It Cost to Be First

"You have to be odd to be number one."--Dr. Seuss            

I pushed my way through the crowd on Saturday morning, to find my seven year old grandson on the bench, which vexed my spirit.

It irritated me because:

he has been a natural baller from the womb,
he has had a ball in his hand before he could balance himself on his short legs,
he loves basketball more than snack time,
he has been preparing for this moment for as long as I can remember.

After about twenty minutes into the game, I was distracted by the coach's constant criticism. I couldn't tell if it was from a place of passion or frustration, but it offended my spirit.

I tried my best to "cheer" for the entire team, but the surrounding chaos competed for their attention.

There was another game going on at the same time, which made the whistles confusing to everyone.
The crowd swallowed up the gym up, so there was limited mobility.
And that yelling, was a bit extreme for "elementary level kids" that hadn't mastered the plays yet.

The "over thinker" in me was fueled to fire. I mean this couldn't be healthy! It made for a very uncomfortable experience.

My grandson was the newcomer, the shortest on the team, and played without his corrective lenses.

I'm certain that what sets you apart in life can feel like a burden and a blessing.

Even with the disadvantages and limited time on the court, he still managed to score for the team.

He maximized "the moment" by showing up as his best.

He made "the one shot" that he took.

Later on in the evening, I tried to talk to him about the coach's behavior, but he brushed me off and said it came with the sport. He focused on the highlight of the game--his contribution! Guess it was his subtle way of encouraging me to stay out my feelings. It wasn't personal (to him)!

I don't know if the coach was there to win, teach, or dominate the court.
I don't know if she was planting weeds or seeds.

I'll just take my life's cues from the little dude in the number one jersey! The real MVP in my book!

"If everyone else is to there to divide and conquer, the least we can do is stand together."-Chloe Crace Moretz

Healing: A Sacred Place

I had all my ducks in a row and was ready to launch into the deep, but God said, "Be still!"

Have you ever tried to make "moves" on your own?

Ever had God grab you by the seat of your pants, when you tried to pop your own collar?

When the alarm sounded and demanded my attention, they rang with conviction, "Anything outside of God will not prosper!"

Duh! Christianity 101; right? Our hearts know the truth but that doesn't stop ambition from getting in a hurry.

Recently, "my ambition" was benched with an unexpected intervention. My head and heart were at odds about matters that didn't bring peace. My spirit drifted into internal conflict and held on tight.

God interrupted the whole production! He uncovered the scales and revealed some "soft spots." I had withheld some past emotional traumas that kept resurfacing in relationships. I refused to fully expose my vulnerabilities, which prolonged the healing process.

However, "healing" is out of our hands and beyond our control, so we might as well:

lift the burden of our expectations,
seek God for the right path,
shake the "divide and conquer" chorus of the world.

The enemy seeks to keep us "silenced" by the thorn of rejection. Reclaim your power and open your mouth. Flip the script on the enemy!

Lessons I learned from my sacred place:

1. Your healing is found in the depths of a healthy womb. Heal from within. Unlock your truth.

2. You can't heal from the contaminants responsible for stunting your growth.

3. When your spirit is centered in truth, healing will cultivate clarity, compassion, and change.

4. Your healing may require a season of separation.

5. Bitterness with strip your humanity and clothe your insecurities.

6. In the midst of crap, stuff still grows. You get to decide what that looks, feels, and smells like.

7. The wind will propel the promises of divine truth to unfold and manifest in life with your   permission. Surrender.

8. Transformation is messy but necessary to shift.

9. Keep your hands free. Get rid of the toxins.

10. Raise your vibrations. Don't settle for mediocre.

"Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us."--David Richo

The Truth Hurts

“We repeat what we refuse to confront.” -unknown

Many years ago, I overheard a negative conversation about me that really “rocked” my world. 

Flames of tension rose from my belly and saturated my temples until anger escaped my flared nostrils like gun-smoke.

Emotions of hurt summoned me into a defensive confrontational posture.

I submitted to flesh and shut the talk down momentarily but it continued to grow to whispers of grievances over the years.

Truth is—our best attempts will never silence critics that insist on shedding light on our unhealed vulnerable places.

In retrospect, I couldn’t understand why the conversation initiated such rage in me, because it didn’t contain an ounce of my reality.

Later, I realized those individuals spoke their truth, not mine. They spoke of their perceptions. I was a foreign object that never fully aligned with their ideal expectations. My presence irritated them. My spirit didn’t fit into a container. They couldn't diagnose what they failed to understand. It secretly vexed them. 

Somehow, this past experience filtered the lens of my most intimate relationships.

The toxic words of their conversation fed my insecurities.

It shaped my vulnerabilities.

It insisted that I was bad.

It confirmed the whispers.

It held me hostage to emotions.

So whenever conflict arose, I fled the scene to cover my vulnerabilities.

Most assumed my absence was a testament of rejection.

However, it was an outward response of the rebellion that grew within. (It was my way of rejecting me).

Sometimes, the truth really does hurt; however, exposing it will bring necessary healing.

This week, I separated myself from outside interference.

I soaked in quiet moments of deep reflection and my soul begin to open up to the beauty of things I took for granted.

I fell back in love with things that I had pushed aside, including me.

I rode my bike through the park and soaked up the sun.

I quieted my mind and read a book in one setting.

I did yoga and practiced guided meditations to eliminate anxiousness.

I danced to the Caribbean beat of reggae vibes for fun.

I laughed at my undercover extroverted underpants, cause I'm really not scared to take a chance.

I pushed through the knee pain and jogged a little on the treadmill.

I prepped and cooked healthy meals that I enjoyed.

I cried therapeutic tears to worship songs.

I prayed on an intense level for emotional healing.

Underneath the pile of distress, I recovered me.

My daily life adventures bought me clarity, gratitude, and closure.

Lord, thank you for loving me—even when I haven’t felt worthy or desirable. Thank you for loving me—in spite of what was broken, lacking, and missing. Thank you for looking pass my flaws, shortcomings, and imperfections. Thank you for daily doses of what natural eyes may never see. Thank you for grace, favor, mercy, and daily provision to stand in your truth—even when hurts.

“Any place we have to hide is not safe.” —Beth Moore

Thank you for the peace of His truth and the freedom to be me resting in my belly on tonight.

I Am Not Okay...

"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad." -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I have been hiding at the foot of the cross trying to make sense of the "unpredictability" of nature.

The mountains of inconceivable thought patterns, the valleys of erratic behaviors, and the swamp of illogical processes have surpassed my natural understanding.

In my confused chronological (headspace) rotation,

I have been the victim of a tumultuous, barren Winter.

I have sprung forward as the aggressive, assailant in Spring.

I have fallen back from the chaos, like the voice of reason in Fall.

I have been like the unwelcomed forest fires in Summer.

I have straddled the white picket, neutral fence of arbitration, full of hesitation, when the seasons don't fully align with the peace promised by the presence of moonlight.

I have cycled through a clone of "cosmic vibrations" that offend my spiritual well-being.

Therefore, I have bleed rivers of frustration, convictions of disappointment, and wounds of sadness.

After digging through the oil wells of subcutaneous complexities, I discovered the culprit rooted in my own flawed, illegitimate thinking.

I subjected myself to the prison of people pleasing.

I tortured myself by allowing the strongholds of inhumane circumstances to house my insecurities.

I longed for true healing and complete freedom, but settled for the highs and lows of seasonal acceptance.

Each time, I unveiled the mask, unraveled the bondage, and undressed the Depression, reoccurring nightmares of idols, dressed in long, white gowns, came to administer injections of vague prophecies.

So when you see me: sitting, silent, sad, and suffering?

Know- that I am NOT okay!

There I said it, 'I AM NOT OKAY!"

**Even when your hands can't possibly hold things that your heart doesn't rightfully understand, just send up genuine prayers.**

We're not looking for a fix, but will you put your faith "in agreement" for complete healing?

Acknowledge "the pain" of people's truth without judgment.

In the Alchemist, Paulo Coelho said, "Life attracts life."

What are you carrying?                                  

Seeds of life

or

seeds of destruction?

At the Crossroads of Indecision

“If we don’t allow God’s truth to take up full residency in our hearts, we may learn just enough to move out of one prison into another.”-Beth Moore

As I closed my eyes on the woes of yesterday, restlessness forced my eyelids back open in approximately 10 minutes flat.

Typically, Autumn brings unwelcomed chaos to my nocturnal circadian rhythms, but this was different. I couldn’t rightfully claim an ounce of Seasonal Affective Disorder in this season. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t depressed. I wasn’t hopeless.

However, I felt “imprisoned” by my own thought process.

Each accomplishment came with a unique set of accompanying headaches. There were unavoidable hills of real life challenges that scrolled on the scene daily. The “issues” multiplied like dirty laundry piles in an isolated corner that became an immediate eyesore each time I scanned the room searching for serenity.

Clutter annoyed me. It stifled my freedom. It derailed my purpose. It turned dreams into nightmares, but it also fueled my survival instinct. I insisted on stockpiling for future rainy days.

However on rainy days, my hands came up empty by omission of Godly counsel and self-reliance.

My mental mind-mapping sessions interrupted my clarity by the crossroad of overwhelming indecision.

I tripped on my own feet. I remained stuck in the past—trapped between who I used to be and who I was becoming.

I had traded one prison door for another.

The new sentencing trial came with stiffer penalties:

It convinced me that my gift was also a curse that should be locked up under lock and key. 

It force feed me lies.

It kept me shackled to the past.

It kept me reaching out, instead of up, for the most reliable hands that wouldn’t fold underneath the opinions of others.

Today, I shifted to the promising side of God’s truth.

I cut a new path and took a step forward towards a freedom that outlast popular endorsements.

A freedom that assures that I was birthed with a purpose, a passion, and a posture to "create" in spite of life's GPS warning that screams, "REROUTING!"

A Reason to Celebrate

"You don't need a cape to be a hero. You just need to care."--unknown

I wish that I could say that I was this high-strung, energetic extrovert that people swarmed to like honey, but that's simply not true. I'm not the life of the party! You won't catch me at the center of attention. I'd rather play the invisible wall flower.

For many years, my heart had remained safely tucked away in the rural, secluded nest of my biological family tree.

No outside contact, communication, or communion.

Well, until God decided that I was well overdue to test my agoraphobic wings.

Venturing outside the branches of familiarity, took tons of courage, a brave heart, and a leap of faith. I had no idea what was waiting on the other side of my obedience when those Jericho walls collapsed.

What I encountered through the unexpected journey was a model of 64 years of relationship, unconditional love, commitment, teamwork, endurance, resiliency, courage, honor, longevity, and covenant on display.

Who would have known that a year and a half of Tractor Supply runs, doctor's appointments, and Monday Bingo at the Senior Center would became a hallmark of restoration?

Who would have known that initial hesitation could bring about such joy, happiness, and fulfillment?

Who would have known the love awakened by hearing heartfelt, family stories being repeated about the kids' memories?

Who would have known that I would have the honor to sit at a table to celebrate a life that became one of the reasons that I have to smile daily?

A man that helped me find my voice buried beneath so much pain.
A man that welcomed me into his home, his life, and his family.
A man that shared his wife, his wisdom, and his faith.

Some people show up on the front doorstep to drain, pull and take.
Then, there are others who are the givers of life, wells of unspeakable joy,
and then, "everyday" becomes a reason to celebrate their contribution to your well-being.

When I felt displaced by the abrupt storms, this man offered his umbrella of hope for a better tomorrow and a safe place to land without judgment, criticism, or ridicule. This man helped nurture the broken pieces of an emotionally, scarred, attention-deprived mosaic back to life again.

Happy Birthday to A Real Hero

Demoted

On Friday morning, I fired myself from tending to other's responsibilities, inserting my help where my input was not welcomed, and inserting my presence were it had not been appreciated.

I refused to let others push me out the door, while I posted up in the hallway.

My availability, sacrifices, and offering came with an excessive price tag--my peace!

In my extended weekend of "downtime," I realized that I am indeed my grandmother's child. I am a creature of habit that plugs my schedule to fill the gaps, voids, and holes -just like she did. But how many know, that you can be "busy" without being "effective?"

 When God said, "Cast your net on the right side," I insisted on launching out on the left side. I had subconsciously become a habitual felon. My "people pleasing" addiction had resurfaced and caused me to spiral down the repetitive path of recidivism. I continued to "reoffend" God with my disobedience. I had unknowingly made secret idols out of one-sided biological relationships that kept igniting spiritual warfare in the intimate confines of my heart.

However, I refused to hang out in Egypt for another season. The smoke fumes was a clear indication that this was not my lane. It was not my fight! This was not my mission! I no longer belonged here.

I asked God to change my response, regardless of the superficial flesh attacks.
I asked God to detach my spirit from anything that arrested my obedience.
I asked God to heal the wounds of seeking external validation and awaken the warrior within.

I refuse to remain complacent in a battle field that annihilates my peace.
I refuse to saturate myself with gasoline, so that others can use me as mortal combat.
I refuse to lay down in a grave that others have dug.

So, this week, I'm boldly walking out of the chains of opinions,
out of the forest of guilt-laden darkness,
and into the freedom that God grants me.

You can either stay oppressed by the enemies' curses or either you can reap the blessings of the King.

Serve the enemy notice.
Evict the "peace thieves"
and demote the idol relationships accordingly.        

Under the Debris of Darkness

My halo of frustrations has summoned me to the privacy of my prayer closet on today. My energy barometer has succumb to the pressure to perform. My biggest strengths and most challenging weakness flows from the conditions of my heart. I have continuously set myself on fire for the sake of failed rescue missions. Since obviously, God has never instructed me to do that, it's no surprise that I come out of the flames smelling like smoke. 

I've seen the vapors for quite some time.

I inhaled the smoke, but

I ignored the warnings. 

Codependency has been the fallacy of my unbalance. Although I've detached from the root of pessimism, my love language still gets lost in the intricate translation web of enabling others. Essentially, I have over extended myself to the unreceptive. I have climbed mountains and crossed deserts to offer a drink offering to a population who refuses.

In addition, the more I put my gift on public display, I have endured competitive assassination to my spiritual-being. I suffer tremendously for the oil of my revelations and witness it weaved into others' personal narratives, as if it's their original .My creative wings are shocked and repulsed. It doesn't seem fair.

Should I fall from the face of Earth into the seclused nest of isolation?

Should I abort my assignment in mid air suspension?

Should I bury myself under the debris of darkness?

No, I think not. 

I will cast my cares on Him and finish strong.

I will draw into Him without looking around but continuing to look up.

I will pray without ceasing.

I will rest in the comforts of his grace, favor and mercy.

I will trust in Him.

I will surrender to his will.

I will believe by faith.

I will be victorious.

For under the debris of darkness, comes an abundance of liberty, light, and love!

Unfriended

Life happens to the best of us. Things go south. Heated words are exchanged. Conflict arises. Connections dissolve. Flames dwindle. The best intentions are perceived as the biggest attacks. Bonds become barriers. Distance becomes the norm. Facebook become the standard. Friends become strangers.

Disagreements are like our fingerprints--inevitable.

I received an impromptu letter in the mail a few months back that felt like someone poured a mountain of salt in an open, stagnant wound. A place that I once called "home" wrote to inform me that my relationship status had been demoted. In their eyes, I was no longer affiliated by membership, but I moved to the "friendship role." My heart became convinced that my absence had created space for this entity to question my commitment. My self-worth collided with the tears that landed on the blanket of ink that I held in my trembling hands. I kept re-reading it until I couldn't make out the words any longer. My sorrow inadvertently erased the message, cause I could no longer see the print. My tears had drowned out the words, but my spirit was still crushed.

The personal offense reaffirmed underlying rejection. It bought trust issues to the forefront of my temples. The unleashed tension swelled. It felt like I had just been "served" with a summons to fight for my worth. It seemed cowardly. Even though, the letter stated that I would be moved to the "friend zone," I felt personally attacked. I felt "unfriended" altogether.

Did anyone know that I was in the fight of my life?
Did anyone notice that I had been long gone before I received the notice?
Did anyone care that I was imprisoned in a personal crisis?

Are we so busy ministering to the masses that we forget to minister to the assigned flock?
Are we so consumed with executing in excellence that we fail to notice that we aren't being excellent?
Are we cultivating a culture that invites the "hurting" to show up but aren't fully present to serve their needs?

What could've took me out emotionally, God used for my own good.

In a world of habitual, social "unfriending," God used this lesson to challenge my weakness and silence my reaction. Since then, my prayer has been--Lord, change my response!

Sometimes we need to see "the empty seats" like God sees them--flawed but still worthy!

Don't write people off in their wilderness season. Be found faithful on your servanthood post.

Pray.
Cover.
SHOW UP!

Be the REAL CHURCH!
What if "Jesus" sent you notice based on your actions, would he be justified in unfriending you?

Making Ripples

"The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few." -Matthew 9:37

As I witnessed the heightened anxiousness about the potential hurricane that may be headed in this direction, I have not been distracted by the media attention, nor have I felt compelled to track the progression of the storm. My eyes have been glued to the mission field of a local, nonprofit team that has tirelessly poured their hearts, time, and resources into multiple outreach initiatives.

 I watched as intercessors, missionaries, evangelists, and prophets rallied around the lost and partnered their faith unselfishly with a massive, underserved population. A population that sometimes become invisible, because the needs are so great and the work is overwhelming. A population that suffers in silence due to national budget cuts.  However...

I have seen miracles manifest expeditiously.
I have seen God multiply the manna (resources).
I have seen faith renewed, hope restored, and dreams made possible.

Even with the day to day struggles/demands of operating a nonprofit, I have watched shifts of volunteers log hours of dedication, commitment, and sow seeds to the glory of God.

On today, I felt a wave of freedom drown hopelessness at the Ripple Effects Empowerment Center. I stood nearby as God transformed an ordinary room into a sanctuary of restoration. I watched Him make ripples with the broken pebbles of an exhausted mother who came into the center expecting to have one need fulfilled, but leaving with so much more. I watched the Executive Director step into the water and help the mother navigate through her personal storm to the shore of Jesus. I watched the mother's folded, closed arms become open to "receive" God's love and compassion through helping hands. I watched her frown turn into a smile of hope. I watched her eyes of disappointment become refilled with fresh faith. I watched her darkness transform into light. I watched her leave much better than she came.

"Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." Luke 6:38

Breaking Free

So one of my sisters is about to give “spiritual birth” in the next week and I couldn’t be more excited. With a heart of pure gold evident by her generosity and kindness, I couldn’t think of a more deserving person.

As the time draws near,  I began to seek God’s face on what that “freedom” looks like.

“Breaking free” looks like chains falling by the wayside and captives:

Loosening cords of strongholds,

Breaking old, familiar soul ties,

Reversing generational curses,

Tearing down barriers of oppression,

Severing toxic connections, 

Shining light on darkness.

And rebuilding temples on God’s foundation of truth.

It’s time to “silence the enemy” with a sucker punch to the throat and send him packing.

It’s time to “kick down” the invisible fences that seek to restrain the power within.

It’s time to “cut the cords” of toxicity.

It’s time to “roll up our sleeves” and allow FAITH to win.

When you attend a recital, ballet, or opera, the “applause” always comes at the end.

In this season, I’m making moves in “reverse.”

I’m “clapping” for the personal victories that are already won.

I’m “cheering” for the captives already set free.

I’m “celebrating” the freedom that was purchased 2,000 years ago on the cross.

“Knowing” there is no failure in Him gives me the courage to face Goliath and take my best shot.

I’m coming out—swinging!

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.”-Galatians 5:1

Sink or Swim

"You don't drown by falling in the water, you drown by staying there." -Robert Jordan

As I quietly sat still in an office on yesterday, my mind drifted out the nearby, double-paned window onto the pillow of peaceful clouds. I have always been a "dreamer" like Joseph! You could frequently find me on the side of the road collecting discarded scrapes of wood to build a ship like Noah. However, I wasn't able to convince others that the ship was needed, so my dreams faded into the background of forgetfulness.

For the past year and a half, I have been hustlin' like a mad woman to spark a fire to reignite those dreams. But who knew that my immediate family would suffer six deaths in eight months? Somewhere my resiliency plummeted like the overall morale in the surrounding city. I know my response as a "believer" should not resemble the world, but the humanity of my heart was still immersed in complete shock!

On this morning, I woke up with so much tension built up in my chest that it felt like a volcano was about to erupt throughout my blood vessels. A combination of unhealthy habits was the culprit behind this unsolicited attention. Discipline seemed to be hiding far behind the bushes of my continued disobedience. I searched my heart for a trail of answers. Where was the disconnect? Obviously, there was a lack of accountability lingering. However, I refused to look in the mirror! I was blinded by sorrow.

In the dark shadows of my concealed curtains of grief, God shed some light. I kept self-sabotaging my Job season by tripping on life's inevitable circumstances. Every time the enemy threw me a curve ball, God handed me an attached blessing. I unintentionally--fumbled!

When the winds howled aggressively, I nervously slipped into the swamp waters. I continued to navigate through the same gritty, muddy waters with my outgrown "survival" vest on. Even though I could swim, I insisted on sinking. 

"Swimming" took endurance, courage, and action. 

Today, I just wanted to sink in the muddy waters of defeat, but then I remembered who would "watch" me drown. Even when I don't have the heart to swim for me, I refuse to let him witness me sink.

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4

As the two of us walked around the City Lake on today, God's promises were revealed when I caught a glimpse of my grandson soaking up the Son. He loved me through the "bad days!" When we stopped for this picture, "swimming" had become easier.

The Veil of Vulnerability

It takes an undeniable amount of courage to be naked and unashamed, while "breastfeeding" your baby, on any public platform.  

The "umbrella of shade" can solicit you back to the secluded, retreat of Egypt.
The "air pockets of assumptions" can create a shortage of sufficient oxygen supply.
The "gas-filled, toxic, chamber of ridicule" can cause an obstructive regurgitation of choked, spoken words.
The "crucifixion of judgment" can rupture vital organs beyond man's natural repair.

D-e-s-p-i-t-e the battered, bloodstained, exposed "flesh wounds,"
I choose to "show up" daily from behind the veil.

I traded the guilt-ridden, ill-fitting, torn widow's garments for the fine linens of praise.
I refused to waste the oil from my alabaster box on the feet of those who intentionally crushed my spirit.
I refuted the gut-wrenching, oppression of falsehoods with the light of God's truth.
I released the imprisoned, little, muffled captive and set her soul free.

Now when the attacks rise up, my spiritual man unleashes, "No weapon formed against me shall prosper, and every tongue which rises against me in judgment You shall condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is from Me," says the Lord.- Isaiah 54:17

When the veil is torn, imprisoned souls are set free.

"At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split." --Matthew 27:51

Can the captives of the world trust you enough to unveil their vulnerabilities without you mocking their pain?

Disconnected

“She was a stranger in her own life, a tourist in her own body.” --- Melissa de la Cruz, The Van Alen Legacy  

When I opened my eyes this morning, it felt like my body had undergone reconstructive surgery. I placed my hand over my chest and there was no movement. I forced my eyes shut and fell back asleep. I woke up again and still no heartbeat. A cloud of temporary amnesia held the rain of reality back awhile longer. My limbs were barely draped in the torn gown of sadness while self-medication offered a temporary injection of numbness.

In seclusion, I wrestled secretly with the overwhelming lingering grief from the residue of losses my family suffered this year. The ongoing trauma kept me in a strained, defeated posture of intimate pain. The unhealed, wounds proved to be a sign of infection that spilled over to arrest my thoughts.

The enemy stripped, beat, and placed chains around my mind. He sentenced me to "death row." It was not the first imprisonment. However, this time, I was NOT afraid!

Somehow, the seeds that my grandmother had nurtured on the inside of my belly had reached maturation. I was no longer buried beneath the swamp of helplessness, I was actually planted on his mountaintop of victory.

I put on the armor of God, drew my sword, and worshipped despite the "internal disconnect!"

All of a sudden, the hills of despair collapsed, the chains of oppression loosed, and the clouds of sadness disappeared.

The enemy came to steal, kill, and destroy but God flipped the script.

He renewed my mind, returned my peace, and restored my hope.

I danced, shouted, and straightened my grandmother's crown.

Don't let the natural "disconnect" disguise the promise.

"About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the other prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly there was such a violent earthquake that the foundations of the prison were shaken. At once all the prison doors flew open, and everyone's chains came loose." -Acts 16:25-26

Our story lives on through your life, your love, and your legacy. IT AIN'T OVER!

The SackCloth of Sorrow

"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." -Psalm 73:26   

On today, in the empty spaces of my soul, I chose to color in the "voids" with black crayons. I intentionally decided to pitch a tent in the pit to isolate my vulnerabilities and nurse my grieving heart privately. I consciously abandoned the fences of religious expectations that place limitations on my process and seeks to persecute the validity of my faith. The oversized, sackcloth of sorrow drapes my flesh and replaces the superwoman cape, which attests to my humanity.

In the exiled swamp of my tears, I release the anchors of doubt that tries to drown me. As I float on my back and close my eyes to what-if scenarios, I inhale his promises. His peace leads my anxiousness beside the still waters of his calmness. My bones hover over a body of childhood memories. As I drift further, I see familiar hands reaching for me, but I'm out of proximity.

My flesh responds in anger and I begin to fight against the currents to reach those hands. I know it's her, so I fight harder. Swarms of black crows claim my attention. The troubled water pulls me underneath a few times.

After I stop wrestling, I realize it's morning again. Doves are circling the air. The sunshine dances over the body of water that surrounds me and the ripples comfort me.

"For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5

Too Soon

"The song is ended, but the melody lingers on." -Irving Berlin

The one thing that has remained constant over my tenure here on earth, is my relationship with my grandmother.

Seasons change.
Climates change.
Time changes.

BUT our hearts NEVER skipped a beat. We never lost connection. Our records never scratched. Her vocals planted a "lifetime right" of poetic muse in the depths of my soul so strong that I can't help but hear the melody continually play on.

As I cling to her bedside watching for any sign of consciousness, her unresponsive eyelids has my spirit a little "unsettled." Every breath sounds like a struggle. I look for hope for an extended stay, but I see her frail, physical body wrapped in a spiritual cocoon of protection. She's above us now.

I know (without a shadow of doubt) that she has faithfully served with all she had.
I know that she has executed her race wholeheartedly with grace.
I know that she is patiently anticipating her crown.

I hear the nearby trumpets sounding the alarm to "call her home."

My peace is overwhelmed by the melancholy of indecision. Did our family fulfill the mission of her legacy of servanthood? Did we "advocate" for her well-being? Did we faithfully return to her (the fullness of life) that she breathed into our lungs?

There is no IV bag present.
There is no feeding tube.
There is no trace of preventative care measures.

I pray that she is NOT suffering.
I pray that she is resting well.
I pray mostly that we have not given up too soon.

Edgar Allan Poe said, "The boundaries which divide life from death are at best showy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" 

Sleeping With the Enemy

"those memories you hold onto are poisonous, and until you can learn to let go, you will never fully heal."  Billy Chapata, Sour Honey & Soul Food

We never know the depth of a wound until we start undressing the bandages.....

I've never been afforded the opportunity to fully wrap my arms around the totality of love. I assumed that my heart's rhythm had been severed by arteries that hemorrhaged during seasons of shock. I remember waking up in ice cold, lifeless rooms full of stainless steel after suffering from cardiac "love" arrest. Defibrillators sent jolts of electrical currents to revive the remains of the deceased.

There was no pulse. No sign of radioactivity. My heart never made a full recovery from the sustained trauma. In that vacant spot, weeds grew from the empty cracks. On occasion, the weeds required pruning, but I refused. Pruning meant acknowledging the evidence of buried roots. Instead I opted for the anesthesia of denial and superficial prosthetics.

It was easier to pretend with the masked, optical illusion of a full recovery. On the surface, there wasn't any visible signs of damage; but underneath, the void remained. My survival became contingent upon camouflage.

I drowned out the reality of my truth by sleeping with the enemy.

I slept with the desperation of depression.    

I slept with the aches of addictions.
I slept with the ugliness of untruth.

However, my perfectly, tucked white sheets always reveled hints of bloodstained sin. God always has a way of "uncovering" the truth!

I'm thankful that God exposed my darkness with light.
I'm grateful that He turned my defiled bed of unrest into a sanctuary of peace.
I'm humbled that he turned my silent cries into unspeakable joy.

"Love" gave my heart a chance to beat on sync again!

If you climb into bed with the enemy, don't be surprised if you become impregnated with his seed.

You can't free yourself from bondage while willfully sleeping with the enemy!

Who or what is hiding underneath the secret sheets of your unrest?

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28

Emancipation of An Introvert

"For to be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others."--Nelson Mandela       

Overwhelming gravitational forces chased me down the road of self-care over the weekend. I temporarily suspended all responsibilities to practice the power of the pause. I removed the hats, shed the layers, and let my hair down. Living up to self-imposed, daily expectations can be quite the journey.

At times, I "choked" on my own breath by insisting on being my biggest enemy, worst critic and loudest voice to silence.

However, this was not the time to summon myself into a boxing match full of self-doubt, insecurity, and indecision. I couldn't afford to lose momentum because time was a "coveted" commodity.

Somehow, I managed to grab hold of the keys and unlock the chains.  

I set myself free from perfection.    

I set myself free from criticism.
I set myself free from judgment.

 I inhaled the ruach of God and exhaled condemnation, guilt, and shame.

 Public opinions no longer set the precedent for my trajectory, nor did it hold me captive any longer.

My clipped, introverted wings had tripled in size and strength.

It was time...

Time to shed the outdated.
Time to flee the nest.
Time to soar.

"David rescued everyone whom the Amalekites had captured, including his two wives. Nothing of theirs was missing, whether small or large, sons or daughters, spoil, or anything that they had taken for themselves--David brought back everything." 1 Samuel 30:18-19

Whose prison will you "unlock" on today?

What captives are you committed to releasing with your keys?

If people's freedom and liberties are contingent upon your obedience, will you say," YES?"

Thristy

"Women yearn for change and will make great sacrifices for it." -Lydia, A Dream Compels Us: Voices of Salvadoran Women                      

On Friday morning, I traded my normally scheduled work day for a mental health day. One of my top priorities (school) had been counterproductive for a few weeks, because my attention span was crumbling under pressure. My sanity drowned in a debt of unresolved, surrounding crisis. My cup overflowed with anxious thoughts and chest pains interrupted my calm. My body went into "fight mode" and my blood pressure spiked. 

I was sick and tired of "being sick and tired". Everything inside of me was screaming on the inside but no one could hear me. People were fighting their own battles. In survival boot camp training, I was instinctively taught not to flinch at the presence of pain but to endure in silence. Because 9 times out of 10, not one was coming to "save you."

I quietly suffocated every time I closed my eyes and submerged my head under the shallow body of muddy water that surrounded me.

Connections that gave me life were outsourced because my diverted attention was stuck in the generational swamp of dysfunction.

My spirit man is a "whole vibe" by itself. It flows best from sitting at tables full of creative energy where there is an electrical charge so strong that I'm forced into action. I love being in spaces where people challenge my intellectual abilities and my imagination becomes unhinged from stale, conventional  routines.

However, my space felt cramped, confined and detached. My celebratory ceremony was interrupted by a desperate aura. My compulsion for expansion vexed the giant within. The internal famine nurtured a physical drought. The drought sparked a fire that lit a torch of smoke around my heart.

I thirst for rivers that flow from my belly, feed my spirit, and fill the empty wells.

I thirst for F-R-E-E-D-O-M.

"And he was very thirsty, and he called upon the LORD and said, You have granted this great salvation by the hand of your servant, and shall I now die of thirst and fall into the hands of the uncircumcised? And God split open the hollow place that is at Lehi, and water came from it. And when he drank, his spirit returned, and he revived..." Judges 15:18-19 

Pausing daily to intentionally drink from his cup is the only proven way to satisfy this thirst.

The Giant Within

"The question which one asks oneself begins, at last, to illuminate the world, and become one's keys to the experience of others. One can only face in others what one can face in oneself. On this confrontation depends the measure of our wisdom and compassion."  James Baldwin, Nobody Knows My Name

A lot of people attached to me are struggling with some heavy burdens. Not only does it grieve my spirit; but oftentimes, I feel the weight of their pain resting on my shoulders.

Many times, I have walked through the same fog of darkness that holds them captives in the valleys.

Naturally, my flesh desires to "rescue," but I offer intercession instead. Impulsiveness has taught me to avoid offering myself as a living sacrifice.

My frustration with others reluctance to lean into God's power caused me to evaluate my spiritual journey more closely.

I had to get still with God on last night and ask him a difficult question.

I asked, "Why do we work so tirelessly to "slay" the visible demons? But we ignore the "invisible ones" that causes us to feel depressed, depleted, and defeated.

Revelation dropped, "We allow our insecurities to 'acknowledge and exalt' the enemy as the giant within, rather than rely on God's internal power as the giant that defeats."

When we entertain the shenanigans of the enemy, it keeps our feet stuck in muddy water. It keeps us chained to false imprisonment. It keeps us living beneath his best. It keep us from enjoying his abundance. It's time to shake the dust off.

Finish strong.                                          

Run, Girl, Run.

Evict the enemy taking up residency inside your camp.

The "only" giant that should occupy space in your heart is the undefeated, Most High, The Great, I Am.

We already got the keys to the kingdom! Use them.

Don't refuse to unlock your prison.
Don't sit chained to the fence when God has given you the authority to possess the land.

Myles Monroe said, "You were never created to be dominated."

Recite "it" till you don't have to rehearse it anymore.

"For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." Ephesians 6:12 (KJV)