life

The Challenging Reality of 'Life Goes On'

8/28/2016

Today was his last Sunday. That reality hit like a ton of bricks when dignitary after dignitary entered the pulpit to speak about his work. To attest to his dedication to our community. To rave about the growth of the church.

It was New Year's Eve 2011. I was in grad school and in desperate need of a church home—something I had never had before. My aunt brought me and my mother to this church. An old, quite historic church. The heat was too high, and so were the speakers. The praise and worship team was relatively nonexistent. It was an interesting start to a New Year's service, but I was all in. Besides, I didn't drive that night.

The pastor got up to speak with not many theatrics beforehand. That may have been what I liked most. I grabbed a notepad and pen, and started scribbling down his words. He was listing ways to make it through this new year, in faith. Gem after gem he shouted into the mic. Gem after gem I was enthralled both in his delivery and the word he was delivering. "Wow," was all I could think to myself.

I entered that church around the same time I had begun reading A Purpose Driven Life; I'm certain that was strategically orchestrated. This pastor, much like the book, delivered a message that would change my life. A message that would bring me back. A message that jumpstarted my ever-evolving spiritual journey.

I stuck to that church and that 30-year old pastor like glue. Never missing a Sunday or a Watch Night Service. There, diligently. Paying my tithes and offering. Jotting down notes. Trying to find a ministry that worked for me. Vowing for that church like I built it myself. Varick became my church home, and Morrison became my pastor.

I started my first radio show through that church. Served in my first consultant capacity (although unpaid) for that church. Became my pastor's scribe for all things media-related. Got my first job in my field because of members at that church. Was celebrated through that church. Learned and memorized some of my first gospel songs and hymns in that church. Met women, who I did not even know would one day support my brand, in that church. I even got baptized (again) at the hands of that pastor. This church and this pastor became one of the biggest parts of my life.

But today was his last Sunday. And—while acknowledging that my growth in Christ was not at the hands of man but at the hands of Christ—I've never felt more lost than I do now. Because this was my first church home. He was my first pastor. And frankly, I'm not sure what to expect now.

Many of us get so used to a routine that we become lost when it changes. When old habits must die, we feel a piece of ourselves die too. We function well in the moments of our lives, even if they're dysfunctional, because they're what we're used to. We feel empowered for as long as things remain the same, or have the potential to get better. But don't let things get bad. Don't let our lives get stirred up. Don't let them get picked up by the muddy hands of a giant, and be shaken.

See—as challenging as this transition will be for myself and the congregation that learned to love this man and his vision—life goes on. And I mean that in both an inspiring way, suggesting that you'll get through every trial that comes your way, and in a don't-miss-any-of-your-moments type of way. I mean that in a you'll-get-over-this way, and a get-right-or-get-left type of way. I mean it in a you-can't-control-the-time-you-have-so-use-it-wisely way and a this-too-shall-pass type of way. See, life does not stop. It does not halt. And it does not wait for you to decide that you're okay. Life won't give you tissue to wipe your tears, nor will it rub your back after long days. Life will go on. It will encourage you to keep living; keep going; keep trying. It will force you to wake up another day and try again. To try harder; either at pursuing your dreams or at getting over the pain you've been enduring.

Life will go on. Things will change. Stuff will happen. We will become uncomfortable. Because life does not stop when your heart drops. It does not stop when tears flow. It does not stop when you rip your wig off and have had enough. It does not stop at the sign of your sadness, anger or dissatisfaction. Life continues—whether you're with it or not. It can get better, or it can get worse, but it will not stop.

My pastor is embarking on a new journey and heading back to the south; his life is going on. The congregation he leaves behind, will go home and make Sunday dinner. They'll tell their friends, or write blog posts, about this being pastor's last Sunday. They'll wake up for work on Monday and remember today's service. They'll work this week, pay bills and tend to their families, as their lives go on. And next Sunday, we'll welcome a new pastor, traveling from Los Angeles. His life, also, going on. 

Today was my pastor's last Sunday. I walked to my car and cried because my first pastor will no longer be my pastor. But even in this, he offered me a lesson. A lesson to keep me going on my spiritual pursuit. A lesson he has no idea he afforded me. A lesson that I will carry with me through this transition. And that's that life will go on. 
---

I will forever be grateful for the word spoken into my life through this man. And grateful for all that he's unknowingly done to support my spiritual journey. I pray that as life goes on, he'll continue to bless the lives of those he ministers to. And I pray that I, too, will one day have a presence as impactful as his has been to our city.  Thank you for your dedication to evangelism, education and economic development. Goodluck. 

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life

Broken Crayons Still Color

8/24/2016

"Broken crayons still color." Broken women do too.

Perhaps you're one of them. You've been heartbroken, spiritually broken, or financially broke. You've been beaten up and washed down. Trampled over and ignored.

People tell you that your broken spirit is a testimony of endurance and faith; that it's a lesson in patience and trust. They say your broken heart is a resemblance of unrestricted love; of letting it all in. Yet none of that matters. Because you feel just as colorless as when it first happened. As when your heart first shattered. As when the crayon you used to color the veins of life flowing through you first broke.

But broken crayons still color. And broken women do too. You color the lives of those you share your story with. Of those you share your love with. Of those who witness your strength—and your weakness. Of those who see your smile in the midst of your sadness. Their lives are soaked with tints of yellow simply from knowing you. The brightest yellow you offer. A yellow that both blinds eyes, and represents sunshine. 

Your colorful spirit transforms the lives of those around you, with both your brokenness and your wholeness. Magical rainbows adorn images of you, for the love you share and the light you bring. You're the sunshine after the storm to many. And even in your moments of brokenness—of shattered pieces and lost hope—the bright sun peaks from beneath the cracks. The gray clouds, reminiscent to your mood, cannot diminish your brightness. The gray you use to depict your experience can't either.

You color with the words you expend. The words that only you can use to define your experience. The words you share with the world. You color with the emotions you pour out in your writing, in your song, or simply in your gaze. You color with everything you have left of you—using all the hues of blue you can find to express your sadness, and reds to express your anger. You color with the dreams you envision, sketching carefully each line of goals and adding bursts of purple for each accomplishment. You color with your eyes closed as the colors explode in your mind. Because while your brokenness is alive and well, your ability to see the future is too. You welcome the possibilities that lie ahead and excite in the opportunity of them becoming real.

Broken crayons still color. Broken women do too. Your brokenness is what makes the colors flow more meaningfully. It's your experience, lessons and mistakes that truly decorate the canvass. It's what draws people nearer to both the art and the artist. Your brokenness is the muse for the masterpiece you're creating. And whether you intend to show it, or it seeps through the cracks, your brokenness is there; it's alive; and it's beautiful. It's every bit of life you need to endure for the story you will create, and every bit of color you'll need for the picture you're perfecting.

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growth

There's Always A But

8/22/2016

Body image. Procrastination. Impatience.

We all jotted down what it was we disliked most about ourselves. What issues we struggled with the hardest. What self-loathing thoughts stood in our way the most.

Not being where I want to be. I wrote down as number 3 of 5. The activity was conducted over top the soft melody of Anthony Evans—the perfect soundtrack for this moment of reflection. Being lost in myself, I wrote as I recalled the many times I felt like I didn't know myself; and thought about how not knowing myself caused me to miss out on knowing others.

Part one of the activity ended ten minutes later. Had it continued there would've been a lot of damp eyes. We talked briefly about the effect of part one; how it brought up old feelings within us; how it forced us to deal with the very things we'd been pushing into the dark; how conjuring up those negative things we try to convince ourselves we don't care about, is both hurtful and therapeutic.

The facilitator instructed us to write a 'but' to the negatives we exposed on that sheet of Hilton Inn notebook paper. She reminded us that while bringing to light the darkness that lingers within, it's also important to shine a light directly on those dark places. To not just expose those things, but to reflect on the good parts of them too. That's where the but came in. That's where this post came in. 

Because there's always a but. There's always a positive that comes with every negative. There's always another reason, another answer and another way out. There's always a light to be shone into the dark nights. There's always another source of sunshine, somewhere. There's always a moment where you recognize that the bad is not what should be highlighted but that, instead, the good that comes in the midst of it is.

You may not be where you want to be, but you're not where you were.
You may be impatient, but you're effective, productive and efficient.
You may not be the weight you wish to be, but you're healthy.
You may not yet know exactly who you are, but you know what you're called to do.

but you know what you're good at. 
but you know to whom you belong. 
but you know that joy comes in the morning. 
but. but. but.

In all that we are and all that we endure, there's always a but that offers a ray of sunshine. Our task, while assessing where we can improve in our lives, is to also recognize the great things we offer. To appreciate the good that often couples with the bad; the good that's often outweighed by the bad. And, to acknowledge the but that boldly interrupts our self-defeating thoughts and brings us closer to self-love and hope.

There's always a but. Take time to find yours. 

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#TEATIME

Authenticity: Birthday Post

8/12/2016

I wanted to write a generic birthday post. One with a list like, "27 ways to know I'm blessed" or "27 things I want to do this year". I wanted to be cheesy about the many things I learned, or about the amazing things I've done. About how grateful I am to have been able to experience another year to its completion.

I'm not going to do any of that today. I'm not going to write a post like that because that's what I've always done. I've written, spoken and made images filled with quotes and things people expect to read. I've tweeted things to purposely illicit retweets and replies. I wanted to cater my messages to an audience I needed to grow—that's what you're supposed to do: cater to your audience. But in doing so, I found myself losing a voice I was struggling to find and establish. I was forcing a voice that wasn't my own. I was losing myself in my own brand, my own creation, at the expense of trying to portray what I wanted to become. Who I wanted to become. That, however, is not how this works.

People are attracted to authenticity. They're attracted to genuineness. They don't care about what you want them to hear, what you ought to say, or who you want to become; they care about who you are, and using that person to spread a message. A message they need to hear. A message God wants you to deliver. 

Learning the truth about authenticity is what I spent the latter half of my summer doing. Recognizing that it's not about who you hope to be, or the you, you wish you convey. It's about being you—whether you've yet learned who that person is or not. You, as whole or as broken as you may be. It's about being unashamed of that confusion. It's about being genuine in that discovery of self, and not appearing to be found; it's not about being lost either though. It's just about being. 

You don't have to force yourself into a category. You don't have to "me too" your way through to fit in. You don't have to place yourself in a box. Authenticity isn't about boxes. Authenticity is about the doodle drawing that took over your blank page. It's the direction in which the lines were drawn—in no systematic way—just free and all over. No, it's not a box, or any other figure you created when you forced the lines in a direction you didn't intend them to go. Authenticity is the mess. It's the squiggly lines. It's the inability to 'fit' in a mold, and the desire you have not to. Authenticity is you. It's you without thinking about it. The thoughts you think without second guessing. And it's what people like most about a brand and a person.

In year 27, I vow to be my most authentic self. Being more of who I am, not who I ought to be. Saying more of what I need to and less of what I think I should. Falling freely from wherever the hell I will fall from, and writing, tweeting, posting and sharing about it once I hit the ground. I will be more of me in my brand, but most importantly in my life. I will not be ashamed to laugh at the jokes I think are funny; I will not restrict myself to the interests of those around me. I will not attempt to relate to those I simply do not; no more forced connections for the sake of having them. Because authenticity is sincere, it's honest, it's open. You cannot force that into a box—and I will no longer try to. 

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Christ

Weight Loss and Faith

8/09/2016

When I want a good laugh I get on the scale. I thought purchasing one a few months ago would help me restart my long lost fitness journey. Instead, it made me obsess – weighing myself twice a day, every day even when I hadn't done a thing for it to change. I must've expected this 20 pounds of "relationship weight" to disappear into thin air.

Yesterday morning I needed a laugh, so after staring at my scale for 20 seconds I hopped on. When I looked at the digital numbers that flashed across the screen, laughing was the last thing I did. "How the heck did that happen?" I asked myself in disbelief at the 8 pounds I lost. While my eating habits remained the same (pretty good), I hadn't worked out in weeks. I hadn't even driven past the gym! Yet there I was, re-weighing myself just to make sure there wasn't an error. Nope, that's 8 pounds alright. 

I spent months worrying about weight loss and fitness. Months trying to measure what I ate, pay attention to macros, and figure out how to keep my hair in good condition, but still break a much needed sweat at the gym. I tried cleanses, crash diets and the Pinterest squat and ab challenges. See, this journey wasn't new for me—I'd gone through two fitness trainers and several workout groups, I knew exactly how to use machines and modify workout—but after getting lazy, and hitting a long-standing plateau, I was discouraged. Working hard, eating right and seeing no results can do that to you.

I obsessed over what I should eat until I finally chose to be happy. I decided to stop micromanaging my diet and to instead just treat my body better. I chose to stop hating my body and learned to love it the way it was. I learned to love how the extra 20 filled out my buttocks and shaped me up a little bit more. I learned to love the extra 20 because it didn't make me a different woman than I already was. I learned to love it because doing things out of hate will never end in success. I learned to love it because when you love yourself fully, you make better decisions—this decision being my health. 

I stopped creeping into the bathroom to weigh myself. I stopped talking about how much weight I gained. I stopped feeling bad for ordering french fries to accompany my salad. I stopped stressing and let it be. And no sooner than I had done that, I was down 8 lbs.

What does this have to do with faith?

When I gave up control I got exactly what I wanted. When I stopped obsessing, things happened. When I left well enough alone and grew content with what I had and who I was, I got what I had long been praying for. When I learned to love my situation, in spite of what it looked like, it got better. 

And, while letting go of my unhealthy obsession with weight loss wasn't an I'm-relying-on-faith-for-these-changes type of thing, it is a resemblance of how faith works; of how letting go, and letting God works. 

When you stop trying to micromanage God, you allow Him the freedom He needs to do His mighty work. When you let go, you allow Him the space He needs to do miraculous things. We cannot control everything. Some things we must leave up to God. Some things, are not ours to control, fix, or lose. Some of these battles, aren't ours. And the sooner we realize that the sooner we allow His power to make the change we desperately want.

When you give up control you allow all the 'be' that is meant, to become.

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faith

Make Me Your Miracle

8/04/2016

Heavenly Father, 
We come before you tonight to ask for forgiveness of our sins. 
To ask that you continue to heal us and make us whole. To ask 
that you bless our family and friends and guide us all towards
the promises you made for our lives. We ask that you provide 
all that is ordained for us so we can serve you in mighty ways. 
Lastly, O Lord, we not only ask that you sprinkle your miracles 
upon us, but that you make us your miracle. In Jesus' Name. 

"Make us your miracle." What a mighty request. I think to myself often, how that must be. How it would feel to have my name listed in the church bulletin as a testimony of God's miracle. I belch it at the top of my lungs when Tasha Cobbs' sings the words "make me Your miracle" — I cry tears of what those words truly mean. 

What would it be like to be a miracle? While, obviously, imagining the deliverance and restoration we'd receive, I can't help but to place extra weight on what I'd be getting delivered from. What problem in my life would God's miraculous works be resolving? How long would I have cried and begged? How hard would I have to believe? 

Because when we ask to be the miracle – when we ask to be the example – we tend to ignore how low we'd have to get, for the miracle to really happen. How far from the miracle we'd have to be for it to be considered a miracle. How we'd have to be blind, deaf or dead. How we'd have to be bleeding and bruised. See, many of us want to be miracles from an already blessed state. We don't want to be drug through the mud and come up clean. We want to be clean and get cleaner. We forget that there's nothing miraculous about that come up. There's nothing miraculous about something we could do as humans. Nothing miraculous about going from one good job to another. While blessed, that's not miraculous. And with the request for a miracle, comes great responsibility.

True miracles – true works of God – are those that are evident of God's presence. Those that can't be questioned as anything other. Those that only God could create. Those are the ones we remember. Those are the ones that have the power to change our lives and the lives of those around us. Those are the ones likely to lead people to salvation and true belief. So if you want to be a miracle, you have to be willing to be talked about. To be low. To be down. And you have to trust Him enough to turn it all around, in His name.

We want to be miracles, but can't stand being the mess that requires one to occur. If you want to be an example, a true example of God's power, submit to Him. Be bloodied; be beaten; be crucified; endure. That's when you allow His miraculous works to occur.

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