I FEEL SOMETHING

I feel something powerful, something energizing, something wonderful.  I feel sisterhood.  I’ve always had dependable, loyal friends, but lately I feel a deeper connection to my melanin kissed sisters.  It’s in the way we greet each other, the way we complement each other’s hair, do each other’s make up, celebrate each other’s successes and mourn each other’s losses.  It’s in the way we readily, happily, excitedly claim Misty Copeland. It’s in the way we vehemently defend Serena Williams. It’s in the pride we all felt when Viola Davis, Uzo Aduba and Regina King accepted their Emmys and the way we shouted and screamed and applauded that amazing acceptance speech of Viola’s. I’ve never heard anything like it in my life!  It’s in the way Taraji rejoiced with her sisters when they won. It was in Kerry Washington’s tears. It’s in the way we sit around each other’s tables, or family rooms, or beauty salons and talk.  It’s in the way we laugh over silly text messages or shout one another out on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.  It’s in our sharing of pictures of the stunning First Lady of these United States when she wore the hell out of that black dress at the State Dinner for the President of China.  She SLAYED it! It’s in the way we get together for dinner or lunch or breakfast or coffee or drinks. It’s in the way we gather to go to movies so we can see people who look like us on the big screen.  It’s in the way we seek each other out for advice and in the way we unselfishly give it.  It’s in the way we encourage and support. It’s in the way we lovingly correct. It’s in the way we administer tough love and in the way we take it.  It’s in the way we hug, in the way we kiss each other’s cheek, give each other dap and in the way we smile.  It’s in the way we prod each other toward excellence and in the way we make opportunities for those coming up behind us.  It’s in the way we sigh, in the way we fight (not each other), in the way we buck the system and in the way we both command and demand respect.  It’s in the way we rock our fros, locs, braids, relaxers, weaves and wigs. It’s in the way we love, it’s in the way we breathe, it’s in the way we live, it’s in the way we look.

 I feel sisterhood and I love it. 

Harriet Edmond, A True Titus 2 Woman

When I first met Harriet Edmond, I was struck by her poise, beauty, royal stature and regal carriage.  As I got to know her I quickly learned that behind that warm, beautiful smile was an equally warm, beautiful spirit and a soul totally dedicated and committed to The Lord. Cousin Harriet, as I called her, possessed a quality that would make any younger woman (and probably many of her own peers) say; “I want to be like her”.  I always found something about Cousin Harriet’s presence that commanded respect and order, and there was never a time that I was with her that I didn’t come away better. Her way with me was quiet, caring and insightful.  I clearly remember a Saturday evening in March 2003 when she took me by my hand and said to me; “I can’t wait to come to your wedding.”  I chuckled then because I had no prospects, and for the record, I’m still not married. But when I was contemplating marriage a few years ago, the names of Nathan and Harriet Edmond were among the first on my list of honored guests. Cousin Harriet’s name is also on a list of women I’d planned to interview for a book I’m writing about mentorship and the Titus 2 Woman. Cousin Harriet embodied that Titus 2 model.  On the rare, but treasured occasions that I was able to spend time with her, watching her life was an excellent example of what it means to be a true Woman of God. There was no pretense with Cousin Harriet. She was who she was; and who she was has always been a perfect lady and a strong, admirable woman.  Though we didn’t talk to or see each other often, I loved Cousin Harriet dearly and felt loved by her. 

Cousin Nathan, Nathan, Jr., Erica and the rest of the family; as difficult as this must be, and I won’t pretend to know how you feel; please find some comfort in knowing that you were loved and cherished by one of the most wonderful women on this earth. And rest assured her legacy will live on. It will live on in you, her family, because of the richness with which she has left you. And it will live on in me, because her passing has made me even more determined to be the kind of woman she was.  The kind of woman whose love for and commitment to Christ was evident to everyone fortunate enough to come in contact with her. The kind of woman who left an indelible impression on the lives of everyone with whom she spoke. The kind of woman who left an unforgettable deposit in the life of anyone over whom she spoke a word. The kind of woman who lived the life she preached. The kind of woman who lived for God and is now able to spend Eternity with Him.  Being that kind of woman, the kind of woman Harriet Yvonne Abbey Edmond was, is the best way I can think of to honor her life, her memory and her legacy.  I love you, my extended and far away family.  And Cousin Harriet, I love you and am blessed to have been loved by you. Somewhere down the road, I’ll see you in Eternity where there will be no goodbyes.

I Surrender All…or do I?

This is kinda LONG!

All to Jesus I surrender; 

all to him I freely give; 

I will ever love and trust him, 

in his presence daily live. 

I surrender all, I surrender all, 

all to thee, my blessed Savior, 

I surrender all. 

All to Jesus I surrender; 

humbly at his feet I bow, 

worldly pleasures all forsaken; 

take me, Jesus, take me now. 

(Refrain) 

All to Jesus I surrender; 

make me, Savior, wholly thine; 

fill me with thy love and power; 

truly know that thou art mine. 

(Refrain) 

All to Jesus I surrender; 

Lord, I give myself to thee; 

fill me with thy love and power; 

let thy blessing fall on me. 

(Refrain) 

All to Jesus I surrender; 

now I feel the sacred flame. 

O the joy of full salvation! 

Glory, glory, to his name! 

(Refrain) 

  If you’ve spent any time in church, chances are you know this song.  It has always been one of my favorites and every time we sing it in church, I throw my head back, open my mouth and sing with the gusto of someone auditioning for American Idol, or someone singing the National Anthem at the Super Bowl.  You get the point; I sing that song HARD and STRONG! I throw my hands in the air and bellow; “I surrender all, I surrender all, all to thee, my blessed Savior, I surrender all”.  Most of the time, it brings tears to my eyes and truth be told, there are times when I am feeling a small sense of pride that I have indeed turned my life completely over to The Lord and that I have indeed SURRENDERED ALL.

That is until the morning of Wednesday, May 30, 2012.  Picture this; Baltimore, 2012, the ballroom of the Baltimore Marriott Waterfront Hotel.  I have left my EXPENSIVE hotel room on the 16th floor (with a harbor view) and grudgingly made my way into the 10am Opening Worship Service of the 228th Session of the Baltimore Washington Conference of the United Methodist Church.  I’m here this year because my mother and another lady from my church are being recognized for the completion of a two-year Certified Lay Ministries Class and will become certified later this year.  It’s my first time at Annual Conference (as we call it) and because I am so totally over and out of love with the United Methodist Church, I have a slight attitude. I listened intently to the opening preacher, Rev. Zan Holmes, who was phenomenal (to my surprise). I shouted, “amen” and “that’s right” during his sermon. I applauded loudly and nodded in agreement as he set everyone else straight about their piety and self-importance.  “Good for them, I thought”…until, he recounted a story of God chastening him about his own arrogance.  Ouch! What was that I felt on my toes? I gasped inwardly as I became aware, reminded and convicted of my own arrogance when it comes to the United Methodist Church at large and even more specifically, the Baltimore Washington Conference.  I took a deep breath, swallowed and started to silently repent.  
Then, after the message, there was an altar call. I didn’t go forward, but there in my seat, as the Worship Leader and his band began to play and sing, “I Surrender All”, my hands went up and I sang along. Around the second time I sang the words, “I Surrender All”, it was as if I heard the Voice of The Lord say; “You lie. You don’t surrender all. You refuse to submit and fulfill your calling within the United Methodist Church because you don’t want to be a part of an organization you view as ungodly. You have not surrendered all.” Well, you could have stuck a fork in me because I. Was. Done.  I lowered my hands just a bit, and bowed my head as tears began to stream down my face.  I was lying to say I Surrender All.  I had been fighting The Lord (and everybody else) about my place in the United Methodist Church. I even refused to discuss ministry with my pastor because I had declared; “I want no parts of leadership in the Baltimore Washington Conference. I can’t be a part of an organization that doesn’t uphold Holiness and Godliness”.  The nerve, the unmitigated gall, the undisciplined audacity…the absolute arrogance.  So, while that song was still being played, I continued to cry and I continued to repent.  Boy, did I cry and boy did I repent! By the time the chorus was being sung for the final time, I raised my hands again and TRUTHFULLY sang; “I surrender all, I surrender all, all to thee, my blessed Savior, I surrender all”.  
When I sat back down, my hands were shaking and I was still crying. I picked up my BlackBerry and began to compose an email to my pastor.  After the greeting, the email said this; “After spending the majority of this morning’s Worship Service in tears and doing some serious soul searching, I need to go on record in the hearing (or reading, as the case might be) of my pastor.  If The Lord would have me to answer, fulfill, begin, (or whatever else) my calling in the UMC, I will obey.” There were a couple of other things that I wrote, but that was the main message.  It took me a little while to hit send on that email, but I finally did.  I’d told Pastor Berry I didn’t want to discuss it right away, so she didn’t respond to the email, even when she texted me later in the day (I’ve said before that I appreciate that she “gets” me).
Later that same day, I was in the part of another ballroom that Cokesbury (the United Methodist Book and Church Supply Store) had set up as their onsite store. I picked up a couple of books that would help me delve deeper into my understanding of the structure and history of the UMC. I’d picked up a Wesley Study Bible and was debating whether or not to buy it, when the instructor of my mother’s CLM class offered to buy it for me, seriously. I asked him if he was sure and he said that it would bump up his purchase enough to get a discount. I told him that I have about 35 (at last count) Bibles (so he wouldn’t think this was something I NEEDED). He said; “I do the same thing”; and held out his hand for the Bible. So, I thanked him and gave it to him. I believe that was just confirmation that The Lord has placed people around me and in my path to help me walk out the things He’s given me to do. 
When I got back to my room, I opened my new Wesley Study Bible to Isaiah 6, which is one of my favorite passages of Scripture and one of the Lectionary Readings for the first Sunday in June. It was opened up to me in a new light.  I’ve read that story many, many times. I’ve participated in many discussions about that chapter. I’ve debated and rejected the notion that Isaiah somehow idolized Uzziah and that was the reason he didn’t see The Lord until Uzziah’s death. I’ve talked about how being in the presence of The All Holy God makes me realize my own unworthiness. I am well versed in Isaiah 6.  Still, I read it differently on Wednesday.  I saw Isaiah acknowledge his sin and the sin of his people, and allow himself to be cleaned up.  I also saw (this is my interpretation, now. Don’t get all worked up) God basically say; “so what. You come out of the midst of an unclean people. I still need to send someone; I need to send someone from this group.  Who’s it gonna be, Zay?” Then, Isaiah realizing his unclean lips had been cleansed, said; “I’m here; send me”.  I said a series of; “Oh. My God” and my eyes filled again.  I (not God, but me) had declared the BWC ungodly, but here I was in the midst.  I’d allowed the Holy Spirit to cleanse me through the power of His Conviction just a few hours earlier. I said all that to say this; I’m standing right here, right now, cleansed of my arrogance saying to The Lord; “Here am I. Send me” because finally, I have indeed Surrendered All.

Forsaken?

I know it's late, but here is something else I wrote for our Good Friday Service.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

He cried out to His Father at that ninth hour.  Jesus knew this day would come. He knew that he would die at Calvary.  Still, in the midst of the unbearable pain, he cried to His Father, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”.   Had God forsaken His Son, Jesus as He hung there on The Cross?  No, of course not. God never leaves nor forsakes us.  Our sin, however can make us feel that way.  At that moment, Jesus was bearing the sin of the world. Every sin ever committed and every sin that would ever be committed. Every wrong thing done by you and by me.  It was the weight of that sin that made Jesus feel separated from God.

Isaiah 59:2 reminds us that our iniquities separate us from God and our sins have hidden his face from us, so that he will not hear.  That explains us, but what about Jesus?  He was sinless. Scripture tells us that he knew no sin.  Maybe that’s why he felt forsaken by God.  His own sin hadn’t separated him from God, but the weight of the sin of the world, my sin and yours made him feel far from The Father. 

So it is with us.  Our sin separates us from God.  God doesn’t forsake us; we forsake him when we live in a way contrary to His Word and His Commands. So, when we feel separated from God and He seems far from us, we have no right to ask as Jesus did; “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”  Rather the cry from our anguished soul would be, “My God, My God, why have I forsaken you?”

Thank God for Jesus and that because of His Sacrifice on The Cross, we do not have to face eternal separation.  Romans 5:8-9 makes this clear.  “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him! “  Jesus was  wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.  Jesus accepted the temporary feeling of abandonment by The Father for our sakes; let us not waste the ultimate Gift of Salvation by foolishly taking for granted the Grace of God.  Let us be mindful, today and forever of the words of the Apostle Paul in Romans 5 “For if, when we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! ¹¹ Not only is this so, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.” Reconciliation means unless we so foolishly will, we never have to be separated from God. All because Jesus shed His Blood…on Calvary

Jesus Christ, and Him Crucified and The United Methodist Church...Hand in Hand?

Finally, finally, finally...a post that has something to do with a portion of the address of this blog...not many fathers... My original intent was for my first post to be an exegesis of I Corinthians 4:15, which reads: "For though ye have ten thousand instructers in Christ, yet have ye not many fathers: for in Christ Jesus I have begotten you through the gospel." I just wanted to talk about how we have many teachers or instructors, but not many who actually take the time to nurture us in The Gospel. 

While this post is not directly related to that passage of Scripture, it is loosely tied.  Here's how...I'm taking an online class under the United Methodist Church, the denomination to which I belong. The denomination to which God sent me and I went (albeit, grudgingly), as I shared in a previous post. I have been asking The Lord; "WHY???" for some time now and He finally gave me some peace in Jeremiah 29: 7.  That's another post for another time, though.  Back to this post...a question was posed in this class concerning the best way to develop "Principled Christian Leaders".  This was my answer (and the reason I fully expect to be kicked out of the UMC...I kid, I kid):

One key component in developing Principled Christian Leaders is for those being developed to follow the leading of Principled Christian Leaders who are already in place.  I have a wonderfully Godly pastor who models Christian Leadership and truly lives The Gospel.  I submit to her leadership, tutelage and mentorship so that I have an example.  We learn best by example and if there are more Principled Christian Leaders in place, more can be developed.  Our church has instituted monthly Leadership Training and a number of small groups that put this thought into action.  Our pastor has recruited help in creating the Leadership Training and she gently guides (without micro-managing) those of us who lead small groups.  Our church is guided by The Bible first, as the Ultimate Guidebook for Christ's Church and then The Book of Discipline as a guide for a congregation within the UMC. 

The UMC would do well to get behind its truly Godly leaders and do whatever possible to support and encourage them, so that the focus can truly be on making disciples of Jesus, rather than such a major focus on numbers and money.  While money is necessary for ministry, it should not be a church's number one priority and the numbers will increase as pastors are encouraged to preach Jesus Christ, and Him crucified. Jesus is The One who draws by The Holy Spirit...to paraphrase a quote from the movie Field of Dreams..."If we preach Him, they will come".  There is no better way to develop Principled Christian Leaders than to teach, live and model The Gospel of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

The Sound of The Hammer Ringing

This is something I wrote for the Good Friday Service at Mt. Olive.

The Sound of The Hammer Ringing

~ Engla A. Gray

Think back. Think back to that day 2000 years ago. That day our Lord was crucified. He’d done no wrong, only been obedient to his assignment from His Father. It is said that soldiers mocked him. It is said his mother wept. It is said he called out to God. It is said he forgave a sinner on the cross next to his.

I keep thinking about the hammer and the nails. I can imagine that sound. The sound of metal against metal as the hammer forced the nail through my Savior’s flesh. The sound of metal against metal as the hammer forced the nail through the wood of The Cross.

Can you hear it? Can you hear the hammer ringing?

I pray that you do. I pray that we all hear it now and forever.

I pray that we hear it when we are ready to grumble.

When our voices raise in protest of a perceived wrong, I pray that sound is drowned out by the sound of the hammer ringing at Calvary and we remember that there is no wrong we could suffer that will ever match the most horrific crime, yet the most wonderful gift that humanity will ever see, Jesus being crucified.

When we are ready to tell a lie, I pray the sound of the hammer stuns us into silence as we recall that Jesus died so we could live in The Ultimate Truth of His Lordship and God’s Love.

When I am ready to speak ill of my sister or brother, I pray that thought is muted by the sound of the hammer and I will instead be reminded that He died for them too.

When I am indeed treated unjustly and falsely accused and I can hear the mockers around me, their accusatory voices will be silenced by the sound of the hammer and I will find comfort in knowing that no matter what my enemies are saying or doing, I am not being hung on a cross for a crime I didn’t commit.

And when I am feeling woeful, I pray that my self-pity will be blanked under the sound of the hammer ringing at Calvary and I will rejoice that I will never have to ask the question, “My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me”.

With every ring of that hammer, with every thrust of a nail, Jesus paid my sin debt, redeemed my soul, saved my life…and yours…at Calvary.

(c) Engla A. Gray 2012

Whitney Houston; God rest her soul.

So, Whitney Houston’s gone. You coulda bought me for a penny when I heard the news. It’s been almost a week and I still say at least once a day, “I can’t believe Whitney’s gone”. No, I didn’t know her and no, I wasn’t her number 1 fan. I loved most of her music and I fully acknowledge that hers was the greatest voice of our time. Regardless of whether you liked her music or not, there is no denying that she had an absolutely AMAZING voice. It’s not likely that we will ever hear a voice as wonderful as hers. As a music lover, I am saddened by the loss of such a fantastic set of pipes. That’s still not the reason her death has me stunned.

The reason is this; Whitney Houston kept me on my knees for a long, long time. She is responsible for a large part of my spiritual growth.

Let me explain. I remember when the first album came out (I had it on cassette and used to play it on my little pink radio…I know, I just dated myself). I can’t sing a lick, but I would belt out Saving All My Love For You, You Give Good Love and All at Once (that was my favorite) like I was a true “sangah”. There was always a Whitney Houston song on my top ten list, no matter what. Then, Whitney hooked up with Bobby Brown and gone was that “good girl” image. Their public “antics” made me angry and I became Whitney’s biggest critic and man, was I critical. That’s something about which The Lord still deals with me.

I ragged on Whitney and Bobby on a regular basis. It was so bad that a co-worker would leave pictures of them in my inbox just to get me going. Then, as I grew in my relationship with The Lord, I saw the error of that and He turned my heart. I repented of the nasty, negative things I’d said about the two of them and began to pray for them, especially Whitney. I prayed for her every day. Every time I got on my knees, or bowed my head; her name crossed my lips or ran through my mind…for YEARS.

In the new millennium, I was taking a class at my former church. The instructor (my mentor) asked us to bring pictures of people for whom we were praying, people we loved, people for whose salvation we were believing God. People had pictures of their parents, children, spouses, siblings, family and friends. The ONLY picture I put on the altar was one of Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown. Not a single person in my class thought that strange. They sincerely prayed with me for the two of them every day for two straight weeks. Later on, when things became publicly volatile between Whitney and Bobby, I continued to pray; and I was relieved when I learned their marriage was ending, because it seemed that was the best thing for HER and for their daughter. Still, I continued to pray.

Whitney started to make her “comeback” and I saw my prayers being answered. My mentor and the instructor of the aforementioned class said to me; “Engla, your prayers have been answered”. From that point, my prayers changed from prayers of petition to prayers of thanksgiving.

Over the past two years, my prayers for Whitney Houston slacked off. I’d still pray for her when I saw her on the news, but the every day burden seemed to have lifted. So, imagine my shock when on last Saturday night, February 11, 2012, in the middle of a 16th Birthday Party for a young lady who wasn’t expected to live past her 2nd birthday, I read that Whitney Houston was dead.

I checked Facebook on my BlackBerry and read that Whitney Houston had died. I didn’t believe it. I did a Google search and saw that The Associated Press had reported her death. I started making and receiving phone calls. The calls I made were to people who knew how long and how hard I had prayed for her. The calls that I received were from some of those same people, and from others who know my love for music and were devastated to learn that “The Voice” was no longer with us.

When I called my mentor, she said she thought I’d be the first person to call her and she reassured me that my prayers had been answered. She reminded me of the things that had gone “right” in Whitney Houston’s life. I shared the news with some of the older folks at the party and then tipped my lemonade to her memory (I do that every time someone passes). I went home and fell asleep on my family room floor, with The Bodyguard watching me on my flat screen television.

When I got up the next morning, I got ready for church as usual and on my way there, I heard her rendition of “I Love The Lord” on the radio; that's when I lost it. I sobbed in my car like I had lost my best friend. I cried loud and I cried hard. I pulled up in the church parking lot and called one of my friends and prayer partners. I could barely get the words out when she answered. I asked her if she remembered my prayers for Whitney and I said; “What if I stopped praying for her too soon?” My dear friend talked me through that moment and assured me that if the prayer burden lifted, I had done what I was supposed to do. She reminded me that prayers aren’t always answered in the way we’d like or even expect.

After we talked, I got myself together enough to go inside and go to the altar in the Sanctuary. I got on my knees and cried out to The Lord for the souls of the lost. I repented for the arrogance of The Church in our neglecting to pray for souls instead of fighting and praying for our own selfish gain. I repented for the way in which we neglect to carry out the Great Commission as outlined in Matthew 28: 18-20 (KJV) “And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen.”

I prayed and I cried and I cried and I prayed and I searched Scripture and I cried and prayed some more.

In the days since, I have listened primarily to Whitney’s music and changed the background on my PC to a new picture of her every day, which I'll continue to do until her funeral service (that’s something else I always do when someone passes). I have also felt in my spirit that I did not stop praying too soon and that my prayers were indeed answered.

I fully believe that sometimes, in His Infinite Wisdom, The Lord calls home those who have accepted Him, but lack the strength to continue to battle their personal demons. He grants them the only kind of deliverance that will last; He takes them from this earth so that they will not fully self-destruct.

I don’t claim to know the state of Whitney Houston’s soul; only God does. I do believe that she believed in Jesus, and I believe that He called her Home to give her a peace she was never going to find in this world.

With that in mind, if I could say anything to her, it would be this;

“You impacted my life in a much bigger way than just being a fantastic singer. God used your life to stretch me spiritually and draw me closer to Him, and He used your death to remind me of my responsibility as someone who claims The Name of Jesus. Rest in Peace, Whitney Houston. Never having met you, I loved you dearly. Thank you.”

Giving Thanks

I'll be heading South later today. I'm going to celebrate Thanksgiving with my mother's side of the family. Good times; we always have good times. Can't wait to pull my little cousin Nick aside for a one on one chat. That boy (21, over 6 feet tall, plays college football) has a lot going on and his big cousin needs to hear where his head is. It's been about 18 months since we've had the chance to do that.

When I get back I have a lot to tackle...HEAD ON! Gotta break through that roadblock I mentioned in my last post. That's a MAJOR undertaking, but I have no coice but to be up for the challenge.

Pray for me!

Road Block Ahead

I have hit an emotional roadblock...HARD. I'll be back.

The Power of "WE"

I am struggling right now. Not with my relationship with Jesus; not with ungodly living; not with habitual sin. I’m not even struggling with acknowledging and accepting God’s Call on my life anymore (I never thought I’d be able to say that). I am struggling with the past; or maybe it’s the future. Actually, I’m struggling with how events in the past may affect the future. I’ve prayed about it, I’ve cried about it, I’ve tried to ignore it, I’ve tried to psych myself out about it. None of that worked; it keeps sneaking up on me and jumping on my back in an attempt to wrestle me to the ground.

So, a few days ago, I was sitting with someone going over paperwork and I kept seeing a name…over and over and over again. Because of the nature of the work, it was necessary for me to read and so I kept saying the name…over and over and over again. I felt my stomach tightening as my mind went down a rabbit trail. What I mean is this; the name I kept seeing had nothing to do with what was bothering me, but the association of the name did. Seeing that name and allowing my mind to follow Peter Cottontail, took me back. So, as we finished our discussion and I was about to be excused; I stacked my papers and tapped them on the table to line up the edges….over and over and over again. For a few minutes, I was silent (if you know me, you know silence is not my M.O. unless I’m angry or in deep thought). I began to erase blank spots on the paper and my heart started to race. The tightening in my stomach increased and I blurted out the connection that name had. I glanced up into surprised, thoughtful eyes as the person to whom I was talking said; “oh, mmmm”…over and over and over again, before asking me a single question.

The question I was asked opened up another can of worms and then…there was silence again. I rubbed, scratched and stroked my face repeatedly as the tightening returned to my stomach and my heart began to race again. So, without looking up (I kept right on erasing blank spots on that paper); I asked for help. That is not something I do well. I mean, if I need help with a project or I don’t understand something, I have no problem asking. But, to ask a person to help me understand me…nope, no good at that. I purposely wasn’t clear in my asking because I was hoping the person with whom I was working and talking would exercise some form of ESP and know exactly what was troubling me without me having to say it. If they did, they didn’t let on; so the questions came and I began to explain.

I’d asked them not to give me typical “Christian” or “churchy” answers. I didn’t need a bunch of Scriptures thrown at me. I know what The Word of God says and this isn’t about the spirit man of Engla, this is about the flesh, the woman, the totally human side. So, I didn’t expect super spiritual answers. I kind of expected to be questioned about why this thing was still an issue and why I hadn’t been able to let it go and move on. But that’s not what I got. I got compassion, some solid counsel, some transparency that let me know the person understood exactly where I was coming from, assurance that I’m not crazy (at least not based on this particular matter), confirmation that there isn’t anything wrong with me, and a committed resolve that “we will get this fixed; we’ll get through this stuff”. How about that... We…not “you”; but “we”.

When you’re hurting, when you feel like you may be alone and perhaps out of your mind, when you are confused and unsure, when you’re facing a Goliath and you see yourself as David without even a sling shot or a single rock; “we” is the single most powerful, valuable, affirming word you can hear from another human being. Especially when that human being is one you trust and whose input and opinion you value. I know I’m facing a lot, but the assurance that I’m not facing it alone in the Earth realm makes it just a little less daunting. So I say, thank you to the “we” people in my life. When the “I” part of “we” wants to run, I am confident that the “you” part of “we” will insist I stand (even if you have to help hold me up). The best thing about “we”, is that it works both ways. Whatever you face; “we” will get through that too.

My Pastor

I haven't blogged in a while and this one will be brief. Yesterday afternoon, we lost one of the greatest women of God of this era; Apostle Betty P. Peebles of the Jericho City of Praise. Pastor Betty; as I lovingly called her; was a great teacher and a woman of true integrity. I will miss her terribly. She has taught me so much and I will forever carry with me the many, many things I learned at her feet.

I know all of the "proper Christian" things I'm supposed to say. But truth be told, I can't rejoice. I can't thank God...not right now. At this moment, all I feel is an incredible sadness. I know it will ease, but right now, in this moment, this is where I am and I need to be here for just a little while.

Too Much of a Good Thing

Here's Gus trying to scale the back of the couch and make a quick getaway. I guess she was tired of the gifts, the sugar cookies (yes, we let the baby eat a cookie) and the pictures. Of course, the monkey pajamas were a gift from me. Is it obvious why I thought monkeys were appropriate?

I'm outta here, folks!

- Gus McMonkey, Escape Artist

Gus's First Christmas

Here are some pictures from my neice's first Christmas. This girl loves to be photographed; and it's a good thing, because her Auntie loves to take pictures.

And no, her name is not really Gus. It's a shortened version of her previous nickname "The Wuggus". Gus just stuck and believe it or not, it suits her perfectly.

No, she is not blowing kisses. She's doing her Native American battle cry.

Posing for her public.



I promise, she only had the tissue paper in her mouth for a second.

Now, if only I could get her 14 year old brother to be as cooperative when I try to take his picture. Actually, I'd be satisfied if he'd return a phone call. Alas, I remember being a teenager and I'm sure most days I bore him to tears. Fortunately, the baby is only 11 months old and still finds me entertaining and interesting.

My Boy on the Tractor

Okay, this picture is old...months old. It was taken the first week of March when we had a lot of snow in Southern Maryland. I still think it's a great picture. This is my then 13-year-old (he turned 14 in June) nephew on my Dad's tractor. He drove it over from my Dad's house to push my driveway. I always say "plow", but since it's really not a plow, he informed me that he's "pushing" the snow! I took this standing in the back door of my house while I was watching him. My Mother wants me to print her a large black and white copy to have framed. She wants to display it with a coal drawing she had done of the house in which she grew up.

The Pretty Baby in Her Tiny Hat

This is not a deep post, nor is it a witty one. Just two pictures of my beautiful, chunky butt niece in her tiny, tiny hat. The hat is obviously too small. It was on the arm of a chair at their house and I wondered why it hadn’t been given away. So, I put it on her so we adults could laugh (we’re terrible, I know). Anyway, I thought it made for a couple of cute pictures.

Who is Whale? I'm Getting OLD!

Apparently, I’m old. I’m only 34 (almost 35), but at times I feel really, really old. Like last Thursday.

We have high schoolers working in my building for the summer. The young lady whom I supervise gives me a quote and song of the day every morning. The kids don’t work on Friday, so when she left on Thursday she stuck Friday’s quote and song on my computer monitor. The song was Pretty Girls by Wale. I looked at it and asked, “Whale?” She said, “no, Wah-lay”. I had to laugh at myself because I have no idea who Wale is. I was fairly certain no one had given their child a name that was pronounced Whale, and had to wonder why someone would use Whale as a stage name. Wale is still strange to me, but it’s a whole lot better than “whale”. Sometimes I feel like such a dunce around young people. Who knew being 35 was the same as being 96 when it comes to being hip?

Still a Michael Jackson Fan?

I wanted to write a witty post about my childhood crush on Michael Jackson. Strangely enough, I find I don’t really have it in me right now.

I hadn’t been a real fan for years, but I was totally in love with MJ when I was a lot younger. He was my first celebrity crush and I am saddened by his sudden death. I was surprised to find myself crying this morning while Ben played on the radio. My aunt admitted to tearing up this morning while watching MJ footage on television. One of my closest friends said she doesn’t even have the words to describe how sad she is. I guess we discovered that deep down, we’re still fans at heart. The music industry suffered a great loss on yesterday, and apparently, so did we.

The Digital Television Switch

I don’t have cable. Actually, I can’t have cable. I live in the country and we can’t get cable on our side of the road. Seriously. But, we can get Direct TV or any other satellite television. All of that aside, I just refuse to pay to watch television.

This digital switch is making me crazy and I’m trying so hard not to cave. I have converter boxes and before the switch, I watched digital TV from time to time and it worked perfectly. Now, some days I’m watching puzzle faced people. Some channels come in perfectly in the morning and then are scrambled at night. Some channels get signals at certain times of the day and not at others. I’m not too bothered by it right now because all I watch in the morning is the CBS local news to get the weather. Since it’s summer, my favorite shows are reruns and I don’t really care about seeing them. Besides, I have every episode of those shows on DVD. I record and watch them during the regular season.

I really do have a serious resolve on this issue and I am determined not to give in, but come fall, I may have a problem. See, if Law & Order: SVU or Private Practice don’t come in clearly I will not be a happy camper. I can miss anything else on television; even the news because I can read it on the internet; but I seriously do not function well if I miss SVU or Private Practice. They (the evil demi-gods of digital television) better get this thing straight before the new season of either of my shows starts! If not, I may have to take down from my convictions and pay for stupid Direct TV; but I’m willing to make that sacrifice for my two most beloved television shows.

Yeah, yeah, yeah…I’ve heard it all before; Private Practice is a trashy night-time soap opera and SVU is sick and twisted. I like those shows. Besides, I am a fan of Amy Brenneman, Audra McDonald, Taye Diggs, Tamara Tunie, Mariska Hargitay and Dann Florek (I think it’s cool that his first name is spelled with two “N”s). I usually pride myself on spelling, but a couple of those names may be wrong. Anyway…you get the point. I’m sure there’s something inherently wrong with me watching those shows [insert sigh and eye roll], but they’re kinda my vice. I figure if I’m going to have a vice; and with my personality it’s almost certain that I will; SVU and Private Practice aren’t the worst ones out there.

My Incredible Grandmother

I went to hang out with my grandmother last night. I don’t say visit because I don’t visit her. Her house is my second home and I’m in and out of there just as freely as I am my own house; with keys and all. Anyway, I’d called to make sure she was going to be home. She was very happy to let me know she had left over chicken she’d made for my Father, Stepmother, Aunt and Uncle on Sunday night. She likes to cook, but only for people. She hates to cook just for herself because she doesn’t like leftovers.

So, I got to her house around 5:30 to find my Grandmother (Nana) coming up her basement stairs wearing Reeboks, some blue crop pants and a Rod Stewart t-shirt. That’s right; my 87 (88 at the end of this month) year old, black, Catholic grandmother is a rock n’ roll fan. We hugged and talked for a few minutes and then I heated up my food. She’d already eaten dinner, so she had ice cream and talked to me while I ate. When I was finished, she went outside to finish the gardening and washing of porch furniture she’d been doing earlier in the day before it got too hot out. I asked if she needed my help and she said no. She probably rolled her eyes, but she was in another room, so I couldn’t see to know for sure. She and my Mother both think I’m a “poor excuse for a country girl” because I’m not an outdoor person. I don’t know how to properly rake leaves; I’ve never cut grass…NEVER. I hate bugs and I’m very allergic to mosquitoes. I’m terrified of granddaddy longlegs; I think they’re the spawn of satan for sure. I’m allergic to pollen and I HATE to get dirty. That’s beside the point…but I know she rolled her eyes; Nana’s spunky like that!

After I washed the dishes, I grudgingly went outside and stood on the porch while she watered her flowers. When she was finished with that, she started telling me about these new trash bags she’d purchased and how she hoped they were big enough for her outside trash cans. Did I forget to mention that she bought the trash bags when she drove to Wal-Mart earlier yesterday? Yeah, she still drives. She bought herself a new car when she turned 80 and she keeps it in the garage which is detached and across the yard from her house. She does not like to leave that car out overnight. I offered to put the bag in the outside trash can (I’m not a total outdoor loser), but she again refused.

I did follow her outside again and joined her in sitting on the porch when she said she was finished for the day. We talked about the cherry and black walnut trees in her yard and how the birds and squirrels rob them of their bounty before she ever has a chance to pick anything. We watched a few blue jays and cardinals eat the cherries and laughed over my father’s joke that Nana is prejudiced because she hates for the huge black birds to eat from her bird feeders. So she said she wouldn’t complain about them anymore because she doesn’t want to discriminate. We talked about the varicose veins I’ve recently discovered on my leg. She says they don’t look like varicose veins to her because hers are a lot bigger. I pointed out that mine may be bigger than it seems, but is probably not totally visible because I’m a good bit darker than she is. Her response? “Oh yeah, maybe so”.

When I swatted a few bugs and announced that I’d had enough of the good outdoors, she decided to go in as well. We talked for a few more minutes and I said I’d better get home and get on the treadmill. She said she was going to take a shower and reminded me to let her know when I wanted to cook the turkey I’d left in her freezer. She said she’d take it out and let it thaw in her refrigerator two days before I’m ready for it. I told her it wouldn’t be before the weekend, kissed her, locked her doors and left. On my way to my car I couldn’t stop thinking about how this time last year Nana was recovering from her first heart attack and using a walker to get around. She had a second heart attack in August and underwent quadruple bypass in late September. Other than her heart problem, there were no issues with her health. Granted the heart problem was a big one; but it was correctable and she’s back to her usual “piddling”, as she calls it. I call it incredible!

The Book of Ezekiel

Toward the end of May, The Lord led me to begin an in-depth, comprehensive, pretty much exhaustive study of the Book of Ezekiel. I’ve been at it for two weeks and haven’t finished studying Chapter 1….that’s what I mean by in-depth! I’ll be posting a brief (or maybe not so brief) review upon completion of each chapter.

So far, God has allowed me to see so many profound things in this study. I am grateful to Him for sending me in this direction and making clear to me things I have not before seen. Thus far, I see many similarities between Israel then and us now. Particularly in our spiritual state…WOW! I have a whole new appreciation and understanding for the necessity of truly having Reverence for God. It’s something I’ve said many times, but now my eyes have been opened to what that really means and how Reverence for God affects every single aspect of our lives. He’s also allowed me to see how detrimental lack of that Reverence is.

I’ll stop because I could go on forever about what I’ve discovered, in this, the beginning of the study. I am excited and challenged to go deeper. Already, there have been significant changes in my mindset and for that I thank The Father and am humbled that He would choose to direct me down this path to Truth.