Ode to the MIL

It has been 19 years since we’ve known each other.  I will never forget the first time I met her. Mose invited me home to meet his family when we were dating.  She was welcoming but guarded- understandably. I was nervous and excited.  I knew that Mose and I really cared about each other on a deep level and that we were serious about our relationship by that point, even though we had only been together a few months.  As we were all relaxing on the sofa one evening, just the three of us, we started talking about the future. I mentioned that he and I would still be together (I can’t recall exactly what we were talking about). I was insinuating how serious we felt about each other at that point.  She quickly- and I mean quickly- told me that he and I were friends and still getting to know each other.  In so many words, she was telling me to calm down and not rush anything.  I was slightly offended in that moment, but I also understood where she was coming from.  She didn’t know me at all.  She was also not ready to let go of her baby.  I am also the only white woman my husband has been with, so there was that, as well.

You may be wondering why I would mention such a thing.  There are a lot of white people, I believe, that choose to ignore people’s skin color, acting like that is the best way to not be “racist.” Remember the whole “love sees no color” movement in the 90s? The movement stemmed from that idea- that if we really loved each other, we would not see skin color.  I am here to tell you that is not love.  If we choose to ignore that aspect of people, we are choosing to not see ALL of who they are- all of whom God created them to be.  For non-white people, their skin color has helped shaped their entire existence and effects their daily lives, so in what way does this show love to ignore that aspect of them? We should love others for their entire, whole selves, which is exactly how my in-laws have loved me from the start.

My MIL has taken time over to years to learn to trust me as a person- most importantly to trust me to take care of her son.  I had to prove that over time with my actions. She and I have both understood this, but she has never demanded this from me in a forceful way or shown any sort of distrust or dislike of me whatsoever.  As a mother of a son, I whole heartedly understand what she has done for me and how difficult it has been.  As a mother of a Black son, I understand on an even deeper level. 

This world does not favor Black men.  They are considered inhuman by many racist people because of years of systemic racism, which continues to happen today.  It is part of the reason why the jails are overpopulated by them and why they are killed so often by the police and others.

I know that my MIL gave her son to God and trusted that the Lord would take care of him, which is all we mother’s can do.  In that, she trusted me and has believed in me to care for her son the way he deserves to be cared for. She has hoped that I would provide a life for him that he would have lived had he married a Black woman.  A comfortable life, where he could be himself in his own home and not have to prove himself constantly. 

My MIL is one of the most giving, loving, funny, beautiful people I know.  She would truly give the shirt off her back to help any of us in the family.  She is quick to give advice and wisdom. She never holds back with sharing what she knows, which is out of love. She always wants the best for us.  I am so thankful for her and grateful that she opened her heart to me and has trusted me with her son all these years.  Today is her birthday and I wanted to honor her by writing this post about her.

I love you, mom, and wishing you a very happy birthday today! Thank you for opening your heart to me and for all that you have done for me and our family. 

Te Amo

 “Better is open rebuke than hidden love.”- Proverbs 27:5

I have always been the friend that says, “I love you.” I have believed throughout my life that it is important to express love and affection and to say “I love you” often, not just to family, but to friends, as well.  I have several friends that I feel very close to, who I say this to, who do not say it back.  I am curious as to why some people do not easily say these words.  Is it that they are so powerful that they reserve who they say it to and when they say it for what they consider important items?  Do they just not love me back? Maybe they think they should not say these words to a friend, and only to family?  The thing is, I consider them as family.  It stings a little each time the words are not reciprocated, but I typically chalk it up to the fact that they are someone that does not say the words easily rather than the fact that they just might not love me.  I do not say it all willy nilly to whoever I want to, I really do mean it.  So, that is what I want my friends to understand after I say it.  For those of you that do not say it to your friends, do you want them to know that you love them?  If you do, I strongly suggest you learn to become comfortable with it and say it back.  Don’t you want your friends to know how you feel about them?  I would never want to leave this earth and have friends left behind that wonder how I felt about them.  All my close friends know that I love them- whether they say it back to me or not- they know that I love them, and that is what matters most.  I encourage you to look at yourself and consider whether you are the type of friend that tells your friends how you feel, and if you are not, you may want to reconsider.  What do you have to lose?

We all live in a yellow submarine

This past week, a crew of five wealthy passengers took a voyage on a small vessel- a submersible- named “Titan” to look at the wreckage of the Titanic, which is sitting on the bottom of the ocean.  Titan was unfortunately not properly built for the intensity and the pressure of the depth of the water, so it imploded.  All five passengers died.  This made national news and people went crazy over it on social media.  Many of the comments I saw were making fun of the voyagers for taking such a dangerous trip, as well as shaming them for spending their money on it.  There were also comments about the news focusing on these wealthy people and their tragedy as opposed to a ship carrying hundreds of immigrants that went missing right around the same time.  People felt as if the media was focused on the wrong thing. 

I did not say a word about it on my social media.  I am so far removed from either situation that I did not think it was my place to say anything, and, frankly, I was annoyed with seeing so many posts about it.  I do not enjoy being a part of “trendy” discussions, just for the sake of being trendy.  Alas, for some reason, I feel the need to share my thoughts here with those that are willing to spend the time to read my blog.  I guess I am being trendy now.  So, here goes.

First, regarding the media, we all know good and well that the media always focuses on what is most glamorous. Sadly, most people in the world would want to hear about billionaires taking a dangerous trip to the bottom of the ocean than what happened with a ship carrying hundreds of immigrants. It is fascinating to imagine what living like a billionaire would be like for most of us, so hearing their story was captivating for most of us. 

Second, regarding the fact that they took the dangerous trip in the first place, I say that it is all relative.  An adventurous billionaire’s trip to the bottom of the sea could equate to an adventurous poor man’s hiking trip on a steep trail to the top of a mountain. Both trips are dangerous and could result in death and would be affordable for that person.  How can we mock someone for being adventurous when most of us would love to have more adventure in our lives?  True enough, we might not want to explore the ocean in such a way, but that is exciting for a lot of people- to see and research the ocean and its contents.

Unfortunately, the submersible voyagers did not survive their adventure. I pray they were at least able to see the wreckage of the Titanic before their vessel imploded. Most of all, I am praying for the mother who let her 19-year-old son take the fateful trip. I know the sacrifice she made to allow him to go instead of herself, because he really wanted to go.  It may have been a life-long dream of hers to go, as well, but she sacrificed her own desires to do something special for her son.  It sadly ultimately resulted in his early death.  She will always live with this knowledge that it could have been her instead of him.  Any loving mother would always want to sacrifice themselves instead of their child. It is what we do as moms.  My heart goes out to her.  Not only did she lose her husband, but she lost her son, and it could have been her on that boat. 

With both terrible situations, we should show love and concern, as opposed to judgement and ridicule.  We all make choices for ourselves that may be dangerous at times and the choices are relative to our own situations.  You might decide to bungee jump, go white water rafting, or go skiing. All these activities, despite the safety mechanisms put in place for them, are dangerous to a certain degree.  You could potentially die from participating in any of these things. 

As I sit and think about what transpired over the last couple of weeks, I am praying for the families of the victims of both tragedies. I encourage you to do the same.  We are all out here just trying to live life the best way we know how.  Let’s give each other a break.

God's Plan

 

“Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and he will establish your plans.”- Prov 16: 3

It’s amazing to think of the various plans that I’ve made for my life that have wound up resulting in much different outcomes than I’ve expected.  After my trip to Africa as a teenager, I was convinced that God’s plan for my life was for me to be a counselor for children. I thought that meant I was either going to be an LPC or a school counselor. I would end up earning a master’s degree in 2009 in school counseling and worked as an elementary school counselor for two years.  I believed I was serving my “purpose” and walking in line with God’s will for my life. 

During that time, however, my husband and I became more and more dissatisfied with our living situation. Living as an interracial family in Central Oregon, where there were not many Black people at all, was not the most comfortable set up.  In fact, when I was in high school, we had maybe two Black students out of the entire student population.  It was frustrating having to deal with the stares and the subtlety racist comments on an almost daily basis.  My husband grew up in Alabama, and the first – and only- time he has ever been called the “n-word” was in my hometown.

We decided we wanted more for our family.  We wanted to raise our children in a culturally diverse environment, where there were more like-minded people. We wanted them to have more educational opportunities and to be able to see more of the world.  Most importantly, we wanted to move closer to my in-laws, who were very loving and supportive parents and grandparents.  Not to mention, we also wanted to move to an area where the cost of living was much more reasonable. We therefore decided to move to the South. 

In 2010, we ended up moving to North Carolina, which is where I received an offer. It was a great job- working for the federal government, but I simply just saw it as a “job” at that time, as I “knew” I would eventually return to school counseling.  I needed to move to the new State first, get my family settled, then learn about the credentialing requirements and work towards those.  However, after only a brief time of working in NC, I knew that I would not be able to return quickly to my prior profession, as the government work paid much better and was therefore best for my family.  My husband was still working on building up his career and working towards what he wanted to do, so it was the responsible thing for me to stay where I was.  I started feeling angry about the decision, and feeling as if I was not doing what God wanted me to do with my life.  Even though I made the choice to not return to counseling, I was resentful and blamed Mose.  After eight years of doing this work, which I felt was not my purpose, I decided that I wanted to look into going into leadership.  I applied for a competitive leadership development program at work.  I knew that if I did not make it into that program, I would return to school counseling, regardless of whether I would have to take a pay cut.  Long story short, I would be accepted into that program, which spearheaded my leadership journey.  I was promoted to a supervisor position within two years, and I was promoted again to be the office Director another three years later. 

I have never felt more fulfilled or happy than I do now in my current position.  I am able to be a positive leader each day. I look for opportunities to encourage our employees regularly, and make beneficial decisions for our office.  I use my counseling skills often.  I truly believe I am serving my purpose and in a place where I can use my skills to the utmost capacity.

You may be in a season where you do not feel as though you are serving your purpose.  It may be that you are on a stepping stone towards the ultimate plan for your life, so you are actually following the plan. It takes time to get where you want to be, so patience is key. One thing we need to always remember is that our purpose is actually to love and serve others (John 13:34).  Whenever we are doing these, we are serving our purpose.  We spend so much time worrying about what our “purpose” is and whether we are walking in it, but we fail to see that when we are fulfilling God’s primary tasks for us, that we are doing just that.  It looks different for each of us because we each have different skillsets and experiences that lead us in different directions, but there is no right or wrong way.  Let go of that guilt and worry, friends!  Stay the course and focus on building up your own personal skills.  You are heading down the right path towards what God has in store for you. 

He Came for Me- Part 2

I was very drunk at a party and was hanging out with a guy. I started to black out at certain points, but at some point, he took me to a back room and wanted to have sex.  I would tell him I didn’t want to because I knew that I wasn’t ready.  Even as I was very drunk, I knew that I did not want to have sex with someone that I just met.  I was going in and out of full consciousness and remember waking up in different rooms, where he was having sex with me.  I remember him whispering certain things to me while it was happening that people say during consensual sex and I remember feeling confused as to why he was saying those things, as if I was going along with what was happening. The night was mostly a blur, but the parts that were clear were traumatic. 

That experience made me realize that my “friends” would not always look out for me. Where were they that night? Why did they not come for me and get me away from him?  I had one friend that eventually called me that evening to check in on me and she took me to the hospital where they completed a rape kit. 

I slowed down attending parties after that, but, sadly, it still did not cause me to stop partying completely.  In fact, the next weekend, I ran into the same guy at a different party. He apparently had heard that I went to the hospital that night.  He walked up to me and asked me if I was ok and claimed that he thought I was “into it” and he did not think he forced me into anything I did not want to do.  I ended up not pressing charges against him because I was worried about having to see him at school or dealing with the aftermath of that at school.  He transferred to a different school the following year. 

I am certainly not saying that what happened to me was my fault. However, I do believe that I made very dangerous decisions that night, such as drinking far too much alcohol and leaving my friends, which put me in a vulnerable position. 

After that happened, I continued to make poor choices and my life continued on the downward spiral.  I got pregnant by a man I was dating.  After cancelling our wedding because he was cheating on me, I ended up breaking up with him and having to move back to Central Oregon to live with my parents. I lost a ton of weight because I was so depressed and working out all the time to avoid my thoughts.

But, then, Jesus came for me.  He was actually with me the entire time I was going through all of this. One day, for whatever reason, I realized that he was with me. He knew that I would experience all these things because of the choices I made.  Even though I felt far from God at that time, he was right beside me.  I was the lamb that ran away from the flock, and he came back to scoop me up.  I was important to him, even when I felt unloved and unimportant. I asked him for forgiveness, and I knew that I was forgiven.  I started going back to church and making healthier choices for my life. I enrolled in college classes at Oregon State- Cascades campus, got an apartment for myself and my daughter, and eventually finished my degree.  I was hired at the Boys & Girls Club and worked there during college, which felt like ministry every day. I loved the work I did there with those kids. I spent each day showing them God’s love through my actions and by being there for them each day.  It felt like a gift and an honor to work there while supporting myself and my daughter at the same time.

Have I continued to make bad decisions in my life after going through all of that?  Of course.  I have made uncountable mistakes in my life since that time.  After every mistake and rough patch, though, the crook of my Shepherd has grabbed my little stubborn neck and directed me back to safety.  He continues to come for me after each time I get myself into trouble. I trust that he will guide me back to safety because he said that he would.  The wiser I have become, the closer I have remained to him, and therefore I have made less serious mistakes.  If I keep my eyes on him, I will be less likely to stray.  In fact, I never want to feel the pain that I’ve felt each time I’ve made life altering mistakes in my life again. I would like to just remain comfortable, stay with the flock, with Jesus, and stay away from the trouble.  I will continue to do my best and do just that.  However, I know that if I fall again, he will be right there to scoop me up.  

Friends, I am not special or any different from you.  We all make choices that hurt us and sometimes even alter our lives completely- or we are negatively affected by other’s choices.  Jesus wants us to know that he is with us, even in the darkest times of our lives.  He is there, waiting to take your hand and help you walk away from it.  To walk you back into safety and security.  Will you let God scoop you up?

He Came for Me- Part 1

 Matthew 18:12-14- “What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off.  In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish.”

I grew up in a Christian household where our parents raised us to believe in Jesus. Of course, we had our problems as a family, and they (especially my dad) certainly did not always live as perfect Christian examples. Nonetheless, we were raised Christian. I grew up attending mostly non-denominational churches, attending two services a week for many years. I would attend Christian camps as a young adult during the summer, as well as went on mission trips around the world in my teens.  It was only natural that I would want to attend a Christian college and, as a Senior in high school, I looked forward to attending Western Baptist College in the fall. 

My freshman year at WBC was nice.  I made a couple of friends, took my classes seriously- although my worst grade was in my Bible class ironically.  I worked a part-time job for a financial planning firm, where I primarily made “cold calls” to prospective clients. The job was uncomfortable, to say the least. I had to sound excited to invite random people that I found in the phone book to financial planning seminars. I knew nothing about financial planning, finances, or anything about money in general, really. All I knew about money was that I needed more of it, and I could not wait to be done with school, working in a full-time career job so that I could be financially secure. 

Maybe about halfway through my freshman year, I became restless at that school. I felt like I was missing out on the college party scene- the experience that I would see so often in the movies.  I wanted to have fun. The term we use for how I was feeling at that time in Christianlandia (I think I just made that word up) is “rebellious.”  I had been the “good, Christian” girl for so long and wanted to let loose.  I felt like I was missing out. 

I made up my mind to attend a public college the next year and ended up being accepted into Portland State University.  The campus was right in the center of downtown Portland, Oregon. I have always loved the vibe, the energy of big cities. I love the people, the diverse cultures, the food, the art, and the music. I just love it all.  Portland was the perfect place for me. Soon after starting at PSU, I began to attend parties with my roommates and with other new friends I had made. I would get drunk every time. Looking back on those years now, I see how dangerous my behavior was.  I just felt at the time that everyone around me would look out for me and that even if I would get ridiculously drunk, I would be safe. 

One night would change everything. 

To be continued….

Turn, Turn, Turn

 

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up, a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to throw away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.” Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

 Our time here on earth is so precious. Every little moment is important and should be treated as such. I had the opportunity last week to run into an older gentleman- probably aged 70 years or so- at the sandwich shop across from the Market House during my lunch break.  I first noticed him as he was walking into the shop and I was seated at an outdoor table, enjoying the sunshine and the people watching. He was humming and singing the 1990’s hip hop group TLC’s “Don’t go chasing waterfalls,” which made me smile.  After he came back out of the shop, he was still singing. I looked at him, smiled, and we made eye contact.  He said hello and we proceeded to engage in about a 30-minute unexpected conversation.  He told me all about his thoughts about the history of Fayetteville. Having been born and raised here, he understood the history of the Market House and the political aspects of whether it should stay or go. He is on team “keep the Market House,” although, he believes the city should do a better job of explaining its true historical roots- which is that it was used for slave auctions in the past. “I can tell you, there are two buildings that will never go away in Fayetteville,” he confidently stated. “The Market House and the jailhouse.” I assumed he meant the newer jail that is downtown, but he meant the old jail building, which now currently houses the Fascinate- U Children’s Museum, which is directly across from the Market House.  He also explained there was a tunnel underground from which they would transport slaves, which lead from the jail to the Market House.  That was a fact that I simply had not heard before.

It was fascinating speaking with this gentleman.  He was kind, full of wisdom, as well as filled with pride for his city- all of its flaws and all.  He spoke about his family- especially his grandson- and said he was a skilled athlete, who played football, baseball, and the video game Fortnite.  As I also have a son around the same age, I understood what he meant by being proud of the Fortnite skills. These kids can make actual money from playing that game! I get it. 

As I was walking away from this sweet man, I felt extremely lucky to have had the conversation with him.  I honestly wished I could have recorded it. It felt like an honor to hear his version of the history of our community, as his version is just as important as anyone else’s. 

I wish we would all take the time to sit down and learn from the elders in our communities. We need to record their version of history and compile their stories.  I fear that we take it for granted they are with us, as we often do not take the opportunity to sit down with them. It becomes too late, they pass away, and we have missed our chance.  I encourage you to take the time to sit down with your grandparents if they are still with us.  Listen to their stories and record them.  Of all my regrets from choices that I’ve made in my life, not having written down the stories my grandparents once told me is one of my highest.  It is so very extremely important, and we are missing it.  When my time comes to leave this earth and I do not want to think about the fact that I spent all day on frivolous distractions and hardly any time communicating with loved ones or with people in my community, which could have made more of an impact on my life. 

I challenge you today to make that phone call, start-up that conversation with a stranger. Ask questions and take notes. You will want to remember, and they will have plenty to share.  After all, this season will pass, and you do not want to miss it or have any regrets.