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!"