Ok, so this is going to be a bit of a venting session. I call this a "diary" although most of the time, my aim is to be inspirational in my approach and share small nuggets of wisdom and knowledge here and there. But let's face it. It's way more interesting to know and hear that I'm a real woman that goes through the same ish as everyone else, trying to dodge the same potholes and set backs in life.
So today, I'm frustrated.
It's been nearly 8 months since my children's father and I called it quits. Well, let tell the truth: I called it quits. He may not have been the happiest man on the planet but what we had going at the time certainly didn't seem broke to him so he wasn't interested in fixing anything. After coming home from a miraculously powerful three night service in NC, my life was changed and my spiritual man awakened. All I knew was that my life was going to be different and the presence of the Lord was what I wanted and NEEDED. That meant that everything in my life that didn't appear "godly", including the relationship my children's father and I were in, had to end.
I'll be even more honest here. There was no letting him down easy. There was no "dear John" letter. I basically came back home after being gone for 4 days, ignored him for 2 weeks, and over lunch one day, I announced to him that not only was our relationship over, but that I was leaving the state within a year's time.
Boom.
And honestly, I didn't regret doing so because after all I'd endured in this relationship, it felt good to lower the boom and let him know that I FINALLY didn't feel like I had to tolerate his actions any longer. I was done. I was leaving. WE were leaving it all behind. I didn't deserve to be hurt the way I was and I didn't deserve to stay another day in what I felt was an under performing relationship. He didn't meet the criteria of the mystery "good man" and he certainly wasn't about to start attending church every Sunday and speaking in tongues just because I came home from a three day revival with a made-up mind to serve the Lord! So in my mind, the most logical thing to do would be to end our relationship instead of taking each other through the dreaded, but familiar "unequally yoked" scenario.
It wasn't until a few months later that I actually learned that the man I loved was actually hurt by my actions.
How could a "God thing" hurt someone that I cared so deeply for? I did the right thing by cutting him loose, right? RIGHT??
Hmm.
And that leads me to today.
Somehow or another, after months of virtual silence, he and I began talking again. At first it was strained and limited only to terse conversations about the well being of the children. But gradually, the conversations made their way back to familiar territory: "I'm having a craaazy day at work today!", or "Do you want to meet up for lunch?"
Let me again be honest. I never really wanted our relationship to end, but I did want it to CHANGE. I just came to the realization that I couldn't change anyone and rather than to argue and battle, women were supposed to leave. Right? RIGHT??
If it doesn't make you happy or make you smile something close to ALL the time, then you pack up and cut your losses, right? RIGHT??
After all, who wants to go another round on the familiar heartbreak carousel? Who wants to give a man another chance to hurt you?
Hmm.
Well, last weekend was fantastic. We had what I thought was great family time. We got along, we laughed, appeared to have enjoyed one another's company and he even had a whole day and a half to himself with the children alone. But that 8-9 hrs that he spent with me appears to be the issue. Let me just be really real here. Part of my problem (or insecurity) now is that he's tolerating my presence just for the sake of our children and to facilitate a drama-free interaction with them. By drama-free, he means at least getting some pleasant conversation out of me and feeling like we're friends. There's only one problem...
I don't do friendships after break up's.
I can be polite, I can be cordial. I may even ask u how you're doing.
But if we're not in a relationship, the chit chat comes to an END. BYE.
The last time we discussed our relationship "status" I was told "we're taking it one day at a time". When I was 23, that may have inspired hope in my heart. At 33, that screams, "SERIOUSLY?! We are too old to be acting like we're still test driving this thing!"
I'm also a bit annoyed by the fact that I feel like I'm on trial and if I don't perform at optimum level each time we interact, then I'll be disqualified from the competition. Boy, bye.
I'm the mother of your two children. We've known each other for 6 years.
Make a decision!
So basically, I'm venting to my blog so as not to throw about three, strongly articulated word grenades over his fence and blast him into the middle of next week! UGH!
I hate feeling like I'm on trial and being kept under observation. At the end of this trial period, I may be deemed worthy of a committed relationship.
Naw.
Not interested.
So I'm sitting here an emotional thunderstorm waiting for the heat of it all to pass.
I'll be back right in a few hours. I don't have a choice. I have far bigger fish to fry. When you're the mother of two, observant children, the last thing you want to do is have your children watch you take a swim in an above ground sizes pool of Ben & Jerry's. Gotta pull it together!
I'm trying to keep my words few to him through this. I'm sure he has his reasons for doing things the way that he does and my struggle is to try to maintain respect for his ways and opinions that so differ from mine. UGH.
But that's what growing up is all about and truthfully, that's what being in love involves. It's not easy being in a relationship and even harder to maintain one.
Too bad it isn't as lovely and glamourous as its made out to be.
Maybe that's why so many people quit at love.
I'm not saying that I'm quitting but I'm definitely taking a time-out. lol!
It's too MUUUUuuch!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Where It All Began:Part 1
"The part of me that is angry is because I wanted to be loved so badly that I left common sense and good judgement at the door."
That was 2005.
A lot can happen in six years.
A lot HAS happened in six years.
First, I want to start by saying that motherhood was never something I pursued. Sure, in theory I wanted to be a mother some day. I also wanted the rich, church going husband who whisked me away to his mansion and gave me one of his matching Mercedes to drive.
That would have been nice.
But the motherhood thing? Six years ago, it wasn't even on my radar.
What was on my radar was trying to find someone to love me.
The father of my children was not my first relationship. Before him there was an 8 year relationship which turned into an engagement its final year. There's not enough time to discuss where that relationship went wrong, but the sole reason it even began in the first place was because of my pursuit of a man's love.
I needed it so badly and felt like I couldn't function without it. It became addictive, a sedative. It calmed me down for a moment, but soon had me roaming the streets looking for my next fix. I drove for miles looking for it. I allowed questionable characters to be taken into my confidence and sometimes, into my bed, looking for it.
When the 8 year relationship ended in 2004, I went looking again. This time, I found a man I didn't even like. That wasn't anything new. I'd met several men who didn't impress me at first sight and this one wasn't an exception. He was somewhat tall (about 6'1"), brown skinned, wore jeans, a throwback jersey and a ball cap cocked to the side. I was not impressed.
I was introduced to him by my hair stylist and wanting some attention and affection, I decided to give him a call and he immediately asked to come see me. He came over and the conversation was unremarkable. He looked like a walking stereotype. I immediately judged him.
He wasn't on my level.
Several months passed after our initial meeting in 2004. By February of 2005, we reconnected. One evening he came over to my place to hang out. He sat on my sofa as he usually did and I sat across from him on the chaise. After several minutes passed, he removed the ball cap allowing me to finally get a good look at his face and his eyes. There was something about his face that immediately struck me.
I knew then I wanted him.
And back in the day, Melissa usually got what and who she wanted.
We continued our physical relationship for several months and although I was not 100 percent content, I was willing to tolerate his inconsistent behavior because after all, he was a nice change of scenery. But the more he came around, the more I felt myself getting attached to him. I decided that the next time we met, I would end things.
But before I got the chance, there was some news the both of us would have to learn...
I was pregnant.
The next year was hell. I say that because I was already an emotional wreck before getting pregnant but combined with hormonal changes, it became worse. I was used to feeling depressed but it deepened. I was used to feeling alone because I had been living on my own for several years. But it became even worse.
I didn't know how I ended up here.
I didn't want to be pregnant. I wanted to be loved.
I was too old to be pregnant and unloved. I was 27 yrs old when I found out I was pregnant. This sort of thing happened to teenagers, right?
What I soon discovered was that although my physical age was 27, my emotional age was far, far younger.
I needed to grow up and someone was about to be born who could help me do just that.
When I began this journey and this calling of motherhood, I felt beyond ill-prepared. I felt as if being pregnant was a consequence to own and live with. I wasn't capable then of seeing the hand of God in it all. I knew God was involved because He began speaking to me in dreams more than I'd ever had in my entire life. He told me I was having a son. He told me to name him "Matthew" which means "gift of God". But even with all of these confirmations, I still didn't put the pieces together.
I still couldn't see God in it all.
I couldn't see the "gift".
All I saw was that I wanted a man to love me but ended up with a baby. Not only was I about to be a mother, I was about to do it alone. I was about to be a "baby mama", a statistic. I didn't even have time to care about the ramifications of my actions against the backdrop of my Pentecostal Holiness upbringing nor my father's position as an Elder. All I knew was that I had to face what I'd done and I would.
I wish that I could say that I embraced motherhood with enthusiasm and selflessness as every parent should, but I didn't. I spend a great deal of time mourning, complaining, and weeping for the love I wanted but never got. I mourned for the fantasy man in the music video who would shower me with gifts and affection that never came. And I mourned for the life I was told I should have and deserved to have but didn't.
I was a baby mama now. How delightfully humbling.
But six years later...
My life looks nothing like it did then.
Not only am I the mother of Matthew, I went on to have another child with the man in the throwback jersey and cocked-to-the-side ball cap, our beautiful daughter, Caitlyn.
We tried to make a household work early on. He ended the relationship with another woman he was with shortly before Matthew was born. A year after Matthew was born, he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. We lived together off and on up until 2010. We tried to be a family.
We've cussed, fussed, fought and cried our way through the last 6 years. It wasn't until we ended our romantic involvement for a season that we both had a chance and opportunity to reevaluate our lives and our roles as parents. Quite honestly, I fell right into the "single mom" stride and didn't look back. I worked full time, picked up a part-time gig, paid bills, made doctor appointments, established bedtimes and routines. I did it all.
And I used our children to build a wall between myself and their father.
It's not like he made it easy to forgive him for his wrongs. It's not like he was consistent or even responsible.
But what I learned last year and this year was that forgiveness is a gift and opens up new possibilities.
I could either let the darkness of our past continue to blanket all of our lives (our innocent children included) or I could let it go, forgive him for not being the man I wanted him to be and allow him to be the man he was.
I had a choice to make.
Grudge or Glory?
I also realized that the greatest motivation for change in my life was our two children. Although he wasn't doing a very good job of trying to actively participate in their lives, I also wasn't doing a very good job with my attitude of allowing him to be a part of it. I didn't want him to be a part of it at first. If he didn't want me, WE didn't want him.
And that's where I was wrong.
I didn't want my children shuttled between two households. I wanted the picture perfect family with mommy in an apron and daddy in a smoking jacket, all under one roof. I wanted what I wanted and as I said before, Melissa usually got what she wanted.
But one thing about true love of any kind that I was soon to learn was that love that doesn't leave its recipient better than when they first got there isn't love at all. Real love has transforming power.
If the love you show doesn't transform anyone for the better, it's probably a lovely form of selfishness.
My love for my children was selfish.
My love for the father was selfish also.
I think a light bulb went off in my head and Marc's head once we realized that our son turns 5 in just a couple of weeks. Maybe it's the realization that we now have a child who will one day be a man and as the oldest, be responsible for his sister and possibly for major decisions regarding our health and property. Maybe it was the realization that our 5 year old child has a super good memory and with that in mind, we want to plant good things on it. Maybe it was my realization that this year, he starts kindergarten and as we release him to the world, there is nothing like the comfort of a superhero father who will protect and defend you from all wrongs that you may face.
Maybe it was my realizing that the love of God that I professed to have was not being shown to the man whose children I bore. What good was it to claim to be a believer when I treated him like scum?
And maybe we both just grew up a little in six years.
Whatever it was, something clicked this year and I'm thankful it did.
This birthday will be different for Matthew.
Sure, his father and I have a long way to go in communicating effectively and respectfully. We do not live together. We're not engaged. When pressed for a relationship status, the best he can offer to me is "we're taking it one day at a time". But what's different is that we're back at the table, trying to work together, communicate and do this parenting thing together. I don't care how strong we claim to be ladies... there's NOTHING like having some help from a man.
I'm thankful for the help that Marc is now able to provide. Five years ago, I made a decision not to put him up on child support. There were many days I thought I regretted that decision. I know many of my friends disagreed with it. But I knew in my heart and still do that he is capable of stepping up to the challenge of fatherhood. I'm thankful that he does contribute each pay period to their care without a court order. I am thankful that he wants to take them each weekend to spend time with him. I'm thankful that my heart is open now to allowing him to do it.
I'm thankful that despite our dramatic past, we were both able to forgive each other and move forward. I'm thankful that we're learning the value of mutual respect so that our son and daughter can see it modeled before them. I'm thankful that my children have two parents who love and adore them just for being on the planet.
Six years ago, Marc was every curse word I could muster. He was so far beneath me and my fantasy filled expectations. Today, he is the recipient of my love which flows from my heart because it was placed there by God. I'm thankful I can look at him through eyes of compassion, not fault finding. I'm thankful that when he makes a mistake, I see the intent and not only the action. I'm thankful for a second chance by him to prove that I can love as Christ loves and let my light shine.
I'm thankful that he's the father of my children.
I'm thankful that he's trying to be a better man.
I'm thankful that he wasn't a "walking stereotype" and proved my judgements wrong.
I'm thankful that despite his shortcomings, he never stopped trying to be a father to his children.
When our son Matthew and daughter Caitlyn look to us, I'm thankful that they will see two parents who are fully committed to them and their well being.
I'm thankful that today, the man with the cocked-to-the-side ball cap now has a name, Marcus, my respect, and a place in my heart and family.
That was 2005.
A lot can happen in six years.
A lot HAS happened in six years.
First, I want to start by saying that motherhood was never something I pursued. Sure, in theory I wanted to be a mother some day. I also wanted the rich, church going husband who whisked me away to his mansion and gave me one of his matching Mercedes to drive.
That would have been nice.
But the motherhood thing? Six years ago, it wasn't even on my radar.
What was on my radar was trying to find someone to love me.
The father of my children was not my first relationship. Before him there was an 8 year relationship which turned into an engagement its final year. There's not enough time to discuss where that relationship went wrong, but the sole reason it even began in the first place was because of my pursuit of a man's love.
I needed it so badly and felt like I couldn't function without it. It became addictive, a sedative. It calmed me down for a moment, but soon had me roaming the streets looking for my next fix. I drove for miles looking for it. I allowed questionable characters to be taken into my confidence and sometimes, into my bed, looking for it.
When the 8 year relationship ended in 2004, I went looking again. This time, I found a man I didn't even like. That wasn't anything new. I'd met several men who didn't impress me at first sight and this one wasn't an exception. He was somewhat tall (about 6'1"), brown skinned, wore jeans, a throwback jersey and a ball cap cocked to the side. I was not impressed.
I was introduced to him by my hair stylist and wanting some attention and affection, I decided to give him a call and he immediately asked to come see me. He came over and the conversation was unremarkable. He looked like a walking stereotype. I immediately judged him.
He wasn't on my level.
Several months passed after our initial meeting in 2004. By February of 2005, we reconnected. One evening he came over to my place to hang out. He sat on my sofa as he usually did and I sat across from him on the chaise. After several minutes passed, he removed the ball cap allowing me to finally get a good look at his face and his eyes. There was something about his face that immediately struck me.
I knew then I wanted him.
And back in the day, Melissa usually got what and who she wanted.
We continued our physical relationship for several months and although I was not 100 percent content, I was willing to tolerate his inconsistent behavior because after all, he was a nice change of scenery. But the more he came around, the more I felt myself getting attached to him. I decided that the next time we met, I would end things.
But before I got the chance, there was some news the both of us would have to learn...
I was pregnant.
The next year was hell. I say that because I was already an emotional wreck before getting pregnant but combined with hormonal changes, it became worse. I was used to feeling depressed but it deepened. I was used to feeling alone because I had been living on my own for several years. But it became even worse.
I didn't know how I ended up here.
I didn't want to be pregnant. I wanted to be loved.
I was too old to be pregnant and unloved. I was 27 yrs old when I found out I was pregnant. This sort of thing happened to teenagers, right?
What I soon discovered was that although my physical age was 27, my emotional age was far, far younger.
I needed to grow up and someone was about to be born who could help me do just that.
When I began this journey and this calling of motherhood, I felt beyond ill-prepared. I felt as if being pregnant was a consequence to own and live with. I wasn't capable then of seeing the hand of God in it all. I knew God was involved because He began speaking to me in dreams more than I'd ever had in my entire life. He told me I was having a son. He told me to name him "Matthew" which means "gift of God". But even with all of these confirmations, I still didn't put the pieces together.
I still couldn't see God in it all.
I couldn't see the "gift".
All I saw was that I wanted a man to love me but ended up with a baby. Not only was I about to be a mother, I was about to do it alone. I was about to be a "baby mama", a statistic. I didn't even have time to care about the ramifications of my actions against the backdrop of my Pentecostal Holiness upbringing nor my father's position as an Elder. All I knew was that I had to face what I'd done and I would.
I wish that I could say that I embraced motherhood with enthusiasm and selflessness as every parent should, but I didn't. I spend a great deal of time mourning, complaining, and weeping for the love I wanted but never got. I mourned for the fantasy man in the music video who would shower me with gifts and affection that never came. And I mourned for the life I was told I should have and deserved to have but didn't.
I was a baby mama now. How delightfully humbling.
But six years later...
My life looks nothing like it did then.
Not only am I the mother of Matthew, I went on to have another child with the man in the throwback jersey and cocked-to-the-side ball cap, our beautiful daughter, Caitlyn.
We tried to make a household work early on. He ended the relationship with another woman he was with shortly before Matthew was born. A year after Matthew was born, he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. We lived together off and on up until 2010. We tried to be a family.
We've cussed, fussed, fought and cried our way through the last 6 years. It wasn't until we ended our romantic involvement for a season that we both had a chance and opportunity to reevaluate our lives and our roles as parents. Quite honestly, I fell right into the "single mom" stride and didn't look back. I worked full time, picked up a part-time gig, paid bills, made doctor appointments, established bedtimes and routines. I did it all.
And I used our children to build a wall between myself and their father.
It's not like he made it easy to forgive him for his wrongs. It's not like he was consistent or even responsible.
But what I learned last year and this year was that forgiveness is a gift and opens up new possibilities.
I could either let the darkness of our past continue to blanket all of our lives (our innocent children included) or I could let it go, forgive him for not being the man I wanted him to be and allow him to be the man he was.
I had a choice to make.
Grudge or Glory?
I also realized that the greatest motivation for change in my life was our two children. Although he wasn't doing a very good job of trying to actively participate in their lives, I also wasn't doing a very good job with my attitude of allowing him to be a part of it. I didn't want him to be a part of it at first. If he didn't want me, WE didn't want him.
And that's where I was wrong.
I didn't want my children shuttled between two households. I wanted the picture perfect family with mommy in an apron and daddy in a smoking jacket, all under one roof. I wanted what I wanted and as I said before, Melissa usually got what she wanted.
But one thing about true love of any kind that I was soon to learn was that love that doesn't leave its recipient better than when they first got there isn't love at all. Real love has transforming power.
If the love you show doesn't transform anyone for the better, it's probably a lovely form of selfishness.
My love for my children was selfish.
My love for the father was selfish also.
I think a light bulb went off in my head and Marc's head once we realized that our son turns 5 in just a couple of weeks. Maybe it's the realization that we now have a child who will one day be a man and as the oldest, be responsible for his sister and possibly for major decisions regarding our health and property. Maybe it was the realization that our 5 year old child has a super good memory and with that in mind, we want to plant good things on it. Maybe it was my realization that this year, he starts kindergarten and as we release him to the world, there is nothing like the comfort of a superhero father who will protect and defend you from all wrongs that you may face.
Maybe it was my realizing that the love of God that I professed to have was not being shown to the man whose children I bore. What good was it to claim to be a believer when I treated him like scum?
And maybe we both just grew up a little in six years.
Whatever it was, something clicked this year and I'm thankful it did.
This birthday will be different for Matthew.
Sure, his father and I have a long way to go in communicating effectively and respectfully. We do not live together. We're not engaged. When pressed for a relationship status, the best he can offer to me is "we're taking it one day at a time". But what's different is that we're back at the table, trying to work together, communicate and do this parenting thing together. I don't care how strong we claim to be ladies... there's NOTHING like having some help from a man.
I'm thankful for the help that Marc is now able to provide. Five years ago, I made a decision not to put him up on child support. There were many days I thought I regretted that decision. I know many of my friends disagreed with it. But I knew in my heart and still do that he is capable of stepping up to the challenge of fatherhood. I'm thankful that he does contribute each pay period to their care without a court order. I am thankful that he wants to take them each weekend to spend time with him. I'm thankful that my heart is open now to allowing him to do it.
I'm thankful that despite our dramatic past, we were both able to forgive each other and move forward. I'm thankful that we're learning the value of mutual respect so that our son and daughter can see it modeled before them. I'm thankful that my children have two parents who love and adore them just for being on the planet.
Six years ago, Marc was every curse word I could muster. He was so far beneath me and my fantasy filled expectations. Today, he is the recipient of my love which flows from my heart because it was placed there by God. I'm thankful I can look at him through eyes of compassion, not fault finding. I'm thankful that when he makes a mistake, I see the intent and not only the action. I'm thankful for a second chance by him to prove that I can love as Christ loves and let my light shine.
I'm thankful that he's the father of my children.
I'm thankful that he's trying to be a better man.
I'm thankful that he wasn't a "walking stereotype" and proved my judgements wrong.
I'm thankful that despite his shortcomings, he never stopped trying to be a father to his children.
When our son Matthew and daughter Caitlyn look to us, I'm thankful that they will see two parents who are fully committed to them and their well being.
I'm thankful that today, the man with the cocked-to-the-side ball cap now has a name, Marcus, my respect, and a place in my heart and family.
Monday, March 14, 2011
The Laboratory Called Love
I knew there was a reason I didn't care for the math and sciences in school! There is a part of brain that resists absolutes. Math and science frown upon things that change too much. In algebra, it's called a variable. That gets a symbol.
The constant of an equation, now that gets a numerical value!
At this point in my life and after talking with a few women who can relate to the up's and down's of love, one thing we can all agree on while trying to put our heads together and solve our relationship problems is this:
Men are the constants and we are the variables.
Good luck getting a man to go to church who isn't already predisposed to doing so. Good luck getting him to agree and GO to counseling. Good luck getting him to understand and apply the knowledge of how to be more "understanding, considerate and affectionate".
GOOD LUCK! lol!
So that leaves the variable in the equation, us women folk, left trying to adapt, alter and often change our value to "make it work". We already know we'll never solve the problem if we never come up with a value to assign to the variable, even if it's just a symbol.
So many women are TIRED of having to be the one to change for the greater good of the relationship.
"How To Love His Family and Deal with His Moma's Boy Ways"
"How To Spice Up The Romance; Four Inch Heels Required"
"How To Stop Nagging"
"How To Be a Better Competitor in the Race For Your Man's Heart & Attention"
"How To Blend Into The Background So As Not To Disturb Your Man"
"How To Get The Ring He Should Have Given You Two Years Ago"
"How To Keep Yourself Up So As Not To Appear Like A Human Being With Flaws To Your Man"
This may be a bit of an exaggeration and it is purposefully so. But when we read the self help books geared toward relationship advise, they might as well scream these things to us.
Back in the day, I thought love was all about chemistry.
How does he make me feel? Does he bring passion, desire and heat to the mix? Oh yea! That's a keeper. lol! But the older I got, the more I realized that physical chemistry was just a small fraction of the equation called love.
I'm going to be very honest here and admit that I haven't always felt that the bible was on a woman's side. Let's face it: harlots, widows, and adulteresses come to mind immediately when we think of biblical women. Bathsheba. Delilah. Rahab. Hagar.
That's quite an impressive line up! lol! More specifically, the whole story of creation was hard for me to reconcile. I didn't understand how God could declare first "it's not God that man should be alone. I will make him an help meet suitable for him" in one verse, and in the next, present Adam with a line up of animals.
Huh?
But the answer is in that same verse:
"And out of the ground the Lord God formed every [wild] beast and living creature of the field and every bird of the air and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them; and whatever Adam called every living creature, that was its name".
God was testing Adam. Any of the creatures that God created could have been chosen by Adam as a companion. However, Adam called, or as I like to say, "assigned" each living creature its name after his close examination and observation of it. Once God saw that Adam had wisely assigned living creatures for each other but for himself he did not choose a living creature, God trusted him with a new creation: Eve. Let me just throw this in for FREE: Whenever you refuse something that does not fit your life, you then give God permission to create a NEW THING for you!
Adam had to understand and know HIMSELF before he could recognize his own help! Women will never be treated well by a man who has not discovered what exactly it is that he needs and what's missing from his life. Had Adam misnamed a single creature, I do not believe God would have released Eve to him. Proverbs declares, "Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing and obtaineth favor from the Lord." That word "findeth" in the Hebrew means "to acquire, to find out" and "to detect". Not every man can detect who his wife is. He may choose the pretty face or the alluring speech. But the BIBLE says a man who detects a WIFE detects a good thing. There is FAVOUR connected to the position of wife. Girlfriend is NOT a position of favour. Mistress is not a position of favour. I am not a girlfriend. I am not a mistress. Women who allow their men to continue in relationships with them apart from giving them the honor of WIFE are being disrespected. No wife has to argue in the streets with a mistress. No wife has to beg a judge to legitimize her relationship with a man. The position has honor on earth and FAVOUR from heaven.
So God is very much concerned about women. It wasn't until Adam demonstrated a keen sense of discernment and understanding of his own strengths, weaknesses and needs that God custom made a helper for Him based on what Adam spoke about everything else God made. Women weren't made by mistake and unlike any other creature that God made, women were specifically designed by God for men; not for anything else. That's why when a man correctly discerns the gift that rests in a woman, he unlocks favour from God and blessing into his own life.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
Oh Death...
I've spent since February 14 battling three major illnesses in my house: RSV, influenza and bronchitis.
I've had a chance to reflect during this time and one thing I am so certain of is that there are some things in life that money just can't buy but time makes an acceptable method of payment. I'm no stranger to sacrificing for the sake of my children and I'm not one of those mothers who spends a lot of time bemoaning those sacrifices. There will be no songs penned along the lines of Pastor Shirley Caesar's "No Charge" over here. It's all par for the course. But I will say that decisions that I'm now having to make as the mother of two preschoolers are changing.
While spending these past few weeks nursing my children back to health, I've had the pleasure of observing my them more closely and hearing their thoughts. One of the hardest subjects that came up recently was death. How in the WORLD do you articulate the meaning of death to a 3 & 4 year old respectively? And quite frankly, who wants to? Who wants to see the joy leave their eyes as you try to explain that someone closes their eyes, stops moving, goes away, and you don't see or talk to them anymore?
What a terrible, ugly, painful thing to have to explain for the first time to children.
I hate it.
I was six years old when she passed away. I can vaguely remember my parents recounting the events to me. Something about she went downstairs during bible study... she collapsed. She wouldn't be coming back. She died. I remember going to school and telling my teacher that she passed away. I can remember staring out my school bus window looking out into a world that looked and felt gray. I felt a pain that was foreign to me. Someone I loved had died.
I remember my mama coming into the room that my sister and I shared, trying to comfort us. She explained to me that "Sister Choice", as we called her, was sleeping in paradise. I can remember imagining her dressed in white, laying in the midst of a field of endless flowers, asleep...peaceful...resting. And I can remember going to the funeral home and seeing faces that had always smiled at me before, weeping, tear stained... in pain. I remember seeing her in her casket from a distance. My mama asked me did I want to see her. I couldn't go look. I didn't want to. This foreign pain was too much. The woman I loved was suddenly a source of fear to me. I wanted to get away from her lifeless body...but I wanted her to come back. I can remember the first Sunday after her funeral, sitting on her pew.. left hand side of the church, second pew. Every time the door opened, I turned and looked back, waiting for her to come. I looked in the choir stand at more tear stained faces. I can remember sitting in her seat, somehow comforted by the familiarity of being where she once sat. I don't remember when it finally dawned on me that she wouldn't come back. She wouldn't hold me anymore and give me candy. She wouldn't be there to comfort me when I cried and let me lay on her lap all service long. She was asleep on a bed of flowers in paradise. She was ok, sleeping.
Fast forward 27 yrs later and I find myself having to explain death to two delightfully beautiful children who I don't want to hurt or ever see cry in sorrow.
But sorrow is what this world is full of.
It will come.
I know they don't quite understand it all but just the simple fact that they wanted to know what death meant and listened intently as I tried to explain it in the simplest of terms was bad enough.
I'm so glad I know Jesus!
If it wasn't for the hope of the Gospel, this life really would be worthless and without meaning. When you think about all the precious people we've lost and will lose over our lifetimes, how would we ever survive or gather the strength to face another day with not only hope but JOY if it wasn't for the Gospel of Jesus Christ?I look forward to the day when I can explain to them that because of Jesus Christ, the sting of death has been removed and when it's mommy's time to go, they need not worry or fear. The same God whose presence I will stand before will comfort and guide them as He guided me. That right there brings so much joy to me.
He didn't leave us comfortless!
There will be many more tough topics for me to tackle, This is only the beginning.
But the blessed assurance that I have is that the same God who comforted and 6 yr old little girl through her first loss is the SAME God who will meet the now 33 yr old woman and her two children and carry them through whatever comes.
If Sis. Edith could see me now, I believe that she would smile first at how tall I am, and of course, admire all of my minor accomplishments in life. But most of all, she would rejoice to know that the God that she served became my Savior just one year after her death and He still is. She would be thankful that I held on through my doubts, fears and failures and trusted the God she worshipped. Though I only had her in my life for 6 years, she would be delighted to see that the love she sowed grew and the mother I am today is in large part because of the motherly love she deposited into me: the patience, compassion, respect and grace. It didn't fall on deaf little ears but it took root and I'm the woman that I am today because of her great legacy of love. If she were here today, she would tell me to keep going, even when it gets hard. Hold to God's unchanging hand.
He holds our world in His hands...
And He won't let go,
I've had a chance to reflect during this time and one thing I am so certain of is that there are some things in life that money just can't buy but time makes an acceptable method of payment. I'm no stranger to sacrificing for the sake of my children and I'm not one of those mothers who spends a lot of time bemoaning those sacrifices. There will be no songs penned along the lines of Pastor Shirley Caesar's "No Charge" over here. It's all par for the course. But I will say that decisions that I'm now having to make as the mother of two preschoolers are changing.
While spending these past few weeks nursing my children back to health, I've had the pleasure of observing my them more closely and hearing their thoughts. One of the hardest subjects that came up recently was death. How in the WORLD do you articulate the meaning of death to a 3 & 4 year old respectively? And quite frankly, who wants to? Who wants to see the joy leave their eyes as you try to explain that someone closes their eyes, stops moving, goes away, and you don't see or talk to them anymore?
What a terrible, ugly, painful thing to have to explain for the first time to children.
I hate it.
I was six years old when she passed away. I can vaguely remember my parents recounting the events to me. Something about she went downstairs during bible study... she collapsed. She wouldn't be coming back. She died. I remember going to school and telling my teacher that she passed away. I can remember staring out my school bus window looking out into a world that looked and felt gray. I felt a pain that was foreign to me. Someone I loved had died.
I remember my mama coming into the room that my sister and I shared, trying to comfort us. She explained to me that "Sister Choice", as we called her, was sleeping in paradise. I can remember imagining her dressed in white, laying in the midst of a field of endless flowers, asleep...peaceful...resting. And I can remember going to the funeral home and seeing faces that had always smiled at me before, weeping, tear stained... in pain. I remember seeing her in her casket from a distance. My mama asked me did I want to see her. I couldn't go look. I didn't want to. This foreign pain was too much. The woman I loved was suddenly a source of fear to me. I wanted to get away from her lifeless body...but I wanted her to come back. I can remember the first Sunday after her funeral, sitting on her pew.. left hand side of the church, second pew. Every time the door opened, I turned and looked back, waiting for her to come. I looked in the choir stand at more tear stained faces. I can remember sitting in her seat, somehow comforted by the familiarity of being where she once sat. I don't remember when it finally dawned on me that she wouldn't come back. She wouldn't hold me anymore and give me candy. She wouldn't be there to comfort me when I cried and let me lay on her lap all service long. She was asleep on a bed of flowers in paradise. She was ok, sleeping.
Fast forward 27 yrs later and I find myself having to explain death to two delightfully beautiful children who I don't want to hurt or ever see cry in sorrow.
But sorrow is what this world is full of.
It will come.
I know they don't quite understand it all but just the simple fact that they wanted to know what death meant and listened intently as I tried to explain it in the simplest of terms was bad enough.
I'm so glad I know Jesus!
If it wasn't for the hope of the Gospel, this life really would be worthless and without meaning. When you think about all the precious people we've lost and will lose over our lifetimes, how would we ever survive or gather the strength to face another day with not only hope but JOY if it wasn't for the Gospel of Jesus Christ?I look forward to the day when I can explain to them that because of Jesus Christ, the sting of death has been removed and when it's mommy's time to go, they need not worry or fear. The same God whose presence I will stand before will comfort and guide them as He guided me. That right there brings so much joy to me.
He didn't leave us comfortless!
There will be many more tough topics for me to tackle, This is only the beginning.
But the blessed assurance that I have is that the same God who comforted and 6 yr old little girl through her first loss is the SAME God who will meet the now 33 yr old woman and her two children and carry them through whatever comes.
If Sis. Edith could see me now, I believe that she would smile first at how tall I am, and of course, admire all of my minor accomplishments in life. But most of all, she would rejoice to know that the God that she served became my Savior just one year after her death and He still is. She would be thankful that I held on through my doubts, fears and failures and trusted the God she worshipped. Though I only had her in my life for 6 years, she would be delighted to see that the love she sowed grew and the mother I am today is in large part because of the motherly love she deposited into me: the patience, compassion, respect and grace. It didn't fall on deaf little ears but it took root and I'm the woman that I am today because of her great legacy of love. If she were here today, she would tell me to keep going, even when it gets hard. Hold to God's unchanging hand.
He holds our world in His hands...
And He won't let go,
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