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.

28...for the last time

So, today is the last day that I can say I am 28 years old.
I don't know what to say about that. One one hand, I'm glad to be getting older; on the other hand....I'm getting older! The response that I've been getting has been quite funny actually. People who are older than me feel compelled to tell me what happens when I am to hit whatever age they declare as "downhill"
 "You probly won't be able to drink coffee after 35...it all goes downhill from there"
"My eyes went when I was 40 so enjoy it while it lasts"
Then there are those younger than me who feel compelled to remind me of my youthfullness...
"what! 29? I thought you were in your early 20's"
"you exude youthfullness!"
Is this what happens when you get close to 30? That limbo where young people think you're old and old people think you're young? Where does that leave me? I can see why people go through mid or quarter life crisis! Geesh!

Going from 28 to 29 is, well...kinda weird. It's like one of those ages that doesn't really count; just gets you one step closer to 30.....30, the age where everyone starts to question why you are not married, don't have kids...you know the "what the hell are you doing with your life" questions. (I am soooo looking forward to those!) And though I'm not in a rush to do either of those things, because our culture tells us that it must be done...people will ask. And I will tell them "when I get good and ready to! Besides, unless you are going to pay for the wedding, diapers, bottles, college tuition...not to mention the marital counseling that will result from two people being pressured into getting married because society tells them that there's no better time than now, even though they are not ready...then you can pick whatever date you wish!" That should scare em off for a while ;)

But in all seriousness.....I'm looking forward to 29. It seems to have a bit of sophistication to it, yet is still young enough to have a lil fun! Mostly, (and sad to say) I'm looking forward to leaving 28 behind. Its been a long year. And though I know that I've learned a lot this year, I'd much rather just take my lessons and leave the drama behind (thank you very much). I am praying that 29 will be very different than 28. But, nevertheless, I'm hoping to enjoy this last day and go out of this year with style!

Voices in my head

Great. Now that I have your attention.
I'm not crazy...
Well, that's not entirely true, but who's counting?
I'm only writing because I can't seem to focus. This quarter has been really hard on me. I find myself frustrated more often (as is the reason for my previous posts) and have been trying to figure out why. Well I think I know at least a part of it.
It's the voices in my head.
Now, now; lets not get carried away. I do not have voices telling me to do crazy things. What I mean by this is all of the negitivity that I've come against has had a way of eating away at my confidence. Allow me to explain:
I wrote an article for the SEMI about my experience with spiritual abuse this summer. In a nutshell, someone tried to place impossible expectations on me and when I stopped allowing it, they figured it was because I was "out of the will of God." As easy as it was just to re-tell my story; it was hard to write. I had to realize that this article was only a small piece of the discouragement that I've encountered. I didn't realize how much affect it had on me. But as I sit here trying to answer questions in my New Testament class, or write exegitical papers or even read the assigned reading, I realize that those words are still there.
It's really hard to ask questions when no one seems to think they're important enough to answer properly. It's also hard to give your opinion when your opinion has always been disregarded. I remember when I first expressed that I thought I wanted to be a "minister." Instead of encouragement, I got a lecture on what it really means to be "called." In other words; you may think you are, but you are not. Here's another example:
Deacon: what do you want to be when you grow up?
Me: I want to be a writer
Deacon: Well, how are you going to make money?
Me: uh...I'm going to be a writer
Deacon: oh, you just think you are going to get by because you are cute huh?
Me: ....
Eventually I started to internalize the "you are not good enough" language well enough to speak it on my own. Now instead of others telling me I'm not good enough, I just continue to play those stories and others like broken records in my head. When I'm not playing those, I'm playing the ones that say "you have to be the best." or "you need to be better than everyone, even your teachers."
You can only imagine the stress this can create. It's a lose-lose situation. And for some reason, I find that I deal with these voices more often as of late. Why, I'm not sure. But I am praying for those glimpses of soberness to last long enough so that I can at least get some work done.
Eventually, I know I am going to have to learn how to silence those voices of negativity and to embrace who God has truly called me to be. I can only hope that it happens soon...

My dream

OK so last night I had this dream that I can't seem to figure out. Normally, I never remember my dreams so when I do remember one (and with some detail) I always pay attention.

I'm not sure where the dream starts but I'm in a diner and I'm at a table with my 5-year old self. Now, I'm not sure how I know that this 5 year old is me, but I do. She (or I rather, or mini-me?) is sitting at the table with a laptop. She is telling me how she always wanted to go to seminary, mostly because she had a dream of a woman in seminary (not sure who, but I remember she was white, and her last name started with a K) who either told her she needed to go to seminary or something like that. The woman mini-me had a dream about was indeed someone I knew as my adult self (or I knew in the dream).
I told my 5-year old self not to give up on her dream to go to seminary or that woman, because it was going to come true (because in the dream I was in seminary and had a relationship with this woman). I told mini-me not to let anyone take away her dream, no matter how hard they tried, cause it was going to come true.
Then a woman walked into the diner to pick mini-me up. I took one look at the woman and started to cry. I realized the woman was my mother. I was crying because (in the dream) my mother died when I was a child and to see her now was overwhelming. She didn't seem to notice me though. It was then that I realized that I was in the diner but I actually wasn't (if that makes sense). I then also realized that I wasn't alone; there was a friend with me (a female friend).

Now, this dream is weird for several reasons:
1. I don't recall ever wanting to go to seminary when I was 5 or having any dreams about it
2. I have no clue who the woman with the last name that starts with a K is.
3. The "mother" in the dream was not my real mother (I think she was some actress in a TV show I saw the other night)
4. My real mother is still alive (thank God)

So...I have no idea what this dream could mean. I feel like I'm supposed to remember it for some reason but I have no clue why....it just makes no sense.

Human Filtration System

So...it seems as if my last blog sparked much conversation! Most of which I wasn't expecting of course, as writers never really believe people actually READ their blogs. I find it interesting that so many different conclusions were drawn from it, from my "hatred" for seminary to dropping out of school altogether. I can assure you that neither of those are my intentions or feelings. Now, granted, I said some serious stuff (that obviously struck a cord with many of you) and though I am not here to explain myself, I do want to point out what I learned from this experience.

The first bit of knowledge comes in the form of advice from a good friend of mine: "Don't sign contracts when you're happy and don't publish blogs when you're angry."
Point taken.

The other point though (and reason for this blog entry) is what I learned about the "human filtration system," that is, how people read into and take out of what I (or someone else) writes. I'm currently taking a course in Exegetical Methods (how convenient) where one of the main points is to realize what you "bring" to the reading. It is important for us to realize that we do not read anything outside of ourselves. Our experiences, families, dislikes, hobbies, thoughts, concepts, and theology all play apart in how we take in information. It also plays a part of how we process and draw conclusions from the information we take in. I thought it was very interesting how suggestions of "leaving school" or "disliking the structure of school" came from individuals who themselves shared this same viewpoint or thought. I am not saying that this is the case for every comment or conversation by any means, but it is something that was pointed out to me. I had to realize that as a writer I have no real control over what people will ultimately take from what I write. I can only be as clear as I possibly can to communicate what it is what I feel or say. And I have found this week that writing when you are high on any type of emotion does not always guarantee the best communication. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not (it's my blog and I'll cry if I want to!)

Now, I can go on some tangent on how this experience caused me to struggle with reading the Word in a new way, simply because I realize from a writers prospective how things written are not always "set in stone" but (in some ways) become subject to the person doing the reading. But I think I  will save that for a later blog. What I find interesting in all of this is the ability (or lack thereof) to "struggle" or to contend with things without absolutes, that is, the fight with ambiguity we often find ourselves in, and the discomfort that it brings.

Why is it that we need to hold on to absolutes? And by this I mean, why do we need to always be quick to find the answers? I find myself in the midst of a deconstruction process that I can't seem to fully articulate and yet I'm shocked to see one of two things: 1. Others who seem to have skipped this process of seminary or refuse to admit it and 2. those around me (not just at school) who wish to put a label or to clearly identify what it is that I am "going through." No, I am not dropping out of school and no, I do not have any "hatred" toward school. I actually enjoy my classes (when I'm not so frustrated that the teachers seem like they're straight out of "Charlie Brown") and I am in fact doing well in them. But that doesn't make it any easier. The fact that I seem "OK" doesn't disqualify me from the process of deconstruction of one's theology. I see it like this:

Imagine realizing that you have been spoon-fed your theology your entire life, only to be left with a strong desire for more. You are then invited to a table, yet when you sit down to a great buffet, you realize that you have no idea how to feed yourself?

That's how I feel. I find that everything I thought I knew about God was the idea of someone else (granted, our ideas and perceptions are in a way a combination of other peoples ideas, but lets not get caught up in the particulars). I feel as if the only way I can see the "God I know and serve" is through the lens of other people. I want to know God, really know Him, for myself, but I find myself ill-equipped to learn. 

Seminary, in my first year of course, has a way of unveiling every God you have ever served and begs the question, "Pick one?" Well, I've realized that the gods in front of me all suck. Not that the all are just horrible, they have their good sides, but for some reason I've created gods that suit my needs and make me comfortable. Gods that fit in my form of absolutes and provide clear concise answers to my questions. Maybe in a way, that's what I expected from seminary; embracing the God that answers my questions. Instead I feel like I've been confronted with the God who asks me questions; questions I cant seem to fully understand let alone answer.

 For those of you who find yourselves in the same position; keep the conversation going. There are so many students that feel the same way and have no one to talk to about it. Engage other students in the conversation, and your teachers as well. I have found (the hard way) that some teachers wish to be apart of this conversation. Don't be afraid to live without absolutes or complete answers to your questions (as Paul did) or to really say what you are feeling (as David did). Part of my reconstruction is embracing this process of deconstruction and allowing myself to, well, feel human, fragile, ill-equipped and unprepared to take on this thing called life. And to situate myself in a community of people with issues like me.

I am sure this blog makes no sense, but I am in a place where nothing really makes sense so I don't think I'll produce any sensible work anytime soon. But what I can say is that God has a way of working with things that are foolish. With that being said, I am sure He has plenty of work to do where I'm concerned.

Before the smoldering ends...

As I embark on the third week of this new quarter, I find myself becoming a little skeptical. What the hell am I doing here again? I find myself questioning everything, but having no real interest in the answer itself. I'm getting frustrated in the fact that I find myself drowning in the particulars; that is, surrounded by the "facts" and "points" of what makes up this whole "theology thing" but cant seem to see the exit to where all this stuff makes sense or will actually be of use to me. I find myself disinterested in the material presented to me (hence the reason I'm typing this blog during class) and completely detached at it's implied results (whatever those may be). Is this what seminary does to you? Strips you of your desire to know God and replaces it with facts about what other people think about God? Kills your "passion for His name" and replaces it with the principles of man? I can only hope that that is not my fate, but can't help but to notice the symptoms that lend to this diagnosis.

So what then? Do I just continue down this road and follow it to the depths of wherever it may lead? What does this "disinterest" really say about where I am right now? How do I "overcome" this and is it really worth overcoming? Granted, I would like to get something out of this, but my point for being here is nothing to do with grades (though it is a part) or knowledge (though that also is a part). I am simply a girl who made a vow to follow her God to the ends of the Earth. How that got me to seminary, I have no clue.

So, I can only hope that the passion I once had for God, His Word, His People, and all that includes will be reignited again.Cause for some reason, life has seemed to put a dampening on that fire, and I find myself "blowing smoke" in efforts to regain that passion. Maybe that passion has past, and a new passion is now required for this new season. Again, I am not sure. I can only hope that the rekindling will happen soon, before the smoldering ends...