Saturday, November 17, 2012
Monday, October 1, 2012
Getting back into the swing of things
It's been a long time since I've posted, and that is entirely my fault. I've allowed life's changes, ups and downs, to move me away from what I do. What I do is write. When I write, I can begin to make sense of life's ups and downs. Writing helps me to sort things out and not get caught up - which is where I have been for a long time now.
So, to recap... Ended a job in June 2011, as my sanity and well-being were on the line. Out of work for nearly 7 months - with no income whatsoever, unemployment benefits denied. Depleted life's savings to make ends meet. Thank God there was a life savings to begin with! Was blessed with a job in January 2012. Getting exposure in a great new field of financial planning. Downside - $12K per year pay cut. Result - short about $500/mo on bills. But God is still good! Hoping to get a loan modification on the mortgage or it may be time to seriously downsize.
Husband came home in March 2012. Talk about a roller coaster! We've been married since 2006, but never lived together before now. This has been an adjustment for both of us. It is really hard for him because people with felony convictions have a difficult time obtaining employment. His patience and faith are being tested as the "old man" wants to revert back to past behaviors to make ends meet. He is extremely frustrated because he can't contribute to the household financially. His frustration translates into friction for us because as most of us do, we lash out at the ones closest to us. He's applied at temp agencies, completed a class at the Urban League for job readiness, and I've completed numerous applications for him online. It's like once the "Have you ever had a felony" box is checked, your app is immediately declined. As a wife, I'm doing my best to be an encourager. However, I must admit the burden wears on me as well from time to time.
I am excited to get back into my master's program in ministry (specifically pastoral counseling) at Ohio Christian University. I love learning! Although, working full-time and going to school is stressful, I am looking forward to the growth I will experience academically, personally, and spiritually.
Saying all of this to say... Life may be crazy at times, but God is still good and He is still in charge. Best advice is to keep it moving. My flesh longs to stay in "stuck" mode when things are not going well. But crazy is as crazy does. It would be crazy to remain standing still when God has so much more planned for us. There is a time and a season for everything and joy will come in the morning! Don't give up on God because He won't give up on you!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The hardest part is getting started….
I finally stopped thinking and talking about it. I’ve put my decision and gift into action and I’m doing it! Chapter 1 done. Chapter 2 on point for today.
I must admit, this isn’t the first book I thought I’d be writing. I’m not sure how it will be received by family, church family and friends. However, the story is grounded in reality. It’s what people struggle with on a day-to-day basis, saints and sinners alike.
It will ultimately become a story of growth, revelation and redemption. It starts out rather “raw and uncut.” Yet, at one point, life was “raw and uncut” for many of us, especially me.
Can’t wait until I can report a finished product. The next one is already on tap, if God allows it. If He does, I’ll win back the fan base I’m going to lose with Book 1. 
God Bless!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Fighting to Survive
Sometimes it's hard to talk about difficult personal issues with anyone. Some topics are taboo or simply misunderstood. Some people pass instant judgment or make assumptions that are often incorrect, incomplete, or downright idiotic.
One of the hush-hush topics in the African-American community is mental illness. Although many people are impacted by the disease, no one wants to talk about it. We would rather shuttle Aunt So-and-So off to the back room when company comes so that nobody knows our precious family secret. Heaven forbid, she might embarrass the family. Oh no! We can't have that. What will the neighbors think?
Our collective unwillingness to engage in open, non-judgmental dialogue about mental illness is one of the reasons many are still held captive by this insidious disease. I have battled clinical depression since I was 14 years old. My diagnosis, which I still have yet to share with my family, occurred when I was 21 years old.
I recognized the stigma attached to mental illness long before my own diagnosis came. In my family, mental illness meant you were weak. You either just gave up or you didn't have enough faith in God. After all, how could you be depressed if you believe in God? I totally understand the spiritual argument. In fact, in some instances I've used that line of reasoning on myself. And sometimes, that argument has prevailed victoriously over my depression. But in some instances, my self-talk couldn't overcome that mountain before me. Sometimes, depression landed on me with its full weight - heavy, oppressive and suffocating. Still to this day, that internal battle wages within me, how can I be a born-again Christian and still experience depression?
At 21, I dropped out of college, quit my job, and basically stayed in my apartment for months on end. Unable to perform the simplest of tasks like washing dishes or doing laundry. Even bathing was a monumental task. The only thing I seemed capable of was crying for hours on end, imagining and envisioning the worst, feeling worthless, and having no idea how to unearth myself from my own personal tomb.
During my adolescence and early adult years, my family's characterizations of me were less than flattering. I can recall one Sunday afternoon and a dinner gathering hosted by my mother. She invited some of her church friends over to eat and fellowship. I'm not sure what testimonies my mother gave in church, but one of the church elders had no qualms in telling me just how lazy he thought I was over the course of that dinner. I can't really fault the man for his opinion. What hurt my heart was the absence of a mere shabby defense or even a simple, lackluster protest voiced by any family member present. This elder simply spoke what everyone else felt, but they were pleasant enough to keep to themselves.
To someone like myself battling depression, the elder's words weren't exactly messages of hope, encouragement, assistance, or consolation. In fact, his uninformed judgment and many such like, plunged my fragile psyche into an even more precarious state.
Why am I talking about this now? Because I am fighting to stave off another major episode of depression at this very moment in time. And I feel that my offense, my survival, my weaponry is linked to my willingness to be transparent, honest, and forthright about my struggle. I am, in essence, fighting to survive.
I have so much more I want to say on this topic because of my intimate acquaintance with depression, along with its vast devastation and the debilitating effects left in its quake. But alas, one must get enough sleep if he/she is going to rejoin the fight tomorrow. God bless and please pray for me.
One of the hush-hush topics in the African-American community is mental illness. Although many people are impacted by the disease, no one wants to talk about it. We would rather shuttle Aunt So-and-So off to the back room when company comes so that nobody knows our precious family secret. Heaven forbid, she might embarrass the family. Oh no! We can't have that. What will the neighbors think?
Our collective unwillingness to engage in open, non-judgmental dialogue about mental illness is one of the reasons many are still held captive by this insidious disease. I have battled clinical depression since I was 14 years old. My diagnosis, which I still have yet to share with my family, occurred when I was 21 years old.
I recognized the stigma attached to mental illness long before my own diagnosis came. In my family, mental illness meant you were weak. You either just gave up or you didn't have enough faith in God. After all, how could you be depressed if you believe in God? I totally understand the spiritual argument. In fact, in some instances I've used that line of reasoning on myself. And sometimes, that argument has prevailed victoriously over my depression. But in some instances, my self-talk couldn't overcome that mountain before me. Sometimes, depression landed on me with its full weight - heavy, oppressive and suffocating. Still to this day, that internal battle wages within me, how can I be a born-again Christian and still experience depression?
At 21, I dropped out of college, quit my job, and basically stayed in my apartment for months on end. Unable to perform the simplest of tasks like washing dishes or doing laundry. Even bathing was a monumental task. The only thing I seemed capable of was crying for hours on end, imagining and envisioning the worst, feeling worthless, and having no idea how to unearth myself from my own personal tomb.
During my adolescence and early adult years, my family's characterizations of me were less than flattering. I can recall one Sunday afternoon and a dinner gathering hosted by my mother. She invited some of her church friends over to eat and fellowship. I'm not sure what testimonies my mother gave in church, but one of the church elders had no qualms in telling me just how lazy he thought I was over the course of that dinner. I can't really fault the man for his opinion. What hurt my heart was the absence of a mere shabby defense or even a simple, lackluster protest voiced by any family member present. This elder simply spoke what everyone else felt, but they were pleasant enough to keep to themselves.
To someone like myself battling depression, the elder's words weren't exactly messages of hope, encouragement, assistance, or consolation. In fact, his uninformed judgment and many such like, plunged my fragile psyche into an even more precarious state.
Why am I talking about this now? Because I am fighting to stave off another major episode of depression at this very moment in time. And I feel that my offense, my survival, my weaponry is linked to my willingness to be transparent, honest, and forthright about my struggle. I am, in essence, fighting to survive.
I have so much more I want to say on this topic because of my intimate acquaintance with depression, along with its vast devastation and the debilitating effects left in its quake. But alas, one must get enough sleep if he/she is going to rejoin the fight tomorrow. God bless and please pray for me.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Forgiveness Ain't For Sissies
Just the other day, three days ago, to be exact... My one and only son posted some hurtful and untruthful things about me on his Facebook page. And I realize our relationship hasn't always been stellar, a lot of it due to my own immaturity. Getting pregnant at 14 and having a son at 15 didn't come with an instruction manual or a magic wand that granted instant motherly know-how.
In fact, partly out of fear, respect and some apathy, I left the majority of the rearing of my son's younger years to my aunt and uncle. By the way, these are the same people who raised me. My aunt and my uncle were very protective of my son, overprotective. I couldn't take him to a park, or friend's house, without them calling every hour or so to see if he was okay. It's like they didn't trust me to take care of my own son. I guess I let their distrust make me question my own abilities.
At the very least, their intrusiveness provided an all too convenient excuse to shirk my parental responsibilities, as such as they were at the tender age of 15. I had no job, no home of my own. I was at the mercy of their demands because I was living under their roof. I wasn't free to learn to be a good parent because I didn't have a voice or room to grow. I didn't get a chance to make mistakes or learn from those mistakes. I was treated like a kid (because I was a kid). I wasn't given a chance to grow/mature into motherhood (because the mothering came standard for me and my son in that household).
Okay, so up to the present. On Friday, my son writes something to the effect of "You know if I ask Mah Dukes for help, it's gotta be because I need it. I go to her and ask her to do something that is going to help my life and she says go figure it out. I'm not like her. I'm not one of those people who can figure EVERYTHING out. She tells me to go ask someone else. Well, guess what, I always do. Thanks for nothing mah dukes."
Where to start? Where to start? First, the "mah dukes" title? Seriously?! I rushed off my job not less than 7 days before when you got in a car accident. I beat the ambulance there and I came from Dublin, OH. I won't even mention how far over the speed limit I was. I was the first person you called when that happened asking me what to do. When you were sitting out on the porch crying after the accident, who stopped and gave you the pep talk and reassurance that everything would be okay? Not only that, who put a card of encouragement in the mail the very next day letting you know I was here for you?
On the day of this FB posting, you call me. Say you're about to come down and cut my grass. Ask if you can come in to use the computer. I say yes. Then I give it some thought. I call you back and let you know I'm going to leave the door open for you because I'm in bed and don't feel well. You say okay. You come down. I hear you come in. You holler up the stairs, how do I turn on MS Word? I say, it's on the start menu. I tell you far left corner, click on the round button and it will show up. (Did I mention I'm sick in bed?). I get tired of yelling so I tell you to bring up the computer. (Sick in bed, no clothes on, NyQuil infused, alternating chills and sweating spells.) I say hand me the computer. Low and behold, guess where MS Word is, right where I said it would be on the start menu. I hand the computer back. Now you ask me, how do I type a resume. I reach for the computer again. Pull up resume templates and hand it back. You say, there are too many here and I don't know which one to pick. I ask you what kind of job you looking for? You say you don't know. A sister of a friend says they are hiring at Chase bank. Okay, my best guess says that would be customer service. I pull up a customer service resume. It's pre-populated. All you have to do is change the name and edit the bullet points, history, education, etc. to make it your own. You say, I don't know what some of these words mean under accomplishments, like implementation, productivity, etc. (Mind you, I'm still sick in bed). I explain the words. You're still frustrated because you're not getting it. I say just print off this resume. Take it home and write out what you want yours to say. Just use this format, this look, and think of accomplishments you've made on you job. How did you help to increase sales, or bring in more customers, or help develop fellow employees? You're still "confused." I say ask someone to help you. I think, not so much confused, you just want me to do it for you like I always do. But I'm sick!!!
Next day, I get up and read your nasty post. Okay, so yes. My response probably wasn't very nice, but I felt it needed to be said. I responded, "You forgot to mention mah dukes was in the bed sick and half sleep. The world can't always operate on your time schedule. While you asking everybody else, ask them to pay your cell phone bill." .....Considering you four months behind on paying your cell phone bill since I put on my plan so you could save $70 over your previous carrier. Oh, and for that previous carrier, I put the account in my name cause you asked me to that you didn't pay on so it went on my credit report. I didn't write in all that. I'm just venting here.
So later that day, he must have read my response or thought the better of it because he took the post and my reply down. No apology whatsoever mind you.
Then yesterday, he sends me a text message. It reads, "Do you think you'll have time to help me with my resume. My boss just told me the big boss is cutting employees because of bad business. I have two weeks. Please."
I pray and respond, "Sorry to hear you're being let go. Been there. Write what you want it to say. I'll type it up. BTW, wasn't cool or true what you put on FB. That hurt."
Do you think I've yet to receive so much as an apology? Ummm, Nope!
I know this must be a ministry opportunity because my flesh is screaming, "You are the most ungrateful, disrespectful, spoiled, immature, selfish, self-centered, only out for yourself, it's all about you person I'ver ever known." And I soooooo want to voice those sentiments as opposed to only thinking and feeling them.
But instead, my spirit man sends a quiet text today that says, "What time are you trynna work on your resume?"
I hope that God gives me swift and clear discernment on when it's time to invoke tough love. I have a servant's heart and I'm always trying to help someone who needs help. My son or otherwise. I know there will come a day when I will have to step aside and let go and let God do all the helping there is to be done.
Saints, pray my strength in the Lord.
In fact, partly out of fear, respect and some apathy, I left the majority of the rearing of my son's younger years to my aunt and uncle. By the way, these are the same people who raised me. My aunt and my uncle were very protective of my son, overprotective. I couldn't take him to a park, or friend's house, without them calling every hour or so to see if he was okay. It's like they didn't trust me to take care of my own son. I guess I let their distrust make me question my own abilities.
At the very least, their intrusiveness provided an all too convenient excuse to shirk my parental responsibilities, as such as they were at the tender age of 15. I had no job, no home of my own. I was at the mercy of their demands because I was living under their roof. I wasn't free to learn to be a good parent because I didn't have a voice or room to grow. I didn't get a chance to make mistakes or learn from those mistakes. I was treated like a kid (because I was a kid). I wasn't given a chance to grow/mature into motherhood (because the mothering came standard for me and my son in that household).
Okay, so up to the present. On Friday, my son writes something to the effect of "You know if I ask Mah Dukes for help, it's gotta be because I need it. I go to her and ask her to do something that is going to help my life and she says go figure it out. I'm not like her. I'm not one of those people who can figure EVERYTHING out. She tells me to go ask someone else. Well, guess what, I always do. Thanks for nothing mah dukes."
Where to start? Where to start? First, the "mah dukes" title? Seriously?! I rushed off my job not less than 7 days before when you got in a car accident. I beat the ambulance there and I came from Dublin, OH. I won't even mention how far over the speed limit I was. I was the first person you called when that happened asking me what to do. When you were sitting out on the porch crying after the accident, who stopped and gave you the pep talk and reassurance that everything would be okay? Not only that, who put a card of encouragement in the mail the very next day letting you know I was here for you?
On the day of this FB posting, you call me. Say you're about to come down and cut my grass. Ask if you can come in to use the computer. I say yes. Then I give it some thought. I call you back and let you know I'm going to leave the door open for you because I'm in bed and don't feel well. You say okay. You come down. I hear you come in. You holler up the stairs, how do I turn on MS Word? I say, it's on the start menu. I tell you far left corner, click on the round button and it will show up. (Did I mention I'm sick in bed?). I get tired of yelling so I tell you to bring up the computer. (Sick in bed, no clothes on, NyQuil infused, alternating chills and sweating spells.) I say hand me the computer. Low and behold, guess where MS Word is, right where I said it would be on the start menu. I hand the computer back. Now you ask me, how do I type a resume. I reach for the computer again. Pull up resume templates and hand it back. You say, there are too many here and I don't know which one to pick. I ask you what kind of job you looking for? You say you don't know. A sister of a friend says they are hiring at Chase bank. Okay, my best guess says that would be customer service. I pull up a customer service resume. It's pre-populated. All you have to do is change the name and edit the bullet points, history, education, etc. to make it your own. You say, I don't know what some of these words mean under accomplishments, like implementation, productivity, etc. (Mind you, I'm still sick in bed). I explain the words. You're still frustrated because you're not getting it. I say just print off this resume. Take it home and write out what you want yours to say. Just use this format, this look, and think of accomplishments you've made on you job. How did you help to increase sales, or bring in more customers, or help develop fellow employees? You're still "confused." I say ask someone to help you. I think, not so much confused, you just want me to do it for you like I always do. But I'm sick!!!
Next day, I get up and read your nasty post. Okay, so yes. My response probably wasn't very nice, but I felt it needed to be said. I responded, "You forgot to mention mah dukes was in the bed sick and half sleep. The world can't always operate on your time schedule. While you asking everybody else, ask them to pay your cell phone bill." .....Considering you four months behind on paying your cell phone bill since I put on my plan so you could save $70 over your previous carrier. Oh, and for that previous carrier, I put the account in my name cause you asked me to that you didn't pay on so it went on my credit report. I didn't write in all that. I'm just venting here.
So later that day, he must have read my response or thought the better of it because he took the post and my reply down. No apology whatsoever mind you.
Then yesterday, he sends me a text message. It reads, "Do you think you'll have time to help me with my resume. My boss just told me the big boss is cutting employees because of bad business. I have two weeks. Please."
I pray and respond, "Sorry to hear you're being let go. Been there. Write what you want it to say. I'll type it up. BTW, wasn't cool or true what you put on FB. That hurt."
Do you think I've yet to receive so much as an apology? Ummm, Nope!
I know this must be a ministry opportunity because my flesh is screaming, "You are the most ungrateful, disrespectful, spoiled, immature, selfish, self-centered, only out for yourself, it's all about you person I'ver ever known." And I soooooo want to voice those sentiments as opposed to only thinking and feeling them.
But instead, my spirit man sends a quiet text today that says, "What time are you trynna work on your resume?"
I hope that God gives me swift and clear discernment on when it's time to invoke tough love. I have a servant's heart and I'm always trying to help someone who needs help. My son or otherwise. I know there will come a day when I will have to step aside and let go and let God do all the helping there is to be done.
Saints, pray my strength in the Lord.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Reflections
This was a week of significant change in the United States of America. The country watched as the nation's first African-American president took the oath of office and assumed the role of Presidency for The United States. It was a moment of awe, inspiration, and appreciation. In that moment of hope, one could possibly dream that our collective ideas and ideals are slowly catching up to the premise of America's promise.
I watched tears stream down the faces of many onlookers. Some eyes told the story of just how long and how hard they had waited to witness a historical moment such as this. Parents who had once told their children "Just try hard, apply yourself. If you work hard enough, you can be anything you want to be. You can grow up to be president," finally felt a sense exoneration. Their words finally had some weight and validity. They were no longer liars or purveyors of false hope and dreams.
Other eyes revealed the pain of being mistreated as second class citizens - being called the "n" word, being passed over for housing or jobs, being stereotyped and typecasted. Somehow, those wounded eyes now grasped hold onto the individual accomplishment of one Barack Obama to say, "I told you so - all you had to do was give me a chance."
Others wore wide smiles of intense satisfaction and swelling pride. No thing, no one, could steal the joy of that day from their minds, their hearts, or their souls. The temperature may have been at freezing or below, but there were burning hot with zeal and determination and resolve to be a part of history. For many black Americans, "his"tory became "our" story on Inauguration Day 2009.
My greatest joy on Inauguration Day came from sharing the moment with my 86 and 85 year old uncle and aunt, respectively. I've heard their stories of growing up in rural Mississippi. I've heard of the poverty and disrespect they endured due to blatant racism. Because of their history and what this moment would mean to them, I took off work just to share that hour of the swearing in ceremony with them. I wanted to watch history through their eyes.
And what a moment it was. They watched silently, as if in stunned amazement during parts of the ceremony. Every once in a while, I would catch a smile of pride and satisfaction. They sat holding hands, sharing the moment neither ever thought possible. I videotaped their reactions on my cell phone.
What amused me the most as I was filming the loving couple of over 60 years, was the striking contrast they exemplified in that special moment in history. On the one hand, they were delighted at witnessing the installation of America's first black president. On the other hand, life continued on as normal as he explained to her how he'd charged her wheel chair all night so it wouldn't go dead during that day. At first, in my mind I'm thinking, how could he be talking through the ceremony? Why is he not taking in every single second of this historic event? Then it hit me, that's how they've gotten through these many years of life. Not getting too highs on the highs and not getting too low on the lows. Each and every day, we have to do our part to appreciate what is, but not get stuck and forget what is yet to be done. There's a life lesson in that for all.
Do I think President Obama can solve all our issues? No, I don't. I've come to understand two things. First, Barack Obama is a man, not God. Secondly, change must begin with me. I can't expect America's plight to be reversed until I, you, we are willing to do our part. We must return to God, in prayer, in planning, in purpose, and in power.
I hope we all enjoyed the moment. I hope it will live on in our collective memories forever. However, now is the time to roll up the sleeves and get to work. The inauguration was the easy part. We installed someone new in office. Now comes the installation of hard work, respect, integrity, ethics, and cooperation. We began, now we must behave in a manner that says we will work for the change we said we wanted on election day.
I am proud of President Barack Obama, First Lady Michelle Obama, and the grace and dignity with which their family presents to the world. I am going to couple my pride with prayer and call upon the power of God for the change we need.
I watched tears stream down the faces of many onlookers. Some eyes told the story of just how long and how hard they had waited to witness a historical moment such as this. Parents who had once told their children "Just try hard, apply yourself. If you work hard enough, you can be anything you want to be. You can grow up to be president," finally felt a sense exoneration. Their words finally had some weight and validity. They were no longer liars or purveyors of false hope and dreams.
Other eyes revealed the pain of being mistreated as second class citizens - being called the "n" word, being passed over for housing or jobs, being stereotyped and typecasted. Somehow, those wounded eyes now grasped hold onto the individual accomplishment of one Barack Obama to say, "I told you so - all you had to do was give me a chance."
Others wore wide smiles of intense satisfaction and swelling pride. No thing, no one, could steal the joy of that day from their minds, their hearts, or their souls. The temperature may have been at freezing or below, but there were burning hot with zeal and determination and resolve to be a part of history. For many black Americans, "his"tory became "our" story on Inauguration Day 2009.
My greatest joy on Inauguration Day came from sharing the moment with my 86 and 85 year old uncle and aunt, respectively. I've heard their stories of growing up in rural Mississippi. I've heard of the poverty and disrespect they endured due to blatant racism. Because of their history and what this moment would mean to them, I took off work just to share that hour of the swearing in ceremony with them. I wanted to watch history through their eyes.
And what a moment it was. They watched silently, as if in stunned amazement during parts of the ceremony. Every once in a while, I would catch a smile of pride and satisfaction. They sat holding hands, sharing the moment neither ever thought possible. I videotaped their reactions on my cell phone.
What amused me the most as I was filming the loving couple of over 60 years, was the striking contrast they exemplified in that special moment in history. On the one hand, they were delighted at witnessing the installation of America's first black president. On the other hand, life continued on as normal as he explained to her how he'd charged her wheel chair all night so it wouldn't go dead during that day. At first, in my mind I'm thinking, how could he be talking through the ceremony? Why is he not taking in every single second of this historic event? Then it hit me, that's how they've gotten through these many years of life. Not getting too highs on the highs and not getting too low on the lows. Each and every day, we have to do our part to appreciate what is, but not get stuck and forget what is yet to be done. There's a life lesson in that for all.
Do I think President Obama can solve all our issues? No, I don't. I've come to understand two things. First, Barack Obama is a man, not God. Secondly, change must begin with me. I can't expect America's plight to be reversed until I, you, we are willing to do our part. We must return to God, in prayer, in planning, in purpose, and in power.
I hope we all enjoyed the moment. I hope it will live on in our collective memories forever. However, now is the time to roll up the sleeves and get to work. The inauguration was the easy part. We installed someone new in office. Now comes the installation of hard work, respect, integrity, ethics, and cooperation. We began, now we must behave in a manner that says we will work for the change we said we wanted on election day.
I am proud of President Barack Obama, First Lady Michelle Obama, and the grace and dignity with which their family presents to the world. I am going to couple my pride with prayer and call upon the power of God for the change we need.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Messy Ex's...
I had the occasion to cross paths with an ex over the 4th of July weekend at the home of a mutual friend. What began as a joyous occasion turned into something much less joyous. In fact, it began to tip the scales quite heavily in favor of tragedy. At first, I was really excited to see him because he looked good! I'd seen him in years past and that wasn't always the case.
During those years in between, hard living - drugs and alcohol had obviously taken their toll on him. He looked old and frail, not anything like the vibrant, strong and healthy man I had come to love and adore in my younger years. That man I came to adore would make his pecs jump at will to my sheer delight and bench press 275 lbs barely breaking a sweat. That man would carry me for blocks on end as we enjoyed evening strolls around our 'hood. My heart and soul mourned for him and my beloved memories of him. Those memories were now tainted and distorted by the shallow, pale image of life that stood before me.
At the cookout, we spoke, reminisced, and shared a lot of laughter. We greeted each other with warmth and affection. Our brief reunion made me recall the love we once had and the love that will always remain between us. I was excited for him, to see him doing so well.
However, the evening waned on and the vestiges of the person I had mourned started to emerge. He continued to drink to the point of drunkenness. He began to look at me through eyes of drunken lust (even though he knew I was married) where hours earlier, I'd been the object of his respect and admiration. At every clandestine opportunity, he employed his favorite tactic of revisiting the issues that came between us in the past and tried to once again play the guilt card on me, to which I'd been quite susceptible to in the past.
My excitement at our reunion slowly slipped into regret. sorrow, and pain. At nearly 40, the one-time love of my life is basically a drifter. He's gone from Ohio, Georgia, and back to another city in Ohio all within the last 7 months. He's unemployed, no car, no job, an alcoholic and father of six kids with four different women.
I remember when we split up. I'd found him in bed with another woman at his home. At the time, I was completely devastated. I could not see a future for me without him in it. My heart ached and pined for this man for 17 long years after that encounter. It was only at age 31 after we'd gotten back together, began planning a wedding, and he became MIA without warning, that I decided enough was enough. I made my heart decide to let go.
Seeing him at that cookout made me realize that real love doesn't always die. It can and will live on. But I thank God for changing that love into care and concern for another human being. For giving me a heart of prayer on behalf of this individual.
Seeing him also made me realize how our efforts to hold on to something/someone are mere exercises in futility when that thing/person is not part of God's plan for our lives. When I look back on the many years I spent being bitter, depressed, and sad, I regard that period of my life as 17 years of unnecessary waste. Now, having the benefit of hindsight, I should have spent that time being better, uplifted, and happy.
I could have actually found myself married to that guy who showed up at the cookout. My destiny would have been irrevocably tied to his through the bonds of holy matrimony. Had that been the case, I would been living with his demons and waging constant spiritual warfare throughout all those years. Talk about being tired!
During the breakup of that relationship, I didn't understand God's plan. I wanted THAT man. I loved THAT man. But God had a different plan. He's since blessed me with that special man He created especially for me. He's blessed me by giving me a husband who is in love with me, one who cares for me and my well-being. We don't always see eye to eye. It's not always peaches and cream. Sometimes, we have to resolve to agree to disagree. But our love is real and his heart is true. So, thank God for the husband God picked for me and not the one I would have picked out for myself!
I have a new appreciation for that old adage, "Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it." If I ever happen to see the woman I found him in bed with, I am going to give her a huge hug and a sincere "Thank you." That breakup was meant to take my life because I was hurt, depressed and suicidal. Now, because of that breakup, I can appreciate the husband and marriage that bless me daily and the God that brought me through it all.
During those years in between, hard living - drugs and alcohol had obviously taken their toll on him. He looked old and frail, not anything like the vibrant, strong and healthy man I had come to love and adore in my younger years. That man I came to adore would make his pecs jump at will to my sheer delight and bench press 275 lbs barely breaking a sweat. That man would carry me for blocks on end as we enjoyed evening strolls around our 'hood. My heart and soul mourned for him and my beloved memories of him. Those memories were now tainted and distorted by the shallow, pale image of life that stood before me.
At the cookout, we spoke, reminisced, and shared a lot of laughter. We greeted each other with warmth and affection. Our brief reunion made me recall the love we once had and the love that will always remain between us. I was excited for him, to see him doing so well.
However, the evening waned on and the vestiges of the person I had mourned started to emerge. He continued to drink to the point of drunkenness. He began to look at me through eyes of drunken lust (even though he knew I was married) where hours earlier, I'd been the object of his respect and admiration. At every clandestine opportunity, he employed his favorite tactic of revisiting the issues that came between us in the past and tried to once again play the guilt card on me, to which I'd been quite susceptible to in the past.
My excitement at our reunion slowly slipped into regret. sorrow, and pain. At nearly 40, the one-time love of my life is basically a drifter. He's gone from Ohio, Georgia, and back to another city in Ohio all within the last 7 months. He's unemployed, no car, no job, an alcoholic and father of six kids with four different women.
I remember when we split up. I'd found him in bed with another woman at his home. At the time, I was completely devastated. I could not see a future for me without him in it. My heart ached and pined for this man for 17 long years after that encounter. It was only at age 31 after we'd gotten back together, began planning a wedding, and he became MIA without warning, that I decided enough was enough. I made my heart decide to let go.
Seeing him at that cookout made me realize that real love doesn't always die. It can and will live on. But I thank God for changing that love into care and concern for another human being. For giving me a heart of prayer on behalf of this individual.
Seeing him also made me realize how our efforts to hold on to something/someone are mere exercises in futility when that thing/person is not part of God's plan for our lives. When I look back on the many years I spent being bitter, depressed, and sad, I regard that period of my life as 17 years of unnecessary waste. Now, having the benefit of hindsight, I should have spent that time being better, uplifted, and happy.
I could have actually found myself married to that guy who showed up at the cookout. My destiny would have been irrevocably tied to his through the bonds of holy matrimony. Had that been the case, I would been living with his demons and waging constant spiritual warfare throughout all those years. Talk about being tired!
During the breakup of that relationship, I didn't understand God's plan. I wanted THAT man. I loved THAT man. But God had a different plan. He's since blessed me with that special man He created especially for me. He's blessed me by giving me a husband who is in love with me, one who cares for me and my well-being. We don't always see eye to eye. It's not always peaches and cream. Sometimes, we have to resolve to agree to disagree. But our love is real and his heart is true. So, thank God for the husband God picked for me and not the one I would have picked out for myself!
I have a new appreciation for that old adage, "Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it." If I ever happen to see the woman I found him in bed with, I am going to give her a huge hug and a sincere "Thank you." That breakup was meant to take my life because I was hurt, depressed and suicidal. Now, because of that breakup, I can appreciate the husband and marriage that bless me daily and the God that brought me through it all.
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