Love God Herself

I have been having some deep conversations lately.

My favorite author Elizabeth Gilbert told me (in her book Eat, Pray, Love) 10 years ago "God exists with in you as you." And anybody who has followed my blog has seen me write about that before.

In that statement there's a beautiful truth tied to a very scary and ugly potential issue.

The truth is that God is never far from you, because God lives in you, works through you, knows your heart and your mind better than you do.

The lie is not stated but implied, as most lies are. You are not God. You're human. You have limits; God is limitless. God exists within you and with all grace and magnanimity, God allows you to be a vessel for power.

At the risk of being cliché, Beyoncé just "told Jay Z" (Beyoncé did not get one over on Jay. Everything she said, he knew she was going to say, and probably agreed to it before she put it out. They're married), "when you love me you love yourself/ love God herself."
If you haven't watched Lemonade, spoiler alert: at the same time that she sings those lines, there's a screen flashing black and white that says "GOD IS GOD and I AM NOT."

As complicated and problematic as this is sure to be for many of you, it's culturally relevant and it's playing out in my life, so I'm going to try and use it.

In Beyoncé's lyrics, in Gilbert's writing, and - I'm starting to think - in life, there's a difficult dichotomy that only the diligent, the meditators, the seekers will find out how to navigate.

God is higher than us, wiser than us, better than us, but God's influence in the earth's realm is all but inextricably bound to humans.  If you believe the biblical creation story, God created humans in order to commune with us.  So the All-Powerful pours power into weak, frail humans with a funnel.

Why?

I don't know what the answer is, but I know what the answer is not.
God does not choose to manifest through humans because that is the only option.  God is not bound by us. God's power does not shift or diminish without our cooperation or participation.

The answer might be in the concept Paul calls "being united with Christ" (Romans 6).  He writes that we are united to Christ, the Anointed, in his death and in his resurrection, in his suffering and in his victory (1Peter). We are coheirs with Christ of the Kingdom of heaven (Ephesians).
Those who are called and foreknown and chosen.

The answer might be in the Psalm of David. "God has made elohim a little lower than the angels." David uses the same word to describe humans as many other bible writers use to describe God.

I've been debating with a friend as to who God really is.  Is God me or someone else?  Is God's "real name" Yahweh? Or Allah? Is there one God or many? Can God be named? Is God masculine or feminine or androgynous?

The definitive answer is yes, and no, and none, and all.

Your understanding of God is ever and always dictated by your upbringing, the books you read, the culture you live in, the sangha (spiritual community) you participate in, and mostly your personal needs and style.  The road that leads to God is narrow and very few find it.  Of those who find it, very few follow it diligently until the end of their lives.

But here's something I didn't understand until today.

If I don't believe that I am at least the tiniest bit divine, that the world will miss a piece of God without me, or that God will not be able to say through anyone else what ought to be said through me, or that I have a divine power that no other human on earth possesses, then I will die. 

With every ounce of my being, I know that many people would have taken the number of pills I took five years ago and died. I didn't, because the God in me is stronger than that.  Last week, my two selves - God and my humanity - had a battle.  This was not the second or third, but probably the dozenth. The inth.

When I tell you that I have no choice but to be alive, please believe me.  My humanity fought my God with every single ounce of her strength and she lost handily.  God barely lifted a finger and my humanity is bloodied and bruised from kicking against the goads.  Death was not a debate, not an option.  I could try if I wanted to and would fail like I did five years ago.

Since being here is not optional, I get to choose whether to be dragged through life waiting to die, or whether to tap into whatever reason God has for belligerently keeping me alive.

Beyoncé used excerpts from a Malcolm X speech in the same song I've been quoting.  Brother Malcolm says, "The most unprotected...the most neglected person in America is the Black woman." And when I look back on my short life at all the people who never tried to protect me, or who tried but were unable to, I know his statement is true.  When I look at all of the lonely days and nights, I know his statement to be true.

But since God is so close to me, and since God's power works through human channels, then I can protect myself.  I can nurture myself.  I can become my own joy and strength.

Christians say, "you can't, but God can." I say, God will not unless I participate, therefore I must.  It matters very little that God can, all that matters is what God wills.  The difference between life or death for me is that God wills life.  Since God already willed life, without my participation or approval, I have to also will life. And how much more enjoyable for both God and myself if I will, as God already has, that life be abundant, full of joy.

So I'm going to walk into another week and try to love me, i.e. God herself.

"adVice City," Philadelphia

Have you ever had your own love explained to you, face to face?

Has your teenager ever sat you down and said, "Mom, Dad, I can tell how much you love me because..." and given you an accurate, heartfelt list of reasons?  Or has your sister ever looked you in the eyes, held your hand and explained how much the cookies and late night phone calls mean to her? It's not that she feels gratitude for the gifts you give, but that she sees how they are not always easy to give but you do it anyway?

Until I thought about it just now, I had never considered that very unique perspective on love.  Not that "I love you," which is huge and important and difficult, but that "you love me," which, whether or not we believe it, carries a similar weight.

This has been a rough week in the O.  It's been a rough few weeks for those of who are studying for finals and giving and taking standardized tests.  It's been crazy for teachers getting laid off and wondering how or if they will find new jobs.

And artists are preparing for outdoor gigs because the weather is warm.  If you're Jabee and Jeff Mims and Allie Lauren and probably a dozen other artists, you played two or three shows in three or four days. And it was beautiful, like being on tour or something.  Many are simultaneously putting out new projects (#BlackFuture) while the Arts Festival gets rained out and we wear shorts in public for maybe the first time this season at Norman Music Festival.

Somehow I managed to keep it together through all of that.  I was selective about which shows I attended and I got myself some rest, so I could be my best for the main events - L.T.Z. on the main stage in Norman and Jabee's NMF After Party.

There were a couple of rough spots at work, a couple more while trying to make my side hustles pay me.  But Saturday night, April 23, I felt fulfilled like I hadn't in a while.  For the last five years, NMF has been one of those things.

I don't remember the first time Jabee told me "I love you" before I walked away, but it touched me. Even now, at least a year or two later, the words come often but unexpectedly and my heart grows a size every time.
That Saturday night, Beetyman said it too, while giving me one of those "good hugs" that he's famous for.
Even Frank Black kissed my cheek, and said, "Love you, sis."

Maybe they knew I would need it soon, to hold onto, like the last few dollars before payday, or getting your pink slip. 

The week in between "Festival Week" and "Doomed Tuesday" May 3rd, I tested all my tenth graders, had a heart to heart with an ex, hosted a youth poetry workshop, hung out with my out-of-town boss, threw a kickback for artists only at my house on a school night til 3 am, drove to Tulsa and back twice, and had a heart to heart with two more exes.
Yep, that was 3 exes total.

Disclaimer on that topic: when I'm talking about love, none of the guys that I've mentioned in this post (prior to the exes) are or ever have been lovers.  They have always just been acquaintances or friends. 

As a girl who has only had short relationships, guys either A) don't ever tell you they love you, or B) don't mean it for very long afterward (if they ever did).

"Doomed Tuesday" was a bad day from its start. I woke up as my first class was beginning.  I was tired, flustered, and embarrassed.  Then I spent my planning period arguing via text message with a friend and an ex about a project we were working on. I came home and hammered out an assignment for my boss that was 3 days overdue.  Then I went to my next bit of business.

I don't have blood siblings. But I feel like I've heard enough stories and watched enough movies to know that sometimes there is no avoiding a fight.

It was just that perfect storm kind of day. I picked a huge fight with Tony because I was having a bad day, a bad week, a bad life.  He told me this, when the fight was dying down,  and I heard him but could not internalize his words because I was exhausted, freezing, seething, and a butthole.
I should have been screaming at my ex.  He was the one I was really angry at.  I was mildly annoyed by Tony just like I'd imagine everyone gets with their younger sibling.  "Mildly annoyed" does not warrant the way I screamed.

But they say we treat worst the ones we love most. 

There are so many parts of our conversation and argument that I don't remember.  It was a couple of hours long.  One minute we were screaming, the next minute he was trying to rationally explain why I should back down, apologize, walk away.  But I'm nothing if not stubborn.  He was the one being rational.  The one being yelled at. The one being loved. 

He told me he knew I was struggling with something, that I walked in the room with it.

I told him that I had to say how I felt and if he didn't want to be friends with me anymore afterward, then that was his prerogative.
I promise, I thought I was right at the time. Or at least right enough to win. Because that's what teachers and big sisters and brainiacs do: win arguments.

Listening to understand when Tony talks is sometimes a daunting task.  He has a lot of words and a lot of wisdom and a lot of a jokes.  So, I have no earthly clue how exactly we arrived at this point in the conversation.  But I remember that he tried to appeal to my reason and my heart from every angle he could think of, and there were several.

He said something like, "you have something against me, but you also love me a lot."
"I can't even really wrap my head around how you love me.  It's a thing I don't understand."
"I've wondered if anything would ever make us stop being friends. I could only think of one thing and this wasn't it."

So I was standing there, in "adVice City", Philadelphia while my "little brother" told me all about myself.
About how much I loved him.
About how much I was carrying that I ought to let go of.

And I couldn't hear it.
He predicted that too.  At least three times in that conversation, he said, "this will hit you later. "
And he was so right.

It's hard to be wrong. Harder still to be better seen by someone you've mistreated.  Hardest yet to figure out how to live with the knowledge that you don't really deserve to be forgiven for pushing and pushing and pushing, for projecting and hurting and judging.

But Tony knows I love him.

And he has taught me the hardest lesson I've learned in five years, since the first time hip hop saved my life.
"You can never unring a bell."
It hurts right now not a fraction less than it did when Tony finally walked away from me hurting and angry and worn down.

If me loving people means consistently wounding them deeply, then I probably ought to just stop here.
I'd already made this decision about intimate love and given up on having it inside 10 years, if ever.  But I truly did not believe I would sink so low as to so deeply wound my friends. When they weren't so very wrong. While they tried to talk me down.

Wednesday, I took the day off to cry and sleep and mope.  I had decided that after we released Black Future, and I performed the poem at a few shows, I would fall completely off the map.  I wouldn't speak unless spoken to, or give any unsolicited opinions.  I would not tweet or comment on anyone's Instagram or Facebook. I would write whatever I thought and felt, until the silence became deafening, until words became sunbeams through storm clouds,/ rare, miraculous,/ necessary.  I would do penance with silence for as long as I had to until I learned to value every single sound my voice could make.  Until a whisper felt like a shout scraping my throat on its exit.

I would do those things, if I lived past the last day of school.
"Here you go, TeaZee, any time you need some inspiration listen to this cd."
I accidentally watched the video of Lupe Fiasco with Big Krit and Dee-1.
Then I watched "Hip Hop Saved Me."
Then "Beautiful Lasers (2 Ways)."

"Don't admit that your faith is weak
If you feel you don't wanna be alive,
you feel just how I am...
This world is such a fucked up place
My mind, such a fucked up shape
Everything down here sucks
Maybe what's up there is great
We all gotta go one day
I just wanna cut to the chase
I wanna stop these nightmares
I just wanna touch your face...
Don't keep tellin' me to find a reason
Anything to keep me from squeezing
The simplest things like,
'You really like summer, you really like music,
you really like reading.'
Love...
my heart been broke for a while
yours been the one keepin' me alive."

My knees buckled as I cried in my kitchen.
I was mad at my ex, who I would have once called my best friend.  But five years ago, when that friend was too busy and life felt just as daunting and impossible and I could not figure out how to keep living, Jabee's and Beety's and Tony's hearts were keeping me alive.  Three years ago when I thought I had loved again, and I had a first date at the release of Slow Narrations of L.T.Z., but it crashed and burned, Tony's heart was keeping me alive.  Last year, when I was so desperate for love that I was planning to marry a stranger, Tony thought I was wrong but supported me and his heart was keeping me alive.

Now who will?
I don't deserve a replacement for him.
I just hope he doesn't truly convince himself that he was wrong about how much I love him. He was not wrong.  He usually isn't.

Back when everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. Thanks for that line and the t-shirt, Jabee. 

As if it were enough:
I'm sorry,
I do love you differently than any other person in my "Whole Life",
Guilty, silent, hurting in "adVice City", Philadelphia

They Can't Make Us

In California years ago, some students turned down the freedom to play basketball with bad grades in order to study harder. They were taught to consider athletics as a privilege after the hard work of excelling in the classroom. 

In every city in the world today, what if we Christians turned down some legal freedoms and rights in order to pray harder and study our Bibles more? What if we consider our rights and freedoms and preferences as privileges AFTER excelling in wholeness and holiness? 

They can make it legal. But they can't make us do it.  

Let our holiness be the law of our hearts despite the law of the land. 

Higher law. Higher calling. Higher King. 

Puzzled Past, Black Future - From the Nerd Table

I have spent a lot of time over the last 5 years trying to understand what exactly happened at that first show I went to. I think it was Jabee, Chris McCain, Beetyman, and DJ Chips at the Blue Note when I was just past old enough to get in. I can't say that's the first show I was at, but I remember how I felt. 

"Lucky me." Like there was still something or someone out there who could "teach me how to fly."

And I'll be honest, it wasn't JUST the music that hooked me. At the time, I wasn't passionate about rap. Was it the energy? Was it being a witness to their friendship? Was it the LIVE show?

I saw Kashlee Banks again. We had been hanging out in poet circles for a year or so. I was addicted to her laugh and her openness. She has always giving away as much as she could spare, sometimes more. 

I met McFressh and she looked like, sounded like, wore her hair like, had glasses like someone I needed to be friends with. She had to be someone amazing if she had a rap name and wasn't a rapper, per se. I met Studda, all that passion and intelligence and anger at war within him. I'm sure DezzGotSteeze was there. If not at that show than at another just like it, looking fashion forward and interested in culture above everything. My first memory of Frank Black was in that venue playing pool with Beetyman. 

That had to have been February 2011. 

Then there was my first Norman Music Festival, the year Ashley T Madison The Great became an angel in heaven instead of on earth. 

I guess that's when I met LTZ. He was always around Fressh and Kashlee, before Athena. 

Before Worm was old enough to get into those bars. 

Before my artist, Frank Ready III, had a family, so he could come play pool at the Blue Note after work. We ran into each other accidentally at one of those shows. 

It would still be a while before I was introduced to the awe and wonder of Duo the Sick or Ronnie Harris or J Poe.

Chris McCain asked me when I fell in love with hip hop. I think I told him it was when I watched Lupe Fiasco perform "Kick Push" on the CW's One Tree Hill. I've always had a thing about intersectionality. If Peyton Sawyer, cheerleader and emo Rock goddess of North Carolina, could book Lupe Fiasco for her teen venue, then hip hop could love me too. It could keep my black card from burning a hole in my wallet. It could be home.

But I'm starting to think that TV introduced me, but the beat first kissed my soul in some dark bar in Oklahoma City. 

A lot has happened in five years. 

Jabee wrote a line for Ann Michele King. She lived too far away and was too close to Heaven's gates to appreciate it, but she would have loved it if she could have. He proved that some artists have "a little decency, a little substance."

Jeffery and I drove to Houston to sleep on Kelton's couch and pray over AMK's last year on earth. 

I came home and went to a show.

In 2012, I started performing again. Maybe they gave me the gumption. Jabee let me perform before his set at Norman Music Festival. I was a stringer for OKC.net, writing articles about the shows. 

Ann Michele went to dance in marvelous light. I graduated with my bachelor's degree and I scheduled a solo poetry show. 

Nymasis came to my show with our mutual friend Jesse Red Eagle. At the time, I may have never heard him rap. I had heard that he was a legend and I was honored that he would come hear me spit. Thanks Jesse.  

I had an amazing first date with a guy I fell in love with (and got my heart broken by) the release night of Slow Narrations of LTZ. 

Over 2012 and 2013, I started getting more and more opportunities to perform. Dean Ronnie Harris opened his School of Thought. There I heard J Poe and Nymasis and Dewey Bins and Tyler Reid. 

OP Lounge opened in 2014. I got closer to LTZ and "met" Worm and Jabee stayed steady. I self-published my book, The Risk to Bloom. Jabee won an Emmy and bought and promoted my book at his Emmy celebration in OKC. 

I fell off going to shows during the 2014-2015 school year. 

I got back on around the same time they started having rap shows at the Hubbly Bubbly Hookah Lounge.

My poetic endeavors had taken me to Tulsa where I met a DJ who was based there at the time. When that DJ, Josh Sallee and Jabee were all scheduled to showcase their skills at the Center of the Universe Festival, I invested in a ticket.

Then this happened: 

I've never been more excited about anything!  

I rang in my 2016 new year at a rap show (shoutout Nymasis and Beetyman) with a rapper on my hip. 

Ronnie Harris took Black Future promo photos of Jabee and I in January. 

Seeing the reunion show flyer a few weeks back, and seeing the photos Ronnie posted yesterday makes me "feel some type of way." But I don't really know what way. Is it fandom? Is it inspiration? Is it jealousy? I have no clue. 

I don't see my past experiences with 20/20 vision, but I know my future wouldn't look the same if I'd never seen these Oklahoma City artists on some stage five years ago. 

The Puzzle People are having a reunion show Saturday, March 12. 

I wish I could be there, because I've always been inspired by their energy and creativity. I owe them much gratitude for a few big stages, a few Instagram pics with heart eyes, a bunch of laughs and long conversations - thanks TeaZee, and my first opportunity to executive produce. But I've only ever seen one of them in the crowd at one of my shows - thanks Nym - so I won't postpone my Spring Break trip with my family to be just another face in the crowd. 

I struggled with that decision all day. So if you're in town, be in the crowd for me, okay? Take some pics and post them. I can't sit at "The Cool Table" but you should go to the show.

Jesus and Ice Cream in a Coffee Mug

I've been trying to figure out how to blog again.

That's the weirdest thing for me to write. 

Figuring out how? No way. Words flow out of me, all the time, for no reason and every reason. There's nothing to figure out, it's just to do. 

But the doing is hard. 

It's hard because of time. It's hard because our bodies are limited. It's hard because our hearts get cluttered. It's hard because I have a lot of tasks to juggle. But it's important and it's what I'm called to, so I need to do it better. 

Monday night, the Lord infused me with his strength and diligence and I worked hard and went to bed early. I went to bed thinking, "I can't wait to get up in the morning and spend time with the Lord!" That's the best feeling. I pray that feeling comes more regularly. 

I feel it tonight - Saturday. I can't wait to get up in the morning and go worship the Lord with other believers! 

Thank God for expectation! Thank God that He humbles Himself to be with us.  

Tuesday morning I woke with expectation. I brewed coffee and opened my Bible and my notebook and I sat down excited to study.  I read from Matthew 19 about the complexity of what happens after salvation and after death.  

I drank coffee and painted my face and dressed well and felt like I had done it all to the glory of God.  That day at school, I worked hard.  I worked hard on students' assignments.  I worked hard on kids' hearts.  I worked hard to get adolescent writers to transform lists into poems.  

It was lovely.  It was exhausting.  I came home afterward with a PMS migraine and just watched Grey's Anatomy.  I put cookies and cream flavored Blue Bell ice cream into that morning's coffee mug and recorded a short video.  I remembered that my PaPa taught me to control my sweet tooth by eating ice cream out of a small mug.  I remembered that excellence in any area of work is all glory to God who strengthens us.  I smiled a lot.  

It's the little things, like coffee mugs of ice cream, that center us and point us back to the big things: God and His Kingdom and His will being done on earth through us.  How sweet it is!

Here's the link to the video I did that night. I exported it straight from Periscope. 

https://youtu.be/y4jp13zQWfw

Faith in the New Year

Habari Gani: Imani 

Lovely photo of a beauty of a baby girl from a lovely couple who inspire me. 

As we wrap up Kwanzaa and start the new year, we have to have imani- faith - that He who began a good work in us will complete it, that Yahweh's word never returns void but always accomplishes the purpose for which it was sent. 

As we approach our individual and collective work as humans, as Christians, as Black people, may we remember that without faith it is impossible to please God. Let us remember, also, that faith without works is dead. Let us show the world our faith by WHAT WE DO. And when the doing gets tough, let us KEEP THE FAITH. 

Are you ready? 

'Cause I'm super excited and ready! 

"We got it! [God's] got you. So we got it! Together we do!" - The Wiz (my remix)

Amen? So let it be. 

Some thoughts on Submission

Stay where God put you. Go where God sent you. Do what God asked you.

 

Including every boss who treats you wrong, and every coworker who talks behind your back, and every unfair category of evaluation. Including all racism and every time you take responsibility for something you didn't and would never do. 

Because the Lord wants us to have power over circumstances and demons and death and destruction and sin. He wants you to be the solution looking for the problem.  But you can't do that if you won't submit, stay in place, take a knee, FORFEIT A RIGHT. Let them talk about you. 

Be a David. Be a Joseph! Be an Abigail. Be a MARY. 

#GetAfterGrateful 12

When November started I was having internet connectivity issues so I didn't get to do the daily "I'm thankful for"s.

Today I'll start with being thankful for churches. Integrity's Voice of Victory Church where God is exalted, the enemy is defeated, and Jesus Christ is Lord! I'm blessed that they have supported constant increase in my prayer life. I'm blessed that I have seen the power and glory of the Lord at work with my own eyes and I am motivated to share it with those who have not yet seen and do not yet believe.  I also want to shoutout other Oklahoma-based churches making regional and nation-wide impacts that have greatly supported my life and walk: Life.Church (recently the Midwest City Campus, but also the main OKC and South campuses) and Frontline Church. Thank you for letting me sit and serve with you while I was learning to take my place in the Kingdom. I look forward to more and more shared experience in the future. 

Loving the Teacher Life

Every now and again I get a little emotional because I love my crazy, tragic, sometimes almost magic, awful beautiful life. 

We passed out report cards today and that always requires a bit of counseling on what we need to do better next week and next quarter. I pulled an all nighter Wednesday into Thursday preparing those grades. Even though I got 8 hours of sleep last night, my body is still catching up.  I've been nursing a headache since noon. 

Two of my little loves ask me every game day in class (and some days in between) if I'm coming to the game. Today I was honest with him. I said "I'm coming, but only because I know it makes y'all sad when I don't. I'd rather lay in bed and read a book." He said "Whatever Miss Hylton. You already know what it is." And then after a few beats: "Thank you." 

On Tuesday, one of the first students who impacted me at my current school transferred unexpectedly. I was looking forward to seeing him all the way through graduation. 

Tonight, our football team is wearing pink socks and gloves and carrying pink towels. Our coaches have on pink gloves and light reflector tape. This is our pink out football game for #breastcancerawareness . Our cheer, dance, and flag girls have pink socks and bows in their hair. We have a game like this for every sport. 

Langston University's band is here with us playing through our senior night. 

10 years ago I was getting my academic letter jacket with my mama, Grammy, and PaPa on a night really similar to this one. 

When our players ran in, the fans released pink balloons instead of the usual Falcon blue. 

So when the national anthem played, I looked around, and couldn't figure why there were tears in my eyes. Then I thought of Ann Michele. And couldn't say much but, "Thank you, Lord, for trusting me with all this." 

Truth. Beauty. Inspiration.

I'm a teacher and a writer/poet, but the newest love of my life is Younique cosmetics. 

I've always been into fashion, but have never liked how some people make it out to be only shallow and useless. What I've noticed about myself as I spend more time in the mirror is that I have developed a TRUE love for my own BEAUTY and I am INSPIRED to make myself better. I appreciate so many aspects of beauty, and I sometimes envy those of you who are barefaced and beautiful! But I no longer want to change myself into someone else. I only want to make myself the best I can be. 

The longer I work with this company, the more I love it. Not only will I never use another mascara, but I'm becoming increasingly loyal to using our products over any others. This is not just because of the makeup quality, but because of the company's commitment to supporting victims of domestic and sexual violence. The Younique Foundation provides resources and a yearly conference to aid in these beautiful women's healing process. Our mission is to uplift, empower, motivate all women, but especially those the enemy has attacked. 

A year ago I created an umbrella brand for all my endeavors. 

Truth - I do my best to live my life by the Truth, letting it change and shape me, letting it minister to people through my poems, leaning and trusting in the Word, the Christ. I also believe the truth is one of the only things that can uplift a woman who has been abused. 

Beauty - I honestly believe that submission to and understanding of the truth allows beauty to bloom where it was hidden. If we can believe in our beauty, it can empower us. 

Inspiration - And finally I know that we live by inspiration. If we can inspire a woman to be her best self, it will motivate her to keep going when the going is tough. 

I am so much a work in progress. But if ever the truth or the beauty the Lord has entrusted me with can uplift or inspire or empower someone and motivate them, then I will be eternally grateful and blessed. 

#TruthBeautyInspiration

Beauty Heals Broken Hearts

In my last post (skip the video and the book review) I talked about how God's desire is for us to behave in a way that attracts people to His goodness.  That should trump any beauty regiment or product sales.

On May 3, LifeChurch.tv did baptisms. I stood in the sanctuary and jumped and danced and lifted my arms in worship, and cried and cried and cried.  I had an ecclesiastical epiphany.  I knew on a deep level that everything in the world: every task, every product, every relationship is utterly meaningless until someone's life is changed in a way that leads them to the cross of Christ and the realization that those who find God find the life for which we were created.

"And the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace."

That afternoon, I posted this status to Facebook:

"I've never posted anything like this before. But it feels right, so I'm gonna go with that. 

My spirit just said "You are going to feel like your life is in shambles (with brief, sporadic spots of hope and peace) until you have allowed the Lord to create a full-time ministry through you."

So. There it is. Anyone who knows about ministry jobs, or who wants to pay my bills so I can quit my job, hit me up."

10 people were so gracious as to respond thoughtfully and compassionately.  The prayer team at LifeChurch gave me a ton of support.  I had two really meaningful and important conversations with women of God who I have always looked up to.

In six weeks, I have learned two indescribably important lessons:

1. God speaks clearly. Always. 
• Problems arise when we are not properly positioned to hear and understand what He is saying.  I was moved by God's love for us, by His investment in returning us to our place of ruling the earth as extensions of Him.  I was also overwhelmed and disappointed at school. I was in pain that I was trying to rationalize away.  I was guilty of not allowing Him to be my strength and my joy and my help. That last statement about ministry jobs was my flesh denying God's ability and willingness to redeem my current and past ministry roles and callings.  There's an old LifeChurch sermon about how when some people landscape, they do it slowly section-by-section. Others raze the whole property and start over from scratch.  You can guess which category I'm in.
2. You can often discern God's voice because He is telling you what you don't want to hear (but what lines up with His word and what is right). 
• At the beginning of last school year, the Lord provided me with Bible verses to guide me, as well as a prayer team that supported me and gave me words of wisdom.  A guiding scripture for my teaching career has always been "those the Lord calls he also equips." But I was not letting Him equip me. I was not utilizing prayers and the anointing, or group accountability to do the job the Lord had assigned me.  Some of the pain was to purify me and some was self-inflicted.  God did not want to abandon His process by validating my weakness and lack of trust.  I am a teacher.  At least for now. 

The Lord was very clear when He spoke to me. "...until you have allowed the Lord to create a full-time ministry through you."  What He did not say was "...until you quit teaching." What He did not say was "...until you work at a church or in the mission field." He told me to allow Him to lead and to allow Him to hold the paintbrush.

Teaching is a ministry, I just have to be willing to serve.

But I also was placed in the path of a servant who loves the Lord and wants to free His daughters from sexual abuse and slavery.  I was so inspired by his compassion and simplicity (sometimes it's simple - if not easy: find safe houses, rescue women and girls) and determination (to put a permanent end to sex trafficking worldwide).  His project, Broken Hearts, is in the very beginning stages, but he planted a seed in me and I know will continue to do so for others.

Through a conversation with my sweet friend Ericka, a makeup artist and manager for MAC, about her passion for the company's philanthropy, I was reminded about Younique's dedication to domestic violence awareness (DVA) and support for victims.  This is not my first time working for DVA.  For three years of college, my sorority made a large effort to promote awareness.

I also remembered that my friend Maria has transitioned her mission to save souls in Haiti to include helping Haitian women rise up from their discrimination and high rate of violent and sexual victimization and empower them to create better lives for themselves and their children.  Her Jasper House will open this year.

In the USA, Christians spend a lot of time talking about how women hurt themselves by the relationships they choose, clothes they wear, friends they model.  We talk about our petty and catty tendencies.  We talk about working versus nurturing our family and about church leadership or back-row seats.  But we ignore the enemy's darker and more violent attack on our femininity and our ability to see, embody, maintain, and exude the beauty God had in mind for us from the beginning.  We don't talk about violence and sexual assault.

And we definitely don't ask ourselves enough if we can help.

In September, it will be a year since I focused my creative energies around three words: Truth. Beauty. Inspiration. Through my recent revelations and the lens through which I now see so many things (advertising, pornography, the premature and exaggerated sexualization of young women), I will be narrowing that focus down even further.

The Truth is Yeshua, the Messiah, the Savior, the soon returning and reigning King. "Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to [humans] by which we must be saved" (Acts 4:12). He is also the Word, our logos - the reason we do anything (John 14).

Beauty is everywhere and IN EVERY ONE OF US, especially women of God.

We are called to use that beauty to Inspire others towards the greatness inside them, whether our husbands, our students, our best friends, our church family or the world.

I am working on a plan and system by which I dedicate my Younique sales, book sales, and performance payments first, to paying off my credit cards so that I can reallocate my salary toward an apartment and then house of my own so that I can be hospitable to others. Secondly, and more importantly, to donate and undergird the missions of Broken Hearts and the Jasper House.

Until (and even after) I have generated the funds to be able to allocate and reallocate them, my makeup photos will take on a more focused connection to the beauty in us already and the healing and empowerment God desires for us.

This post is plenty long enough, but there will be more and more and more on this topic in the future. Thank you to my Bold, Brave and Pretty sisters who helped me get here!

What can you do to help?
Buy makeup!
Buy my poetry book! Contact me for instructions.
Pray for me!

#TrueBeautyInspires

#preservingoURroots

Click here to donate.

Book Review: Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

First, a few notes:

• I will never cease to be amazed by old dystopian authors' ability to look into the future and accurately predict what will happen that will suck.
• I, although a nerd and a teacher to boot, am a 26-year-old product of the high-tech, fast-paced 21st century. 
• In the case of this book, I am reading like a writer, more than like the average Joe.

 
Basic concept:
The short novel takes place in the indistinct future. Bradbury (author), writing from 1953, does a phenomenal job of predicting the affect television will have on society.  Books are now a threat to the status quo and must be burned.  Firemen start the fires that burn them. The novel's only round, dynamic character is Guy Montag, a fireman.

My observations, opinions, and analysis:
There is a very high level of symbolism in this novel.  Because I listened to the audiobook - and because I'm not always as smart as I think I am, some of it was lost on me.  This means most of it would be lost on the average high school student and many adults.  The literary allusions were just within my range of familiarity, which means all other people with literature and library degrees would get them, but it's a toss-up for math majors and computer tech guys. 



I found the biblical allusions, and the veiled theme that the Bible is the most important book capable of healing a world totally destroyed, touching and understated.  This is good in that the 21st century populace will not be preached at and moralized to.  This is bad in that lack of biblical knowledge will send the allusions right over your head. The words carry double the weight when you know where they came from. 

My aesthetic reactions and recommendation:
The book is short - 5 hours by audio, 150 pages of text. This is good, because some of the imagery and symbolism and allusion drags.  Having only one (real) character, for me, can be tiring.  There's a section very near the end where Guy is caused to wonder what knowledge really is and where it is kept. I am slightly ashamed to say, I cried. If I think about it too hard, I will cry again.  This is probably not a reaction the average person should expect. You've got to really really love books. 

If you have it in your mind to pick up Fahrenheit 451 and read it, you are probably very ambitious, or a nerd, or you like a challenge. If that's true of you, do it. Pick it up, read it, struggle through it, get all the way to the end.  If you are not a reader, this is not a starter book. If you haven't read anything since high school and you're older than 20, this is not how you want to reacclimate yourself.  If you read the Bible (specifically not in the NLT or Message translations), you might want to give this a taste.  See how it goes.

I don't think I could teach this to anyone, but AP students, or seniors who had been through a rigorous English curriculum.
 
8 out of 10 points.  That's my standard rating.

God Don't Like Ugly

No other age group can misdefine, misuse, and wear out a term like teenagers.  The title phrase has been around for scores, but I never used it in my vernacular until my students started arbitrarily calling each other "ugly." If you're playing around and make a weird face, "that's ugly." If you get mad when your friend was "just joking," that's ugly. If your friend doesn't know what other fake insult to throw at you, you're ugly.  If you are legitimately unattractive, you're ugly.

But I quickly noticed that calling people names is ugly. So is coarse joking and rebellion. So is grudge-holding, retaliation, and complaining.

Most days when I put on my makeup and take too many selfies and post them, I use the hashtags #PrettyOnTheInside #PrettyOnTheOutside.  I discovered long ago that I didn't want to have on tons of makeup and the cutest outfit but have a pattern of ugly behavior.  If my natural curls are on fleek but I just finished using my harsh sarcasm on a student, I am out of order.

I realized that so many "pretty girls" are like this.  Their faces are attractive, but they are not gracious, they are not sweet, they are critical, vain and unfriendly.  I've been that way before.

After four years being a part of the IVVC church family, people started telling me I was sweet and welcoming.  This was new to me.  I've always been smart, sometimes supportive, always creative, and direct, but rarely sweet.  I got the Attitude Award in junior high cheer because "when she has a good attitude, she has the best, and when she has a bad attitude, she has the worst."  It took me a long time to figure out what happened at church that made me sweeter.

It was the concentrated, saturated basking and soaking in the presence of God.  It was spending 2 to 10 hours every week in the Holy Place understanding how small and insignificant I am and how great and generous and loving God is.

When you spend time in His presence consistently, you come away radiant, like Moses.

As I scroll through Instagram looking for makeup artists and fashion bloggers to inspire me, I always wonder, "Is she also pretty on the inside?"  As I put my face on every morning, I wonder "Is my personality prettier today than yesterday?"

John and Stasi Eldredge write about the healing and redeeming power of beauty, how it invites and inspires.  I want to be one of those women who can't ever be called ugly, regardless of whether my face is bare or made and whether I'm slaying or keeping it lowkey.

#iLoveBeauty

#WhyIShaklee + 5-Day Reset

Streamlining

There comes a moment when all of the voices in your life become too loud.

My rapper friend L.T.Z. has a song with this chorus: “My mom’s friends say ‘Do what makes you happy.’ My pop’s friends say ‘You look just like your daddy.’ My high school friends say, ‘Man, you still rappin’?’ What kind of friend you gon’ be when you look at me?”

We all live under multiple sets of expectations:

• Our parents want us to do certain things – and we are lucky when both parents want the same thing.  
• Our spouses want us to do certain things. 
• Our bosses want us to do certain extracurricular things.  
• Our pastors want us to do certain things.  
• Our fitness trainers
• Our dietitians
• Our neighbors
• Our fellow-PTA members
• Our mentors.   

All the different streams of advice can become overwhelming.

None of these people are trying to hurt us.  In the worst case scenario, they have a misguided understanding of our role in the world and think we need to behave how they say in order to keep the globe on its axis.  They mean well.  They most likely are under the distinct opinion that this course of action will make you happiest.

But when your boss wants you to take on another project that could lead to a promotion, and your husband wants you to spend more one-on-one time with both him and your middle daughter, and your pastor wants you to lead a small group, you have to look at your calendar and the bags under your eyes and understand that not every person’s advice is relevant at this moment.  Something has to yield.
(In my example, it probably seems obvious to choose family, but our choices aren’t always obvious.)

When faced with several opportunities to do something good, which do you pick? When forced to put one thing you love in front of something else you love, which do you pick?

This is when it’s best to respectfully thank all your wise voices for their advice and get on your knees with your Bible open.  Only God can show you which task or relationship needs your attention right now.  Life is about balance and everything has its time and season.  Every person and every task has seasons of yes, no, and wait.

Lao Tzu is credited with saying, “At the center of your being you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want.”

I am guilty of “loving too much,” being interested in and excited by almost anything.  I want to be a teacher whose kids pass their state tests with flying colors and can brilliantly analyze Ayn Rand and Stephenie Meyer and X-Men.  I want to be on the national list of dope poets, listen to all the rap music and a spattering of all other music, and make the leaderboard of Younique cosmetics presenters.  I want to do yoga every damn day, distribute Shaklee health products, coach high school cheer, and rock healthy, huge, natural hair.  I want to co-lead a small group of Christ-followers who are doing everything they can to make earth look like heaven.  And I want to marry a dark-skinned African and have at least three smart, artistic, athletic, loving, well-adjusted kids who function well as a team. And read 50 books in a year (or 25 books every year). And fill out a March Madness bracket as someone who knows which teams are good.  And run a 5k.  And be a weekday vegan who cooks 90% of the meals at home.

Are you starting to see my problem? There’s almost no way in the world to accomplish all these goals at once.  This is a bucket list.  This might be a bucket list and a half, despite the fact that I plan to live to be 100.  And different people from different areas of my life want me to accomplish each of these goals sooner rather than later.

I’m reminded of a scene in the movie Uptown Girls.  Brittany Murphy’s character has a bunch of possessions she claims to love, but she is recently broke and needs the income that selling many of them would bring in.  Her friend tells her she must “streamline. Find your center.” She means: not everything here is truly important to you. Some of it can be “sold” to “pay for” something that is closer to the core of who you are.

Some of us spend too much time underneath others’ words and we have forgotten the strength and intelligence of our highest selves, the selves who are closest to God, who have His words hidden in our hearts.  Some of us have become too invested in things and people that are not essential to us reaching our most important goals.

When confusion comes, take in all the advice, take inventory of all your baggage, then sit down with nothing but the truth and figure out what is truly attached to your core.

#iLoveMyCore

SAE Just Showed Us Why There's Not Enough Love For All of Us

Disclaimer: If you have not read this BLACK SAE's post, do that first. Seriously, his is more relevant, closer to the issue.  His takes priority over mine. In fact, here's a video too.

Disclaimer: I am a Christian. We are supposed to look at deeper issues than race. Me and Jesus are working on that. Until we get it worked out, this post will be written and read.  As Anne Lamott told us writers: "Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth."  Knowing me, there will be an equally expository and self-deprecating piece on a faith-based reaction later on.

Disclaimer: If you don't intend to read ALL of this, do me a favor and don't read any of it.  If you're Caucasian American, something near the top will piss you off.  Not "it might," it definitely will. So either commit to your decision to be pissed off, or don't even read beyond here.

Disclaimer: I will not name any organization beyond the one whose reputation we no longer have to protect because they are done for.  I am doing this for several reasons: 1) One of my best friends is Greek to her core and she gets very upset when I discuss this. 2) I, personally, did not have a single blatant racist experience at college. In fact, I knew some very interested and sensitive advisors.  I know that if I start naming orgs, then they pop up in Google right along side the most guilty party.  I'm not mad at them; I am just participating in the national discussion.  3) I'm a teacher and I hate playing into people's laziness.  If you want to know where I went to college, it's in the public domain, as is the name of the organization I was (am?) a member of. But I would argue that it doesn't matter.

Disclaimer: I represent absolutely no one. I am just a Latinegra telling her story.

Some terms you should know:
PWI/PWC/PWU - Predominantly White Institution/College/University; everything that wasn't founded by a person of color.
NPC - National Panhellenic Conference - the governing body of (predominantly white) female Greek social organizations
NPHC - National Pan-Hellenic Council - the governing body of both male and female Black Greek organizations
NIC - North-American Interfraternity Conference - the governing body of (predominantly white) male Greek social orgs; the larger version of IFC - Interfraternity Council
Rush/Recruitment - the process of choosing or being chosen for a Greek org
BSA/BSU - Black Student Association/Union - an organization on a campus that unifies African American students on that campus and usually stays connected to the BSA/BSUs of other nearby colleges/universities. These organizations were originally formed as shelters for Black students at PWIs (perhaps those who did not want to be sheltered in the NPHC Greek system). For obvious reasons, BSA/BSUs don't exist at Historically Black Colleges and Universities (while NPHC orgs were originated at HBCUs and thrive there).

THE REAL CONTENT STARTS HERE:

Once upon a time, I was born into a college-educated, well-spoken, well-read, well-traveled family of not all Black people.  My uncle married a white lady back when it was a big deal.  Her family lives close to mine, so from the second I was born my cousins were all the colors of the race spectrum.  My white cousins and I used to love to confuse people by telling them we are cousins and then explaining how.

Once upon a time, I was smart and snobby - oh wait, that hasn't totally changed - and I had expensive tastes.  I wanted to go to a "good school" with other smart, driven people who understood how brilliant I was.  I also wanted to be close to my friends (primarily the mixed one I was in love with, and the 2 white girls I was friends with, and the black guy I could never get to date me); wanted to rise through the ranks of leadership and accolades just like we had in high school.

I picked a private PWI.  Because I was an idiot.  Most socially conscious people already know that the university's status as private is at least partially why it's a PWI. It's hella expensive.  I am getting a second job next week in order to work at paying it off.  Most expensive decision of my life.

At Any University America, you have pre-school activities for incoming freshman.  They throw you several parties, all of which say, "Thanks for your money! Here's all the fun stuff you can do with it!" But they leave out that "all the fun stuff" will cost more money.  At Any University America, NPC and IFC Rush (see the terms above) is one of the pre-school activities. So you sign up for classes and dorms and buy parking spaces and books, but before you ever set foot in class you decide if you want to be Greek. I find this ridiculous.

NOW, at Any Large Public University America, the NPHC (see terms) members are standing at booths and stomping the yard (yes, that is a real thing) during orientation week, telling poor, naive, misguided Black kids like me, "Hey girl, you don't wanna rush those organizations. They don't care about our community. Wait a year, keep your grades up, come to our mixer next month, and rush for us next semester/year."

But at my tiny, private university in America, there were not enough Black students interested in any one NPHC org to charter one, so there was no Black Greek presence on campus.  Not only that, but there was another Black girl in an NPC org there.  I saw her and said, "Yes! Someone who gets me!" Plus my friends from high school were all Greek - one white girl in the org I subsequently joined, the mixed guy and the black guy both in another org on campus.  I went to that university to be with my friends.  Why not go big or go home? I didn't have a Black community to save me. And I didn't think I needed saving.

After all, there's quite enough love for all of us. There's quite enough joy and quite enough laughter to chase away gloom, for my sisters, all my sisters are in this very room.

HERE'S THE ONLY PART OF THIS THAT WILL MAKE WHITE PEOPLE FEEL GOOD:
From the first second I walked across the threshold to the last alumnae event I went to in an attempt to continue being sisters with women who I had very little in common with, every woman I met in that house respected me as a human, as an intellectual, as a member of the same organization. They treated me like a sister to the best of their ability.  All problems (there were not many) were a result of simple, natural personal conflicts (they didn't love my best friend's personality either and she's white) that occur regardless of race and class. I do not hold a single one of the women who were members at the time I was a member at fault for anything anyone else has ever said or done. They were sweet. They almost made me believe that racism was past.  In that room, for three years, there was quite enough love for all of us.  I even met several girls from other chapters of this org and they were all lovely to me as well. 

Second semester freshman year, I started dating a senior from one of the state universities who was also a member of an NPHC org.  From the first moment I mentioned it, he never stopped lecturing me about how being a member of an NPC org made me some kind of race traitor.  I heard that from the next guy I dated too - a graduate of the same university, but in a different NPHC org.  I heard that from the most recent guy I dated - a graduate of a different large public university, but from the same NPHC org as the first.  The point is: the bewilderment was pervasive. Why in the world would I give them all my time and money and fancy dresses and photos?

I was so naive.
Why not? I asked.
We're all human. I said.
This is 2008. I said.
They like me. I said.
They think I'm smart. I said.
They put me in office. I said.

My junior year, the BSA at my school started becoming much more actively involved in campus happenings and I was drawn in.  I felt the tension immediately.  Ask my best friend - who was pretty high on the totem pole of our org; I started talking about "black stuff" a lot all of a sudden.  Junior spring, I went with BSA to the Big Twelve Conference on Black Student Government.

Talk about CHANGE MY LIFE!
Here's a statement to make all the Black people mad at me too: I was so pleasantly shocked to find out that there were large quantities of Black people who were just as smart, organized, and driven as me - they just all went to other (cheaper) schools!

I got knocked down several notches that week, that year.  If I'm not the smartest Black kid in the U.S. there must be another reason or set of reasons why I am the smartest (okay, okay, fourth-smartest) Black kid I know.  Maybe it's regional.  Maybe it's because they were all smart enough to choose cheaper schools.  Maybe it's because they were so smart they got full-rides to east and west coast schools instead of staying in the dirty south where most of the racists are hiding.

Maybe the answer is not simple.

Maybe I wasn't as smart then as I thought I was.

At Big Twelve, I started understanding for the first time how institutional racism works. How the white sorority girls at all schools act afraid of the Black athletes who speak American Black English Vernacular and listen to their sweary, offensive rap music way too loud. I started understanding how I could listen to our music, and speak our language, and still want to change the world.  I started seeing that there was value - more value - in sisterhood and brotherhood among my actual sisters and brothers than among white people.  I started seeing who had my back.

When I transferred universities, I met a few girls who were members of an NPHC org who also tried to convince me to denounce my white org.  I didn't hold any real allegiance to them any more.  But I wasn't ready to let go of the idea that I could represent some kind of shift in the world, where I could be in that white org because my friends were, because they wanted me as their sister.

And until Sunday night watching SAE chant about lynching niggers who can't join their organization and Monday afternoon reading this mean-spirited, prejudiced, and hilarious response that I understood their point.

Why did the SAE members chant that? 
Because every single thing comes down to who has your back and whose back you have. SAE wanted us all to know they don't have any niggers' backs. None of us. Not one. Ever.

Not if we want friends to party with on the weekend.
Not if we need a lift because our tire went flat.
Not if they are the cop and we are driving 10 miles over the speed limit to our friend's house to take them medicine because they are sick.
Not if we need a job.
They will never have our backs. We're just niggers.

Why did that prompt me to tell my story?
In this article linked above, Dante wrote, "How many other frats saw that video and their first thought was 'WHEW! Thank God they didn’t catch our shit on video too!'?" and I laughed, before realizing that is the question I've been asking myself for 5 years. Will James (see the first posted link, which you should have already read) is sitting somewhere putting on a fake smile for his baby boy because his "brothers" were nice to him just like my "sisters" were. I was reading that article and crying, because I know exactly what he meant.  I know it with hundreds of dollars and hundreds of photos and a dozen semi-formal gowns, and a song that promised me there was quite enough room for all of us.  But can I say with any certainty that my (former) org will never make national news for singing something racist? You can say yes, because in general women are classier than men.  You can say yes, because we are smarter than to film ourselves being stupid.  But until you can show me the founding documents where Ethel and Beth and Odette (not the founders' real names) stated that they welcomed members of all races, then we will never know.  There might be a chapter in Mississippi singing a song just as ugly.  And my "sisters" will keep saying they love me until that video is leaked.  Just like Will James's "brothers" loved him.

I am not mad about ridiculous obvious racism like SAE's chant.  People suck.  I'm over it.  I get mad when people who are otherwise intelligent behave as though they are oblivious and unaware of systemic injustice and racism.  I get mad when a woman looks me in my eyes and tells me there's enough love for all of us but won't stand up to protest for the remanding and imprisonment of Daniel Holtzclaw who is charged with 26 counts of abuse to Black women on the east side of my city.  That's what our philanthropy is for, isn't it?

Or was my ex-boyfriend right? They don't care about it when it's our community.

Why did I write this?
We can't do anything but tell our stories and hope the collection will show the world what kind of mess we have always been wading in.
SAE is talking about lynching niggers and an unarmed Black person still dies every 28 hours at the hands of a person who is not prosecuted. They might not be connected; or they might be two sides of the same coin.

Questions Black People Will Ask:
Why didn't your parents tell you not to join a white org?
They did. I was both naive and stubborn.
They were also unable to clearly articulate the specific and compelling reasons why I shouldn't.  "Don't do it" has never been a convincing argument, especially not from your parents who told you not to walk and chew gum or sing at the dinner table.  I needed convincing, real life, anecdotal, convincing reasons.

What do you mean you don't know any smart Black people?
I know a TON of them now. I didn't know them then.  They stayed away from me because I was always looking down my nose at them. That perspective was my fault, not ours. I now understand that what makes Black people seem less smart than white people is really systemic racism in our education system and in our society.  I know now.  I'm sorry.

If you had it to do over what would you do?
Go to a large public university and not be Greek at all.  

Brokenness Over Belligerence

"She only cusses when she's angry and she only gets angry at the right things." - me about myself on 9-3 after doing a bit too much research into educational malpractice.

There's a song by Matthew West called "My Own Little World." When I hear it on K-Love or read through the lyrics, I see privilege (many people of color would call it "white privilege" although it's more about money than race). But I also see a man who knows he is operating from a place of privilege and wants to change it.  He sings, "break my heart for what breaks Yours," and I know that the heart of God is broken by needless and senseless violence, death, greed, poverty, depression, bullying, the abandonment and abortion of children, inequities in education and opportunity.  All of that breaks the heart of God. I know it and so does Matthew West. 

#BlackLivesMatter

I also know that, by God's standard, hatred is never ever appropriate.  I recently learned through a pastor that, by God's standard, apathy is not appropriate either.  So I can't hate the guy who doesn't give a flying fig about education equity.  He's not all bad anyway. I can't hate the people on my timeline who care more about property damage than the loss of a life, hundreds of black lives. Those people are not all bad. They are teachers and church organizers and in general they are sweet.

It's so much easier to be angry than to be hurt.

If I could have, rather than sitting with my friends and cussing about the injustice of adults of who mistreat or inadvertently screw up the futures of children, I would have cried.  For me, anger is almost never anger at its root; it is either fear or grief.

The appropriate thing to do when you're afraid - if you're a Christian and you walk in the authority you share with Christ - is to fight off the devil and his schemes (usually through intercessory prayer and declaration of the Word).  God did not give us a spirit of fear.  So comforting ourselves with our anger is actually akin to cowardice.  Because we are afraid to fight, we are going to let the devil win and simply throw a little tantrum to keep up appearances.

The appropriate thing to do when you feel grief is to cry - especially if you're a woman.  I once picked up a book that I wanted so badly to read.  It is If You Have to Cry, Go Outside by Kelly Cutrone.  I was inspired by her bravery and her determination and her ability to remain professional no matter what.  But I know now, the Lord would not give me the stamina to read that book because that is not a concept I need further internalized in my life.

Sometimes our hearts get broken and when that happens, there is no better reaction that to release the pain and anger.  Too many times we mask our grief as aggression and our fear as anger.

Remember that there is a blessing in the storm.  Remember that the Lord has not brought you into the desert to leave you to dehydrate and die.  Remember that He works all things together for our good. 

#iLoveBrokenness