Monday, December 21, 2009
this dust gathers from a lack of life, a lack of movement, a lack of care.
she longs for humidity, not humility.
she finds a cloud and sits beneath it, awaiting its moisture and its comfort.
these tears are not meant to be wiped. that will only make a mess.
these tears are meant to fall.
and as her eyes begin to feel at ease & her lids become soft again, the tears overflow and spill onto her cheeks and eventually hit her chest.
the dust of her neglect begins to loosen and drain along with the tears.
she will cry until she is cleansed.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
i have been writing for years now on how the Church* is neglecting its duties, on how we've become sidetracked, on how we've evolved into a machine as a result of our insecurity and fear of our own humanity. i could go point for point on how we've gone off from His original plan or even more importantly strayed from His heart, but then we all may be forced to reconsider our practice. instead, i'd like to expound on why i love the Church.
the Church is my mother. she nursed me from when i was just a babe and she taught me as best she could. the Church is where i learned of frailty. the Church is where i learned of my deep need for God. the Church is where i discovered pride. the Church taught me the Word of God. the Church taught me the law. the Church told me i needed a Savior. the Church outsourced me to inspirational self-help books, charity organizations, and the Holy Spirit. the Church instilled in me the importance of fellowship and accountability and then ostracized me without a single conversation. even still, i love her deeply.
the Church is my mother. she has her favorites. she's busy in the kitchen, avoiding the "living" room. sometimes she's the hit of the party, all smiles and hips swinging, avoiding the tasks assigned. she has high hopes for me, but is overwhelmed by my need. she lets me leave, relieved that i am no longer her responsibility, somewhat saddened that she was unable to fix me. the Church is torn... wanting to see redemption, but not willing to give up all that she has dreamt and manufactured. she took the path of good intentions and ended up a million miles from home. even still, i love her deeply.
the Church is a bride in waiting. the Church is a fiance in preparation. the Church has fired the wedding planner and burned bridges with the chosen wedding party. the bride has taken on the production of the ceremony and neglected that which makes it sacred. she has lost sight of the Groom. but it can be regained. hope is not lost. the Groom loves deeply. the Groom loves without repentance. and beneath her insecurity lives the bride He envisioned... a bride with a heart soft like His, a generous bride, a strong bride, a diligent bride, a healthy bride... clothed in a beautiful white gown, without spot or wrinkle, without brand name or corporate affiliation.
He is patient. He is good. He is forgiving. He is tender towards His bride. He hasn't given up on the Church and neither should we. i have determined to love her deeply.
*[the term Church is used here in reference to the Western Church. this is in no way directly pointing to any specific local church.]
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
We joke around and they remark regularly on how I used to be Cuban.
But then I found my groove with the folks that came in a darker shade of brown. Sporting my sour apple blowpop in my ponytail and frontin as much gold that the babysitting job would afford at the 7th Avenue flea market. I remember hitting the street in my favorite pair of kicks…pink snakeskin Diadora’s and the largest pair of imitation Cazals I could find. Rockin my black MCM, singing Mary J. Blige and SWV with the sistas, eating Jamaican patties, hot sausages, and the hugest dill pickles that only the ice-cream man could offer…filled with kool-aid flavored slurpee of course. Its like it was yesterday.
My mom was concerned about the shirtless L.L. Cool J. and the thugged out Big Daddy Kane posters on my wall and my brother Jake felt the need to constantly remind me that I wasn’t “black”. And this was just the public stuff. There was also the powder on the wood floors to aid in my soul train routine practices and the fascination with beads, vaseline, and my black Barbie, DeeDee…the creative hairstylin was birthed during these years. I had a cool posse in those days: Chante (her dad had the hugest mercedes), Tanika, Latoya, Shantrel(she was red-boneded…lucky), Kennika, Kenyatta…you’ve got the picture. I was every sistafriend’s dream friend…light eyes and hair past my waist. I spent so many afternoons on the stoop getting my hair plaited and many nights finishing up my homework early so I could watch Good Times and Arsenio.
This has nothing to do with nothing, but I just felt like reminiscing. Its this song from Faith Evans…its so ole skool! Lovin it!
Back to the present…my laundry awaits.
|Currently listening :|
The First Lady
By Faith Evans
Release date: 05 April, 2005
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Kingdom of God is not a casserole.
The Kingdom of God is not a mixture of thought or substance.
The Kingdom of God is not to be recreated, revamped, renovated, remodeled, rewritten or revised.
This Kingdom has a rich flavour, a recognizable foretaste, and a mind blowing after taste.
The Kingdom is not confused.
There is one true God.
There is one Saviour.
There is one hope.
Life is precious. Perfect love is the only weapon in it's arsenal.
The Kingdom is not conflicted, yet it conflicts... with this culture, that culture, and our lower nature.
The Kingdom is not protected by walls, but by devotion and compassion.
This Kingdom is not about possession, but about freedom and truth.
This Kingdom is defined and definite, unbending and unending.
The Kingdom of God is not a casserole.
I am the girl who gives it all, yet awaits a decent return.
I am the girl that walks the walk and speaks in parables.
I am the girl that sees your heart and grows deeper in love.
I am the girl who's awaiting your words & holding on tight.
I am the girl who's reaching out further & exploring deeper.
I am the girl that questions it all in hope of brilliant answers.
I am the girl that won't give up, without a good fight of course.
I am the girl that you hoped you'd find, but just didn't realize.
I am the girl.
I am that girl.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
I admit that there is a satisfaction that comes after speaking up and a relief that comes in hope for a moment of consideration. After all, an answer to the question is a big request, but a moment to consider or reflect by all parties involved may just bring caution and a sober perspective. I know that many fear their leaders and others hold the law to such a reverence that they would never question it, but the law deserves to be protested when it is unjust and authorities will be questioned when they forget their role.
A lot has transpired as of late and these events have forced me to take a deep evaluation of who I am and what role I should be playing. My policy in working with the local church has been to live "stringless". This enables me to be silent or to speak as I feel prompted and compelled without being overly concerned with the consequences. It is important for the local church to know that this is not my ministry, this is their ministry and I am just assisting them with it. In essence, nothing can be taken from me if it is not mine to begin with. So I was hesitating. I needed to make sure that this is really the stance that I was made to take or perhaps more truly, that I wanted to take.
So, to sum it up for those who can't read more than 3 paragraphs without totally losing focus... I am reaffirming my role as a Daughter, Sister, Girlfriend, Friend, Protestant Pain in the Ass;-)
Sunday, August 2, 2009
If he were a color
He'd be a deep dark forest green
If he were a car
He'd be a long stretch limousine
With room for all of humanity inside
Cause he is so giving
And he is so wise
If he were a number
He'd be a five cause he has such a brilliant mind
If were an animal
He's be an ass cause he's so stubborn sometimes
But if he were a song
He'd be a complicated melody
That complicated fellow he
I almost can not sing it on key
But he means the world to me
If he were a building
He'd be a beautiful cathedral
Cause he's so traditionally spiritual
If he were a dance
He'd be complicated like the tango
Exotic like a mango
He ain't the reason for the sun and the moon
He is the reason for this here tune
Cause he means the world to me