Regarding Charlottesville: An Open Letter

Once upon a time, long, long a few years ago, when significant world or national events occurred, I would jump into the fray, quick to let the world know my viewpoint, absolutely positive that I was right. I just knew lives would be changed. I was in for disappointment.

Instead, I rapidly became thoroughly convinced that just about NO people's minds are changed by a social media post, and the only thing gained was a mixture of angry or supportive comments and maybe a few "likes."

The outcome was nowhere near worth the energy it took to navigate the resulting calamity, nor the wear and tear on my thumbs. 

Since then, I've spent most of my time sitting back and watching the world burn, which is certainly what it feels like. Every now and then, I have forgotten myself and waded into someone's comments section. It didn't take long to remember why I'd kicked the habit.

I like to think I've gained some perspective since then, just from listening - a little bit of listening goes a long way. But I haven't really considered jumping back in. The water looked cold and crowded, and I could see the sharks circling.

Then, over the weekend, in Charlottesville, VA, armed,white supremacists and counter protesters clashed at the removal of a statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee, with tragic consequences: three people lost their lives and several others were badly injured.

Many of the subsequent responses that passed through my news feed saddened, angered, and perplexed me...but I still wasn't wading in. Everyone else had plenty to say, and I saw no need for me to add my two cents to the already deafening din.

I watched with pride and sorrow as my pastors managed their social media accounts in the aftermath. As leaders of a very intentionally multi-racial and multi-ethnic church, they were obviously and understandably hurt, grieved, and outraged by the events. Nevertheless, for the most part, they spoke words of strength, solidarity, and unity into what otherwise could be a very polarizing situation.

Still, for the last two nights, instead of sleeping, I have wrestled with internal questions over how we, as Christians, should respond, and whether we might be missing something. The Bible definitely calls us to seek justice for those oppressed, but it also calls us to seek peace, speak with wisdom that is pure and gentle, and to love our enemies.

At times, it seems impossible to pursue each avenue equally: on which side should we err?

I knew the answer I felt pressing into my spirit ALL NIGHT LONG, and today, I sought to share that with one of my pastors. When I walked out, I had gained some insight into his heart and philosophy and he into mine, but where we agreed when I walked in, we still agreed, and where we differed...well, that hadn't changed remarkably either. 

However, there was one thing he said that resounded in my heart like a gong: I have a voice, too, and it's my responsibility to use it.

I am overwhelmed and convicted by the fact that I am more than aware of my calling to speak the words I feel God has put on my heart, but until now, I've been too scared and fearful to address racial tension, and instead, generally stuck to what was safe: my all too often realizations that I have jacked something up and the lessons God has taught me in the mess.

Today is no exception.

I have felt for some time that I had no right to speak about racial tension: after all, I'm the whitest of the white. But today, Pastor Kyle taught me that to withhold my voice from the dialogue is wrong because only when we share our hearts with love and humility can we truly make a difference.

So, without further delay, here are a few of my thoughts and feelings regarding our current racial climate:

To my friends and family of color...

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry to see you hurting, and I'm so sorry for what you have endured, what you are enduring, and what you almost inevitably will endure in the future. I am praying for peace and love. I am hoping beyond hope that you will not allow roots of bitterness to strangle your hearts, but will instead, throw yourself  into the arms of Jesus and grow your roots deep into Him. It's a tall order, I know, but a worthy pursuit nonetheless. If I can help you in any way, I will -- but you'll probably have to let me know how to do that because I don't always understand fully. I try, but I'm pretty sure I get it wrong. I love you.

To my fellow white folks with noble hearts and pure intentions...

Keep trying. You might jack it up, but some effort is always better than no effort at all. It's confusing for us, I know. For me, there's some level of shame and guilt, particularly as a southern, white girl because I'm no stranger to our history, but at the same time, I'm proud of my heritage, too -- a daughter to the home of bluegrass, hard work, and pulling yourself up by your bootstraps until you make it work. I like that about my roots. Added to that, while each of us of every color have inborn biases, I try to be as nice as I can to everyone, no matter their race, and sometimes it feels like getting lumped into one giant, white clump is unfair because, after all, I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING! 

Also, can we just lay it out on the table that we've experienced racism, too. I know it. You know it. It feels good to say it, right?! Holding it in forever has felt like being the kid who has to pee really bad, but is too intimidated to ask the teacher to go to the bathroom until, finally, it leaks out at the MOST inopportune moment (I'm not going to say how I know what that feels like, but let's just say...that was one time I was really grateful we moved). However, like that unfortunate lack of bladder control, if we don't just go ahead and address it, it's going to leak out at the worst possible moment, like when our friends are already hurting. 

One of the things I tried to convey to Pastor Kyle today is this: I believe, our inability to express that we, too, have been harmed by racism is feeding an undercurrent of bitterness. It feels, sometimes, like our hurts and experiences don't matter, and while we understand the deep hurt felt by our friends, understanding their hurt doesn't negate ours...it doesn't make it go away...in the same way that knowing other people are starving to death can never satiate the roar of a stomach that hasn't eaten for two days. 

But here's the key: we wouldn't turn around to the starving person and complain about our grumbling tummies. It would be an insult. It would hurt. I'm really hoping this metaphor drives it home to you like it does me because, frankly, while I'm glad it's been discussed, I don't want to discuss it further here. 

Instead of nursing our own wounds, I think it's high time we put more time and attention into healing others. That means having some hard, transparent, awkward conversations with the intent to learn about those who are different than us...and I DO NOT mean on facebook. Forget social media. Treat someone to coffee. Take a walk. Have lunch. I don't care what you do, but listen to learn and understand, not to respond. Ask questions. 

That's how we learn, and that's how we heal.

 Finally, to the men and women who call yourselves the Alt-Right/Neo Nazis/whatever you're calling yourselves these days...

I know most people are calling you monsters. I know they say they hate you. However, this is probably where I will depart from others and, were this little diatribe in person, I'd probably get a rotten tomato to the face. 

I don't hate you. I feel for you very deeply. Broken people seek to break people, and healed people seek to heal people, and you are so obviously hurt, broken, and fearful. I don't know if it's a fear of losing your voices or your power. I don't know if it's a fear of what you don't understand, but somewhere in you there is so much hurt and fear, and somehow, it has manifested itself in rage and hardened hearts. I am praying for you, too. For you, it seems the root of bitterness has already strangled any roots you had to Christ, or even human kindness. Nevertheless, I am more than certain that no one is beyond the reach of my Savior. No one is beyond the reach of love. No one is beyond the reach of hope. 

And therefore, I love you. I hope for you. I pray for you, not with half-hearted words, but with the DEEP conviction that like the one sheep who strays from the ninety-nine, your heart, too, is worthy of pursuit. 

Inevitably, that last section will anger some people. I know that, and I accept it. I firmly believe deeply that it may be anger and indignation that change social policies, but it is only through love and patience that we will change hearts...and the latter can do far more to heal our nation than the former ever could.

Therefore I, the prisoner for the Lord,

urge you to walk worthy of the calling you have received,

with all humility and gentleness,

with patience,

accepting one another in love,

diligently keeping the unity of the Spirit

with the peace that binds us.

Ephesians 4:1-3

Dust It Off

Every now and then, God gives us a chance to really take a good, long, objective look at ourselves... and sometimes, it's just plain ugly.

But sometimes, He allows us to see some beauty we normally wouldn't have seen.

I was scrolling through facebook today when I saw these words pop up on a status for Intentionally Yours ( a marriage ministry I follow):

So, today, you have a choice to make. Are you going to let the dark threads of your life weave themselves into a portrait of hopelessness and devastation? OR, are you going to, with determination and intentionality, grab hold of your Savior and weave a beautiful portrait of a life lived in His presence - light complimented by dark, vivid colors made all the more beautiful alongside the black and gray?

I glanced over it really quickly and thought, WOW. Those are beautiful words.

Then I looked again, a little harder this time.

Wait a second, I said to myself. Those are MY words.

I wrote a post recently about what I would say to women about being Intentionally and Wonderfully Made (you can read that here) because Destiny and I were going to a women's conference by that name. After the conference, I sent a link for the post to my friend, Sherry Jennings, who is one of the event's main organizers, as well as one of the founders of Intentionally Yours.

She told me she was posting the link. I had even visited the page. But still...

For some reason, I just didn't expect a quote from ME to go rolling by on my facebook feed. And more than that, I didn't expect to see anything I wrote touch me the way those words did.

When I realized those pretty words were mine...I cried. I laughed, and I cried.

I'm not saying I'm a brilliant writer. I'm not even saying I'm remarkably good. What I am saying, however, is maybe, just maybe, God has blessed me with more talent than I've been giving Him credit for.

And maybe, just maybe, I should dust off that talent I've shoved on the shelf and make better use of it.

How about you? What talent or gift have you been hiding away?

God gave us these gifts for a reason, and I'm positive it wasn't so we can hide them away or disgrace them by comparing them to what He's given others.

So grab your gift from the shelf, dust it off, and USE it. We're all waiting to see what you'll do...the Giver of the gift most of all.

Crawling Back

Five minutes to write.

Five minutes to write when it's been so long.

I'm glad it's only five minutes because I don't feel my words coming anymore...not like I used to.  Today's "5 minute Friday" is on focus  and as much as I've lurked and never written, I NEED this right now.

I recognized it immediately...the opportunity to jump back in when for a long time I've avoided it.

Since I got pregnant, got morning sickness (and thankfully, may have gotten rid of it), and started back to school, I haven't written anything.  I've felt so...UNfocused.  I think of things all the time that I'd like to write about, but I never have the time, and even when I do...I just feel so...everywhere.

I can't quite get my mind wrapped around the subjects I want to write about or what I want to say.  Creativity has abandoned me, and all I'm left with is mundane and mediocre thoughts.

I told someone earlier this week that this baby is going to have an excellent vocabulary because it's stealing all my words.

Can I have some back please baby?  Just a few so I can express myself and not feel so bottled up and stagnant?  Please?

I needed this...focus.  Thank you Gypsy Momma...and Jamie. :)

Linking up with The Gypsy Mama for 5 Minute Friday

Red Writing Hood: The Secret

The two women sat in silence as they shared their dessert, forks clinking as they scraped the last pieces of cheesecake from plate.  Almost over.  It hung in the air, a sickening, almost suffocating fog.

One subconsciously touched her cheekbone, thinking about the bruises she spent a half hour meticulously covering before the outing, and it didn’t escape the notice of the other.

No words were necessary.  They both knew.  The conversation was so familiar that they skipped it now, but it still played on silently in their minds.

The plate sat completely empty, waters gone, check paid.  For a brief moment they made real eye contact, storm clouds engaging blue skies.  It was too much to bear.

Goodbyes were said.  Hugs were given.  Promises made to see each other soon.

Hopefully.

Each escaped to the solitude of their cars and prayed.  

One prayed for strength, change for her husband, and a way out. 

 

The other prayed simply to see her friend alive again…physically, spiritually, and emotionally.

“Please give her back to me…alive.”

This post is part of a writing link up with Write on Edge.  This weeks prompt was a tiny poem by Robert Frost titled, "The Secret Sits."

We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

We were given 450 words, but I only used 173.  I don't necessarily think that's a good thing.  It's the one thing that keeps me from true fiction/novel writing.  I'm not one to draw it out.  Nevertheless, we're all give different talents and abilities.  I simply feel that by participating in the writing prompts I'm developing the talent I was given...mourning the fact that I don't have the gifts someone else possesses seems to be an awful waste of the ones I've been given.  Have a great weekend everyone!!!

 

 

Red Writing Hood Link Up

Earlier this week, Write on Edge (a blog I follow thanks to my lovely sister-in-law, Jamie), posted a one word writing prompt.  Basically, the idea is to take that one words and just write.  Whatever you want with that one word...within 450 words. 

So, for better or worse, here it is.  I thought it would be fun to share what I wrote and then give you the prompt!

I know what he did to you.  I heard you, saw you, felt your pain.  I saw the tears roll down your face in the moonlight, and their heat as I welcomed you into my embrace.  I tried to absorb you as you fell into me, letting you know I was there for you, willing to accept you.  I heard your cries to God, asking Him why He allowed the pain, begging Him to take it away.  You yelled at Him, cursed Him, begged Him.  He knows.  I know. 

We lay there together for a while once your soul was quiet, your tears spent.  I felt your caress, your fingers running over me and through me.  Finally, although it hurt me to do it, I pressed you away from me.  I was welcoming for as long as I could be, a soft cushion for your fall, but you need to move on.  Go back to reality.  I pushed against your skin and turned cold, making you feel the chill in the night.  You need to move on.  Accept life.  Keep living.  Keep going.

The wave of pain has broken.  It will continue to rise and fall against you until it finally ebbs and creeps back from view.  Other waves will roll in.  Hurt.  Joy.  Indecision.  Excitement.  At times, they'll roll softly, and at others, collide violently, creating something new entirely.  Accept each one, embrace it.  Each will change you, mold you, take a piece of you and leave something new behind. 

You’ll be back, and I’ll be waiting for you, eager to see the changes made upon your shore, just as you will be to see mine.  We’ll share, we’ll embrace, and then once again, we’ll part. 

You’ll come back, and I’ll be waiting.

Prompt: Sand

My Own Worst Critic

This is going to be a quick post tonight because I am SOOOOO tired.  Was the emphasis clear there?  In all reality, I should probably just go to bed now, but I won't for two reasons:

1. I really feel the need not to let this go too long without posting.  I don't want this to be another thing I start, but don't see through to completion.  This is about seeing the ways God is working in my life, and writing about it makes me take the time to think about it.  Very important.
2. All I would do is go lay in bed thinking about what I want to write and that I MUST remember it in the morning...but I won't.  So, I shall write now.

Thought of the day: Why on God's beautiful green earth do I find it necessary to constantly compare myself to others?  Totally not healthy.

Mind you, a little healthy competition can be good.  However, in this instance I seem to consistently compare myself to others negatively, and it has a way of stunting my growth. 

Take my writing for example.  I tell myself I'm nowhere near as good as other people, and therefore, wonder at times why I even bother.  I read other blogs and envy their wit, charm, or structure.  I read novels and envy their use of description or dialogue to paint a story.  It makes me want to be better and not want to do it at all...all in the same breath.

Another prime example: my singing.  I'm even more critical of myself in this arena, I think.  I love to sing.  I will admit to being decent.  However, when I hear people who are REALLY great...the ones who hit every note without fail and sing the complicated runs effortlessly, I get immensely intimidated.  Once again, I want to perfect the craft and only sing in solitude ever again...all in the same breath.

I have the proverbial angel and devil sitting on each shoulder whispering in my ears.  The angel is telling me to continue to try and do and improve because the only way we improve is through practice.  The devil is telling me I'm a moron and to stop because I'll never be THAT good.  He sucks.

Bottom line?  While I may never sing or write professionally, I do have something to offer.  If even one person is inspired by something I write or a song I've dared to sing, then it won't have been in vain.  Furthermore, if I stop doing either, then I will have let fear steal a gift I feel God has given me for a purpose, much like the Israelites let Fear lie to them and keep them from the Promised Land (see the Book of Numbers...and thank you Dr. David Jeremiah for bringing the illustration to light).

That having been said, I'm going to work up the bravery to talk to the Music Minsiter at Menchville and see about singing one Sunday.  Know what else?  I'm not even going to do one of my easy, fallback songs that doesn't challenge me.  I'm going to sing this:

"Beautiful, Beautiful" - Francesca Batistelli (I would have embedded the video, but you can't).

It is a gorgeous song...and has such meaning for my life right now.  So there...I said it.  Now you all have to hold me to it!!

The Soul of a Writer

I know I said I was not thinking about my purpose right now, but something has really been on my mind lately: I want to write.  I think about it all day.  That has to be some sort of sign right?  I think I’m just really, really scared.  I’m scared of being some sort of fraud who calls herself a writer, but is actually just a sub-par individual capable of stringing a few sentences together.

I question myself constantly.  Am I even talented?  Will anybody even care to read what I have to say?  What the heck am I going to write about?  I've spent my whole life being a chameleon...where's my niche?  The list could go on forever.

 

I do think about it all the time though.  I feel as though in opening the door to writing on my blog I've cracked the wall of a damn...and now there's a mighty river of words pressing to break free.  I rarely ever have the opportunity to actually write when I want to though...dang job that pays the bills (jk..sorta).  Thus, what I think in my head is usually infinitely more eloquent and clever than what actually ends up coming out when I sit down to write (or at least I think it is and I'm okay with that delusion).  At the end of the day, when finally the din subsides and I’m able to focus, I stare blankly at the screen thinking, “What was it I wanted to write about again?  What was the fun phrase I thought of?”  But alas, I rarely remember.  When I finish each post I’ll be semi-pleased with it, but I know somewhere in the dark, cobwebby corners of my brain there is an even better post I missed out on because of the busy day and all the noise in my head.

Be that as it may, I still feel the need to write, and after all the praying I've been doing about my life in recent months, I think that has to mean something.  And about my niche?  Who knows.  God has given me a little piece of his plan, but that doesn't mean He's ready to give me the whole thing yet.  For right now, I'm completely happy trying to brush up on my skills here, going to school, and praying about the next step.

What about you?  For any fellow bloggers who happen to read this (if there are any), do you feel like a "writer"?

How do you choose what you write about?

 

Dazed and Confused

Once again, my brain is pummeling itself with random thoughts...some that coincide with one another like a lovely ballet, and others that bounce off each other like big, sweaty men in a WWF ring...it's just not pretty. So I've taken my lunch break, and instead of going to the gym like a good girl, I'm sitting at my desk trying to gather cognitive data into something I can recognize as an actual idea or cohesive thought. Right now, it's all a mental hot mess.

First, I had a really great conversation with Josiah's mom last night. I was talking about starting the blog and searching for my purpose, and she instantly cautioned me against taking on too much and over-scheduling. She was completely right to do so. While the blog itself and my pilgrimage to purpose wouldn't actually cause the over-scheduling, that is one of my fatal flaws. I definitely feel like I need to take time to breathe more often. Josiah is trying desperately to teach me the art of being still...poor sensei. I'm a difficult student in this regard. I will continue to pray about this, though, and ask God to show me where He wants me to place my energy...and when He wants me to conserve it.

All of that having been said, I still need to do something with my life (everyone does), and guess what? Billing girl isn't it. I sit here at my desk every day and try so hard to focus, but this sitting behind a desk staring at a computer and numbers and shuffling SO MUCH PAPER just is not me. I love my company, and I am REALLY appreciative to even have a job right now because many aren't that lucky. But man, sometimes I just want to stick a fork in my temple because, frankly, it would make my day more interesting (No...not literally, Mom. I'm not suicidal. Calm down).

So again, that begs the question "what to do?" God told me not to major in English (seriously, He made it virtually impossible), so I'm majoring in Psychology, Business, and Social Science. Obviously, I don't know what I want to be when I grow up because my major is all over the place, too. I have life plan ADD.

Josiah's mom says she thinks I may have the gift of counseling. The major in Psychology would be good for that, although I'd probably need a trillion more years of school beyond my bachelors (or 4...whatever). It's something that could quite possibly offer a very flexible schedule, and I could always take on as many or as few clients as I wanted.

I had almost just completely put the idea of writing aside until, while randomly looking for running tips for non-runners (aka chunky folk), I came across a very interesting blog today.** This girl has (and continues to) put in her dues as a freelance writer/"bloggess" and she's really very entertaining. She doesn't sugar-coat the process at all; in fact, she almost makes it sound downright painful at times (working for free, getting scammed, etc.), but you can tell she loves it...and I'm almost positive if I were given the opportunity, I would too.

There are two major factors that limit my ability to write: time and my own crippling insecurity.

I could probably make time to write, but then would I have any creative energy after having shuttled three children around and hearing the word "mommy" so much I think my ears are going to bleed? Honestly, I absolutely adore my children, but sometimes the constant noise and chatter drive me insane. I think this is where I really need to make sure I'm choosing activities for the kids and I wisely. The more we run, the more drained I am, and the more they tend to take for granted. It's not their fault, but if they are conditioned to me entertaining them with activities non-stop, then the gargantuan efforts I'm putting in are nothing special to them. Plus, I think it makes us all tired and cranky. If I want to write, I need to make sure I make time for it.

I don't know what to say about the insecurity. I've had some people tell me I am destined to write, and others seem summarily unimpressed. I'll pray about it...that's really all I know to do.

I think I may sit down and pen some lists tonight. I need to solidify exactly what I definitely do and don't want out of my career down the road. It worked when I wrote down what I wanted in a boyfriend!

I'll share that list and more this weekend. :)

**The blog I'm referencing is by a girl named Jasmine and you can find it here: www.eatmovewrite.com