several days overdue...

My mom once told me that all people born in February. I think she just said that because we were both born in February, but I must say I haven't met anyone born in February that I didn't like. Well, there is someone that I happen to think is magical, wise, and inspiring that was born in February too.

In honor of his life, listen to my favorite Johnny Cash/June Carter duet. He would have been 78 on February 26.



Enjoy.

arrogant, overfed and unconcerned

On this cold, crummy-looking day, I decided to catch up on my NYT reading. First up, my favorite Op-Ed columnist Nicholas Kristoff Sunday column. I stayed there for several hours. If you venture to read ahead, you might get stuck reading EVERYTHING every person wrote in response too.

Nicholas Kristoff is a columnist fighting to raise awareness for human rights in the world. Here he shows a fairly balanced view of faith-based organizations, social justice, and so much more... Check it out.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/28/opinion/28kristof.html

Next visit his blog, http://kristof.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/02/27/your-comments-on-my-evangelicals-column/

Read the some of the comments. Thought-provoking. How does the New York Times reading public view Christianity? FBOs? Evangelicals? It's good to know. Sometimes, it begs us (as human beings) to say "I am sorry. We are sorry." It should move Christians to repent as a body to the world and to God.

Let me know what your thoughts.

Litany of Penitence

Most holy and merciful Father:
We confess to you and to one another,
and to the whole communion of saints 
in heaven and on earth,
that we have sinned by our own fault 
in thought, word, and deed;
by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.

We have not loved you with our whole heart, and mind, and
 strength.
We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.
We 
have not forgiven others, as we have been forgiven.
Have mercy on us, Lord.

We have been deaf to your call to serve, as Christ served us.
We have not been true to the mind of Christ.
We have grieved
 your Holy Spirit.
Have mercy on us, Lord.

We confess to you, Lord, all our past unfaithfulness:
the 
pride, hypocrisy, and impatience of our lives,
We confess to you, Lord.

Our self-indulgent appetites and ways,
and our exploitation 
of other people,
We confess to you, Lord.

Our anger at our own frustration,
and our envy of those
 more fortunate than ourselves,
We confess to you, Lord.

Our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts,
and 
our dishonesty in daily life and work,
We confess to you, Lord.

Our negligence in prayer and worship,
and our failure to
 commend the faith that is in us,
We confess to you, Lord.

Accept our repentance, Lord, for the wrongs we have done:
for our blindness to human need and suffering,
and our 
indifference to injustice and cruelty,
Accept our repentance, Lord.

For all false judgments,
for uncharitable thoughts toward our neighbors,
and for our prejudice and contempt toward those 
who differ from us,
Accept our repentance, Lord.

For our waste and pollution of your creation,
and our lack of
 concern for those who come after us,
Accept our repentance, Lord.

Restore us, good Lord, and let your anger depart from us;
Favorably hear us, for your mercy is great.

Accomplish in us the work of your salvation,
That we may show forth your glory in the world.

By the cross and passion of your Son our Lord,
Bring us with all your saints to the joy of his resurrection. Amen.

Seeking, Searching, and Longing

Holy Creator, thank you for seeking me, for never stopping to seek me. Open me to the intimate connection between us that I may rest in your grace. Empty me of my shame and self-rejection and soften my comparing mind and my longing, that I may know gratitude for what I have and for who I am. Guide me in the path of appreciation for the beauty and possibility that surrounds me, that is within me. Sacred Source of my life, ground me in my inner calm and remind me of the holy and the beautiful that resides in the ordinary. Open my eyes and my heart to see your grace-filled touch in all of life. From this “seeing” I know there really are no ordinary moments, for all is sacred.

He promised me the world. He said, “I love you so much, I will give you whatever you want. Marry me”. It was a lie, and I knew it. After all, he lived in a trailer park, and…. he was seven.

My whole Kindergarten year went like this: Everyday at nap time, Matthew pulled his mat next to mine cornering me so I couldn’t get away. We weren’t allowed to move or talk. But Some how, he persevered through the “silent” rule, and everyday he would say, “I will buy you every Barbie doll in the whole world, if that‘s what you want”. As a super-shy, highly-conscientious little girl, I would downright lie, “I don’t like Barbies”. “Well, I can get you anything else you want, G.I. Joes?”. He wasn’t getting it.

Second grade was going to be my new fresh start away from my “stalker”, Matthew. I was so paranoid that I was convinced Matthew (living within walking distance) would watch me through my basement. Every shower I took, I would cover the hole in the wall with my washcloth just incase he could see me. I was extremely paranoid.

One year later: During reading time while Ms. Black was eating her daily Whopper, in front of all of us, before lunch, there was a knock at the classroom door. We all watched expectantly. Ms. Black walked over to me and whispered with her Whopper/cigarette breath, someone was at the door for me. In the hallway, I found Matthew ,with a huge smile on his face, waiting for me. He told me he still loved me. He wanted to be my boyfriend and wanted us to get married. He gave me a card he had made and a piece of candy. Anxiety rose in me from the pit of my stomach to my throat. Why hadn’t he gotten the idea that I was never going to be his girlfriend? I told him, “I am sorry. I am not allowed to have a boyfriend, we are only in 1st grade”. As soon as I walked back in the classroom, Kevin was waiting for me at my cubby. He had dropped off his own note professing his love. Kevin… was a glue eater. Gross.

Twenty years later… The glue eater and the trailer park kid have turned into the “gay” best friend, the gold chain wearer, the glue eater, the nerd that misunderstood , the black leather jacket guy at he library, the red bandana jock, the guy who cant actually tell me, the fan of Nickelback… these are the guys who profess their love to me. These are the ones who want to spend the rest of our lives in marital bliss. Never the one I really want.

Oh, Valentine’s Day. Second Wave feminists probably declare this day from hell or Hallmark (what’s the difference, really?). Perhaps, as an “addicted to love” society, we can’t actually not have feelings for the day. If we hate it, then are we more obsessed with it, than if it’s just ignored?

Even when I am dating someone, I don’t really like to celebrate Valentine’s day as a date day, but would rather enjoy the pink and red decorations and eat burnt-bottomed cupcakes my five year old neighbor gave me, watching the Olympics, realizing how out of shape I am or discover my giant thighs were handmade by God to be a speed skater- missed that calling. Nevertheless, I still find myself listening to the messages of our “addicted to love” society and believe I won’t be happy until I find the one who loves me as much as I love them. Somehow, I believe in the fairy tales I have been told my whole life aiding my concept of love, falling in love, being in love to be asymmetrical and confused. One thing I do know, that if I try to avoid it, I will never have the chance to find out if true love does exist. I will never feel so alive as when my heart aches in longing for him or breaking from rejection. In the wise words of Robert Palmer, “I might as well face it; I’m addicted to love”.



“Love is the life of our heart. According to it, we desire, rejoice, hope, and despair, fear, take heart, hate, avoid things, feel sad, grow angry, and exult.” - Francis De Sales

That is where the power comes from...

Now, I know most people think they were the "weird kid", but I am telling you, I really was that "weird kid". Here are just a few examples: One, my imaginary friend's name was not Kelly or Robert. Nope, it was Michael Jackson, and no, I didn't name my best friend after him. My imaginary friend was him. The positive thing about this rather "peculiar" friend was I ended up being a great dancer and singer. Two, I was unbearably shy. Spending hours grasping my dad's leg as if we both would die if I let go, every time I met a stranger or hiding from my uncle, who always cracked jokes, therefore, scaring me into silence, so he would not have anything negative to say about me. I still can't believe I was terrified of my nicest, funniest uncle. It just didn't make sense. Even though, I was incredibly shy and scared of life, I had this active imagination. I was the Queen of Mongolia, hid Princess Anastasia in my attic, sometimes was Daisy Duke (when I was riding my bicycle), was Eleanor Roosevelt's confidante, wife of a boy named Dimitri and a doctor who found a cure for hunger by giving Twinkies to everyone in the world (afterall, everyone deserves one. I won many awards from the Nobel Peace Prize to an Oscar. I sang with Diana Ross at half-time at the Super Bowl. All of these things I accomplished by the young age of 7.

Due to my shyness, I locked myself away in these imaginary worlds-ones in my head and on paper. I was a voracious reader. I read everything from the Mandie series to Coretta Scott King's (unabridged) biography. Being obsessed with history, I read every Civil Right's and American Revolution book I could get my hands on. I forgot to mention, my love of music and dance. Locked away in my own world, I danced to the Beatles and the Shirelles with Michael, and I sang as good as Whitney Houston and Cyndi Lauper. There was a freedom I had in these worlds, that I couldn't experience in real life.

This is, perhaps, why I was drawn to the stories of slaves, the oppressed, or anyone who tried to overcome and destroy fear and hate. Reading inspirational stories, helped me overcome my own fear. Eventually, I would leave my bedroom, my living room and treehouse to start playing with other kids. I finally saw a door that could lead me to another world, the real world. I know this seems and is trivial compared to the actual events that occurred in history and the suffering people have endured.

This is Black History Month, and we remember and honor our history as Americans. We can look each into our lives to see how they were impacted by and shaped the people before us. Much has changed- on grand scales and small. We have a black president. Then, there are little girls who were inspired in their bedrooms to leave, singing "We shall overcome" and enter the world with her imagination in tow to figure out ways to love each other better. In other ways, we haven't changed at all- still full of hate, fear and sin. (Listen to the National Tea Party Convention in Nashville this past weekend.)

On a postive note:
Today, I suggest listening to the voice of Mahalia Jackson. Her voice will inspire you. The words to old Gospel music will move you. Let it.