Yesterday I had myself a good ol' laugh while strolling down memory lane. Before I even tell you why, let me say that in itself is a miracle! I've taken myself way too seriously throughout the years and that included being hyper sensitive to criticism and to anything I thought would be considered embarrassing. I still deal with both of these things but I can definitely see my growth.
I decided to take a look at some of the piles of stuff in my garage to get an idea of what should be kept and what needed to be hauled away. I came across some of my writings dating back as far as 1992. I found one binder that contained an "application" that I created to give to young guys who were interested in me as a teenager.
Needless to say, the questions were beyond FOOLISHNESS!! Don't believe me? Try this one, posed to a 16 year old boy: Question #16 "In 20 words of less, give me a reason why I should be interested in you".
SERIOUSLY MELISSA?! I almost passed out from shock and horror! Clearly at the time I thought this type of "application" was appropriate to give to a 16 year old boy. Now I know so much better! I was 17 years old at the time of this. Why was I interviewing teenage boys as if I was looking for a man and a HUSBAND?! Sheesh. Prime example of how good intentions can veer off into a ditch. My parents meant well but failed to meet in the middle ground when it came to explaining relationships with boys to me. But hey, this isn't an indictment on my parents but rather a realization of where this folly foolishness originated and how it can be redirected.
As I read and shared this "application" with my facebook friends, I came to some pretty remarkable realizations that I wanted to share here. First, it was fun reminiscing with my sister, who I still fault for doing little to NOTHING to stop her overly zealous little sister. lol! But seriously, she couldn't have stopped me if she tried. As hard as this may be to fathom considering my over-the-top religious behavior, these years were when my sister and I became the closest. Also, for all of my insanity, I still managed to have some very meaningful and loving friendships with people in high school that I still communicate with to this day.
What does it all mean to me?
Well, it tells me that no matter where I am, how wrong I am, how mixed up in the head I might be and how off the beaten path I may roll, I am always and at all times worthy of love. I am amazed and humbled by the people who put up with me and loved me through my immaturity and judgmental years. Even though I was critical and judgmental, it's because of their open mindedness and unconditional love that I made it to this point in life and enjoyed their friendship. Maybe I was a good friend to them then. Maybe I wasn't. But yesterday I realized that despite of my behavior, learning how to love people beyond what they say and do plants a seed within them that will eventually produce an abundant harvest.
So to all of my high school classmates, college classmates, and most of all, my beloved sister who shared a room with the mini prophetess (*snigglin*) I say THANK YOU and dedicate this blog entry to each of you. Thank you for loving the real me and not the me I tried to be. Thank you for seeing past the religious part of me and realizing that beneath all of the fiery sermons on the Mount was a girl that was worthy of your love and friendship. I may not have been the best at showing you that it was valuable to me then, but there's certainly nothing wrong with acknowledging it now.
I also want to encourage all who may read this to remember that no matter where you are in life, you are worthy of love. You are worthy of acceptance. You are worthy of respect. Unfortunately, not everyone can reciprocate these gifts when you give them, but they never fall to the ground in waste. It's a seed that grows over time. He who is forgiven of much, loves much.
I'm still a fiery preacher. LOL! I'm glad you all had a chance to see that I didn't just wake up one morning and start preaching on facebook. I've been doing this a long time. But I wasn't doing it in love then. Now, everything that I post, I do my best to remember that those who are reading need to feel loved and accepted, even if they're being corrected with the truth of God's Word. Isn't that the wonderful thing about God? He can be absolutely right, you can stand before Him absolutely wrong and leave absolutely forgiven and justified by His love and grace!
So thanks to those of you who endured the young and zealous me.
And thank you for those who continue to love and support the real me.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Tweeting My Heart Out...
I wanted to share with those of you that may or may not follow me on Twitter (@Mel_Ann78) a brief testimony of the emotional abuse I endured at the hands of my ex boyfriend from the age of 19-27. Please begin reading from bottom to top as Twitter posts the most recent post first. I pray that as you read this, you or someone you know who is in an emotionally abusive relationship will find hope and strength. You may feel that you don't have the strength to let go. But the truth is, it's costing you all of your strength to endure the abuse. Blessings my dear sisters. There is HOPE! If you need help, feel free to reach out to me via Twitter, Facebook or email: asecondlook001@gmail.com. I will pray. I will help.
I care.
I care.
Seven years later, I have more joy & peace than ever. If u r strong enough 2 bear the pain, you're strong enough 2 let it go. U can b free.
I remember the peace I felt when he left because the pain of losing him was less than the pain of staying with him. I could breathe-live.
I decided one day that even if my life didn't get any better, I couldn't let it get worse from staying with him. I was ready 2 leave.
I remember the day I woke up and realized that this had 2 end. God wasn't going to send a neon sign. He wanted me 2 observe & 2 decide.
I remember having to talk to my friends in secret, knowing I'd catch hell if he found out I disobeyed him. He was like a 2nd angry dad.
I remember the time I accepted pain & dysfunction as realities in my life. Unchallenged. Undisputed. Settled for.
I kno what it's like 2 have friends & fam do all they can 2 say you're worth more than this. And I remember not believing a word they said.
I know what it feels like to think it would be easier to die than to live without him. I remember the day the Truth pierced thru that lie!
I know what it feels like to wake up in despair, thinking "this is the best there is. He's all I have or ever can have".
I know wat it feels like to hear insult after insult, put down after put down daily. Know how scary "leaving" feels & nt just fear of safety
Although I was never physically beaten, I kno what it feels like 2 sit n my car & not want 2 enter my own home 4 fear of drama. There's HOPE
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Dealing With Disappointment...
It's late. I'm tired. It's been one of those days. I was disappointed in the choices that Marc made today concerning our children and coming to visit them. He promised to do so everyday this week but unfortunately, he fell short of that promise less than 24 hours after it fell from his lips.
I hate to say it, but that's typical. I would have been more surprised had he kept a promise.
That would have been news to me- a promise kept.
I know disappointment well.
I had to figure out quickly what to do with my emotions. The old Melly Mel would have machine gunned him with curse words and cut him down to size. I can be mean. I can go on the attack.
It wouldn't have been pretty.
But the wonderful thing about being a believer and filled with the Spirit of God is that what you used to do and what you're called to do as a result of your calling will and SHOULD differ.
I can't curse him out.
What good would it do?
Yes, I was disappointed and hurt because our children were also disappointed and hurt.
I asked myself, "How do you show the love of God to someone even though they disappoint and hurt you?"
The answer lies within the question itself: You show the love of God to them even though they disappoint and hurt you.
The love of God doesn't condemn. It doesn't devalue or degrade. It doesn't leave you feeling less but always leaves you with more than what you came with.
I remained calm.
I didn't scream or shout.
I didn't curse.
I spoke my mind but in doing so, I didn't attack his character.
I didn't call him names and belittle him.
When I'm angry, I'm angry. I don't want to be nice. But at the same time, I'm learning that parenting takes an incredible amount of maturity and I can't raise children and behave like one at the same time. I don't throw adult sized temper tantrums. I'm bigger than that. I can be respectful and speak respectfully without feeling as if I'm being walked all over.
It takes some effort and some thought but it can be done and the Spirit is there to help us where we are weak.
So tonight, I'm going to pray for Marc and myself. Co-parenting is a lot like a marriage of sorts. Whether we like it or not, we're bound to each other via our two children and we must find a way to navigate these at times choppy waters.
I thank God we got through this storm. A soft answer turned away wrath. There was no yelling in front of the children, screaming, name calling and foolishness. Just honesty and maturity.
I'm writing this because I want those who may read to understand that I have challenging days and I am completely sympathetic to such days that others may face. But my salvation is not a fad nor is it something I put on for Sunday morning and tuck away in my closet once church is over. I live this daily. How do you live godly when faced with less-than-godly scenarios?
Can it be done?
Yes. God cares about EVERYTHING we go through and He is able and willing to help us to bear our loads. If it matters to you, it matters to Him! Isn't that wonderful to know? So when I lay my head down to sleep tonight, my prayers will be that despite our differences the Lord would continue to unify us for the sake of parenting our children. I'll pray that peace would continue abide as well as mutual respect. I'll pray that God would continue to show me His heart so that I can reflect it to Marc in moments that I am frustrated with him or angry. I'll pray that in those moments of deep frustration and anger, a light would shine to lead me back to the right path
This too shall pass.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The Bigger Person...
I apologize for my brief pause in writing flow. Although I write about a variety of subjects, I try not to write unless I feel inspired by the Spirit. For me, when I write under the unction of the anointing of God, it makes what I do easy. I don't want to do or say ANYTHING without Him. The truth of the matter is that I have no earthly idea who's reading this blog at any given time but I do know that the human experience is a painful one. I want the words that I speak to give life because they come from the Giver of Life!
Having said that, I'm BACK and I'm excited to write about this subject. Most women in general but particularly single mothers know all about being "the bigger person". We've heard it time and time again. We've had to bite our tongues in doctor's offices, classrooms, jobs and even our own families.
Who isn't tired of being the bigger person?
Well, I'm here to testify that being the bigger person, when it comes to raising your children does have a reward.
I've never been shy about detailing the good, bad and ugly aspects of my relationship with Marc, the father of my two children. Thankfully things are so much better than when we first begun but my relationship with his family has always been a source of tension for us. Although the nature of my relationship with Marc didn't exactly lend itself to my being in their immediate good graces (after all, I didn't realize I was "the other woman" at the time) I did my best to make myself known and establish myself as a mature and well raised young woman around his family. I met his mom. I sat down in her home and talked to her. I minded my manners. And she responded in kind. I didn't realize that while I thought I was giving a "well mannered and respectful" impression to them, some in his camp thought of me more as stuck up, snobbish and uppity. Who, ME?! I know...I can hear y'all gasping. lol! A couple of years ago, I had the same reaction. I didn't think I came off as stuck up or uppity. I was respectful. I said, "Yes ma'am and no sir" when appropriate. I did and said all the right things.
There was just one problem.
I was fake as hell.
Yep, I said it.
FAKE.
I didn't do it because I truly loved or respected his side of the family. I did it because I had a point to prove. I wanted to prove to them and to HIM that I was a cut above any woman he'd ever brought home to them. Maybe I was but my attitude SUCKED. But God is the ultimate Attitude Adjuster!
I know fake is a harsh description to use but I used it intentionally so that we could all get a little jolt of reality. When it comes to loving God and loving people, it's not enough to be polite and well mannered. It's about more than knowing what to say and what tone to use. Who cares what you say when you don't even mean it? We underestimate our human ability to detect sincerity.
After a run in with Marc's sister that resulted in my being cursed out by her and my removing the kids from her care, I pretty much stopped being around Marc's side of the family. It's been over a year since I've seen or spoken to his sister. However, I still see his parents at least every other month or so. The kids also see their grandparents quite a bit because when they're with Marc on the weekends, he usually takes them by their house.
That's another thing.
When I decided to be "the bigger person" when it came to visitation, the walls of resentment started tumbling down. I had to make a decision within myself to stop being so spiteful and coming up with any ol' excuse to justify the children not spending time with their father apart from me. The truth of the matter was that I was still grieving the loss of my relationship with their father and it pained me that he wanted them and not me. That's just about as honest as I can make it. But I decided that I wasn't going to let his love for his children nor his desire for a relationship with them and his apparent rejection of me define my life. I'd give him what he wanted and turn a negative into a positive. Now, I look forward to his weekends with the children. I take it as a much needed break from the constant sensory overload of caring for two young children. Twenty four hours of a quiet home does WONDERS for the nervous system. It gives me time to reflect, organize, deep clean (*smile*) and just RELAX. Before, I thought withholding visitation was a way to somehow get back at him for not helping me financially and for breaking my heart. Maybe it did get at him a little. But it was costing me and our two children an awful lot.
Oh, and not to mention it was costing me my reputation with his family.
"Baby Mama's" already have a hard road to hold and a reputation stuck to them like glue. I wasn't helping matters by exercising my reign of bitterness on their father. I had to realize that he deserved criticism for his immaturity, his mistakes and his lack of financial support. But he, as much as I deserved to be their father. I often told myself and others, "He aint my daddy!". I know that sounds flippant but it's actually a lot deeper than that. The meaning behind it is that I had no right to judge him as a father. He didn't belong to me, but to my two children and they both had the right to know, love and enjoy their father on whatever level he was able to give them. It wasn't my right to deprive them of the father he was willing and able to be. Sure, I wanted him to be MORE but it wasn't my right to say that because he couldn't give them more, they couldn't have any. That's when I decided to start packing their little overnight bags and sending them to their dad's house.
Now, the visitation isn't perfect. Most times he arrives too late or ends up asking me to drop them off myself. Occasionally he complains of not having enough money to feed them or buy gas but we work it out and keep it moving. I don't scream, yell or fuss about it. I'm no longer acting as if I'm a police officer. If he's able to take them for the weekend, I let them go. If not, I let him do the explaining to his two children who are old enough to dial his number. I also do my best to cheer them up and prepare them for his next visit. Bottom line is that through the imperfection, we've reached perfection. I cover him and now, surprisingly, he covers me when it comes to his family and their opinion of me.
Which brings me back to the reward of being the bigger person.
Today, Matthew enjoyed a Grandparents Day Luncheon at his school with both of his grandparents.
Not my side of the family.
Marc's side.
I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised and shocked by their willingness to come. But Marc asked them and they did. Why did they do it? It was because I sowed a seed to be a bigger person and to rise above the negativity and to remain consistent in it. At the time, I didn't feel like it was worth it but when the truck rolled up to my driveway a couple months ago carrying much needed beds for Matt & Cait from their grandparents and when his grandparents eagerly accepted the invitation to attend Grandparents Day at his school, I knew my harvest was coming in.
And to see the smile on Matt's face and to hear him talk about how he hugged his granddad at school and sang songs with them...
I gottta tell ya..
It was worth it all.
They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.
Having said that, I'm BACK and I'm excited to write about this subject. Most women in general but particularly single mothers know all about being "the bigger person". We've heard it time and time again. We've had to bite our tongues in doctor's offices, classrooms, jobs and even our own families.
Who isn't tired of being the bigger person?
Well, I'm here to testify that being the bigger person, when it comes to raising your children does have a reward.
I've never been shy about detailing the good, bad and ugly aspects of my relationship with Marc, the father of my two children. Thankfully things are so much better than when we first begun but my relationship with his family has always been a source of tension for us. Although the nature of my relationship with Marc didn't exactly lend itself to my being in their immediate good graces (after all, I didn't realize I was "the other woman" at the time) I did my best to make myself known and establish myself as a mature and well raised young woman around his family. I met his mom. I sat down in her home and talked to her. I minded my manners. And she responded in kind. I didn't realize that while I thought I was giving a "well mannered and respectful" impression to them, some in his camp thought of me more as stuck up, snobbish and uppity. Who, ME?! I know...I can hear y'all gasping. lol! A couple of years ago, I had the same reaction. I didn't think I came off as stuck up or uppity. I was respectful. I said, "Yes ma'am and no sir" when appropriate. I did and said all the right things.
There was just one problem.
I was fake as hell.
Yep, I said it.
FAKE.
I didn't do it because I truly loved or respected his side of the family. I did it because I had a point to prove. I wanted to prove to them and to HIM that I was a cut above any woman he'd ever brought home to them. Maybe I was but my attitude SUCKED. But God is the ultimate Attitude Adjuster!
I know fake is a harsh description to use but I used it intentionally so that we could all get a little jolt of reality. When it comes to loving God and loving people, it's not enough to be polite and well mannered. It's about more than knowing what to say and what tone to use. Who cares what you say when you don't even mean it? We underestimate our human ability to detect sincerity.
After a run in with Marc's sister that resulted in my being cursed out by her and my removing the kids from her care, I pretty much stopped being around Marc's side of the family. It's been over a year since I've seen or spoken to his sister. However, I still see his parents at least every other month or so. The kids also see their grandparents quite a bit because when they're with Marc on the weekends, he usually takes them by their house.
That's another thing.
When I decided to be "the bigger person" when it came to visitation, the walls of resentment started tumbling down. I had to make a decision within myself to stop being so spiteful and coming up with any ol' excuse to justify the children not spending time with their father apart from me. The truth of the matter was that I was still grieving the loss of my relationship with their father and it pained me that he wanted them and not me. That's just about as honest as I can make it. But I decided that I wasn't going to let his love for his children nor his desire for a relationship with them and his apparent rejection of me define my life. I'd give him what he wanted and turn a negative into a positive. Now, I look forward to his weekends with the children. I take it as a much needed break from the constant sensory overload of caring for two young children. Twenty four hours of a quiet home does WONDERS for the nervous system. It gives me time to reflect, organize, deep clean (*smile*) and just RELAX. Before, I thought withholding visitation was a way to somehow get back at him for not helping me financially and for breaking my heart. Maybe it did get at him a little. But it was costing me and our two children an awful lot.
Oh, and not to mention it was costing me my reputation with his family.
"Baby Mama's" already have a hard road to hold and a reputation stuck to them like glue. I wasn't helping matters by exercising my reign of bitterness on their father. I had to realize that he deserved criticism for his immaturity, his mistakes and his lack of financial support. But he, as much as I deserved to be their father. I often told myself and others, "He aint my daddy!". I know that sounds flippant but it's actually a lot deeper than that. The meaning behind it is that I had no right to judge him as a father. He didn't belong to me, but to my two children and they both had the right to know, love and enjoy their father on whatever level he was able to give them. It wasn't my right to deprive them of the father he was willing and able to be. Sure, I wanted him to be MORE but it wasn't my right to say that because he couldn't give them more, they couldn't have any. That's when I decided to start packing their little overnight bags and sending them to their dad's house.
Now, the visitation isn't perfect. Most times he arrives too late or ends up asking me to drop them off myself. Occasionally he complains of not having enough money to feed them or buy gas but we work it out and keep it moving. I don't scream, yell or fuss about it. I'm no longer acting as if I'm a police officer. If he's able to take them for the weekend, I let them go. If not, I let him do the explaining to his two children who are old enough to dial his number. I also do my best to cheer them up and prepare them for his next visit. Bottom line is that through the imperfection, we've reached perfection. I cover him and now, surprisingly, he covers me when it comes to his family and their opinion of me.
Which brings me back to the reward of being the bigger person.
Today, Matthew enjoyed a Grandparents Day Luncheon at his school with both of his grandparents.
Not my side of the family.
Marc's side.
I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised and shocked by their willingness to come. But Marc asked them and they did. Why did they do it? It was because I sowed a seed to be a bigger person and to rise above the negativity and to remain consistent in it. At the time, I didn't feel like it was worth it but when the truck rolled up to my driveway a couple months ago carrying much needed beds for Matt & Cait from their grandparents and when his grandparents eagerly accepted the invitation to attend Grandparents Day at his school, I knew my harvest was coming in.
And to see the smile on Matt's face and to hear him talk about how he hugged his granddad at school and sang songs with them...
I gottta tell ya..
It was worth it all.
They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
"Mommy, I Don't Want To Be Brown"
With each passing year, there comes another parenting mountain to climb. For what seemed like ages, my biggest worries were how to get diaper money and finding childcare I could trust.
Oh, how things have changed.
About a month ago, the kiddos and I were chillin in my bedroom for story time. Out of the blue, my son Matthew said, "Mommy, I don't want to be brown". I was a bit shocked and asked him to repeat himself, although I heard him clearly the first time. He said it again, "Mommy I don't want to be brown. I want to be like my friends. Why am I brown?"
Ok. Deep breath.
Of all the things I thought I'd have to tackle at this age, race wasn't on my radar. I am thankful that my parents, although completely immersed in the Southern culture and all the good and bad that it contains, never made race a major issue for us. Our friends were of different races and economic backgrounds all of my life. My first "boyfriend" was an absolutely beautiful brown haired, blue eyed kindergarten classmate named Nathan. I still remember his last name. Maybe I should look him up on facebook! lol! Anywho...it never occurred to me that we weren't the same and that people bled and died because of the difference in our skin color. I just knew he was cute and nice and that's all that mattered to me.
So when my son said, 'I don't want to be brown" I wasn't sure what to say at first.
I didn't see this conversation coming so soon.
So I decided to ask more questions to see if I could determine where his mind was and just how deep his feelings were about the subject he raised. I said, "Why do you feel this way baby?" He said, "Because I want to look like my friends. They're not brown".
Aha.
So now I knew what to do. I told him, "Baby, you're brown because your mommy and daddy are brown". His reply was, "Well, I don't want to be brown". I replied, "I'm brown. Daddy's brown. Your Tee Tee (Aunt Sarah) is brown. Granny & Pop Pop are brown. Caitlyn's brown. You look like so many people that love you. Brown is a beautiful color".
I didn't make a big deal out of it. I didn't want him to be burdened with a lesson in African American history and the race struggle in our society.
There will be plenty of time for that.
At that point in time, I just wanted to affirm for him that there was nothing wrong with being brown. Yes, he may look different than his friends but he's just as beautiful as they are. I'm sure we'll have to revisit the "why am I different" conversation but I'm excited that my children have me to look to.
I have friends who don't look like me. My children see us interact and talk. They are learning from me, by example, that differences are so beautiful and they make up this wonderful world we're all blessed to live in. I'm also preparing myself to tackle my daughter's own unique challenges regarding her skin color and hair texture. Her hair is absolutely beautiful to me but I know that there are many in our society and even within our own culture that view kinky/curly hair as ugly and unattractive. I've even chemically processed my hair a time or two and wear wigs that have a more silky, straight appearance than my naturally growing hair. But it's up to me to let my daughter and son know that they are beautiful as is. It's ok if you decide later on to change your hairstyle but it shouldn't be because of pressure or any type of self hatred. That's where my job starts. It's my job to make sure self hatred ends and self worth begins.
And I will.
Oh, how things have changed.
About a month ago, the kiddos and I were chillin in my bedroom for story time. Out of the blue, my son Matthew said, "Mommy, I don't want to be brown". I was a bit shocked and asked him to repeat himself, although I heard him clearly the first time. He said it again, "Mommy I don't want to be brown. I want to be like my friends. Why am I brown?"
Ok. Deep breath.
Of all the things I thought I'd have to tackle at this age, race wasn't on my radar. I am thankful that my parents, although completely immersed in the Southern culture and all the good and bad that it contains, never made race a major issue for us. Our friends were of different races and economic backgrounds all of my life. My first "boyfriend" was an absolutely beautiful brown haired, blue eyed kindergarten classmate named Nathan. I still remember his last name. Maybe I should look him up on facebook! lol! Anywho...it never occurred to me that we weren't the same and that people bled and died because of the difference in our skin color. I just knew he was cute and nice and that's all that mattered to me.
So when my son said, 'I don't want to be brown" I wasn't sure what to say at first.
I didn't see this conversation coming so soon.
So I decided to ask more questions to see if I could determine where his mind was and just how deep his feelings were about the subject he raised. I said, "Why do you feel this way baby?" He said, "Because I want to look like my friends. They're not brown".
Aha.
So now I knew what to do. I told him, "Baby, you're brown because your mommy and daddy are brown". His reply was, "Well, I don't want to be brown". I replied, "I'm brown. Daddy's brown. Your Tee Tee (Aunt Sarah) is brown. Granny & Pop Pop are brown. Caitlyn's brown. You look like so many people that love you. Brown is a beautiful color".
I didn't make a big deal out of it. I didn't want him to be burdened with a lesson in African American history and the race struggle in our society.
There will be plenty of time for that.
At that point in time, I just wanted to affirm for him that there was nothing wrong with being brown. Yes, he may look different than his friends but he's just as beautiful as they are. I'm sure we'll have to revisit the "why am I different" conversation but I'm excited that my children have me to look to.
I have friends who don't look like me. My children see us interact and talk. They are learning from me, by example, that differences are so beautiful and they make up this wonderful world we're all blessed to live in. I'm also preparing myself to tackle my daughter's own unique challenges regarding her skin color and hair texture. Her hair is absolutely beautiful to me but I know that there are many in our society and even within our own culture that view kinky/curly hair as ugly and unattractive. I've even chemically processed my hair a time or two and wear wigs that have a more silky, straight appearance than my naturally growing hair. But it's up to me to let my daughter and son know that they are beautiful as is. It's ok if you decide later on to change your hairstyle but it shouldn't be because of pressure or any type of self hatred. That's where my job starts. It's my job to make sure self hatred ends and self worth begins.
And I will.
Monday, September 05, 2011
The Meaning in The Menial...
Numbers 18:1-6- AND THE Lord said to Aaron, You and your sons and your father's house with you shall bear and remove the iniquity of the sanctuary [that is, the guilt for the offenses which the people unknowingly commit when brought into contact with the manifestations of God's presence]. And you and your sons with you shall bear and remove the iniquity of your priesthood [your own unintentional offenses].
2And your brethren also of the tribe of Levi, the tribe of your [fore]father, bring with you, that they may be joined to you and minister to you; but only you and your sons with you shall come before the Tent of the Testimony [into the Holy Place where only priests may go and into the Most Holy Place which only the high priest dares enter].
3And the Levites shall attend you [as servants] and attend to all the duties of the Tent; only they shall not come near the sacred vessels of the sanctuary or to the brazen altar, that they and also you [Aaron] die not.
4And they shall be joined to you and attend to the duties of the Tent of Meeting--all the [menial] service of the Tent--and no stranger [no layman, anyone who is not a Levite] shall come near you [Aaron and your sons].
5And you shall attend to the duties of the sanctuary and attend to the altar [of burnt offering and the altar of incense], that there be no wrath any more upon the Israelites [as in the incident of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram].
6And I, behold, I have taken your brethren the Levites from among the Israelites; to you they are a gift, given to the Lord, to do the [menial] service of the Tent of Meeting.
I love reading the Word of God but there are some verses that are harder to swallow than others. Leviticus- Deuteronomy become choppy waters for me most of the time. However, I've come across this passage of scripture on more than one occasion. I wasn't sure why the Spirit was leading me here because after all, I could barely understand what was being said, let alone, figure out how I could draw any type of edification from it.
Then this scripture came back to me this morning as I cleaned my kitchen and mopped the floors.
Let me just be real for a moment.
I never have enjoyed chores. I know there are some folks who live for Saturday morning cleaning days but I aint one of them. If I had the money, I'd sure hire a cleaning service but since such isn't my lot right now, I'm stuck with rubber gloves, Greased Lightning and Dawn dish detergent duty. I wash my dishes by hand, particularly because even though my dishwasher is only 4 years old, I still do a better job by hand than it does. But doing a kitchen full of dirty dishes by hand is exhausting, not to mention it was time to mop the kitchen floor. *sigh* As I stiffened my upper lip, this scripture came to me, and not only that, others also began to flood my mind.
Here's what the Lord shared with me this morning as I was up to my chin in dirty pots and pans:
The work may be menial but the calling never is.
The tribe of Levi was selected by God to serve under Moses and Aaron to the care of the tabernacle in the wilderness. They were not given the same access as Moses or Aaron, but they were still set apart from all the tribes of Israel to serve before the Lord in this capacity.
Seems as if my washer and dryer haven't stopped running since I brought Matthew and Caitlyn home from the hospital and Lord knows there's always a cleanup under breakfast table #1 to attend to. However, the Holy Spirit showed me, as I rung out my mop that it's because of a series of "menial" things and my willingness and faithfulness to do them that my children are doing as well as they are today.
It's easy to feel like we're missing out on some grand plan that God has for us like saving beluga whales and passing out 50,000 bibles in the North Pole. Who doesn't want to make a difference? Who doesn't often wonder how on earth is God getting any glory out my my mopping this floor for the 1000th time and wiping the perpetually snotty nose of a three year old? Surely, that's not what He meant when he said "these signs shall follow them that believe". Surely He didn't mean my life was suppose to be this ordinary...
This menial.
But as He showed me today, it's not what you do, it's who you do it for. Washing utensils in the Tabernacle probably seemed like a bum deal for a few Levites when they compared themselves to Aaron & Moses... that is, until somebody crossed the line, broke a rule ans dropped dead because of God's wrath. Now, I'm not saying God is an angry God who all but stalks us down, looking for a chance to zap us. But let's face it, the God of the Old Testament was clear and played no games as He moved to establish His people as a new nation in their own land. But it wasn't all about judgement. It was also about recognizing the honor. It was an honor to be chosen by God to serve in any sacred capacity, whether as a priest who accepted the sacrifices of the people or a minstrel who played songs of worship and praise to God. Whatever the duty, the honor was clear. God chose you to do it.
And no matter how frustrated I get or YOU get in the menial affairs of your life, just remember, God chose you to do it. As much as you may complain or even sigh, you know that no one has the grace and patience to handle certain situations quite like you do. You know the burden is easier for everyone to carry when you do what you do.
So why complain about it another day?
Can God trust you with a mop and diaper?
Can He trust you with a hand towel and armourall?
Call He trust you with a microphone and stadium full of people?
Will you recognize the honor it is to serve Him, in whatever capacity or will you murmur and complain?
It may be menial, but it is far from meaningless.
It's an honor to serve God.
You didn't apply for His job.
He chose you for it.
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Life, Health, & Strength...
I'm taking a breather from a rather exhausting attempt at cleaning my bedroom. After about a week of battling this upper respiratory infection I've been about as mobile and capable as the edge of my bed. Needless to say, trying to police an entire house from this radius turns became futile. I found shoes, dolls, books, plates, cups and all sorts of nonsense under my bed, not to mention the usual "sick room" paraphernalia. But I'm so happy to report that my strength is returning to me. As a matter of fact, yesterday I woke up feeling so much better than when I laid down to sleep. What a difference a day makes! I was feeling so sick the day before that it came as a pleasant surprise that I was feeling so noticeably better in such a short time.
I knew I was getting better when I had enough strength to stand at the sink and wash the dishes, which by then was full on both sides. I knew I was getting better when I tackled cleaning my children's bedroom and won. I ran a fever last night but that's ok. I was just glad to have some STRENGTH back.
When I was younger, the older saints used to stand and testify during testimony service. The first thing they would say was, "I wanna thank and praise God for my life, health and strength..." That sure didn't mean very much to me then, but boy, does it mean a lot now!
By the age of 33, you realize that you're not as young as you used to be. You also realize that although you're in relatively good health and strength now, it's so easy for that to be compromised. By the time you're into your 30's, you realize just what true riches are.
Life.
Health.
Strength.
I must say, I'm feeling pretty wealthy today.
I knew I was getting better when I had enough strength to stand at the sink and wash the dishes, which by then was full on both sides. I knew I was getting better when I tackled cleaning my children's bedroom and won. I ran a fever last night but that's ok. I was just glad to have some STRENGTH back.
When I was younger, the older saints used to stand and testify during testimony service. The first thing they would say was, "I wanna thank and praise God for my life, health and strength..." That sure didn't mean very much to me then, but boy, does it mean a lot now!
By the age of 33, you realize that you're not as young as you used to be. You also realize that although you're in relatively good health and strength now, it's so easy for that to be compromised. By the time you're into your 30's, you realize just what true riches are.
Life.
Health.
Strength.
I must say, I'm feeling pretty wealthy today.
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