A heavy heart

I'm writing this because my heart is slightly heavy today.  I cannot exactly pin-point the purpose for this; maybe this is what lead me to write. Maybe these words are similar to crates one would throw off a ship when you think it's sinking; only to realize that the very thing you needed to survive was locked up in the crates you threw over in an effort to calm your panic. Maybe this effort to write these words here will reveal the key that unlocks the crate that contains exactly what I need in order to understand what weighs my heart so. Maybe that's what all of these blog entries have been.

Or maybe not...


Maybe I'm just kidding myself.

But whatever the reason the fact remains that my heart is slightly heavy today.

I went to a meeting and sat in on a discussion about the treatment of human rights.  I found the discussion fascinating  and very informative. But I also found myself in the same place I was when I wrote Unqualified Participant; that is, 5 steps behind. I thought by now that this would no longer be the case for me as I have felt a lot more confident recently, but there I was; actively listening, trying to gain some knowledge on a subject I knew nothing about, only to be too slow to even articulate questions of clarification.

What's wrong with me? Why is it that I have become consumed with my own doubts; allowing what I think I am not dominate who I know I am? There is nothing wrong with engaging in a discussion if you don't fully understand it's contents. If you have a teachable spirit and are open to learning, then these discussions can be very fruitful indeed. It is only when you allow your ignorance to trap you, your pride to silence you, and your doubts to enslave you that you become unable to participate in what can only be beneficial to everyone involved. This is what I do time and time again. It's pathetic really, an attribute that I am not proud of, nevertheless it is there; and I must contend against it if I am to be of any use or benefit to that which I have been called.

In the discussion we thought of ways by which we could treat others as humans and resist the culture by tying ourselves to one another; thus using our visibility to shed light on those who have been invisible, bringing their stories to the forefront to speak to political powers; demanding that those in power repent of the way they have treated them. I believe that this is true; we need to hear those stories not just for the repentance of political powers, but for ours as well.

As an African-American educated woman; as a seminary student; as an artist; as a Christian; as a human, I believe I have that visibility and thus the responsibility to tie myself to those who do not. That being said; what is having visibility if you have nothing to say? How can I uphold my responsibility for others if I don't even take the time to know who they are and how our world affects them.

Maybe that is why my heart is heavy; partly with the burden of my brothers and sisters, but mostly with the shame of living a life that disappoints them; because I've failed in being the voice they need. Maybe my heart is heavy because I want to be that voice so bad, and have become frustrated in the process. Either way, I know I need to be more aware, informed and active. But until then, my heart will be slightly heavy.

Rising of the Prophetic Scribe Part II: Releasing the Hero within

I was planning on writing a blog entitled, “Death of the Super-Saint” and I was very excited about it. 

VERY EXCITED. 

Cause, see, I figured it out. There is no such thing as a Super-Saint. We are not called to be these super heroes who shoot red beams out of our eyes or anything like that. I was personally sick and tired of hearing pastors talk about taking over the world or being heroes or being perfect. I’m not perfect; and to be honest, I didn’t want to be. I just wanted to be me. I just wanted to be normal. 

For pretty much my entire life, I’ve been told that I was weird. Teased because of it even. Now granted, I was not your average kid; I didn’t run outside as soon as I got home to ride my bike with my friends (that I didn’t have). I didn’t even ask for a bike for Christmas until Jr. High (to the extreme shock of my mother). And I barely rode it (I don’t even know if I can still ride a bike!). All I did was come home from school and read books. Lots of books. I read so many books, and yet I can’t seem to remember most of them. Cause I never read them for the context; I read to escape the fact that I didn’t feel like I belonged. Needless to say, I was a nerd in a family of creatively cool singers and rap artists. It was pretty obvious that I didn’t fit in. Even when I did start to get involved in the arts, it never seemed to be good enough. The nerd label had made a permanent place on my forehead and no amount of extra-curricular activities could cover it up. So, I decided that I would not be considered weird anymore. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be like everyone else. So, I gave up taking accelerated courses in school and took the normal classes. I stopped doing homework. I sat in the back and didn’t care what the teacher said. 

And I still got pretty good grades. 

Which meant I still got teased by my brothers and sisters. 

Don’t get me wrong, there were some points of sanity. I still had a deep love for the arts; but after being a part of drama, dance, chorus, speech and debate, and entertainment marketing for independent study with no real support from my family; I decided to take a hint. I never finished what I started because a part of me didn’t want to do it without them. I just wanted to feel like I was a part of something; and excelling at things was (in my mind) a hindrance. 

Looking back, I would say that the never ending fight to suppress greatness began. If there was a poster child for Marianne Williamson’s poem “Our greatest fear” it would be me. I was always afraid of greatness because greatness said, “hey, look at her, she’s different.” I had enough of that for one lifetime.

Yet when I stared going to church and hearing about how Christians were supposed to take over the world and such, I thought that maybe this was my chance to be a part of something. To belong; to fit in. So I put everything I had into that concept, and you know what happened? I got burned. A lot. Used, mistreated, discouraged, you name it. After a while I begin to realize that I was back in that same place again. No, scratch that. I was in a worse place.  Because this time, it seemed as if God Himself was pointing the finger, laughing and saying, “hey, look at her, she’s different.” It was at that point where I made the decision to do whatever it took to be normal. 

Which leads me to the excitement of this death blog I was planning to write. Like I said before, I figured it out. Our Christianity was not to become some super heroes that save the world, but we were supposed to live in community and deal with our flesh. Didn’t Jesus come in the flesh? Then why do we believe that we are supposed to by-pass our flesh to some supernatural place where there are no problems and we suddenly become perfect and rich and blah blah blah? I was sick and tired of it! I couldn’t live with the pressure! I’m just one person, what can I possibility do to change anything? Leave me alone!!!!! 

Then a friend gave me a book entitled “Wide Awake” by Erwin McManus. I was only interested in reading it because he was an artist. But the first few pages started to talk about being a hero and I started to lose count of how many times I rolled my eyes. Not this again. I don’t want to be a hero. Why can’t I just be normal?

But as I begin to read more, something started to happen. It was like something on the inside was pulling on me. But I can assure you that my stubbornness was not going to go down without a fight! Chapter after chapter I found myself in a tug-o-war between my stubborn desire to be normal and the desire to give into the words on the page. 

“You’re trying to be normal” 

Yes I am!

“You’re settling for less”

So what?...

“You should expect more”

You don’t even know me Mister!

“I may not know you personally, but this I know about you without question-there is a hero within you waiting to be awakened”

...

What kind of normal person argues with a book anyway?

Last night, I stayed up past midnight simply because it was New Year’s Eve. As I lay in bed wide awake, I began to try to reflect on things I wanted to do in 2012.  I couldn’t seem to shake this whole hero thing…I felt as if the spirit was saying,

“When was the last time you lived a normal life?”

As I begin to think about it, I couldn’t honestly remember when. I don’t even think I know how to be normal. 

“What is normal?”

Normal: Conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected.

“Well, is that what you want?”

Of course I don’t want that. No one wants that! But I didn’t want to be the butt of anyone’s jokes either. Or try to explain something only for people to look at me like I’m crazy. Or to be used again. And if it took being normal to avoid that then I was willing to do it. 

Then I remembered that poem…

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others

.

It was in light of all of this that I remembered the blog I wrote about being a prophetic scribe. I can still remember that feeling of excitement I get when I think about it. 

And that’s when I realized that I will never be normal. 

I will always be different. 

My brothers and sisters will never stop teasing me.

But if I can really take a step out and really believe in who God has called me to be, then I can possibly change someone else’s life. 

So I guess heroes aren’t dead after all. Yes we are called to live in community and deal with our flesh and with real life, but it’s how we live that makes us heroes. Just because Jesus came in the flesh and died in the flesh doesn’t mean he didn’t conquer it. To deny the hero within is to deny the fact that of Jesus’ resurrection, and thus my own. Because he rose, I can live an extraordinary life. I can be a hero.