SEEK YE FIRST!

I tracked it like a predator tracking its prey. I had seen it on television and knew it would only be a matter of time before it would show up in the local Walgreen’s. I became the hunter gatherer. At least once a week I would go into Walgreen’s and stalk the “As Seen On TV” section, hoping that I would find it between the superb pancake maker, the fantastic hair remover potion, the extraordinary porcelain restorer, the miraculous oxygen cleanser, the profound space preserver, and the powerful portable hand held sewing machine. Alas, for almost a month I returned home from the hunt empty handed.

Then, one Sunday, after dinner with the in-laws, I stop at Walgreen’s on my way home. I was shopping for something else, but on my way to the check out counter I glance over at that section. I scan each level, bottom to top, hoping against hope. Then, there, on the top shelf, could it be? Yes, there it is; the prey is in sight! I gasp, blink a couple of times and adjust my vision. Slowly, as I keep my eye on the prize, I quietly walk over to the section, reach up to the top shelf and grasp it firmly in hand. Eureka! At last, victory! I rush back to the check out counter.

The clerk scans my trophy, then asks, “What is it?” I quietly explain that having seen it on television, I decided that this was something I needed. She looks around, then in a conspiratorial whisper asks me, “Where did you find it?” I point to the section and in my best sotto voce voice I say, “At the top.” She looks over to the section, passes me my prize, and says, “Ohhh, I’d better get one right now.”

I drive home excited and pleased with the tenacity that has resulted in my bringing home this prize. The next day, as I watch “The Price Is Right” with my husband, I pull out my prize and begin to put it to work, smiling and humming to myself. My husband sits at the foot of the bed, and glances back at me from time to time, but says nothing. My daughter, who who is not working today, walks into our bedroom and sits down at the head of our bed. Between comments about the dumb bids of the contestants, she also watches me, but says nothing. . .for a while. Happily oblivious to their mounting curiosity, I continue to whistle and work and congratulate myself on my prize and my productivity.

Finally, my daughter can stand it no longer. “Mama, what is that?” I proudly hold up my blue trophy and announce that it is a “Flip and Fold”.

“A what?” She looks at me rather strangely. My husband looks back at us but says nothing.

“A Flip and Fold. This little baby is going to help me organize my closets and shelves.” I point proudly to the shirts I have just flip folded, a crisp tower of perfectly folded garments.

“Look at this, clean sharp lines, magnificently folded, just like in a department store. Saves space too.”

My daughter, who manages a retail store, responds: “We just use cardboard.”

I consider the statement for a moment, then reply, “I suppose I could have made one of these out of cardboard.” A pall begins to form over my folding happiness. But when I place my finished product on a shelf and stand back to admire the symmetry, I think, “Na-aah!”

I tell my daughter, “You ought to buy one of these for your store, just $14.99 at Walgreen’s. It would be a lot quicker.”

I hope she will catch my enthusiasm as I return to my whistling and working and folding. I am happy; it doesn’t get much better than this. I am oblivious to the laughter of my daughter and my husband.

Hmmmm. I think I feel a life lesson coming on.

I wonder, how is it that a $14.99 novelty item can get me so worked up while the ransom of Christ no longer excites me as it once did?

How can I get so excited about the inconsequential things of this life, put all my time and energy into acquiring stuff while too often overlooking the eternal hope that is in in Christ Jesus?

Why have my needs and wants become greater than this great salvation, and how is it that it is so easy for me to neglect (be careless with, make light of) this great salvation, leaving it wanting while I seek the things of this temporal realm?

Yes, I know, if I have believed the gospel, confessed, believed, and received the gospel, I have not ignored (neglected) the greater salvation (versus the law), but where do I stand now in the light of the gospel? Am I neglecting the work God planned in advance for me; am I working out my salvation with fear and trembling?

My “Flip and Fold” has three steps I must follow to achieve a crisply folded shirt or towel. If I follow the sequence, the finished product will turn out as promised by the manufacturer.

My growth in Christ has three steps. If I follow the sequence, obedience-comittment-sacrifice (deny, take up cross, follow), the finished product (me) will come out as promised by the manufacturer (mature believer).

It is amazing the things the Father uses to teach me a lesson.

No Root of Bitterness

We must take care not to let bitterness take root in our souls. It is easy for we mere mortals to give in to the side effects of life, the despair and anger that come with disappointments, abandonment, persecution, neglect, etal. Our dreams go down the drain of deferral; our expectations are trampled beneath the feet of apathy and disinterest. In our distress, we reflexively nurture our pain and rehearse our misery until we harvest a crop of bitterness that spills over into our everyday actions and reactions. We succumb to our heartache and begin to see everything through bitterness-tinted lenses. I think it is time to check out our profession of faith. If we truly believe that God is who He says He is and that He can do what He says He can do, then why aren’t we, more often, casting all our care on Him simply because we know He cares for us?

Bitterness is pervasive and invasive. Bitterness keeps us living out our Past in the Present. Bitterness erodes our hope and trust and ultimately we begin to measure every act by every person by our bitterness slide rule. Bitterness demands perfection until, finally, very few people can live up to our expectations. Bitterness takes our focus off of El Shaddai and puts it back on "me, myself and I." We love to proclaim Philippians 4:13 but until we actually begin to practice what we preach, that we can not only do but also endure all things through the One who is our strength, bitterness will continue to taunt us. So, what shall we say to these things? I'm just asking. . .

Great Gain!

I was casually listening to a radio bible study as I drove toward my next errand. The speaker was expounding on the scripture 1 Timothy 6:6, "Godliness with contentment is great gain." Now I am familiar with this scripture; I have heard it before, but this time it resonated in my mind. Godliness and contentment? What a great premise. Most believers are certainly in the pursuit of godliness, but what about this contentment thing? I think we too often are focused so much on doing the right thing that we become subject to inner turmoil and chaos that belies our profession of faith because we are not pursuing contentment as well. Contentment may be a hard earned consequence of our faith, but I believe that such a state is available to each and every believer.

Paul declares in Philipians 4:11, “Whatever state. . . I have learned to be content.” This statement, in my view, now raises the question, “How do I learn to be content? The JFB Commentary defines the word content, as used in this text, as "having a sufficiency in one's self" independent of others.” What is this sufficiency? Well, it certainly is not my turning to my own strength of heart and mind, but it is rather my trusting God’s divine plan for my life and choosing to accept my life as it is, not focusing on what’s missing or what is not in place, but rather trusting God for every provision as I pursue Him daily. To do this, I must acknowledge, daily, that God can fill every void in my life be it body, soul or spirit.

The past six years or so have certainly been a learning curve for me, having to trust God in a new season as the familiar fell away. Materially there has been no great gain, but spiritually I have grown and I am stronger, wiser and so much better (Sing Marvin!). I do not beleive it is ever God’s intent to destroy us with the winds of adversity and life's unexpected challenges and pitfalls, but adversity does offer us the opportunity to pursue God with an absolute trust that His will shall absolutely prevail in our lives. When I do make godliness and contentment my daily focus, I gain a greater insight into His love for mankind, and for me. I hear so many testimonies about how God “brought me through,” or “brought me over,” or “kept me safe.” Wouldn’t it be wonderful to hear about contentment in the storm, and peace in the valley as we wait for God's divine intervention? Godliness with contentment, to recognize God as El Elyon, Jehovah Sabaoth and El Shaddai and then realize that there is no need for discontent or dismay, is certainly great gain. What a thought!

Rhema Word #2: A Certain Uncertainty

Oswald Chambers calls it a "certain uncertainty." It is that state of faith in which we are certain God can solve and resolve everything even as we find ourselves in a state of suspended animation, that place of uncertainty where we are unsure as to just how, and when, God will solve or resolve our stuff.

We want to know everything about our future, the who, what, where, why, when and how of our lives. We live in a perpetual state of anxiety as we try to peer into into our futures with the notion that we can wrestle it into submission to our will and expectations.

Let's just think about this for a moment. If we can trust our eternity to the sacrifice of one man through the behest of a heavenly Father who loved and loves us beyond our wildest imaginations and now that we are sealed to the day of redemption, can we not also trust that same Godhead with our future, with the rest of our lives? Isn't the promise of all things working together for our good more than enough?

Chambers writes: ". . . When we have the right relationship with God, life is full of spontaneous, joyful uncertainty and expectancy . . . Leave everything to Him and it will be gloriously and graciously uncertain how He will come in -- but you can be certain that He will come. Remain faithful to Him."

It is glorious, indeed!
Romans 8:16-39

A Rhema #1: "And They Continued . . . "

The visiting pastor, the speaker of the hour for our pastor’s appreciation program, took his text from Acts 2:42-43-46. I love this passage of scripture because it underscores for me the importance of fellowship within the church, the things we should have in common with one another and the connection that should be in place in our local assemblies. The subject the pastor presented to us from this text was “And They Continued.” It was the exact word that not only I needed but a word that seemed to resonate in the minds and hearts of the people in attendance.

“And they continued. . .”

As we look at this particular text, we begin to understand the standard that is being set for us by this first century church. Those new believers continued in the teaching of the apostles. They continued to share, practically and spiritually, with one another, to partner with one another in the pursuit of holiness and the edification of one another. They continued to partake of Communion together; they prayed together. They looked out for the needs of the body and if they had the means to meet the needs, they did not hesitate (“all things in common”) to give, selling their possessions in order that others would not suffer. Certainly this is a challenge to today’s church, to measure our “fellowship” against the standards established in this fledgling church. But this was not the only challenge the pastor presented to us. He challenged us to think about the direction of our lives today even as we show up to church every Sunday.

I have to ask myself, Has Donna continued in the fellowship or did she drop out from time to time, simply because she wasn't feeling it? “In what has Donna continued since she first knelt at the foot of the cross and confessed Jesus as Savior and Lord? Has her faith continued to grow in spite of the obstacles to it, or did she falter along the way when it looked like God had forgotten her place. Has she continued in those old thought patterns that put her needs first, ego driven desires that ignored the needs and hurts of her fellow believers, or has she learned “It’s not about me?” Has Donna continued in old habits, reverted to old responses and reactions when someone stepped on her toes, inadvertent or intentional (though my perception is often the injury is intentional). Has Donna been that good example of the one who is determined to follow Jesus daily, or has her witness, her negative witness, tainted the lives of others, especially those spiritual babes who are still on the milk of the word regardless of how long they have been in the church.

Life, as Langston Hughes writes, has not been a crystal stair for me or for many others. There have been torn places in the carpet and splinters and the climb has not always been easy, but in spite of these challenges, I have always been able to count on a sister or a brother to bring me a revelation, a confirmation or an encouraging word from God that He has not forgotten me. Sometimes the individual doesn’t even know how God has used them to move me out of my spiritual lethargy or weariness. Still, had these individuals not continued in the fellowship, in the pursuit of God and the edification of the body, it is very likely I would never have received God’s note of encouragement.

In spite of the fact that the years have passed by quickly, and are gaining speed even as I write, I want to be all that God is calling me as a member of His family and of the local assembly into which He has placed me. I invite you to join me in this Federation of the Saints as we continue to follow Jesus daily.

“And they continued. . .”

What a wonderful testimony to the faith of a people who were the very first to believe in God’s love and the power of redemption.

I Wonder As I Wander Pt. 1

I am feeling blah, blah, blah today. Blah, blah, blah and a just a little disconnected. I often rummage around in my head for those reasons as to why I feel the way I do when the blahs show up. After all these years I still have no answer for these unwelcome visitors. Maybe it's hormones. Maybe it a flu bug launching an attack against my immune system. Maybe it's too much busyness and not enough sleep. Maybe it's everything and maybe it's nothing at all. How, then, do I pull myself out of this pit full of blahs? This is a fantastic question to which I have absolutely no answer, but I know someone who does. His name is El Roi, He who sees all things and neither slumbers nor sleeps. An ever-present help at all times, our God can lift us up out of that pit to bring us back to a place of equilibrium and balance, a place where hope continues to reign and faith is the path upon which we walk. This also requires a conscious effort on our part to forget those things that are behind us and to keep pressing our way through all the stuff that life may throw at us. We must think on those things that keep us focused on the will and way of God. We have to think our way to faith, thinking on the promises of God while looking unto Jesus who is still the author and the finisher of our faith. Instead of rummaging around in my head for a rationale for my blahs, I instead must look beyond the hills to tap into the help that is always available to His children in spite of the blahs.

Staying the Course

I just realized I have been coasting through life for the past six years. My husband died six years ago and I have been sleep-walking through my days, flying by the seat of my pants and not really connecting with anything that was previously a part of my former life, my life before death. Oh, don't get me wrong, I have handled the things I needed to handle but I have not been diligent or organized about life in general; I have been more reactive than proactive, accepting those things dished out to me rather than taking charge of my destiny (as much as such a thing is possible.)

I come to this revelation not by divine intervention (or perhaps it is by by divine intervention), but rather through another life style change. I moved in with my elderly aunt, the goal being to provide some security for her and an opportunity for me to save some money in these financially challenged times. I came to this place with no expectation for anything other than to live out these days pretty much the way I have for the last six years, wake up, go to work, return home, go to bed, wake up, etc., etc., etc. Yes, this is what I expected but instead, because of the move, I have taken on the responsibility of establishing a daily routine for my aunt which includes the oversight of her part-time caregiver. I rise early to catch two buses to work in the city and return late to walk right into the kitchen to prepare dinner for me, the left-overs from which become the next day meal for my aunt (so that she can eat by six o'clock). I am back to grocery shopping and cooking a full meal for Sunday on Saturday evenings, tasks I have not consistently done in a long while. I do not have the convenience of a dishwasher so I am now the every night dish washer. Last Friday I stacked stuff by the curb for bulk trash pick-up, stuff that should have been thrown away ages ago and on Saturday morning responded to the complaint of the rude man who felt compelled to ring the doorbell and advise me that I had put it all in the wrong spot (they took it anyway). I dealt with the gardner who has probably just been doing his thing with no supervision, asked him to remove the pile of dead leaves near the back fence, to cut down the tall grass on the side of the house and to trim back the bushes alongside the driveway. I am learning how to respond to my aunt in such a manner that does not cause her to obsess over and over about a missing item or the day of the week or some such thing that can quickly become a fixation. I silently observe her and speculate on my own future as I note the woman who is missing and the woman-child she has become. I think about the things I now do for her, physical things and practical things I could not do for my late mother because of distance, she in Texas, me in California. I am tired, but the weariness has rousted the lethargy that has been mine for six years, an ironic twist I must admit.

It is by God's grace that I come to this revelation and realization. I have been marking time, waiting for something to happen, something to change. It was not a conscious marking of time, just a slow erosion of purpose and determination. I have no doubt that there are unforseen challenges ahead. God is preparing me, now, for what is to come. God has wired me, indeed all of us baby boomers, for better things, greater things, in our latter years. We must not despise the challenge of the course. We must keep our eye on the prize and hold on.

Looking Back In Order to Move Forward!

“Daddy, what color does a person have to be to get a taste of colored water?

The head librarian of the library in which I work does not like this picture book, “A Taste of Colored Water” by Matt Faulkner. She does not like the book illustrations and she thinks that that last line of the book leaves the reader hanging, perhaps wanting more than this final word.

I say, “I guess you have to have been raised African American in the Jim Crow South to understand the impact of the word ‘colored.’”

“Oh, I get it, “ she responds, “but the book just doesn’t work for me.”

I do not bother to tell her, my Caucasian counterpart, that the line almost brought me to tears when I read it to the third grade class.

Synopsis of the book: Two Caucasian cousins in a small town hear from a classmate that there is a water bubbler (water fountain) in the city marked “Colored.” The cousins are fascinated by, and marvel at the idea of colored water and wonder how they can get to the city to drink from this mystical fountain. The irony of this story, aside from their desire to drink from the colored water fountain, is that the fountain is on the grounds of City Hall and the two children will have to walk between the words “Truth” and “Justice” that are carved into stone blocks to get to the fountain. Fate intervenes and the children do get to the city. They rush up to that marvelous water fountain, but there are other things happening that day, things that involve people waving placards and singing freedom songs and fire hoses and policemen attached to snarling police dogs. The water fountain is atop a hill and the girl cousin looks down and notices the interaction of the police and the protesters. Suddenly the water no longer holds her attention; she shouts, “Stop! Stop! – but [her] throat was so dry, and [she] started to feel dizzy, like a nest of hot bees was swarming in [her] head.” A policeman intervenes before the boy cousin can sip from the fountain, shouting, “Get away from there boy! That water ain’t for you. It’s for coloreds!”

I grew up colored in the Jim Crow south. I hated being colored. No, not colored as in I hated being Negro. I hated that word colored, the negative connotation and the way it rolled off the tongues of the majority culture in my small town. There was nothing marvelous or mystical about being colored in the south. The appellation separated you from the “real” people and singled you out as different. It devalued you and marked you as a non-entity in a society that took pride in individuality and non-conformity.

Never underestimate the power of a single word. Colored has the same effect on me today as it did all those years ago in my small north Texas town. It ranks alongside being asked by a sales clerk “May I help you girls? “ It rankles and it irritates and it shoves me back into a place that’s narrow and dark and bitter. "Colored," such an innocuous word, devoid of morality or moral, and yet it has the power to transport me back to a time when I felt the weight of the color of my skin each and every day.

Change has come to America, but it just takes one word to remind me that due diligence is in order if we are ever going to overcome the consequences of prejudice and racism and the power of one word.

“Daddy, what color does a person have to be to get a taste of colored water?”

Living Black and Loving It: Lift Every Voice and Sing!

“What will you do with today?”

This question came to me as I thought on the events of this week. I pulled up the shade of my past and thought of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. the people, the suffering, and the struggles he represents. I considered the shutters of my future, a future of hope personified in the person and the persona of President Barack H. Obama.

I look into the faces of young people and see the joy of youth; I hear their laughter as they walk through school hallways or down city streets. I wonder, as I watch them, “What will you do with Today?”

I try to remember what it was like to be their age, but the cacophony of time has muted my youthful voice, still I can almost hear the whispers of my mother, my teachers, my community, and my ancestors who were torn away from their history and transported into a future full of unknowns, “What will you do with Today?”

Will you dare to be different? Will you choose the road not taken? Will you climb the rough side of the mountain? Will you come alongside to walk with that one who is labeled “outcast?” Will you speak to the one others shun? Will you practice genuine tolerance?

“What will you do with Today?”

A voice from my past, the voice of Robert F. Kennedy, parallels my question: “Some people see things as they are and ask ‘Why?’” I see things as they could be and ask ‘Why not?”

Why not dream the impossible dream? Why not pursue excellence? Why not push yourself beyond your limitations or the expectations of others? Why not accept that challenge to be better, to do better?

I noted the history in the crowd at the inauguration. The Tuskegee Airmen who so long ago dared to soar above the surly attitudes of those who said they did not have the intellect or the physical skill to become pilots. I watched John Lewis stand, he who was one of the Big Six during the Civil Rights movement, a young man who headed SNCC (Student Nonviolent Coordination Committee) and worked alongside Dr. King during those days of tumult and resistance. I heard the sacred intonation of a beloved song in the prayer of an old warrior and I asked myself, “What will you do with Today?”

Langston Hughes asks, “What happens to a dream deferred?” I now realize that dream deferral does not mean dream denial. Dreams deferred are sometimes just dreams on hold. Deferred dreams are nurtured and protected by a dreamer who dares to labor in faith over them each and every day without a clue as to when, or if, they will come to pass. Sustained by hope, deferred dreams lie dormant until the time is right for them to bloom and blossom. No, Dream Deferral is not Dream Denial.

"What will you do with Today?"

Living Black and Loving It, Again

"I have never been so naive as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle." The struggle for racial justice is far from over.” Barack Obama

I discovered this quote just a few days ago. In light of my last blog about the expected “change” in the America psyche about race and race issues, I also expressed my concerns about how things will not change overnight. I am glad to see that Mr. Obama also realizes that the desire for change can happen in a nano-second, but the process of change will take just a teeny bit longer.

Living Black in America is a two-edged sword. One edge speaks to the delights of our culture, the sweet nuances of our language and the laughter of older women who whisper secrets to one another over sweet potato pie and coffee in a girlfriend’s kitchen, the swagger of the older brothers who jump sharp on Saturday p.m. in their pointy toed Stacy Adams shoes with their snap-brimmed hats jauntily tipped to one side as they lean against the counter of the local juke joint while their Sunday go-to-meeting saintly wives head for church Sunday a.m. swathed in fur cuffed suits with those dramatically glorious hats that bring their own drama perched on perfectly coiffed heads. I love living Black in America and I love living it out loud in the midst of my people.

I want to shout like Sister Sue over in the corner who is so overcome by the fervor of the moment that she does not remember later that she had to be extracted from between the pews where she fell after she passed out. I want to dance up and down the center aisle of the church until I have to kick off my shoes LaBelle style and wait for the ushers to escort me out of the sanctuary so I can catch my breath (or stick a shoe under my nose to revive me). I want to eat black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day with gumbo as a side dish. I want to laugh until I cry with my sister-girlfriends even if that laughter is tinged with heartache. I want to passionately kiss a man until we both have to come up for air. I want to wear the bright colors and all the bling my wrists can bear and my ears can hold. I want to step into a conference room in all my ethnic confidence and then astound the skeptical gathering with my knowledge and expertise. I just love living Black.

But there is the other edge of that sword to think about. The edge that has shamed us with a history that was not of our making, the edge that has made us fill less-than even as the economy of a nation was being built on our backs. This edge of the sword has sliced away and denied me my humanity. The tip of the sword has pointed out the texture of my hair and the color of my skin and has dared to make me ashamed of both. I have been forced by prevailing stereotypes to act against type when in the company of the majority culture so that my race is not stigmatized by my individual choices. This edge of the sword drew a line in the sand of democracy and dared me to step over it. The weight of my color is ever present when I am the only person of color in a meeting or a conference or a restaurant. I am aware of the dichotomy of democracy as I see my young brothers hanging out on the corner in the middle of the day, when I hear my young sisters angrily use obscenities that were never spoken in my presence back in the day and even then only old men used such language. I note the despair and the anger and the decimation of a culture and I feel the pain of the sword’s edge that condemns me for daring to be Black in America. This is also what living Black in America is all about. This is the part I hate.

The desire for change has always been a present and persistent hope in our community. Mr. Obama declared, “Change has come to America.” It remains to be seen how long it will take for change to overtake and vanquish the nasty consequences of living Black in America. Sam Cooke sang it in the 60s and Seal reiterated it in this millennium, "Change gone come." It can't come soon enough for me. I've been waiting a long time for change to show up. I anticipate its appearance any day now, but while I am waiting, I will love every exciting, exasperating, and exhilirating moment of living Black in America.