2012- Survive

2013 – Survive

2014 – Thrive

2015 – Abide

2016 – Choose Joy

These were my words from the last five years.

Some of them I chose (like, choose joy), others were chosen for me (survive). I think back to the challenges of 2012 and 2013 – moving from Tennessee to California, jobs falling through, staying in 5 different places in 7 months with a toddler, getting pregnant in the midst of the shuffle, discovering it was twins, tenuous relationships, having 3 children under 3. As we gratefully placed one toe over the line into relief, I asked Reggie what he thought the theme of those years were.

Survival.

It literally took everything in us to just fight for survival – for our lives, our family, our sanity, our faith.

Then came 2014. At some point during the year, we looked back and realized that we were no longer in survival mode. We could breathe. We were laughing more than crying. We.had.our.own.place!!! We were thriving – at work, in ministry, in our family, with relationships. Ironically, there was an ivy that I’d had for 16 years. Over the years, this plant seemed to mirror my spiritual and mental state. That year we were in survival mode, the year we felt as though we were dying. It was dying.

Miraculously, after months of little nurturing, no water, little sun, we decided to see what would happen if we placed it in the window. Gave it sun. Watered it.

It thrived.

And during the time it began to thrive, we thrived.

As 2014 began to morph into 2015, I remember looking at that plant. Once we abandoned survival mode, we decided to take efforts to tend to it, and provide what it needed. It grew – it thrived.  Each vine thrived as it was connected to the main source. I was reminded of John 15:4-5 “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.” There, my word for 2015 was birthed.

Abide.

The only way we would continue to thrive, would be by learning to abide.

Then. 2016. On December 25, 2015, I  decided that my word for 2016 would be “choose joy”. We had learned to survive, experienced a season of thriving and were learning to abide, but I wanted to learn how to do this without anxiety and fear. I wanted to trust, to be at peace, to understand what it meant to “choose joy”. By January 2, I was done with choosing joy. It seemed as though everything that came at me that week  – ER visit for leg pains, busted transmission in our fairly new van, husband with an allergic reaction – was hell bent on bringing out the opposite. But, we made it. I faltered a lot. Failed miserably. But, as we approach the end of the this year, I am understanding better how to take practical steps towards applying that biblical truth – by giving thanks – often.

So, here we are. The end of 2016. I’ve decided that my word for next year will be “Pursue”. It’s a loaded phrase and I’m still fleshing out what that will mean for me. But, if history serves as any type of indicator…

Stay tuned…

I grew up in church.

And it’s a miracle that I still attend.

Now, hear me clearly. I know of a lot of churches from one coast to the other that are led by pastors who love God, and are committed to living lives pleasing to Him as best as they know how. They are imperfect, but they want to represent Him well. They love their spouses and care for their children. They are faithful – to God, to the people they serve, to their families. They teach from the Word of God. They preach truth – whether it is encouraging or convicting, popular or unpopular, in season or out of season. To the best of their abilities, they strive to be 1 Timothy type of leaders.

I know many churches like this.

But, the one I grew up in? Was not.

I will not go into detail about all that I experienced, but I will say that a significant number of 2 generations that grew up in that church, want nothing to do with Jesus, or His church.

That it unfortunate and infuriating.

I can remember a conversation that I had years ago with a childhood friend from that church. By then, I had moved away, met young people who sincerely loved Jesus, and desired to please Him. I had seen a different example and was inspired and encouraged. He, however, had not.

“So, what do you do when you aren’t with the “holy rollers”?

“Excuse me?”

“You know, when you aren’t at that school (seminary) and not in Texas with them, what do you do for fun, how do you release?”

My heart broke as I flashed back to the hypocrisy, the blatant evil, deceit, the entitlement, ignoring and enabling. I recalled the pact a couple of them made to never go back to church once they reached a certain age. A pact that they kept. And as far as I know, still hold to this day.

“What we saw in “church”? That wasn’t right. What we grew up with? That’s not God. That’s not who He is.”

Sadly, his last words to me were,

“Yeah, well, God and I have an understanding. He leaves me alone, and I leave him alone.”

Over 15 years later, that conversation still haunts me.

Sadly today, I find myself having similar conversations, reading similar comments. More and more.

And I still say, “What we are seeing? What people are doing, saying, “in His name”? Don’t be deceived.

That’s. Not. God.

More to come…

What if you’re wrong?

I have heard and seen this question asked. In more difficult times, times when I have felt less in control than I would like to feel, or ironically, particularly self-sufficient, I have even asked myself this question. What if we are wrong about this “following Christ”? What if there is no God, no Jesus, no heaven, no hell? What if I am wrong?

I examined where this relationship and faith has led me…

This faith led me to believe at age 12 that I had a gift, and with that gift came a purpose beyond what my junior high mind could see or conceive.

This relationship led me to a boldness to believe I was worth more than to allow a particular boss to ridicule me, to curse me out, to disrespect me. I refused to accept it based upon Who I belonged to. And, he respected me for it.

This relationship led me to make a decision to lead a life of sexual purity and celibacy, after two years of rebellion, and quite honestly, an earthly hell. As a result, there were no worries of unwanted pregnancy, STDs, wondering about the faithfulness of guys, or my worth as a woman. It weeded out the guys who were interested in “one thing” and saved me time, dignity and energy.

This faith lead me to leave a job that I did not like, to take a risk, move to a different state, and go to seminary – jobless and without knowing a soul.

This faith led me to believe that God would provide my every need once I arrived there. Sure, I doubted at times. But He provided. Every bill was paid, I never missed a meal, paid off a car, and left graduate school with a mere $1000 loan that was paid off within months after graduation. More importantly, I left with life-long, life-giving relationships.

This faith led me to believe I should teach at a Christian school in the inner-city in Dallas, forgoing my dream to be in international business. It turned out to be some of the best years of my life, and the impact of that decision is still bearing fruit.

This faith led me to South Africa, and Ghana, to share hope, encouragement, and yes, this faith. It was in Ghana that I realized you do not get more “international” than ministry, as the good news of God’s love and Christ’s sacrifice applies to all socio-economic levels and nationalities, translates into any language, and is not confined by boundaries and borders.

This faith led me to a work with a ministry in Orlando, through which I would meet my husband.

This relationship led me to a man with similar faith, with a heart to please God by committing to one woman – in body and thought. A man who wants to see his children grow to learn to love God and love people. A man who, though imperfect, believes his calling in our home is to love his wife as Christ loves the church – so he makes self-less choices and sacrifices regularly, even when she does not deserve it.

This faith led me to two more states, with the same promises – that God would meet us there, and that He would provide. Even in times of difficulty and doubt, and though it did not always look the way I wanted it to, He was faithful.

This relationship leads me to believe that there is freedom in forgiveness. I can choose to forgive because God requires it, because He modeled it, but in the end I am the one released from bitterness, anger and frustration – I am free.

This faith leads me to believe that though I have lost loved ones (mother, grandfathers, grandmother, an unborn child) I will see them again in heaven, because we shared the same faith.

This faith leads me to believe that though I will have trials, God is there with me. Pain will hurt. Sorrow will come. Life will simply suck sometimes. Yet, He is in the midst of it all, ready and willing to provide comfort, if not clarity and hope.

This faith led me to realize that IF I am wrong, I have lost little and gained much.

In this life…
I have gained hope.
I have gained joy.
I have gained peace.
I have gained comfort.
I have gained freedom.
I have gained community.
I have gained purpose.

But if we are “right” (and I believe we are), if there is a God (and I believe there is), and there is a Christ who died on the cross for our sins, and He is the only way, the truth, the life (and I believe He did).

If there is a heaven (and I believe there is),
then most importantly…

I have gained eternal life in heaven, where there will be no sorrow, no pain, no death.

That is a “risk” worth taking.

Jesus told her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in Me will live, even after dying. Everyone who lives in Me and believes in Me will never ever die. Do you believe this….?”

(John 11:25-26 NLT)

I often dread Mondays. After spending full days together as a family on weekends, I start developing a bit of a “funk” on Sunday nights – as I consider the weight of the responsibilities that lay ahead in the coming week.

But, last Monday was different.

I had one of the sweetest experiences in Trader Joe’s. Since Trader Joe’s is one of the places that I can navigate with relative ease with all three children, the kids and I went to do a little shopping. It is relatively common for people to stop to engage the children, commenting on how full my hands are, how sweet the girls are, or how helpful their big brother is as he pushes his toddler-sized grocery cart that our local Trader Joe’s provides.

Last Monday was no different, except, it was.

After a bit of time exchanging pleasantries with a few people in the frozen food aisle – we went on our way. A few minutes later, one of the women, a sweet grandmotherly German woman, finds us. When we talked earlier, she had gushed over the children, speaking of how sweet this time is, how hard it is, but how she misses it, and how big of a job it is to care for children. She unexpectedly walks up to me, holding her hands to her heart saying, “From my heart… from my heart…You have such a big job. You have a lot on your hands. It is hard. Hard. Big.” After saying this, she presses a $100 bill into my hand. “For the children.” As I protest, she insists, “No. NO! From my heart, for your sweet children. Your job is hard. Big. For the children. Put it away safe.” With that, she gives me a big hug, a quick kiss on the cheek, and continues her shopping. I stand there, reduced to tears, as the children stare at me. I barely make it thru checkout. When we finally get settled into the van, I break down.

You see, the previous week was a difficult “mommy” week for me. An odd cold/respiratory infection left me exhausted and unable to sleep for several days. The children were at odds with one another and me. I could not seem to pull it together, could not grab a moment to compose my nerves, or decompress, and I lost it, failing in gracious responses to my children’s antics time and time again. I announced to Reggie, several times, “I am going to look for a full-time job. I can’t do this. I can’t stay home any longer. I can’t. CAN NOT. I’m not cut out for this. It’s hard. Too hard. It’s time. Ican’tdothisanymore!” I started visiting online job search sites thru the blur of tears.

But, Ms. Ann did not know any of this. She just felt in her heart that she needed to acknowledge this stage, this season that I am in, with not only words, but deeds. Do you have any idea how it is to have a complete stranger, somehow knowingly look you in the eye, grab your hand, hug you, give you a gift while acknowledging the difficulty of your current reality, using the very words you were screaming out with defeat and despair less than a week before? THAT is overwhelming.

It still brings me to tears.

To know that God heard me railing against my current situation, wanting to bail out because it is “hard”. And, to know that His response to me in this instance was grace. Not a circumstance to bring me to my knees in despair as “payback” or punishment for my lack of faith, or gratitude, (which I often expect), but grace – a sweet kiss to let me know that He heard me. He sees me. And I can do this because this is where I am supposed to be now. And He is here. He sees.

And, her actions convict me. She had no idea who I was, who I am. She hadn’t a clue as to how difficult my previous week had been. She doesn’t know how much money we make, or don’t make. What my political affiliations are. What God I worship. If I needed the money or not. In fact, she had no idea that just the week prior, I told a friend about my negative experience when I was in Germany briefly. She didn’t know and didn’t care. She saw a mom who she believed needed encouragement, as she provided just that – no conditions and no strings.

How often I fail in loving and encouraging another because I have conditions. Simple things like letting someone cut in line, doing a favor for another, stopping to have a conversation instead of rushing to fulfill my agenda, giving to someone regardless of if I think they need it or not. I fail. Miserably.

I may not see Ms. Ann ever again. But her kindness to me is a priceless gift that I will treasure for years to come. Long after the money is spent, I will remember the significant impact of one act of kindness. May I continue to share that lesson in word and deed.

Death sucks.
I really don’t know any other way to put it. It. Just. Does.
I have spent my share of years grieving because of it. In fact, October kicks off a particularly difficult season because of it. My mother died in October, 23 years ago. My grandfather died October 22, three years ago. A beloved pastor passed away last October, and just this past year, a dear family friend, who was like an uncle, was taken away unexpectedly. Therefore, in the midst of the excitement in preparing for the holidays, the fall and winter often mark a time of sadness and grief.

But, quite unexpectedly, the death of loved ones, and even those I do not know, have also become times of reflection for me. I reminisce about times past, and I grieve. But, there are also glimpses of a greater purpose. A reminder that I have been left behind for a reason.

I am not an avid sports fan. But, I do know who Stuart Scott is. In fact, he is one of a few analysts that I could readily identify. I admired how he carried himself on camera, how he interacted with others. He seemed to be a man of character. However, since I did not follow him, or his story, his death has come as quite a shock to me.

As news spread about his death, I have been most impacted as I hear the reports about his life. Not his accomplishments, but his character – who he was. As I watch people, like Hannah Storm, who knew and worked with him personally, share, they are grieving for losing him, not his accomplishments. I love the quote that is circulating, from Stuart Scott’s acceptance speech at the 2014 ESPYs,

“When you die, that does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and the manner in which you live,”

That is what makes the difference.

“The manner in which you live.”

I think of the things my mother did and the ways she impacted my life. How twenty-three years later, now, as a mother myself, I find myself doing and saying things that she did. It is amazing to see how she impacted my parenting in the 17 short years I had with her. She left her mark on my life.

I often recall the fact that where my life is now is a result of my beloved pastor challenging me to use my gifts and get outside of my box. I accepted that challenge. Had he not challenged and encouraged me, I would not have applied for seminary in Dallas. Had I not moved to Dallas, I would not learned that I have an educator’s passion and a missionary’s heart. I would have missed multiple relationships. I would not have met the friend who told me about the ministry she served with. I eventually moved to Orlando to work with the same ministry. And it is thru that organization that I met my husband. Ten years, 3 states and 3 children later, here we are. He left his mark.

As hard as death is for those of us who remain, it reminds us of one thing – to live.

Several months ago, I read an article about twin brothers from Chattanooga who were found dead in their home, sitting side by side. While that sounds endearing, it was actually quite tragic. These brothers were found dead after 3 years. Yes. Three. For three years, no one missed them. The mailman assumed they moved away without leaving a forwarding address. A well-check performed by a police officer revealed nothing abnormal – they lived with shades drawn and no contact with neighbors, so nothing seemed amiss. Family members did not inquire about the lack of contact – it was normal, common. So for 3 years, no one missed them. No one.

On a recent trip to the beach, I noticed footprints left behind. Marks in the sand. Some were made by flip flops, some by bare feet, others with tennis shoes. Different sizes. Different shapes. Some more noticeable than others. But, we all left them. Intentional or unintentional, we all left footprints.

This made me think about legacy. Legacies are like footprints. We all leave them behind, intentionally or unintentionally, for good or bad, they are left.

Once again, a death has occurred that makes me consider what I will choose to leave behind, footprints in the sand that will wash away with the tide, or firmly cemented in the lives of those who will live on beyond me.

And it makes me ponder… Am I living my life in such a way that there will be a void in the lives of those around me? Or, will there be relief? Will people even notice? What difference would it have made that I was on this earth? Am I doing the thing(s) I was placed on this earth to do?
What will be my footprint?

What will be your footprint?

After a brief hiatus, for this month’s World wide Wednesdays, I decided to focus on stories of holiday from different cultures around the world after finding this list of children’s books on Pinterest. This week we read Too Many Tamales, by Gary Soto. The story takes place on Christmas Eve, and tells the story of Maria, a young Latino girl who gathered with her family to celebrate on Christmas Eve. Maria, is really excited because she finally has the opportunity to help her mother make tamales for their extended family. Maria’s mom has a diamond wedding ring that Maria has always loved, and her mom takes off the ring while kneading the masa for the tamales. She then leaves the kitchen. Maria determines that this is the perfect opportunity to try on the coveted ring, and she does so, while kneading the masa. Hours later, to her horror, after the 24 tamales are ready to eat, she discovers that the ring is no longer on her thumb.The rest of the story tells how Maria decides to “fix” the problem, and teaches great lessons about honesty and family.

Since my children have never had tamales before, I decided this was the perfect opportunity for them to try them out. You would like to think I made them since that is what they did in the book, right? Hah! No. Instead we went to this little Salvadorian bakery and restaurant nearby, Susy’s Bakery and Deli, where we ordered chicken and pork tamales, and their favorite Salvadorian dish, pupusas. Enoch says, “Delicious!”

My dad is a twin. My mom had twin brothers. My sister has two sets of twins. Several people over the years had dreams of us having twins (myself included). According to research, there are three factors that increase one’s chances of having a multiples birth – heredity (√), being African-American (√√), and being of advanced maternal age, older than 35 (√√√). So, I can’t say that we were surprised when we discovered we were expecting twins. However, the timing is what caught us off guard.

Prior to moving from Tennessee, we decided that Reggie would come ahead of us in order to get our lives in order. We moved by faith, but we had a plan – plans actually, and they all fell through. Horribly. Well, our plans fell through. God’s plans to teach us that He is a great BIG God, and our Provider and Protector, to humble us, stretch our faith, increase our prayer lives, grow us closer to Him and one another, teach us the importance of authentic community, get me writing again, etc., etc.- His plans prevailed.

As I was saying…our plan was that Reggie would come ahead of us in June, while Enoch and I spent the month in North Carolina with my sister and her family. We would join him in July, once he was working, and had our home set up. Except, the job fell thru, actually, a couple of jobs, which means he could not set up our home. However, we still followed thru with joining him 5 weeks later. And by mid August we were pregnant. Unexpectedly. In fact, we had a conversation about continuing to wait before expanding our family, and being ok with Enoch being the only child for awhile. Unbeknownst to us, we were already pregnant. I’m quite sure God laughed as we laid out our plans.

By 10 weeks I was a bit larger than typically expected and wearing maternity clothes already. By 12 weeks, I was feeling movement, which typically doesn’t occur until 16 weeks or later. I mentioned it to my midwife – a very experienced, well-loved and revered midwife, because I was convinced it was twins. After measuring, checking for heartbeats, etc. she assured (and re-assured) me there was only one, and that I just carry big babies (Enoch was almost 10 lbs). I jokingly (but not really) pointed out that either I was having an alien baby or twins, because it was too much movement for just one. Checking again, she assured me, one heartbeat. One baby. What we would later discover is that the girls heartbeats were often synchronized. So much so that in the latter half of pregnancy, I had to have multiple ultrasounds because doctors and techs had difficulty detecting both heartbeats because of their position and the fact that they beat simultaneously.
At 13 weeks an unexpected two-week trip to Chicago for my grandfather’s funeral meant I missed the window of opportunity to have an ultrasound common for mothers of “advanced maternal age”, which means, I missed that window to find out we were having twins. By the way, my ENTIRE family was certain it was twins, and rarely missed the opportunity to tell me while I was visiting. We all knew, but I kept protesting with, “But, my midwife said”.
Should’ve listened to Bigma.

Twenty weeks. December 21. That morning we mailed out our Christmas cards announcing the arrival of “baby G” in May (yes we mailed Christmas cards on Dec 21 – don’t judge). That afternoon we went in for the twenty week ultrasound. I’m prepped – laying on the table, belly exposed. Reggie is sitting in the chair next to me watching the screen. The ultrasound tech grabs the wand, plugs in some information on the keyboard, and begins scanning. About 2 minutes in, she abruptly stops. Holds the wand still with one hand, she frantically starts flipping thru my chart with the other. Glances back at the screen. Flips thru the chart again. Looks at screen. Looks at us. “Is this your first ultrasound?” “Yes.” “So. Um…” Reggie and I together, “You see two babies.” With a look of relief, and surprise “YESSSSSSS!!!. Did anyone ever tell you that you were having twins?”

Yep. But, not a medical professional.

Five months later…

Lessons learned:

1. God is in control.
2. We are not in control. God is in control.
3. Birth control is an illusion. Because, God is in control.
4. God determines when it is time to conceive (twins), or not (before conceiving Enoch). The results of any amount of trying or preventing was left up to Him. Because, God is in control.
5. God provides and protects. Because, God is in control.
6. Grandmothers know stuff. But, God is in control.
7. Sometimes you just have to trust your gut. But, always remember that God is in control