilitation center. I had been out about a month and decided AA and NA wasn't what I needed. I had finally decided to stop running from GOD. I had been running for several years I ran and he followed. He didn't seem to mind following me. He said if I make my bed in hell he'll be there. He was. Like my sister Claudia said, "I made many beds in hell, I was the chambermaid of hell".

There was this ministry that would come in twice a week to minister to us in the center. I fell in love with them mainly because it was started by people that were broken, wounded, ex-con, reformed drug addicts and alcoholics. They were far from the self-righteous group whose hypocrisy helped me in my decision to run from Jesus. I had found my place in the body of Christ or so I thought.

My first visit the Apostle and founder of the ministry took me aside and spoke to me like a tender and loving father. I couldn't wait to get back, that was on a Sunday. The following Friday I went back. They had a guess speaker a doctor, not only of Divinity but also a medical doctor. He was speaking about the heart, his terminology went straight over my head and I have extensive knowledge of medical terminology. I was confused as to what any of this had to do with Jesus. I had one of my conversation with Jesus in my head that I oft have. "What is he talking about?," I asked, Jesus said he didn't know, his people always complicate, he gave them the simplicity of the gospel. He said the cross is simple.

By then a full fledged deliverance service had begun. Several ministers were casting out this demon and that demon at the alter. One man had the demon of heart trouble cast out. He was told to run and he did. Then it happened!

This man walked in past these two big burly guys at the door. I watched as he walked in. He looked as if he may have had a problem with alcohol but he didn't look drunk. He was limping and he looked as if he had been recently beaten. He didn't say anything he just walked in the door and headed toward a seat. Before he could find an empty seat the two burly guys grabbed him one under each arm, he cried out in pain. Without thinking or intending to I cried out "Stop it, what are you doing?" All hundred or more set of eyes were on me and what was going on. I made a mental note to myself (self remember not to scream out in the middle of a church service).

The Apostle whom I thought the world of spoke up, "What's going on?" the whole church got quiet the focus was off of me. Surely he will put an end to this madness. The injured man was the first to say something, the two burly guys still had his arms but my outburst seemed to have confused them. They didn't appear to know what to do, continue with their assault or let him go. They looked to the Apostle for an answer. The injured guy asked if he could say something, his voice was soft and pleading. The Apostle said, "Throw him out!" I was more then just appalled. I was physically sick but I didn't want to make another scene. I fought back tears and this horrible disgusted feeling in my stomach. Know one else seemed to be bothered by it and service went on. More demons were being cast out.

The Apostle came to me and said I needed prayer and gently lead me to the prayer lined that had formed. I didn't want to make more trouble so I didn't mention what had happened or how I felt until I got in front of the woman Pastor of a sister church that beckoned me to her for prayer.

I went. She asked me what I wanted her to pray for. I asked her to pray that I wouldn't continue to dislike some church folks. I meant it..that was what I needed most at that moment. Her breath smelled really bad like bowel. It made me sick but I waited for the prayer. She got real aggressive and said I had a demon that hated God's people. I told her I didn't hate anyone. I hated how some behaved. She once again said I had a God people hating demon. I said if that's the case shouldn't you be casting it out? She called the two burly guys to throw me off the alter. She said to get me away from her I was full of uncontrollable demons, she was loud and rude. They came to escort me off the alter. I had become like the injured man not worthy of prayer or deliverance.

I went home hurt and embarrassed and trying to figure out how I could have avoided that ugly scene. I was the official trouble-maker by mistake. I couldn't sleep that night. The LORD dealt with me. He told me he had me scream out but I didn't follow the spirit lead. I was concerned about what others thought of me. So he let what I feared happen to me. I told him that's wasn't funny! I didn't throw the guy out..THEY did!

He told me to go back and gave me that scripture in Jeremiah. I'll tell how that scene went tomorrow.

Why I blog

2011-01-05T17:51:00.000-05:00

I was blog surfing today. I read many Christian blogs. Most were teaching their understanding of the scriptures, others blog about their family and how the word of God works for them personally. Reading their blogs(I read many) made me question why I blog. I certainly don't try to teach, most of my immediate family live a thousand miles away from me, I spend 80% to 90% of my time alone. Why do I blog? I don't have followers. I wasn't even sure if anyone read any of it until recently. So really why do I blog?

I blog to laugh and cry, to liberate my soul and understand life, to see Jesus as he is. Not in theology but in the reality of my existence. To make him real to others not just a far off God of the scriptures, but as a friend to the friendless a Father to the Fatherless. To see him in all the circumstance of my life. To know his love that knows no bounds and really is endless. Everything I write is the truth. I have come to realize that the truth is not boring it's quite the contrary. It's wild and daring a hero with reckless abandon. The truth rescued me from the dope house and stopped me from self-destructing. He loved that teenage girl that was raped and beaten and left like trash. He refused to let me perish, he loves me. He cleaned the filth of my sins, he removed the pain of the sins that were committed against me. He called me beautiful. He set me free! Thats's why I blog.

Fearless

Rain

2011-01-04T17:39:00.004-05:00

James 5:7 Be patient therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord. Behold, the husbandman waiteth for the precious fruit of the earth, and hath long patience for it, until he receive the early and latter rain.

It's raining today in Daytona Beach. The sun is hiding behind thick dark gray clouds. It's quiet, the whistle of the birds have ceased. The trees sway, the plants bend but don't break. I stare silently out the window watching each drop as it hit the window; some stick to the screen in massive bulk while others explode into minuscule particles, some strike and roll silently down leaving a trail of rainwater tears.

I love the rain, the sound of it on the roof or beating against the windows; the calm, peace and stillness it brings, but mostly I love the memories it brings to mind. Today the rain handed me a most precious memory. I was about five or six years old.

I come from a family that had an usual fear of thunder storms, all lights and other electrical appliance had to be unplugged or turned off, windows had to be closed and the curtains drawn and we would have to sit crossed legged in the hallway and not speak, as if we were in some kind of bombing raid or natural catastrophe. As always on this particular rainy day I was the last one in the house, mainly because I like the way the rain felt on my skin so I lingered outside until it started. When I finally reached the inside my grandmother sternly reminded me that "Dogs have sense enough to get out of the rain," she advised me to take off my wet cloths before I caught my death. I used to imagine that death was like a big red ball, large bright and easily caught. I remember the warmth of the towel as she dried my hair, the statically clinging of the fresh clothes. I remember sitting it that hallway, warm, dry, safe and protected, surround by a family that loved me. I think rain always bring me that feeling of security. It keeps the bad things out and closes you up in that blessed calm, it stills you to blossom you.

I loved that Jesus waits for the fruit of the earth. His multicolored beautiful blooms, the early and latter rain.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

2011-01-03T12:03:00.001-05:00

One of my friends on facebook made a suggestion for the New year. She said this year we should own our crazy. I said to myself "What a great idea. I suffer from a mild case of OCD. I say mild because that's as much as I want to own. I came up in the church's word of faith era. We speak what we want and ignore the things we have and surely no one would ever own crazy, but here I am looking crazy in her wicked twisted face and saying "I owe you, you're mine."

Owning crazy is extremely liberating. Now when I leave the house and stand outside my door wondering if I left the stove on (even though I haven't cooked in a month) I know it's only my OCD wanting attention.I did lock the doors and the pilot light need not be checked. Or when I go into a shoe store I don't have to have every shoe on sale in my size(the eighty pair I have is enough). OCD you don't need a new pair of shoes, you will not end up barefooted, stop fussing you don't owe me I owe you! And no more scrubbing my toilet three times a day until the bleach burns my eyes. Once will do. My apartment doesn't smell bad so I don't have to buy scented candle, air fresher, febreze, carpet fresh, and plug-ins one or two will do. It's an apartment it's suppose to smell like onions, garlic and greasy food. This year I will owe OCD; it will not owe me.

What I learned in 2010

2010-12-31T21:56:00.011-05:00

For wisdom is better than rubies; And all the things that may be desired are not to be compared unto it.

Each year that passes teaches me a a little more about God, life, love and my own human weakness and frailties. I look in the mirror and what I see is a middle-age woman staring back at me. I see more frown lines and wrinkles, more gray hair. I mourn the demise of my youth. With age comes wisdom probably to compensate for the eradication of youth's beauty. I have more years behind me then in front of me. I cry less and laugh more. I wear reading glasses yet I see people clearer. I listen more and hear between the lines. I think in parables and riddles. I realize outward beauty is fleeing, inward beauty is eternal.

This is what I learned:
God controls all the days of your life.
Everyone wants to be loved but most don't know how to be.
People that need love the most are the most difficult to love.
If someone wants to control you they can't control themselves.
Belly fat is hard to get rid of.
Make-up enhances but doesn't change.
Obsession poses as love.
I can be alone and not lonely.
God does perform miracles.
Everything you do for God is eternal.
Self-deception has an unlimited capacity.
You can't be everybody's friend nor anyone's enemy.
I received 365 mornings of new tender mercies.

Fearless

Death where is your sting

2010-12-29T17:25:00.004-05:00

Hos 13:14 I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O grave, I will be thy destruction: repentance shall be hid from mine eyes.

Five months ago I died. Not the Christian theology of dying to the flesh; I really died so, the doctors and nurses seem to think. I felt like I went to sleep. It was two o'clock in the morning of of July 15, 2010. I have been in the hospital since two o'clock in the morning of the 14th of July. Almost exactly twenty-four hours. I had drove myself to the hospital that morning after intense chest pains and difficulty breathing. When I got to the hospital they did an EKG and said I had just had an heart attack. All I could think about is how much heart attacks hurt and I was afraid. I was immediately rushed to surgery to have a heart catheterization. After it was over the doctor told me I didn't have a heart attack, that my heart was fine. I was glad to hear that. They wasn't sure what happened but assured me it wasn't my heart.

The next day I was under observation which consisted mainly of being hooked up to a holitor monitor, blood test giving every few hours, and EKG's taken. I was told I could go home that following morning. I spent the day like a human pin cushion and as kind as the staff of nurses had been, I was ready to go home. That was not to be! At almost the exact time early morning found me grasping for breath and trying to deal with the excruciating pain. I called the nurse on duty; Kristian a kind but somewhat clueless overweight middle-aged blond and told her I was in distress would she please give me nitroglycerin. She called another nurse to see if she could give me the nitro all the while I'm trying to survive until they figured out what to do. The other nurse; a chubby slightly older brunette came in and told her she has to first do an EKG. I know I was in a critical state but they didn't seem to think like me. Probably because it wasn't them in the pain. The chubby brunette with Kristian standing beside her asked me how I rate the pain between 1 and 10 with ten being the highest. I tried to hid the annoyance I felt at that moment. I said a "ten!" They finally went to get the EKG machine and a young black woman that gave me a sponge bath earlier stood looking helplessly at me as if she wanted to help but didn't know what to do.

I wanted to wait patiently for the nurses and the EKG but my body was having trouble hanging on and I could feel it. I felt darkness settling over me and the pain was unbearable. I did the only think I could think to do. I prayed. Not the prayers that my many prayer book teaches, not the prayers that avail much, or the ones that bring healing. The simple prayer of a soul in trouble. My prayer was simple and I repeated it until the darkness consumed me. I said, "Help me Jesus."

In the darkness my eyes refused to open. I heard only two things one, was the voice of the chubby brunette telling me to take the nitroglycerin under my tongue the other was scripture in Isaiah. I don't know if it came from the television. This is what I heard.

Isa 35:1 The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose.
Isa 35:2 It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing: the glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon, they shall see the glory of the LORD, and the excellency of our God.
Isa 35:3 Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees.
Isa 35:4 Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not: behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompence; he will come and save you.
Isa 35:5 Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped.
Isa 35:6 Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing: for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert.

I felt a push in by back, my eyes opened and I sit straight up in the bed as if pushed from a deep sleep. The first thing I noticed was my bed was surrounded by hospital personnel with lights, machines, and a huge needle filled with what only God a and few smart men know what. And there in that same dark corner stood the young black woman who had refused to leave my side.

I was the first person to say anything, I apologized for falling asleep in the midst of the trauma. Everyone seemed to be to shocked to speak. Finally Kristian said, "She came back on her own," her blue eyes in buck-eyed amazement. Then the lady with the big long needle said, "You scared us, I was just about to try to resuscitate you. That's when I noticed that one of the machines was a defibrillator with big electric paddles and all. All I could say was "Thank you but I feel fine now." Slowly they left the room each one letting me know how scared they were. Only Kristian and the young black woman stayed. She told me I was her very first code blue. Once again I apologized and explained I only felt myself go to sleep. There was no light to follow or tunnel to enter. There was the word of God speaking softly to me as I walked through the valley of the shadow of death.

Like Job I know my redeemer lives. I was thinking of that night today as I listen to Nicole Mullen sing my Redeemer Lives with tears streaming unashamed down my cheeks. I pray for all the hospital staff but mainly I pray for that young woman though feeling helpless refused to leave my side. She came the next day to see about me but I had company so I didn't really have an opportunity to thank her for her kind compassionate eyes that let me know I didn't have to suffer alone. God bless her.

Fearless

Counting the cost

2010-12-27T19:14:00.005-05:00

Luke 14:28 For which of you, desiring to build a tower, doth not first sit down and count the cost, whether he have wherewith to complete it? ASV

Jesus compared picking up our cross and following him with building a tower. I started my journey simply wanting him to break the chains of bondage that clung so desperately to me. Our relationship was built on what he could do for me. What he did for me. I marveled at his free gift; held it in my heart until it became part of me. His love healed me, his words comforted me, his spirit delivered me and his life saved me. He paid the ultimate price. He counted up the cost.

I couldn't help but notice he said sit down and count the cost. Usually when someone tells you to sit down it's because the information they are about to convey will probably devastate you or cause an usual reaction like shock or intense surprise. A couple of weeks ago he told me to sit down and count up the cost. He told me that I would be misunderstood, laughed to scorn, persecuted, lied on, talked about and that the world would not love or receive me. He really didn't paint me a pretty picture. So much for my delusions of grandeur. Needless to say, I took a seat and started counting.

Towers are hard to build because they're tall and strong and you would need a lot of help.First I had to calculate the material I would need. I decided I would build my tower of glass. Mainly because the apostle Paul said we see through a glass darkly. I would have to begin my foundation with rock, that was easy since Jesus is my rock and foundation. Next I would use the strong steel beams of love as the structure again, I have plenty of help in that department. He is love. I'll have walls erected of the bricks of rejection, persecution, self-denial and endurance. The window frames would be made of fiberglass of prayer,fasting, understanding,forgiveness and wisdom. My windows would be the durable reflective glass of the word of my testimony. The inside walls will be drywall of obedience, purity and holiness.

Recently the Lord spoke to me about "His people." He said tell my people I'm coming back soon. He said that we have walked away from the simplicity of the gospel and become lukewarm like the church of Laodicea, that they think they're rich but they're wretched, miserable, poor, blind and naked. I said Lord I can't tell them that, we don't say things like that. It's not politically correct they'll say I'm judging and don't have love. He asked me which is worse saying all is well or telling the truth. Which shows the most love. Then he said count up the cost. I counted up the cost. I chose to love at all cost. I prayed and cried for two weeks. I'm willing to die for my brothers and sisters even if they're the ones throwing the stones.

Fearless

Never Alone Martin

2010-04-16T00:54:00.009-05:00

Never alone Martin

"But death doesn't matter with me now," he said. "Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I've looked over, and I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know that we as a people will get to the Promised Land. So I'm happy; I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord." ~Martin Luther King Jr.

He loved not his life even until death.

I like music. I like listening to music; the intoxicating rhythms of jazz, the soothing melody of classical;the soft whispering lyrics of a love song. I’m not really choosy when it comes to music. For over two weeks I have played this one song over and over. Jason Upton,“Never alone Martin,” from the CD “Beautiful People.” It’s about Martin Luther King’s last days. His struggle to make sense of the kind of cruelty and hatred that would take a young father from his family that would eventually leave him lying in a pool of his own blood.

It’s not unusual for me to play a song over and over. I will usually play a worship CD until I feel completely immersed in worship. It's different this time. I feel a great sadness in every stroke of Jason's keyboard; the heartfelt sobs in his voice as he speaks of Martin Luther King’s death threat. I was captivated by Martin’s tears and God’s response in the song. “You’re not alone; I will never leave you”. In his last speech Martin Luther King Jr. said he had been to the mountain top and his eyes had seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. I remember that speech and even his death the following day with startling clarity.

I was seven years old and living in Detroit at the time; a mostly withdrawn, shy, sensitive, third child of eight. My brothers and sisters were all playing. We had a big wood based television that had bad reception and a wire coat hanger as an antenna. On the television I hear Walter Cronkite booming voice say, “Martin Luther King is dead from gunshot wound to the neck". I was standing alone in our living room trying to understand death and destruction, violence against someone who spoke out against violence. No longer were there dogs and water hose or riot and looting but the finality of Martin life’s blood pouring into a lonely hotel balcony. He was dead before the age of forty.

The summer before that fateful day, the 1967 riot had broke out in the streets of Detroit. Our family had just moved to Detroit from a quiet suburb near Detroit. The week we moved in the riot started. I remember the black smoke and fire looming overhead like a wicked omen threatening to steal our breath; the gunshots, death, National Guards and the Army patrolling the streets in tanks and jeeps. The wild-eyed angry looters; the glass breaking and screams. Our family made a hasty retreat in the middle of the night, my father carried me to the car barefoot, screaming and afraid. We went back to the quiet neighborhood where my grandparents still lived; our refuge and safe haven. My father went back to the riot and a few months later to prison for looting a money order machine.

I still remember the pain of hearing the news of Martin’s death. I remember the salty taste of my tears as they rolled slowly down both cheeks. I retreated to an empty bedroom and went into the closet. I needed to cry loud and hard and even at the young age of seven I had learned to hide my pain. Tears have always come easy to me, which left me the blunt and target of my siblings teasing. They called me names and gave me labels like Crybaby and Sissiecat. I learned how to hide my tears in closets or the folds of my clothes and as I got older in drugs, alcohol and self-destructive behavior. But in that closet when I was alone with my pain; I cried. I cried for a nation that hated peace and the peacemakers. I cried against prejudice, injustice and cruelty but mostly I cried for little girls who no longer had their daddy.

I watched the video of Martin’s last speech and noticed how at the end of his speech he just kind of collapse into a chair with the help of an aid. His body worn and tired his spirit strong and sure. He said he came to do the will of his Father. I wonder if like Jesus in the garden of Gethesmane he cried, prayed and sweated blood in the hotel room that night. Did he ask for the cup to be taken from him? Or reprimand his aids for not being able to stay awake and pray for an hour.

His work has been completed. Mine has just begun.

Early on Martin Luther King Jr. adopted the motto of nonviolence; if they see our pain maybe it will stop the cruelty and injustice. I no longer hide my pain but cry openly with my voice and the pen. I now show my pain and reveal my scars. I cry. I cry for the decay of our society, the haunted look in the eyes of a once strong nation.I cry for our neighborhoods and Townships. I cry for creation, men, women and children, the young battered and abused women that was once me.

Last week I was sent an email and asked to blog about Martin Luther King Jr and a monument in his honor. There’s still 14 million dollars more to be raised to forever etch on the hearts and minds of both past and future generations the greatness of the civil rights movement, and one of the most beloved figures of the 20 century. Please make a contribution to the cause. I have added the link for your convenience.
http://buildthedream.org
http://mlkmemorialnews.org
Fearless

The Bully

2010-02-28T12:16:00.011-05:00

And if thou draw out your soul to the hungry; and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity and thy darkness be as the noon day~ Isaiah 58:10

Today I was looking through friends pictures on Facebook and came across a young woman whose family I have not thought about in a long time. She has turned out to be quite a beautiful woman. Seeing her reminded me of the time my best friend Fran and I decided to rob some little kid of their candy money. We normally didn’t spend our time robbing younger children, but we were short on cash and it just sounded like a good idea when Fran said it. So we hid in this small abandon field a few doors from our neighborhood grocery store. The field name was pimp ally; I’m not sure how it got that name in our small middle class neighborhood, but that’s what we called it. We hid humming a strange tune hoping it sounded predatory to go with our new image. Finally we see our prey, a boy three or four years our junior walking toward the store with his hands slightly extended holding an overstuffed white handkerchief. We pounce on him, snatching the handkerchief from his hands laughing. He looks at us with his eyes pooling over with tears and said, “Please don’t take my money, it’s all my mommy had, she sent me to go get potatoes, me and my little brothers and sister have not eaten today and they ‘re hungry, this is all we have.” As he pleaded with those big tears, I knew. I knew how it felt to be hungry; to have to run to the corner with dimes, nickels and pennies to make sure my little brothers and sisters had something to eat. I knew all to well the hurt and fear in my mothers eyes when she couldn’t feed us. I knew a father that was too drunk or high on heroin to feed his family. I knew.
I stood there with the handkerchief with only part of the money some of the money had fallen to the ground some Fran had in her possession listening as this kid told my family’s story. The story that happened when we moved away from the security of my momma’s parents, the story even my best friend didn’t know. I handed the handkerchief back to him and said. I’m sorry, Fran give him his money back,” as I looked around on the ground for the change that had fallen.
He stopped crying and went on to the store. It took me a minute to say anything; mainly because I didn’t want the tears to start flowing that were threatening to come. When I finally spoke I said to Fran, “We’re not going to rob little kids.” She looked at me and said, “He’s just a crybaby.” “No, he’s not he’s just hungry, we should try to help his family,” I replied. I’m sure she didn’t really agree with me but she knew by the look on my face that I meant business, we would never rob another kid and we would help when we could. I did start helping after that. I once even gave away an expensive outfit, fifty dollar coat and all, to a little girl whose mother was an alcoholic and she dressed poorly. When my mother found out she wasn’t too happy with me, but I looked her straight in the eyes and said, “She’s poor and really needed it, she set me straight by informing me I was “Poor.”
There is no picture of the young woman’s older brother. I don’t know where life has taken him. I do remember watching him blossoming into a very tall handsome teenager. Every time I saw him I felt the shame of my actions that day. He never mentioned what happened that day, but I’m sure he remembered. Maybe he knew he expressed my pain that day. Maybe he knew that I knew and it gave us a certain comradery or kinship like a paternal second cousin.

Fearless

The Funeral Barge

2010-01-30T12:24:00.015-05:00

I protest by your rejoicing which I have in Christ Jesus our Lord, I die daily.
~I Cor 15:31 KJV

I'm on a journey following that road that's less traveled. I had to get off the well traveled, wide road, it was just getting too crowded. Don't get me wrong I really liked that wide path. There were many lanes and only occasionally did you have that hesitant traveler that slowed the lane down. They would usually find themselves on the other end of some very foul words and hand gesture; the finger you don't use in
church when you're excusing yourself in the middle of a boring service.

I've reached this dark and gloomy ocean. Maybe it's the Dead Sea nothing seems to be living or able to live in these waters. As I stand at the shore not sure which way to go or how to continue on my journey, I notice a sign to my right that read, "The Sea of Forgetfulness," and to my left a giant funeral barge with the words "The Flesh," scrawled crudely in bright red paint. I looked down at the large bag I had been carrying since my journey began. It's a large, heavy bag and it has slowed me down and- most days weighed me down. I knew at that moment what the funeral barge was for. Who the funeral barge was for.

Slowly I walk to the funeral barge every step monitored and rehearsed like a bride on her wedding day. As I reach the barge I open the bag. The first thing I pull out of this bag is Self-Righteousness, it is brown and hard and looks similar to a uprooted dead tree. It has skinny crooked limbs and roots that favored tentacles, attached to these tentacles are many smaller but just as vicious creatures. There is Criticism, Judgment, Gossiping, Backbiting, Slander, Righteous-Indignation, Dishonor and Manipulation. I grabbed Self-Righteousness by the throat and held it at arms length. What a strange choice of weapon to use when all I wanted is to be loved. I threw that nasty little piece of poison on the barge with all it's cohorts.

Next out of the bag comes a large dreary Cloak of Pretense, it's faded black exterior is worn and dirty and has turned a cloudy gray, it's interior is dingy,thick and brown; covered with the lice of secrets and fears. I've gotten plenty of wear out of that old thing, I am always pretending. Pretending not to be lonely, hurt, sad, angry, bitter, unforgiving, confused, scared, self-centered, inpatient and egotistic. Those things just doesn't fit in my image, they're messy and reek of sin. I couldn't wait to throw that smelly old thing on board. Love will cover me on this journey.

Next came my running shoes. They're a worn raggedy pair of Nike Cortez Classic exactly like the pair Jenny gave Forrest Gump. Forrest Gump's are in better shaped than mine, he ran for three years, I ran for thirty. It was easier to run then be rejected. So I ran from everything and everybody, I ran from commitment, relationship, responsibility, accountability. I ran from God, his call to me, his love for me. Running help me to hide the fact that I'm mostly selfish and afraid. I ran and I ran. If anyone tried to pursue me I hid. I hid behind the rocks of offense, self-defense, depression, despondency, arrogance and spiritual pride. I hid my broken, seeking, wounded heart. I pulled those rocks out of the bag and threw them on the barge along with the shoes.

The last thing in the bag was a fuzzy brown pet mouse I named Timidity. She was cowering in the corner and shaking. I looked at her little beady brown eyes and whispered softly to her "You know it's time to go, don't you?" As I lifted her from the corner of the bag, I noticed five little hairless pink babies, the first she named Fear of Man, the second, Praise of Man, the third, Disobedience, the fourth, Passivity, the fifth, Compromise. I threw them on the barge one at a time.

I don't know what David meant when he said he "Walk through the valley of the shadow of death." Maybe he was referring to the enemy without, I struggle mostly with the enemy within.

I watch as the Funeral barge sail slowing into the dark and murky water. I hear a still small voice whisper the words.

"It is finished".

Fearless

Fearless reflections: Rainy days and mercy

2010-01-26T19:33:00.000-05:00

Fearless reflections: Rainy days and mercy

Hiding

2009-03-08T00:27:00.004-05:00

To every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3:1
There is also a time to just hide. Times when you're persecuted and lied on and misunderstood. When the tongue of man is more deadly then a mafia arsenal. It's a time of cleansing for me, cleaning me from the opinion of men. I'm in one of those times right now, God told me to just hide in him. I wanted to defend myself and started to retaliate with my own negative opinions..then he asked me one simple question, "How do you hide?" The only thing I could think of was, be still and quiet. Then I looked up the word in the dictionary. Here's the definition of hide.
Hide: 1.To put or remain out of sight 2.To conceal for shelter or protection, to seek protection 3:To keep secret
I'm learning how to stay hidden, of course like everything else in my spiritual journey I stumble. My flesh likes to be seen. I have to go now, back to my secret place.

Happy Valentine Day

2009-02-14T20:36:00.006-05:00

Happy Valentine Day to all the lovers around the world. Happy anniversary to my sister Claudia and her husband Ken. I'm appreciating love today. I just so happened to find this poem and fell in love with it thinking of my beloved, King of Kings. This poem is for old love that's tattered and worn, for new love that's fragile and uncertain how it may survive. For my Beloved Jesus whose love is strong and mighty.

You're my man, my mighty king,
And I'm the jewel in your crown,
You're the sun so hot and bright,
I'm your light-rays shining down,

You're the sky so vast and blue,
And I'm the white clouds in your chest,
I'm a river clean and pure,
Who in your ocean finds her rest,

You're the mountain huge and high,
I'm the valley green and wide,
You're the body firm and strong,
And I'm a rib bone on your side,

You're an eagle flying high,
I'm your feathers light and brown,
You're my man, my king of kings,
And I'm the jewel in your crown.

- Nima Akbari -

Love Quest

2009-02-11T20:56:00.005-05:00

I've been thinking about love lately, the real kind not my self-absorb fantasy of happy ever after. I come to the concussion that I have limited knowledge whatsoever on the subject. My sister Claudia says that I'm a lovebug. I beg to differ, I treat people the way I want to be treated, but there is a clause in that. You must never cross me or anyone I love. Then you have to deal with my nasty little attitude and vicious tongue.
I'm not above speaking very little and putting that person on the pay you no mind list. I will ignore you and talk and laugh with everyone else around us. I will totally keep you out of my sunshine. I will call my close associates and my sisters and trash that person, even though it feels heavy and painful. Then when it gets to heavy to carry any further. I tell Jesus on them. He takes it too, the heavy lifts and I begin to see a different side, I see the God's side. I receive his wisdom. I always have to go to that person and apologize for the part I played. His side is always the side of love. Mine is usually pride or wounded pride.
I'm starting to realize that love isn't easy for me because it requires something from me. Things like service and self-sacrifice. I read that it's kind and patient, seeks not it's own, is not easily provoked, the total opposit nature then the one I possess. I'm praying to be able to love like God.

Fearless

My Great Conversion

2009-02-07T22:04:00.011-05:00

It was a night like any other night, except it was a day that I chose to sleep for the first time in days. I mostly survived on cookies, chips, very little sleep and lots of cocaine back then. When cocaine finally let me sleep, I usually slept pretty hard. This particular night I was awaken suddenly and as I opened my eyes there was this bright light beaming down on me. It hovered over me great and fierce. To say I was afraid is an understatement. By my assessment, I couldn't run from it since it was covering the whole of my ceiling. I did the only thing I could think to do and I closed my eyes real tight and pretended to be asleep. I played possum, but he wasn't having it, he knew I wasn't asleep. Then the kindest, softest voice that seemed to soothe the fear from me said, "Don't be afraid, sit up,clean up your life, come out from among them I have work for you." And I said, "Me?..I don't know what to do Lord." I was sure he had the wrong house, the wrong person! I had thousands of dollars worth of cocaine stuffed in my underwear, a pistol at my side and a hopelessness born of pain and disappointment. I had not stepped inside of a church in at least a decade except for funerals. I was in my early twenties and mostly known in my family as the one that wouldn't amount to much. It didn't bother me that they stopped believing in me. I had stopped believing in myself several years before, on a musty, pee stained mattress against my will.

In the light came a vision, in the vision I was standing in a dark place with a white scarf draped over my head and at my feet were many wounded men. Hundreds of them, all had blooded bandages on one area of their body or another. Then just as quickly as it came, it was gone the light, the voice, the vision. I gazed at the ceiling for what must have been hours transfixed. I knew no one would believe me. If it hadn't of happened to me I wouldn't have believe it either. I didn't go back to sleep. I looked at the ceiling until I heard the birds singing. I went to church that day. I cried as I watched many people give their life to Christ that day, I didn't. I sat in the audience and cried.

I would like to offer you a sugar-coated miraculous transformation, but it wasn't to be. I wasn't giving up my life of sin and shame without a fight. It was too much a part of me. I held on to my guilt, unworthiness and shame with a white knuckled grip. One night of a fierce light couldn't break my grip. He was going have to pry my hand open finger by finger.

He didn't, he just followed me. He relentlessly pursued me like a unwanted suitor that loved me unconditionally. He didn't seem to care that I didn't want him. No one gave him the memo that I was no good. Everywhere I went he was there; him and his giant spotlight watching me, waiting on me. I just wanted him to go away and find someone else to do his work. He stalked me. I made my bed in hell and he sat on the edge of it. I begged him to go away, he wouldn't. He wouldn't fit neatly in my shoebox of past experiences. I couldn't fold him up and tuck him away. He just silently followed me with his giant spotlight and big puppy dog eyes.

He wasn't detoured by my choices either. I started dancing in this seedy little sex toy shop. I danced for forty-five dollars a song in this small Plexiglas booth. It had a phone on both sides. I could talk to the guys and they could watch me dance and listen as I pretended to desire them. Phone sex with a live visual. I hated every minute of it, but most of all I hated me. He didn't..he still followed me.

One night it had gotten to be to much for me. I didn't numb the pain. There was no white powder numbing, no liquor induced stupor. I left the shop with eight hundred dollars in my pocket feeling cheapened by the nameless faces that slobbered on the other end of that phone. I still felt that spotlight and his watching eyes. This particular night when I got home I turned on the shower full force as hot as I could get it.I wanted to be clean. I got in the shower and I said, "Okay, since you won't leave me alone, then clean me, please help me, I hate it all. I don't want those men looking at me like an object to be used for their sexual fantasies. I want one man to love me," I just want to be loved." The flow of my tears were as turbulent as the flow of the water, I scrubbed my skin raw trying to wash away my sins. That's the story of my great conversion. I stepped out of that shower forever changed.I was born again..

Fearless

Ode to the Demon Doubt

2009-01-25T12:53:00.010-05:00

Hello Doubt, I'm glad you could come today. I have so much to say to you, I don't know where to start. So I'll start by thanking you for all the contributions you have made to my life. You have invested greatly in my security and have keep me comfortable and stuck in the same place for a long time. I do appreciate all your efforts. I can't count the number of times you stopped me from making a fool of myself and kept me quiet, and how many times you had me question if God really said that. I can not imagine where I would be if it weren't for you. You have constantly reminded me that I'm not pretty enough, smart enough, thin enough or good enough. I don't know what would have happened if you allowed me to think more of myself. And if your weren't there to remind me of all my failures I may have even tried again. You even stuck with me when Faith came, as much as you hate her. I know you two had different messages, but Faith's voice was kind, sweet and patient and you roared and yelled and made my heart beat loud and fast. I realize now it was only because you demand to be heard and your friends should never doubt..no pun intended. I sincerely thank you for being that voice of reason, you are so practical. You have kept me from venturing into the unknown and made sure I've stayed on the broad path. While Faith has been so uncertain and the path so narrow but alias dear companion I have chose to follow Faith. I would invite you to come along but you don't like any of my other traveling companions. We'll be traveling with Abba Father, Yeshua(Jesus), Holy Spirit, Love, Hope, Patience and several others I won't name since your face is turning so red.I know you only travel with Stress, Worry and Anxiety. Tell them I said "Bye," I need not be rude to them, since you always brought them along when I entertained you...I know you did not want them to abuse me the way they did.
I know what you're going to say, "What about what we had."
It's over...
There will be someone else, though I think you should retire. I know I must have wore you out with all my beggy prayers for Faith while at the same time entertaining you, Stress, Worry and Anxiety. Can't you see I was never meant for you. I will miss your strong arms of bondage, but stronger arms are waiting on me. He said say "Good-bye" and walk away and don't look back..
Good-Bye Doubt..take care of you.

Fearless

What I remember about Christmas

2008-12-25T12:05:00.007-05:00

It's been several years since I really celebrated Christmas. I didn't stop for religious reason. I mainly stopped because I'm alone now, my son has grown and no longer celebrate, most of my family live thousands of miles away. I'm not lonely or sad, I'm just not making a big deal.
Today however like Ebenezer Scrooge I was visited by the ghost of Christmas past. This is what I remembered, Yummy treats and tummy ache. Hot chocolate and gingerbread with whipped cream, oranges, tangerines, walnuts and pecans. Candy dishes full of colorful hard candies. There was cookies and chocolate cake, apple and sweet potato pies, ham with pineapple and cherries glaze, turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes with giblet gravy.
Our neighborhood was always lite with colorful lights and Mr Roger had a Santa and reindeer on his roof and a snow covered nativity scene on his lawn. Our silver tree with a light that changed colors as the light circled, from red to green, blue and yellow. The homemade snowflakes and school art Christmas projects placed lovingly on the tree.
I remember the felicity of the holiday spirit and love and laughter as my siblings and I try not to offend one another in fear of receiving the dreaded lump of coal. I remember the Christmas when I was five my Aunt Cheryl(she was only five years older then myself) calling me a fast ass. I was certain after her saying that about me on Christmas Eve, she would surely receive her measly gift of the dreaded lump of coal, and just to be sure, I immediately told on her. Reminding my grandma that Santa left only coal for children that say bad words..Boy was I ever surprised when I saw her bounty the next morning, I also felt cheated out of laughing at her. The ghost of Christmas past didn't remind of what I did to make her feel the need to call me that, whatever it was I apparently was to focused on Cheryl's indiscretion to remember mine. I still struggle with focusing on others sin while I turn a blind eye to mine. I have learned a new word for that now, Jesus called it hypocrite and said I should first remove the log out my own eye. It's impossible to see when you have a log in your eye.
I remember the smell of pine and spices in the air. I remember the new plastic smell of my dolls and the bright shine of their hair. I remember emerging one such doll in water because she could actually pee if fed water and trying to get her to pee by bottle feeding her was too much of a chore. I tossed her aside after her near drowning experience since her hair no longer shone, but stood straight up on top of her head with none on the back or sides.
I remember itchy balloon slips under my dress and tights that I had to pick lint balls off, and reciting a poem for our Christmas pageant, I remember one year being the angel bringing the good news of the birth of our savior. I remember gifts that I loved and gifts that were practical.
I remember Christmas carols and licking snow of my hand knitted mittens...but most of all I remember, family, fun and being loved.
Merry Christmas...I have to go call my mother and son.
Fearless

On the right hand of Grace

2008-11-08T15:20:00.005-05:00

I first met Stella in a dream two months before I met her in person. The dream was so real that I started writing about the woman in my dream in my journal to God. The day I met her in person was the day that I first set foot in House of God's Glory(My place of healing and worship). As I walked in with my friend Robbin, Stella beckoned me with a wave of her hand and said, in her Jewish mother New York accent "Come and sit next to me!" I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. Robbin tried to introduce us, but was met with a wave of Stella's hand and she said, "We already know each other!" At the time I didn't recognize her from my dream(she was much younger in my dream). As she motioned me to sit in the seat to the right of her, I had no idea it would be my seat for the next two and a half years.

Stella became my rock,confidant and friend. We would spend hours together, mostly at her home, feeding the ducks in the pond outside her back door. We loved sharing vegetable submarine sandwiches, secretly eating strawberry Haagen Dasz ice cream, and chatting for hours. They were peaceful days full of love. Sometimes I would reach for her hand. In her company I found love and acceptance, wisdom and the courage to dare to dream again. I once read that a friend believes in you when you forgot how to believe in yourself. Stella believed in me. Stella reminded me to believe in myself. She had an uncanny knack of knowing what I was feeling. She would say: "you look happy or sad, or tired." Once as I had a bad thought about someone, she said "Carlean no bad thoughts" without even looking at me.

I would arrive at Stella with a hand full of flowers, a veggie sub and the biggest balloon I could fine. I used pick the largest most colorful balloon In the market with a carefully chosen silk string. As I walked through the market I would call out to strangers "Happy Stella Day", and they would light up and give me a bright smile and say "Thank You". My sisters Jill and Melodie would be amazed at their response and wonder why they didn't see me as crazy. It was something about Stella Day that brightend the dark place inside of us. During those days Stella started having trouble remembering. She was received the diagnosis of Alzheimer. Stella got scared and cried a lot during those days. She was worried about not being able to take care of her self. At the time she was 86 years and fiercely independent. Her greatest concern was one day having to go to a nursing home. One day she had me promise that I would never let her go into a nursing home. I reluctantly agreed not because I didn't want to, but because I wasn't sure I could keep that promise since I wasn't a relative. She said "Now I feel better".

Several times after I made that promised I was tested in that area. Once as her memory started to decline and her family spoke to her about going into a place where she could be monitored. She cried and I remembered my promise so I called her and suggested I could move in with her and be there with her, she said "Where will you sleep in a one room apartment",I said "I don't know on the couch or floor what does it matter you won't be alone". We never mentioned it after that day. Her family hired a woman to come in a few times a week to clean and cook and work out a neat schedule for her so she wouldn't forget. The second time my promise was tested was on my birthday in early June. I surprised Stella with a visit to take her out to dinner with me to celebrate. She was so happy to see me, my visits had gotten fewer and far between. I don't know why, mostly because I'm selfish and visiting Stella had turned into a session of her asking the same question and me constantly repeating the answer. On my birthday I was feeling scared and defeated, I needed Stella and I didn't care if I had to answer the same question, I was satisfied with a glimpse of the old Stella. As I got out of the SUV in front of the restaurant, I said Stella wait until I get around to your side to assist you. Before I could get around to her side she had opened the door and got out. She got to the curve and tripped over the curve. I watched in shocked horror as Stella fell over. I tried to pick her up but she was much to heavy. Some of the employees at the restaurant saw what happened and came to her rescue. I beg them to call an ambulance. One of them came out to where we stood and told us he had called for emergency assistance. Stella bellowed in a loud voice that she was not getting into it. She was fine and was not going to the hospital. I looked her with pleading eyes and she tilted her head in determination. I said "Stella please go to the hospital, I'm going with, do you want me to take you?". I was so scared for her I started to cry, Then she told me why she couldn't go to the hospital. She said with tears in her own eyes "If I go to the hospital my family will put me into a nursing home". She held me to that promise against my better judgment. I said "Okay lets go eat". I stayed with Stella as long as I could that night and called the rest of the night until she finally said to me, I'm going to bed now". Then I called her at seven the next morning. It was the longest night of my life. The next time I saw her she said "Didn't we have a nice birthday".

A few months later she went to the hospital complaining of a pain in her shoulder. I knew it was bad because I knew she wouldn't dare step foot into a hospital unless it was a dire emergency. Several of the women in our congregation went to visit. I reined kisses on her forehead as I sometimes did in greeting and she said "Beautiful Carlean as she often referred to me. She was as always pondering how blessed she was, she used to say "I'm so blessed who has it better then me". Usually she would be referring to her small but peaceful apartment complex. However that day it was the fact that she had a private hospital room with a television that was connected to her bed and easily reached. I begged her to forgive me for being selfish and told her to hurry home so that we could have our Stella Day, I promised to be a better friend. She look at me with a puzzled expression and said "There's not a selfish bone in your body". I thought to myself, "Boy, she has to love me to be able to miss that". Two days later she had a heart attack.

I was awaken one morning a few days after her heart attack. The Lord spoke to me and asked me to pray for Stella's transition. I cried all that morning but I prayed. I said Lord this isn't fair I don't want to pray for her transition I want to pray for her healing. Once again that selfish side of me had surfaced. I said Lord it's hard to lose someone you love, and it's even hared to lose someone that loves you. He said "You won't be losing her love it's going from temporal to eternal". I thought about her quality of life, she had not been able to walk since her heart attack. If she survived she would most likely go into a nursing home. For the third time since making that promise I had to keep it. So I prayed the hardest prayer of my life. In between gut wrenching tears. I prayed for Stella transition to be painless and peaceful. A few hours later Ann our congregation senior pastor called and told me that they didn't expect Stella to make it.

The last time I saw Stella was two months to the day. We had our last Stella Day as she lay on her death bed. I wrote in my journal the following:

I made it to the hospital to see Stella. I first stopped in the store that I usually get the balloons for, "Stella Day". I got the biggest balloon I could find, it was colorful and shaped like a dragonfly. As I walked through the store I called out to everyone that passed me "Happy Stella Day", and as in the past it changed people. They smiled, waved and said "Thank you". By the time I made it to the hospital that strange Stella Day joy had taken me by surprise. Infecting everyone that came in contact with me. My roommate who accompanied me watched in amazement. She said "You would think people would think you are crazy or at least ask what is Stella Day". I told her everyone loves Stella Day even if they don't understand it. When we get to her room the first faces I see are my beloved Pastors Alyosha and Jody. Stella lay in the bed weak and frail a fraction of the Stella I'm used to. She looked up when I said happy Stella Day and smiled and said with a voice that didn't quite fit her condition. "Well lets go have fun"! You know how much I love Stella Day. We prayed for Stella's healing and she started to look better instantly. Stella stayed up and talked with us for hours. When we asked if she wanted to rest she said "no I want to enjoy my family". I asked her how she felt and she said, "Sweating and uncomfortable and since I'm complaining I must be getting better, otherwise I would just lay here".

I left the hospital with a sense of awe over the overwhelming grace of Stella Day. Stella's last words to me was "I'm so blessed and you are one of my biggest blessings and I appreciate you"..The lessons of gratitude, love, acceptance and grace that she imparted to me are priceless. She's one of biggest blessings.

I was taken by surprised by the grace given to me on Stella day. My heart is no longer heavy, but filled with awesome wonder of the blessings and love bestowed me that night at the hospital. I'm always amazed by grace. Always.

Stella said the Lord changed her name to Grace and I for one understood why. If I wrote about her for the next ten years I couldn't begin to tell all of the Grace she brought onto my life. I met her when I was broken, ragged, church abused and loosing faith that there was any true love in the church. I silently walked out of that hospital room, strong, sure and positive that I really do have worth and something of value to offer the rest of the world. She taught me how to love and be loved.

There are still days when I miss her so much that I cry, but I always think about what the Lord told me. Her love is eternal now. Then I say to myself, "I'm so blessed, who has it better them me".

Ain't I a woman

2008-01-28T19:36:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been thinking about Sojourner Truth's famous "Ain't I a woman" speech. It was delivered at a Women's convention in Akron Ohio in 1881. I think about the courage she had as a former slave fighting for the rights of the "Women of the north and Negroes of the south". I've always loved the simplicity and wisdom of that great woman, of that great speech.
I remeber as a preteen during Afro American History month, our class was having a play. We were to choose a hero/heroine to speak on. I chose Sojourner Truth. I read all I could about her, I went to the library, and I searched through the many mostly unused encyclopedias my mother had purchased over the years. I finally came across her famous "Ain't I a woman" speech. I had found my hearts cry, we were kindred spirits. I would one day change my name to Sojourner and speak God's truth. I would be brave and fight oppression of all kind. I was twelve with such a stubborn determination that my daddy once proclaimed "I would die and go to hell for what I believed in". There is a long and winding road between twelve and forty-something. My journey has not been an easy one. My past is messy, full of sin and shame. I have been enslaved in my own lust. I have made many decisions built on fear; whose foundation crumbled under the weight of truth. I put my twelve years old dreams on a shelf for many years, they sat dusty and forgotten. Lately they have surfaced like the ghost of things past.
I think about the stirring of my heart for Sojourner Truth's story, she was born a slave. She worked her way out of slavery only to have her children sold into it. She fought and won freedom for her son. She was beat and forbid to marry the only man she ever loved. She was forced to marry another. She was enslaved by force..I was enslaved mostly by choice. Like Sojourner I "talk to the Lord and he talks to me". And like her I am a sojourner in a place that not my home. I've been a outcast and a rebel. My courage was replaced by passivity and fear. My truth has been silence by the shame of bad decisions and fear of rejection. And yet like Sojouner he speaks to me. He said tell the truth. Sojourner stood bold in the face of her oppressor and proclaimed freedom in Jesus name, She stood up against the religious spirit. Isn't that the same spirit that crucified Jesus, that has caused many babes in Christ to run away from the religious community never to return. The same spirit that told me to sit down and shut up when the fire of God burned deep in my heart. That fire is no longer a smothering heap of ashes from the past. He has put a fresh fire inside of my heart. And it burns with desire for the truth of my beloved. Sojourner is America's Mother of truth. I'm the daughter of grace. Her life was a testimony of freedom in Christ, mine is a testimony of grace and redemption and freedom. "Tell the truth", those words echo in my heart. My daddy had it wrong I wont die and go to hell for what I believe, I will die and go home..I'm a sojourner, and ain't I a woman?

Fearless

Pearls of a great price

2007-12-19T22:31:00.001-05:00

Again the kingdom of heaven is like into a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls: Who when he had found one pearl of a great price, went and sold all he had and, and brought it.
Matt 13:45, 46 KJV

I listen intensely as Jody reads the scripture. My finger massage the smooth surface of the pearl, a present from my pastors Alyosha and Jody. They have just returned from China. This is the first time I've seen Jody in several weeks. I missed her. Jody is my safe person, the first one I've had in my whole Christian walk. That's the sad truth of twenty years of church abuse and the authoritarian movement. I feed on her love like a hungry babe feeds on it's mother breast. I came to her and Alyosha hungry for love in the body of Christ. I have been wounded by the people I thought would love me. I have travel the road of the cross. I was lonely, rejected, persecuted and hated without a cause. I bore it all with silent prayer.

Alyosha and Jody brought the women in our women group a pearl necklace back from China. Each was different and had one exquisite pearl. Jody tells us of the story of how her and Alyosha spent hours picking each one, making sure all were perfect. she said that we were all different and perfect..a pearl of a great price. We all carry something special, love from the Father. She asked us to remember that every time we wear the necklace. Jody is the embodiment of a pearl of a great price and a great blessing to me. Her and Alyosha are as much a gift to me as the pearl that I hold tenderly between my fingers.

fearless

Recovery

2007-12-11T18:44:00.000-05:00

A last love
proper in conclusion
should snip the wings
forbidding further flight
But I, now,
reft of that confusion
am lifted up
and speeding toward the light

Recovery by Maya Angelou

That's for all the hurting women, whose last attempt at romance snipped your love wings forbidding you further flight. For every tear that was shed recently. For the way you grasped for understanding as you looked in the mirror wondering why you're not lovable. For all the hurt and disappointment you suffered at the hands of the men that should have loved you. For the way you've looked for meaningful words when there is none forthcoming. For the end of the pain medication that's used to try to numb the pain that's much deeper. For all the beautiful fragile flowers of God's garden, It's time to recover. We deserve to be loved richly

Speeding toward the light,
Fearless

Love's Tender Eyes

2007-12-01T17:04:00.000-05:00

I look in the mirror one last time. I have on waterproof mascara and lipstick that last all day. I want to be beautiful today though my hair has gotten to long and fuzzy to make sense. I'm on my way out to sit between real beauty. I want to look beyond the graying hair and frown lines on my forehead. My mother stand behind me annoyed at my ability to maintain the family record of being the last one ready. She makes a statement about my pants being to tight and my butt to big. I ignore both. I refuse to be annoyed today. Yesterday was enough.

I remember the icy stare of hatred and the wild-eye look of mental instability. Those were the eyes of an enemy that stared back at me yesterday. I wish I could say I handled it well, that I was Jesus to them. Maybe I did resemble Jesus. The Jesus that turned over the money table because he was angry and discussed. My flesh desired to tear at those eyes because sometimes I think I can fight my own battles. Mostly I wanted God to be my pitbull and attack my enemies. Sort of like he did for Moses when he opened the ground and swallow up his enemies. He didn't.

We walk into the restaurant my friend Stella, my mother and I. The walls are a deep mahogany the decor is masculine but chic. We are met by the rich aroma of baked apples and potpourri. As the waiter ushers us to a table; I look in the eyes of my favorite patient. She's ninety-four years old and beautiful. She came from old money and she has had a passion for sailing most of her life. She fought and won the right to sail in races against men back when such a thing was unheard of and scandalous. Against all odds she won the races too. She has outlived all of her relatives and her only son. I love her dearly and sometimes I call her just to check on her. She says I'm a bully and crazy but she loves me anyway. She's sharp and fiesty and she always gives me a hard time. I give her a quick hug and introduce her to my mother and Stella.

Stella is eighty-six years old and my dearest friend whom I worship with in a Messianic Jewish congregation. She prays for me and encourages me to follow my dreams. She believes in me and helps me believe in myself. Stella life has never been easy. She left home at fifteen because of her mothers indifference to her beautiful female child. She's down to earth, funny and beautiful and I make-up holidays to celebrate her. She teaches me Jewish prayers and whispers to others that she loves me, as she asked them not to tell me. I love her dearly.

My mother raised eight of her nine children mostly single-handed. She has always been there to pick me up when I fall. She has endured more then her share of tragedy with a strength that could only be born in suffering. She loved me through childhood illness, teenage rebellion, as well as adult failures and mistakes. She has dealt with my selfishness, insensitivity and indifference without ever once complaining. She is self-sacrificing, soft, gentle and very wise. She's prayed me through the worse of times. Her love has never failed. She's beautiful and I love her dearly.

As we eat food we can barely afford,Prime rib and lobster and drink wine and margarita. Stella gives me a prophetic toast that Mr Wonderful is coming soon, I said good I'm tired of the Mr Not-So-Hot's. We get tipsy and giggle like schoolgirls as Stella flirts with the thirty-three year old waiter. Then my patient slowly makes her way to our table. She says she just want to tell my mother what a wonderful nurse and person I am. Then Stella join in and they say the most wonderful things about me. I look up into three pair of eyes that love me. Eyes that transcend race, culture, time and financial status. Eyes that have known hate, prosecution, prejudice and rejection. Eyes that have cried themselves to sleep. Eyes that turned away in tears when they had to give away the children they loved because they couldn't financially care for them. Eyes that watched helplessly as their child took his last breath. Eyes that were turned black and blue by the men they loved who should have loved them. Eyes that have known pleasure and pain. Eyes that have found a place in love where failure is in the past and there is only grace in the future. Eyes that really love me, and I'm glad I'm wearing waterproof mascara.

And maybe the eyes that were hateful and icy, wild and unstable are the same kind of eyes, just closer to the pain. Maybe my eyes shouldn't judge or condemn, but should look with the same love and understanding that I received today. The tender eyes of love.

And you know what, my pants are to tight and my butt is to big, but I feel beautiful.
Fearless

Love Story

2007-11-25T09:57:00.000-05:00

I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine: he feeds among the lillies
Song 6:3 KJV

Yesterday I was invited to a dinner at a good friend's home, her home is beautiful. I fell in love with the landscape and view. Her place is off the beach with the backyard overlooking the river complete with her own private pier. There's an oak bench that sits in the center of the backyard near the pier. I sit in silent meditation while everyone else mingles and socializes. That's semi-normal for me, I'm sometimes awkward and shy, introverted and alone. Other times I'm friendly and loud full of laughter and joy. Today joy feels like a unattainable mystery that God has hidden from me. The scenery is perfect but I am not. I'm shattered and broken like shard glass, in a million small pieces. My way is foggy and uncertain. The water is loud and brooding like my soul. I listen to the sounds of the crashing waves, in the river of despondency.

My beloved spoke and said unto me Rise up my love my fair one and come away
Song 2:10 KJV

"What's troubling you so?" he ask. I reply as I did previously "You know", "Are you questioning my knowledge of the fact that you are God". "No" he replies I'm questioning your knowledge of the depth of my love for you."You see, I loved you when we first thought of you. I loved you when you were knitted together in your mother's womb. I loved you when you were tiny and fragile, asthmatic and weak. I loved you when you were a skinny kid with poor coordination all skin and bones and rolling eyes and smart comments.

His left hand is under my head and his right hand doth embrace me
Song 2:6 KJV

"Yes, but do you love me when I'm full of lust and desires? When I rather settle for lust because love seems to vast and great for my selfish nature? Did you love me when I willingly participated as my friend tried on his male whore shoes? When I'm wet and messy full of secrets and fears? Did you love me when I was all hands and arms, groping, feeling, touching places that are sacred. All because I want to be loved. Did you love me when I felt desirable but undesired? Did you love me when I was rejected like the last kid on the playground to be picked? Do you love me when I'm crazy, unbalanced and full of the emotions that I know I shouldn't have? Do you love me when I run from your love only to run to it when my light is dim? Did you love me when the flower of my virtue appeared as withered as a unscented piece of potpourri? Did you love me then?"

I am the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley
Song 2:1 KJV

"Yes, I love you especially then. I love you when you are confused and untrusting, when you were selfish and self-centered full of manipulation and lies. I love you when you stumble that's why I never let you fall. You see, I loved you as I counted every hair on your head. When I bottled every tear you ever shed. I love you when you walked away from me to follow other gods. I cried as you walked away. I loved you as I searched high and low for you, only to be met with indifference. I loved you when you rejected my love like the last child picked on the playground. I loved you when I felt desirable but undesired. Did you doubt my love when I accepted you back without hesitation? Did you doubt me then?

I sleep but my heart waketh, it is the voice of my beloved that knocked, saying open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled for my head is filled with dew and my locks with drops of the night
Song 5:2 KJV

As I sat with teary-eyed amazement pondering the greatness of his love against my smallness. I watched as the clouds hid the moon and formed a heart shape formation that appeared to be surrounded by ribs. I felt an overwhelming warmth that seems to ingulf every fiber of my being. I realized that I was in the center of his heart listening to the warmth of his life force. And it was great and vast and higher then any thoughts I had. Lately I have wanted to lay on someones chest and listen to their heartbeat a life force, to love and be loved. I have wanted to belong to someone. And my beloved willingly participated in my quirky love Jones, because his love is bigger that my smallness. His love is warm and fuzzy, overwhelming and intoxicating. I woke this morning to the sound of my heartbeat it was loud and fast with a rhythm reserved for my beloved.

I am my beloved and his desire is toward me.
Song 7:10

Fearless

Spinning

2007-09-09T21:36:00.000-05:00

When I was a child I used to spin around in a circle until I got dizzy. I would fall to the ground and look up at the clouds and watch them spin. I would repeat this game until I would feel nauseated and have to quit before I lost my last meal. My brother Jimmy told me that the earth moved continuously and we had to spin to feel it. He also told me that we could dig a hole to China. We attempted that feat once, my grandma made us pick a switch ourselves for the spanking we got when she saw the hole we made in the backyard; not to mention the time she had trying to clean the dirt out of my hair. However it's the spinning I've been reflecting on today...
That's what my life feels like lately as if I'm spinning in one big circle and I'm falling to the ground dizzy, trying to feel the earth move. I'm a stranger in this land, a sojourner in a place that is not my home. Everything feels foreign, even my emotions seem counterfeit. I do the same things, but I'm strangely detached. I pray and ..nothing. No lighthearted banter from the lover of my soul, no stern rebukes just this unbearable silence. This silence is terrifying, I try to remember his last words to me. My mind is so crowded with the debris of self-pity and doubt the words just refuse to come to me. I scan the bible in hopes of finding a scripture that would alleviate my suffering; a word to draw faith from..nothing. I feel so empty right now, alone in a place where no one knows my name. All I want is Jesus; I want to dwell in his presence and remove my shoes because I'm on holy ground..nothing.
He is silent and like David my plea is please don't take your holy spirit from me. Where are you Lord? I know he will never leave me or forsake me, but his silence unbearable...no it's not the silence that I can't bear, it's my thoughts that I can not bear. Every fear that I have ever entertained has made an unannounced appearance to fill the void of this silence. I keep spinning in a circle going from faith to fear and back again. I'm dizzy and falling, the earth is moving and I'm just laying on the ground looking up. I'm waiting to be able to rise again.

Heart palpitations and Hospitalization

2007-08-30T21:21:00.001-05:00

I just got out of the hospital, I stayed three days and two nights. I make it sound like a vacation resort, and it was a nightmare. Don't get me wrong the staff were really wonderful especially the nurses. I just found it a little disarming to change places. I was no longer the nice nurse; I was the disgruntle patient. I took my role very serious. They say medical people make the worst patients...they told the truth.

Lately I have been having heart palpitations, the day I went into the emergency room it had gotten so bad that it scared me worse then the other times. My sister Jill and I where in the car, I felt the increase in my heart rate and the blood rush to my head and my heart felt as if it would beat out of my chest. It had been going on for over a month and I had not mentioned it to anyone; I decided to break my silence that day so I said "Jill something is wrong with me", she said "What?", I said "I don't know my chest hurt". I was so matter of fact she didn't see any cause for alarm. I want to go to emergency.

We enter the emergency room, I'm glad to see that it is empty except for one other person, he's reading a newspaper and for some reason he looks to me as if he's waiting for someone already in the back instead of waiting to go back..Maybe it's the calm resignation on his face. I fill out a form for the triage nurse. I know from my many years of triage that I will go straight to the back. The triage nurse takes one look at my chief complaint and calls me to the back. I look back to see if the man reading the newspaper is irritated; so I could give him my best sorry they called me first look. I'm not sorry it's just another heart sickness that I have chose to ignore. The nurse checks my vitals and runs to get a wheelchair. He said he doesn't want me walking as he pulls up with an oversize wheelchair like the ones my three hundred plus pounds patients use. I think of a smart remark to make about the size of the wheelchair, I don't say it..criticism disguised as humor). My heart is racing. I try to get Jill's attention her head is down and she's reading. I'm disappointed that she missed my dramatic exit.(I have no words for that)

The nurse rushes me to the back calling out "Chest pains and tachycardia". The next minute I was in a room surrounded by nurses and medical staff shooting questions, removing clothing, sticking with needles and applying electrodes. All this took place in less then seven minutes. When they where satisfied that I was completely discombobulated they left the room assuring me that the doctor would come to see me shortly. I pick up one of the three magazines I grabbed from the waiting room. As I scanned the front cover for an article of interest the doctor walks in. I think to myself (these people are fast) as I wonder if I was the first patient they had all day. He asked the same questions that two or three other staff members had asked previously. Another rude remark crosses my mind as I look into the softness of his sea blue eyes and melt into the warmth of his smile. I answer his questions with a smile of my own, his smile is contagious. He leaves the room content with my answers. Sure that I was not a code blue.

Dr. Colgate Smile returns twenty minutes later and ask if I drink water, I say "Of course I drink water", he says "Well you are dehydrated", "Well obviously not ENOUGH water", I say and he laughs and promises to let me leave as soon as I finish the IV drip. I promise to drink more water. I look at the IV as he leaves the room, and think to myself I'll be leaving shortly. This was not to be so.

He walks into the room and there is something about his presence that says authority, he is short and balding and wearing a scowl instead of a smile; I want Dr. Colgate Smile back. he introduces himself to me and all I hear is "The head of", he pulled rank, and told me that they are going to keep me overnight for observation and a stress test in the morning. Dr. Colgate Smile walks in with a sheepish look on his face and asked me was I disappointed with him. I felt bad for him and took an instant dislike for the mean, Head Dr. Scowly Face (was that a judgment). My heart races.

Jill brings me the bag I had packed and left in the trunk for "Just in case they keep me", it was full of pajamas, books and toiletries and it was heavy. The orderly weighed my bag and it weighed twenty pounds, that was a standing joke between staff for the whole of my stay. I settled in the room with quiet resignation until the nurse told me that I would have to wear the hospital gown to bed so that I wouldn't disturb the electrodes and IV. I refuse, I protest, I plead. Then the phone rings it's my mother. I whine and complain I don't want to wear a hospital gown. She agrees with me that hospital gowns shouldn't be an issue. We hang up and my sister Mair calls, I whine and complain she agrees with me also, we hang up. My sister Gina calls I'm still whining she tells the nurse that Divas don't wear hospital gowns or anything else that would leave our asses out. Finally the nurse laughs and gives in (was that murmuring and complaining along with a strong dose of pride and vanity) I put on blue and pink pj's yet I have the strangest feeling that my ass is out, I definitely just showed it!). My heart races. Father what's wrong with my heart.

Day one has ended.

It gets worse!...or should I say I get worse?

Carried

2007-08-19T16:03:00.000-05:00

He sweeps me in his arm with very little effort on his part, he's strong and I am weak. I can not walk it's to painful. My body is wrecked with fever my feet are swollen and blistered. I need medical attention he needs to comfort and reassure his baby that daddy is here. I try to make out what's going on, I know my daddy is with me. I put my arms around his neck and gently relax my head on his chest, I smell the scent of old spice and cigarettes. He carries me to the car and places me on the back seat. I hear the sound of my mother's voice in the background "Give her her pillow", one of my many siblings handed me my animal pillow. It's a lion my mother handmade from a pattern she purchased from McCall's, I slept with it every night. My sister Jill said "She's hot enough to fry an egg on", my brother Jimmy told her to shut up, that I was sick and it's not funny. I mentally thanked him. The car broke down on our way to the hospital and he carries me the rest of the way. The memory is dark, but clear. Like an old yellow stained cobweb overrun bottle, clear but the luster is gone.

Father why did you bring this back to me now? I was six years old when that happened.

I wanted you to remember how much you trusted your earthly father to carry you when you were to weak to walk.

Why? I know you, you have something to tell me, to teach me what is it?

I love you more.

I know.

I can carry you. Can you trust me to carry you?

Yes, please carry me; I'm so weak right now.

I am.

The Still Quiet

2007-08-15T20:42:00.000-05:00

As I listen to the hum of the air conditioner and the still quiet of the house; I hear the echo of her voice. She is gone. I feel her presence and smell the scent of baby powder. There is no jumping, running, laughter or playing just this still quiet. It's relaxing and unnerving. My baby is gone home and grandma is alone again. There are no toys to step on, nose to wipe, no skinny arms encircling my neck, no big jumps with out stretched arms to express how big their love is for me. There is just this still quiet; I love it and I hate it. I will sleep alone tonight for the first time in five days, I will not feel the warmth or her body nor hear the sound of her gentle snore or feel the wool fur of Johnnie the bear( who by the way wears spiderman pants and his name is spelled with a "A"). My baby is gone, and I miss her. We had fun and it is over for now. We have been apart for a year out of her four. I missed her first day in headstart, her first dance recital and her fourth birthday party. Thanks to new technology I have it all on CD and DVD, but it not the same as being there.

I wanted to do as much as possible on our visit together, so we went to Universal to the Dr Seuss theme park. I was so excited; we rode the Red fish Blue fish (a favorite book of mine as a child, I had my parents read it to me so many times that I could recite the book page by page, their friends and my sister Gina thought I could read. I also took a picture with Thing1 and Thing2 from the Cat in the Hat. Nia was afraid to take a picture with them, because she said they where standing to close to the Grinch. (I was the only one standing near them!!) Then we went to the beach, and played in the water and made a sandcastle that I was not making "look pretty", because I forgot her sand pail, and everyone knows that a sandcastle made with grandma blood, sweat and tears could never measure up to one made with a shovel and pail. So we had to return the next day with shovel, sand pail (and the Grinch) in tow. I told her to call me grandmommie dearest, she didn't. We made a beautiful sandcastle and I started singing Stevie Wonder's "Castle of Love" and she joined in after listening to the words for a while. I cherished every minute of our time together, and I silently and some times not so silently praised God for every moment.

Every morning we had "praise and worship" together and she said she liked "praise and worship" with me, even though she told Aunt Jill she didn't. She liked to make Aunt Jill tickle her. And every night we watched "Chicken Little" on DVD(over and over) and she know every word, song and dance, and before our time together was over I knew them too. We had a great time and now she's gone home. All that's left is the still quiet. I am happy and I am sad.

DIVINE SECRETS OF CW SISTERHOOD

2007-08-05T23:05:00.000-05:00

The sky in the east is turning a tangerine and blue and the stars are disappearing to make room for the sun. We walked in silence each in her own private thoughts. Or maybe our thoughts are still asleep, lost in the twilight of yesterday. The sun will rise in a half an hour, and we are on our way to the ocean to welcome in the morning with prayer. Jody and Anne are in the lead, how appropriate I think to myself that the leaders of the congregation would lead us even in this, Robbin is to the right of me and Dolores is close enough in back of us; for us to speak to her without raising our voices. Joanne and Connie are a distant behind. I walk with an awkward swagger to our destination, feeling more like a slug then a captivating women. We laughed and talked to late into the night, and with the combination of this early morning rise my determination has turned to a voiceless resignation.

We reach our destination within minutes, a washed out oak platform with seats built in the center on both sides and steps leading to the ocean. We sit and admire the scenery before us. The ocean and sky gave way to the breath of the early morning and has come alive with a whitewash of colors. Jody said the sky "looks like a seashell", and it did. The sun appeared to slightly peek tangerine rays between the thick blue of the early morning sky and the creamy off white clouds. The ocean caught the beauty of each color and mixed it with the aqua blue crystal of it's own. It was beautiful.

Robbin holds the book with her left hand and the flashlight with her right, as she explains the commander of the morning prayer, how we as the sons(or daughters) of God have the authorithy to come into agreement with the heavens and impregnate the morning with spermatic word prayers; that will give birth to the will of God when the sun breaks forth. We all nod an understanding as she begin to recite the prayer from Kim Daniels book "Give It Back". Robbin hands the book to Jody after she read half the prayer. Jody is seated across from Robbin and I, and I am amazed at the way the flashlight illuminate the softness of her features. She finishes the prayer and we sit in silent meditation, believing that the morning has opened it's ears to our soft spoken authoritative decree, we are the daughters of God and we are loved.

The Touch

2007-07-30T19:10:00.000-05:00

She pushes her way through the crowd with determination born out of desperation. Her head is slightly bowed and her eyes downcast. The years of shame, unworthiness, heartbreak and pain are etched on her forehead and around her mouth. She wraps her shawl tighter around her shoulders, not because she felt a chill, but because sin and shame have a way of trying to hide to cover up. She increases her pace with her eyes focused on him.

She remembers when in her youth she tried to follow him; he seemed so distant, unreachable and her view of him was distorted. There were so many obstacles back then. She was a teenage mom. She remembers, with surprising clarity, the shame of her growing belly, the heartbreak in her parents eyes, but more then that she remembers the day her son was born. His newborn scent, the swirl of dark curls at the crown of his head, the selfishness of her thoughts of having someone to love her. She loves her son even though his dad walked away from them when her son was four months old. She was not married to the new guy, but he was willing to take care of her son. She even stayed after he started hitting her. The sin and shame increased and she lost her focus.

The dust rose and settled in symptomatic rhythm and rested on his sandaled feet. His saunter was self-assured, his Deity unmistakable and she was drawn to him; though she feared him. I have to reach him she thought with a familiar ache. Was she mistaken or did she notice his stride slow as if to wait for her, as if he knew she was behind him. No, he would never wait for anyone like me, she thought with cynicism and bitterness bred from unforgiveness and pain.

The crowd appeared to narrow as she meandered her way to where he now stood. His back was to her, her heartbeat raced and sweat ran down her brow, the closer she got to him the more her body trembled. She was close enough to touch him to call to him, to beg for mercy, to ask him to please help her. Time seemed to stand still as she stood in his presence his virtue overpowering her sinfulness, her weakness. At that moment she knew she could never face him, she was not worthy she thought as her head resumed it's bowed position, but before she could turn and walk away her eyes caught the sight of the end of his garment, the hem. She had come to far, life has been so hard and she has overcome to many obstacles to leave without what she fought her way for. She needed a touch, just one touch would help; it would make her whole. She raised her feeble shaking hands and lightly touched the hem of his garment.

He turned and asked, "Who touched my clothing". He looked around until his eyes fell on her. She lifted her head and their eyes met. His eyes where full of the fire of God and a tenderness reserved for those in pain. At that moment she knew that she was loved have always been loved; and tears stream unabridged down her cheeks. With tears in her eyes she fell down before him and told him everything. She's crying now as she types away on this keypad tears of gratitude and thankfulness. Jesus I love you so much thank you for making me whole.

Love's threshingfloor

2007-07-25T21:00:00.000-05:00

There are times in life, when others use words to describe you or some characteristic you possess. Words that uplift, encourage, inspire, some may even offend, however what she called me shocked and left me speechless.

There has been a lot of friction in our office lately; more than usual. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE (with the exception of myself), has something against someone else. No matter how much I pray, speak peace and play mediator the best that happens is a temporary cease fire. The tension is so thick you can almost see the heavy, gray mist of the fog of bitterness, envy, unforgiveness and feel the cold chill of indifference.

In the midst of these adverse circumstances, I lay on love's threshingfloor. There are seasons of love's planting where love ploughs the fallow ground of your heart and plucks out the tares of selfishness, judgement, hypocrisy and self-righteousness; and sow the seed of mercy, compassion, justice and righteousness. Then there is the season of love's threshingfloor; I'm in that season.

It's not easy laying on love's threshingfloor, but here I lay crying out in agonizing pain, for me; for the women on my job. I feel each heartbreak, rejection, unworthiness, shame, guilt and broken dream-and it hurts!

I watch as they attack, backbite and lie on each other. I watch as they do the same to me. I pray, I mediate and speak peace.
I forgive, hug and love. I'm on loves threshingfloor and it hurts.

A couple of days ago one of my co-workers came to me and said, "We were talking about how you are always forgiving and you never let anything change your disposition, we have decided you're just holy...I was shocked and speechless.

Though I could have come up with an argument to convince her of how mistaken she was. I didn't..
Not because I wanted to wear a mask or disguise and pretend that holy would be a word used to describe me. I didn't deny it because it was too precious to me. Like Mordecai, I was honored to wear the King's apparel, if it was only for a moment. I'm still on love's threshingfloor.

Falling

2007-07-18T20:15:00.000-05:00

I am falling. Falling rapidly into nothingness.
Fading fast
I am no longer me, but us and we.
Drifting into parallel
I am falling. Falling slowly into light.
Diminishing swiftly
I am no longer me, but us and we.
Vanishing into truth
I am falling.
I am falling.

John 12:24 Verily verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abide alone; but if it die it bring forth much fruit. KJV

Missing You

2007-07-17T17:07:00.000-05:00

I miss you.
I miss everything about you.
I miss the excitement in your voice, every time you heard mine. I miss the way you called me if to much time had passed since our last conversation. I miss you leaving voice messages saying it's been "way to long" since you talked to me. I miss having you to talk to about "anything". I miss your smile, your voice, your encouragement and your love. I miss your laughter and the shape of your hands. I miss running my hand through the silky texture of your white curls. I miss the gentle kisses on my forehead you always gave. I miss being your baby, I miss being called your baby. I miss the bond we shared that no one else understood. I miss being told what a wonderful daughter I am. I miss you Daddy...I miss you Daddy.

Several times recently I picked up the phone to call you, only to remember you're no longer here; and a whimper inadvertently escapes me. I am missing you.

Singleness

2007-07-15T22:33:00.000-05:00

My co-worker got married this weekend in Jamaica, I didn't go to the wedding, but she e-mailed me the pictures and they were perfect, The tropical outdoor background was a perfect match for her ivory knee length dress; trimmed in black. There appeared to be a soft ocean breeze that gently swayed the chiffon of her dress as they stared each other in the eyes and exchanged vows. She is stunningly beautiful, he is handsome; they are very much in love. It is perfect.

I am single. I've been single since the death of my husband eight years ago. After eight years, I still have not found comfort in my singleness. I have, however, found moments of contentment. I ask a lot of my single Christian friends, how to find comfort and I seem to get mixed messages. The younger ones encourage me to date, get out more, e-harmony; the older ones say I should be more spiritual and the desires for a mate will disappear. All advice is welcome, if not well received. I can't imagine myself on e-harmony with two-hundred choices(the mind games I would play with myself) or even worse having to resign myself to the lie that I don't desire a husband, because it's easier than saying none desire me.

I look at the photos of my co-worker and see perfection for a day. I realize that after the wedding there is real life; and in real life there will be hurt, disappointment, disagreements and a constant exercise in forgiveness. Then I wonder if I should adopt a cat. He could curl up beside me to comfort me in times of loneliness and distress. We could share a meager meal of tuna as I tell him about my day. It would be perfect.

There is a stigma attached to being single in the body of Christ; an unspoken insinuation that you are not whole. Some times it comes in the form of a look, a gentle pat on the shoulder and some times it's voiced in an awkward attempt at match-making. It's hard to find comfort when others around you are so uncomfortable...I am content, satisfied in the knowledge that I'm not alone, I'm loved and desired... I matter and I belong. My hope is eternal, where one day there will no longer be singleness, but unity. All united as one, a bride.... His bride.. Yes my bridegroom waits in anticipation for his his bride; he waits for me, for us..It will be perfect!!

Mouth almighty

2007-07-11T19:31:00.000-05:00

I grew up in a family that expressed themselves. We were loud and voiced our opinions, every one of us in our own way. We were never stopped from expressing our feeling, whether it was hurt, disappointment, anger, joy or laughter. Feelings were never right or wrong, they were simply feelings. I remember once in my early teens, feeling unwanted and unloved, so I came up with the conclusion that I was adopted.

I decided to let my mother and grandmother know that I figured out the truth, and I didn't appreciate being taken from my "real" family to be unwanted and unloved by them. I stood in the middle of the living room floor as my captive audience looked on from the couch. I cried and told them everything they had done wrong to me--in my opinion. I cried "real" tears, nose running tears. My performance ended after about twenty minutes, I thought they had had enough and would be ready to repent of their evil deeds. They gave each other a quick glance, as if to say, "you want to take this or should I". My grandama won. She gave me a look of compassion and understanding. I had won... She said "Who told you ?, I told them not to tell". I stumped away muttering something about them "always trying to be funny".

They enrolled me in drama class shortly after that, I was good,too!

I told that story to say I was never taught how to hold my tongue, especially if I thought an injustice had occured against me or someone I loved. I was notorious for defending the underdog, and myself if pushed enough. I was so use to saying what I thought or felt, that when I went to stay with my grandma's sister the summer after the second grade; I was shocked and confused as to why I was being spanked for my "smart mouth". She gave me lots and lots of spankings... I never stopped.

I work in a place that If you visit every three months, you will meet a brand new staff, some don't stay that long. Several people went to lunch and never returned. There is always injustice, and there's me (mouth almighty). I never thought it was a bad thing, until Jesus whispered to me one morning as I was mentally preparing the nasty, cutting remarks I was going to make that day. He said "I never uttered a word"....Huh....what..."You want me to be quiet?"

I want to be like Jesus, I want to melt down and pour into the character of Jesus, I was made in the likeness and image of God, it shouldn't be this hard to keep my big mouth shut. It's been such a struggle for me. I had a few victories, I told everyone that would listen about them, but I lost more then I won. I seem to have a two day rule, I'll allow the injustice, verbal abuse and nit-picking to roll off my back for two days, then on the third day I'll let them have it with a barrage of words that would probably make a demon blush or very proud. Where does it come from, this fiend in me that would rather battle than exercise self-control. I can't help but feel there's some hidden place in my heart desperately in need of healing. When Jesus first said to me that he never uttered a word, I was quiet for two weeks. My boss came to me crying and apologized! I got two raises in two days!!

Today I got rude, nasty and mean, I feel awful; like a giant God-failure. And it hurt to fail God... I know all my well-meaning friends would tell me don't beat yourself up. I don't want to hear that! I want to know how to be obedient to the Father's will. I need to know how to love him enough to get pass my own discomfort. I need to know how to love others enough to see the person Jesus loves, even when they're being nasty, mean and rude. I need to know how to be like Jesus and not them. I need to repent and to cry. I need to get this right. I need to be still and quiet. My sister Jill and friend Melodie prayed with me and decreed a speak-no-evil fast. It will probably be easy for Melodie, it would be easier for me to give up food and water for forty days. I'm determined to do it though, I'll get it right this time.... I'll pray. I'm realizing that it's not about fighting injustice, it about a soul Jesus want to draw. It's about love and nothing else, (nothing).

Pray for me.

Darkness

2007-07-07T22:44:00.000-05:00

I sit in a corner of my back room in complete silence, except for the sound of thunder outside of my windows. Even the monkey chatter that usually goes on in my head is strangely silent. You know the kind, the conversations you have in your head, some you may have had previously, and they rekindle themself a week later with you being the victor(this time!). And it's dark...

With this silence there is a restlessness and darkness, I don't know where it comes from or how long it will stay. It comes without forewarning and it departs just as quickly.

I watch as he hovers over my head, dark and brooding. "What do you want? I ask, He laughs in his deep sinister baretone voice and said "your joy and laughter of course". "Is she with you?" I ask, knowing the answer.

They always travel together, and like Bonnie and Clyde they're a vicious team. "Would you like a cool drink or something to eat", I ask; trying to divert their attention as I hide the vial containing my most precious treasure. She noticed my pathetic attempt at deception and they pounce on me; with a volley of physical and verbal assaults." You're stupid, ugly, and no one loves you", she says as she digs her claws into the flesh of my clenched fists. "Where is your King?", he asks as he reigns brutal blows to my head, I feel white hot searing pain...Then total darkness.

I wake still clutching my vial, the pain of their assault visable in the bloody, battered mess that was once hopefully optimistic. I cling desperately to my vial, as I stumble into the restless, dark trap they have set before me. I search for light, in this pool of darkness. "Where is it?" I wonder as I grapple in the darkness for my Bible, I chastise myself for my lack of consistency and discipline.

They follow, taunting, laughing, hitting, kicking and insulting. I search the regions of my mind to no avail. My mind cannot comprehend the things of the spirit. I remember! it's my heart! My heart screams his name, as I look out the window toward the hills; I see a flicker of light, is it lightning? I wondered in my battered haze.

No, it not lightning; but Him, clothed in all His Glory and Majesty, I get oddly brave as I watched our enemies flee in terror at the roar of my Lion, The Lion Of Judah. "What took you so long?", I ask in a weakened voice, still reeling from the beating I sustained. "Come on let's go get them!", I say as I march toward the now departed pair; I marvel at the newfound bravado, where moments before I cowered in the corner with fear and trembling. He didn't move, he just looked at me with questioning, soft brown, compassionate eyes.

"Buttercup, what did you do?", he questions. "Nothing!", I say looking around at the broken, bloody. and tattered mess. " It was them, Depression and Loneliness that made this mess, they hit me, kicked me, tried to steal my vial and called me a whore". "Come on let's go", I repeat.

He rephrased his question, "Did you let them in?" And at that moment I finally remember my key. I franticly searched for my key. "It was in my hand when they knocked on the door"! I say . Then I noticed it glistering in a puddle of blood, my blood mixed with the blood of the Lamb. "Oh no, did I let them in?" I wonder as I retrieve my key. The key with the inscription "Love and Trust". He searches the eyes of my heart for the truth.

I answered," I forgot the part of the key that said trust", as I hang my head in shame and remorse. "These are hard lesson dear one, but you must learn them", he says as he tenderly reaches under my chin and holds my head upright and tends to my wounds. "You can only love me as much as you can trust me; love and trust is the key that will lock them out, and the lack there of, will let them in. Never entertain them, not even for a moment", he said, as he soothed his healing balm over the last of my wounds. "I gave you the key, you must use it". "Thank you Jesus", I whisper in a sleep induced wimper, as he kisses my forehead and says, "Rest precious".

And I rest.

Fearless

Come

2007-07-05T14:50:00.000-05:00

As the music swirls around in my head I feel a pull, not in my body, but my spirit. Come...Come, Don't be afraid come.
"Jesus"?
"Yes, Carlean I want you to come closer, but only your spirit can come", he said as he extended his hands to me.
I reach for his hands and I see him, his face. I grasp as my breath feels as if it been taken away, my heart races and I have a feeling of what can only be descibed as ecstasy. My soul wants to run, my spirit wants to hold his hands forever.
"Come" he said.
"You are beautiful", I say; and I know at that moment; Jesus is the beloved, my beloved. "Where are we going?"
He gives me a shy smile, and said "I want to show you something".
My heart is overwhelmed that Jesus wants my love and attention. "Show me what"?
He didn't answer, We just held hands, and swirled to the music, laughing.
"You want to show me your home"? "Are you taking me to Father"?
He said "yes, but not now".
And like two young lovers we laugh and dance. The music stopped and our dance ended, and his hands were gone, his face is no longer there.
"Where are you? Please come back! Please! This place is so empty without you, please"!
"I am here" he said.
"I just want to be with you, I don't want to be here anymore, please let me stay with you" I beg.
"Not yet, you have work to do", he said.
"Can't you find someone else, someone wiser, more knowledgeable in the scriptures, understanding, more disciplined, not as scared"?
"You have chosen greater then these things, you have chosen to place all your love on me, now GO".
I cried, as I walked away, only Father's will, I said as I soldier on.
And I GO.

Scribbled Gray

2007-07-03T22:05:00.001-05:00

All my life I loved colors, pastel watercolors, yellow , pink, powder blue and lavender. Then there's the deep rich hues; red, purple, hunter green and midnight blue. I love them. Colors have meaning though I'm not sure what...The one I'm most familiar with is gray...
My acquaintance with gray started in the third grade. I was the only black girl in my class, and one of only three blacks in the class. I had two bestfriends in class, Ann and Angie. We did what eight year old girls do, we giggled and talked about how stupid and smelly little boys are. Especially Charles. Charles always interrupted our girl time to tell me how nice I looked or how much he liked my plaid skirt with the giant pin on the side. Charles was the neatest boy in class, His blond hair was alway cut to perfection and he wore beige pants and crisp white shirts (always). He was also the one we giggled at the most but he didn't seem to mind...he always came back.
One day, we decided to draw each others picture. I drew what I thought was a perfect picture of Angie and Ann. I proudly gave my rendiction. Angie had yellow hair, blue eyes surrounded by the same color blue cat-eyed glasses. I captured Ann's page-boy haircut and brown hair as best I could with my limited color options. I thought they were masterpieces!
Judging by the frown on her face, Ann did not!

Angie drew a picture of me with the two ponytails and the bright orange ribbons I wore that day. I thought they were all perfect. Apparently, Ann did not! She snatched the picture Angie drew of me and scribble my face gray, and said " this is the color you are". I stared for what seemed hours at the charcoal gray as hot, salty tears ran down my cheeks and seeped into the corners of my mouth. I was different! I was gray! And they laughed!
I did what any self-respecting eight year old, who was unprepared to face the evil of a falling society), would do I grabbed a pink crayon and tried to color them different, and I scribbled so hard I broke the crayon. It was too late, my spirit broke long before that crayon. The veil had been lifted, the veil of innocence that protected me from a world where you are judged more by the color of your skin then the content of your heart. A world where little girls are scribbled gray and pink.

I don't remember being friends with Ann and Angie after that. I mostly kept to myself. I did, however, get a new school companion, a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach that attacked me every morning before school, and stayed with me the rest of the day. I resigned to my new identity. I was gray and I didn't fit.
That summer while at vacation Bible camp, I met a lowly carpenter that didn't fit either. We fit together perfectly, it took years for me to realize it, and a whole lot of colors. My portrait was gray.

I went on to other schools, schools where everyone was black like me, I wasn't accepted there either. I got new colors "yellow and red", and slapped once because I was "yellow and thought I was pretty". It's hard to think you're pretty when you are gray.
For years my world was gray, but that carpenter that fit so well didn't see it. He saw beauty in the midst of all the grayness. He saw all the colors of the rainbow. He rended the veil, and he loves me.

I no longer see gray, my life is now full of a kaleidoscope of beautiful colors and people. I see Jesus in the soft brown of Jody's eyes where there is love unmeasurable and when needed a stern rebuke. In the twinkle of Stella eyes and the beauty of her arthritic, gnarled hands that always reach for mine. In the gracefulness of Ann's walk that reminds me of a beautiful swan; did she ever feel like an ugly duckling? Was she ever scribbled pink or gray? In the light of Robbin's smile, she can always light up the room. In the humbleness of Joanne's spirit, in the joy of Connie's giggle. In all the beautiful people I worship and fellowship with. Yes, I see Jesus and a multitude of colors. I see the color of love.