WOW! ANOTHER BIRTHDAY!

On my desk, perched to the left of my laptop is one of those clever cliches, rather glib I think.  It says, "YOUTH IS A GIFT. AGE IS AN ART."

Before I go off, waxing the incredible wisdom that I have gleaned from living so many years, just let me say,

I'm still working on the "AGE IS AN ART" part.

Birthdays usually trigger me into contemplative moods. In my imagination, I visualize my life as  a room full of many doors -- doors that have opened in the past, and I have walked through them or doors that have been shut and I ignored the obvious, and blasted right through them anyway.  But --

There are doors that are still standing open, right now one in particular.  And I am tiptoeing around the threshold, hesitating to commit to the dance, one foot in, and then, whoa, one foot out.   Kind of like the two-step at my sixth-grade box social. Not fully committed to walking through.

 But I do know this much.

On this birthday, I am truly grateful.  Exuberantly, extraordinarily and exactingly GRATEFUL! Is it because I am old or because I am a writer, all three adjectives mean something special?  You dear reader can decide.

Exuberantly thankful! For my love of eating! Smelling the aromas of homemade bread and white cake wafting from the oven, and mouth-watering plumes of barbecue smoke from steaks and ribs on the grill.  The joy of crunching into corn on the cob dripping in butter, a vine-ripened Iowa tomato bursting with flavor only heat and humidity can produce (my Midwest roots) and finally, who can pass up a plate of steaming pasta piled on a plate with homemade marinara sauce,  grated garlic and Parmesan cheese melting on top?

For music!  All kinds.  Cranked up.  Lots of drums! Cellos yes!  Dancing in my living-room in my sweats, barefooted, no make-up, and my dog howling at the top of his lungs, thinking it is one big game!

For good books! Curled up. In my favorite chair, hot Irish breakfast tea, cat on my lap, journals and a book close by. I call it exuberant peace. Do I scoot out of my chair onto my knees with prayers of gratitude?  Often.  Very often.

Next --EXTRAORDINARILY!

Extraordinarily humbled by my marriage to Brian. God has brought us through!  The fruit?  So much, but for us, talking and listening and learning how to do both -- has been a constant. Used to be over a beer, but now? A cup of  his freshly-brewed coffee in the comfort of Saturday mornings, talking as only people the same age and married 36 years can share. Deep, superficial, laughing, crying, praying, sometimes all at once.  We ponder often these days -- what life at our age should look like? What is God doing in our lives?  What should we be doing in His?  (And, really, is it the same thing?) Is the next house project worth the energy?  Did the dog just run right through our new patio screen door!!??  Shall we go out for ice cream like NOW!?

Extraordinarily thankful that I could be a mother when I wasn't sure whether my body was up to it.  Even more grateful that I birthed a kid that I not only loved, but that I liked. Tony shares the family bonding agent -- humor. Laughter with him, always!   He has surpassed his mother in cooking skills. Cooking with him is a joy -- letting him cook and then eating the deluge of texture and goodness that he prepares is even more of a delight.  Grateful I can be a part of his journey and watch him navigate the complex challenges he faces as a young man.   I learn from his journey, oh boy, do I learn.

Extraordinarily sobered is truly the word  that comes to mind as I ponder the deep colors of my friendships. The fine workings, the sometimes rugged terrain, the peaceful oases, the fight, the companionship of love, pain, confusion, despair, and hope which I experience with people who truly share their hearts and lives with me takes my breath away at times. Some are kindred spirits, others walk their own journey though they don't share my beliefs, but they honor me anyway.  And I, honor them.

A special hug to my inner circle.  You know who you are. And my life is enriched because you are my family, because I need you, and you need me.  A circle of unending love -- it pours in from places in our hearts where we expect it to come -- but it also surprises us when wow! God takes us into unexpected treasure troves to bless us one to another.

To my mentors, those who guard me in prayer, and keep me on the path where I belong -- I must make special mention.  Dr. Virginia Phillips, Dr. Mark Strong, Pastor Marla Strong, Pastors Bernis and Betty Dorsey, and the dear one I just lost, Lottie Thurman. To you all, well, there are no words strong enough.  Thank you from my heart.

And finally, we come to Exactingly Grateful.  Interesting adjective, and perhaps one that is a little puzzling. This is the threshold of the door(s) I'm afraid to cross. A scary place. Hesitant, fear, and insecurity follow me here.  I've been here many times -- as an awkward sixth-grader at my first dance, a teenager shaking in the wings as I await my turn in a state competition, in pain as my first love told me he was in love with someone else, devastated as I pulled a D in my first college exam, after studying forever, scared as a new wife, and a new mother, and leveled at the loss suffered in both of those roles. So, have I earned the right to be hesitant?

As I practice Exacting Gratitude, I understand from the past, that I've passed those thresholds of "scary" before.  They are guideposts of where I've been, because by the grace of the good Lord, I have purposed, EXACTED myself on the path that Jesus has already laid for me. For every fear and battle scar,  there is restoration and reconciliation. Where there is mystery and fear and insecurity, there is opportunity to stand, to have more courage, and to walk from shaking to assurance.

I am not exempted from the journey because I am old.  I must exact myself in new disciplines (love to walk as much as I love to eat!), learn new levels of my gift (I DID after all give up my good old Royal typewriter), and position myself to surrender.  Reads easy, works hard.

Can I say I am no longer scared?

No, but I can say this --

I am no longer a sixth-grader doing the two-step at a box social.

I am an adult, replete with the richness of my own life lived sometimes with success, sometimes with failure, and sometimes with everything in- between.  I am alive, kicking, moving along, singing a song, eyes wide-open.

So, I ask myself, is this what "AGE IS AN ART "means?

We'll see!

I have my dancing shoes on, and I hear music just beyond that threshold.

Happy Birthday to me!















































   

GOOD-BYE MY KITCHEN TABLE FRIEND -- Lottie Thurman March 16, 1936 - May 20, 2017

Good friends are precious gifts from God.  As I grow older, so does my gratitude for those closest to me. And as I say good-bye to this dear one with whom I have shared so much, again I am aware –

That intimacy takes time and effort.  At times sweat and tears.

Sometimes those efforts and blessings are accomplished over years.  Other times, God plants people in our path, allowing the Holy Spirit to do not only a “fast work” but,

A “deep work.”

In my life – Lottie Thurman fell in the latter camp.

I only knew her for 7 years.  We accomplished much in those 7.  We prayed together on Wednesdays as a general rule, but prayer time for us was an adventure.  We could count on it!!

And, it was always done at Lottie’s large solid oak table. Chattering began as soon as I crossed over the threshold of her front door, often dashing to her bathroom to relieve my “aging bladder.”  Didn’t distract our line of sharing the week’s events one whit – I cracked the bathroom door and we talked and chuckled even as I sat on the throne.  Nothing was outside the purview of discussion.  Obama vs. Bush, war versus peace, barbecue versus well – no discussion

.

 Our Wednesdays started with talking about our week, our general condition, what we were cooking, how smoothly life was going (or not), the garbage man out front, the neighbor renovating the house across her street, the new woman who moved in next to me, and where were we going for lunch?

 We hung out on the front porch in the summer, cackling and howling with laughter, often, -- just because.  Because it was a joy to be together.  Often in restaurants people would approach us and ask if we were related to one another – another woman came up after an event we had attended and said, “You two are having so much fun, have you known each other all of your lives?” Once when we were waiting in a doctor’s office, a woman also waiting beside us said, “You act like best-friend sisters!” Lottie, of course did not miss a beat, “We are sisters!!  Sisters in the Lord Jesus Christ!”

 For those who don’t know.  Lottie Thurman was a black woman, born in Marks, Mississippi to sharecroppers, who married a military man,  birthed four boys, was widowed, and went on to become a registered nurse, and also earned several other degrees enabling her to serve as a school nurse for 27 years in Dayton, Ohio. In 2003 she came to Portland, OR, whereupon she immersed herself into life in the Pacific Northwest, which included in a big way, Life Change Church.

And for those who probably might know, I am a white woman, born in Chicago, Illinois, raised and educated in the Midwest until I came to Portland, OR in 1976. I am twice married, birthed one son, lost a stepson, and earned a degree in Journalism. Though writing always was a part of my life in some fashion, I never held a job for more than seven years, and began attending Life Change Church in 2009.

In short, we were from different cultures, had vastly varied experiences, and yet –

People viewed us as sisters.  I have my own view of why that was true.  Fun and everyday life we shared; but prayer truly was the bond.

Lottie enjoyed life.  But in everything, with everything, and through everything, God stood strong in the center.  She was an intercessor at the very core of who she was.  And as a fellow intercessor, I enjoyed partnering with her, learning from her, and watching with her. 

As a fellow intercessor, I would be truly remiss if I did not speak about my joy of interceding with Lottie, and her joy as being an intercessor!  As with any intimate relationship, conversation and connection is key.  And so it is with prayer.  Lottie knew how to connect, how to listen, with God and with other people.

And,

They knew it.  Part and parcel of who she was, a light shining on a hill, people came to her to depend, and partake, of her light through who she was, and how she prayed.  I was no different, and as we partnered in prayer, God was faithful to us as a team, and as sisters, one to another.  We learned much about love – we went to the mat with those things we felt strongly about—mostly culture and politics, and when neither of us backed down, we took a deep breath, walked about the house, and sat back down to either work through the matter at hand, or to agree to disagree.

 

But prayer always followed.  Always. 

And God always answered.  Always.

Good-bye my friend.  Good-bye.  I will revel in seeing you on the other side.

SUNSHINE!

Sunshine!  I am sitting at my computer, reveling in a scarce commodity these days.  My body and mind and soul feel more alive and I wonder at the preciousness of it.

And I feel during the dark days of winter, the absence of it.  Tired, grumpy, unmotivated – dead.

The harshness of this winter has taught me anew the importance of light in my life, and the difficulty to feel truly alive without it.

If you read the fine print, it says, DO NOT TRY THIS IN THE DARK!

Jesus tells His followers to be salt and light to those who do not believe, and in my grumpy state, I wonder at my ability to be light to anyone.  There are many lessons here, but a simple take-away for me this day is that I NEED THE LIGHT!

Walk in the light, and you will see the light.  Walk in the darkness and you will see the darkness.  Amazing what happens when you turn out the lights,

--You run into walls

--You cannot read

--Nope, no computers or cell phones either!

--You can’t recognize who is beside you

--Are those flowers on the mantel still there?

You get the picture. 

But you also cannot see the dust bunnies across the room, Aunt Phoebe’s picture on the wall, and the stains on the white sofa you thought you had to have before kids, dogs, rousing jump-a-thons with said pillows.

As a sitting elder to myself, I see both as I take spring inventory – the ways I spread light, and the dust bunnies in the nooks and crannies that have to be swept away. And I am well aware that without Jesus, I can, even as a sitting elder to myself, do neither.

And, to be honest, turning on the light of your soul and spirit can be risky. There is fine print here as well- BEWARE OF BRIGHT LIGHT! JESUS WILL APPEAR AND ASK YOU TO DO THINGS YOU MAY NOT WANT TO DO! HE MAY LEAD YOU INTO A MORE SATISFYING LIFE, ADVENTURE, FUN, AND TRIALS. SIGN UP HERE!

As I survey my life today, I’d pick the light every time.  It’s the only win-win on the boards.  For the satisfying?  I get to be who God created me to be.  For the adventure? Well, He parted the Red Sea for Moses, and God knows that life has many “red sea” challenges. Adventure? God will give you as much as you can take.  HE LOVES ADVENTURE! Trials? In the thick, He shines the brightest, and you know that you know, that He has your back.

And the fine print in my God portfolio?

I love you beloved daughter!  Come dance with me today in the light, come play with me, and let me show you greater things than you can imagine!

Beats stumbling around in the dark any day. 

Even in the Woebegone -- Merry Christmas!

Woebegone? Definition:  of woeful appearance; looking sorrowful, mournful or wretched.

What comes to mind at this time of year is Charlie Brown’s little Christmas tree.  Listing to the left, bereft of branches, and, but a single ornament or two. 

Lately that is how I have felt.

 

Listing to the left.

Bereft of branches,

Only a single ornament or two.

2016, a year of surprises, quick turns, not flip flops exactly, but bumper cars without the safety walls.  It’s been the smoothest year of not smooth I’ve ever encountered. I’ve had my share of “open doors of opportunity”, “didn’t see that coming,” or experiences where the only response was, “Uh?!”

For those who read me, you know that mostly I am not alone on this journey – mostly I am with the God of my understanding, God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

But as with any healthy relationship, there is mystery, there is a deepening, and for me, generally, there is a get-down with God about the “Uh’s”?  I know from my relationship with the Lord, that there is ALWAYS something to learn – about myself and about my God and what He is doing.  And in this Christmas season, I have noticed my listlessness and wondered about my lack of wonder.

I have walked with Jesus for 34 years.  And as I have pondered about the ups and downs of this year, I spent time reminiscing about my first Christmas spent as a born-again Christian.  And the true WONDER, awe, and excitement about it! 

Looked pretty woebegone on the outside for sure.  I was separated from my second husband, a single parent, no money, on the verge of losing the roof over my head– do you hear the violins?

For the record, the little drummer boy was my favorite Christmas song. And the poignancy of that song, still resides in my heart today.

Along with the profound remembrance of how precious the birth of Jesus was to my heart and the excitement of wanting to celebrate His birth!

Not able to afford a Christmas tree, I had an idea that I wanted a Jesse tree, which is a little tree with branches bereft of leaves, so that only homemade decorations could adorn it – ornaments truly born of a heart and hands to celebrate the season for which we sing, “Holy, Holy, Holy!”

Walking my two-year old around the block on a cold, windy, day two weeks before Christmas, I had one thing on my mind – GET HOME!

Behind me I heard a loud crack, and the sense something had fallen.  I turned around, and there it was—

My first Christmas tree – a Jesse tree.  I knew.  I saw the gift.

I cried and picked up what was a paltry little set of branches blown from a large tree moaning from the wind.  But it was perfectly proportioned.  I hurried home, stroller, baby, little branches and all.

I am not particularly a crafty person.  Well okay, my friends are reading this.  I can’t craft, period.

Didn’t matter – Bible verses written on parchment, little red ribbons, homemade angels, stick figures fashioned out of a lot of things – it was a beautiful little tree, fashioned out of my love, out of my heart, out of a life filled with woebegone, for the one I loved.

Jesus.

Last week in an ice storm trees split and lay torn all over the city.  I struggled with my motivation to feel the Christmas spirit. Was my heart weary from my  life changing beyond my control, experiences I didn’t and don’t understand, a world around me with people I love, grappling with challenges beyond my ability to fix?

This morning I looked upward, and bowed down.  On my knees.  Words of my condition stuck in my brain too easily wanting to fix it all.

I couldn’t. I can’t.

But, on my knees, I cried out the one thing I knew in my heart.  “Thank you for coming Jesus, thank you!” Woebegone or not, when I arose from my knees, I felt peace.

My prayer?  A whisper of my first Christmas with Jesus, a fanning of the flames of my heart of my portion of faith which was Jesus’ gift to me.

Though I didn't expect answers on that day of prayer, they came.  

It was a Jesse tree type day! 

Ornaments of my feelings of barrenness hung on a life with crooked branches, but in perfect proportion to God’s plan.

 I received exciting news from a good friend about refreshment and empowerment – a “happening” which just that morning exploded out of a prayer group at my church.  Was it their prayers that led me to my knees in the first place?

Later, I hurried to grocery shop before snowflakes turned to a “weather event,” but I stopped, jumped out of my car to hug and say good-bye to my neighbors as they loaded their U-Haul truck to leave a house lost to hard times.  Hugs and tears, they thanked me for loving them.

Then, as I loaded groceries into my car, a crippled homeless man in a worn jacket approached me in a now steady snowfall for “spare change.” My heart broke for him, and for my own inability to give him anything more than a paltry hand-out. I gripped his hands to warm them in mine and said in a faltering voice, “Jesus loves you.”

Another miracle.  We hugged in the now heavy snow fall, and with steady bright eyes, he smiled at me, “He loves me every day.”

 Awestruck, I climbed back into my car aware that this homeless man had given me the greater gift. Heavily falling snow and traffic jams once again took my focus on the burden of daily living!

Finally home, groceries unloaded, and sitting in my “chair” with a cup of hot tea, tree lights twinkling, I felt a stirring in my heart. Suddenly, quietly, but definitively, God was speaking.

  

Instinctively, I bundled up again to walk around my neighborhood in the silent beauty of newly fallen snow, Christmas lights gently welcoming the freshness of a blanket covering fallen branches of only a week ago. 

Just like the Jesse Tree.  I trod in the snow, looking at the houses, for the most part knowing who lived there.  Their joys, their sorrows.  This was not my turf.  It is God’s, and He has placed me here -- to live, to breathe, to commune in victories and sorrows with my neighbors.  To pray for them, and let them be who they are to me.

A peace fell upon my spirit as I walked, once again, understanding that in the woebegone, life is there.  Because of Jesus.

My questions of how to respond, of my angst at not having enough to spread around in this hurt-filled world, and how in my aging body, I can do anything, were suddenly, clearly answered.

I stopped in the beauty of the moment of God’s creation.  Full circle? Is it so simple that in my barrenness, answers, ornaments fall where they may, where God intends?  Is it so simple to surrender to daily life where we live and breathe, and resurrect a naked little tree with our love and ornaments?

I think it is.

Merry Christmas!

THE JURY IS IN!

OOPS! Sorry for the technological foul-up last post which was NOTHING THERE!  My fault.

In THE JURY IS STILL OUT, I reflected on the past summer and early fall as I experienced life in a whirlwind, but wondering what lies ahead?  The question I asked myself in that blog was "How will I respond?  With love, grace, authenticity and courage?"

One thing about God.

He will answer.  IN HIS WAY.

This morning as I arose to tackle the piles mounting on my desk, I put on worship music, and pondered on Romans 6:13.  "Do not yield your members to sin as instruments of wickedness, but yield yourselves to God as men who have been brought from death to life, and your members to God as instruments of righteousness." (Revised Standard Version)

Not even thinking about my own questions buried in the day's agenda, God grabbed me with this verse.  Suddenly I forgot about the tyranny of the urgent as I felt the presence of  God descend upon me.

Sitting in His grip, He had my attention now.  So, HE ASKED ME HIS QUESTIONS!

What would happen if you prayed with compassion for Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, and Barak Obama?

What would happen if you prayed for every kid that showed up at your door, Halloween and all?

What would happen if you ditched negativity and began to see with God's eyes every human being in your daily life with a touch, a smile, or a nod?

What would happen if you upped your tips to those who serve you?

What would happen if you rejoiced over your dear husband,  his strengths, his weaknesses every day of your life?

What would happen if you danced with joy over your child as I, the King of Kings, grow him up?

What would happen if you did as I, the Lord Jesus Christ, suggested that you do on N.E. 162nd street -- that is, take a lawn chair, set it up in the parking lot of every apartment complex (42 to be exact) and just be.  Pray.  Think.
Watch.  Smile,  And SEE.

What would happen if you invited someone you didn't know into your home who is homeless to sleep on your couch?

What would happen if someone pulled a gun on you?

What would happen if you were stalked by a pimp because you were housing one of his prostitutes? Would you pray for him too?

What would happen if you sold your house, and slept with the homeless on the cold, rainy streets?

What would happen if you danced with Me, Your God in the rain?

What would happen if you shouted out with the glee of being My child whether on the streets or inside the church?

What would happen if you sold out for My Son, Who died for you, Jesus?

The rumble of an almighty God stirring His child.  I am stirred.  Shaken and sobered.

Stay tuned and walk with me through this next season.  As of this morning, I am in a new Stead, allowing His standards to work on this broken vessel as the Holy Spirit works. Remember, I asked how I would respond -- in love, grace, authenticity, and courage?

And He answered.  With His questions.

THE JURY IS STILL OUT

An eventful summer.

I learned lots and connected lots.

I lost the white spaces on my calendar.  Appointments over appointments. (Remember six months ago? I had plenty of white space on my calendar! Headed for the hills, grabbed Andrew Murray's WAITING ON GOD and had lots of contemplative time!)

Not so this summer,

 Either my extrovert ways grabbed me by the nape of my neck and pulled me into an extreme vortex of connectivity, OR, I took total advantage of walking through new open doors with zeal and excitement.  I will claim the latter.

Caught up with friends I hadn't spoken to for 20 years, met in a book study with others, and together we explored our own vulnerability and authenticity.  I listened to incredible testimonies from pastors of other cultures who honored me with their stories.  Once again, I climbed to a higher vantage point with my own perspectives.

And, I responded with due diligence to the call of jury duty.  Be still my beating heart.

I gritted my teeth over the November election.  I "rumbled" with God (to use 'Rising Strong"author' Brene Brown's terminology) about what in the world is my response to be?!

I regained my love of cooking again, thanks to my adult son Tony, whose meals melt in my mouth, and who is a joy to co-create with!

I smiled at my tiny weeny green thumb experiment as my favorite geranium  survived last winter and screamed at me with spectacular blooms, "I AM ALIVE!  YOU DIDN'T KILL ME!"

I had cataract surgery.  NOW  I can see clearly. I turn off the news, and go to prayer instead.

I ramped up my technological expertise.  I upgraded to Iphone 6 in spite of my husband's warnings that he could not help me with Apple stuff.

Ah ha!  he was right!  I had to be a big girl.  ONCE AGAIN.  Most techies are okay, but my son is the gentlest at responding to his mother's ignorance.  Does that make me a big girl?  Or, a grateful mother.

I vowed that after last year's family intervention with my fanatic football fervor, I would scale it down this year.  No sweat after watching frantic flailing by the Oregon Ducks.  Wow.

A new season is upon us, and THE JURY IS STILL OUT, on the following:

On whether I can finish my novel before the end of next year.  So far, I love my characters!  After all, I created them!  (Note to self:  Is that how God the Father feels about us?)

After marching out of my last jury duty stint in June, I was assured that for two years, TWO YEARS, I would not be called again.  Someone do the math -- I have a summons at my right hand to report for jury duty November 7th.

The election and the future of this country. I strongly suggest reading Beth Moore's "The Scandal of the Election 2016.  A good friend  sent it to me amidst my rumbling thoughts of"Oh Lord! what is to become of  us?" Moore's take not only grounded me from the craziness swirling around the country, but she encouraged me.  Take the time to read it!  It is worth it.

I am convinced that the storms of life will continue.  You think? Question is, how will I respond?

With love, grace, authenticity, and courage?

As I have listened and watched issues cross my life's path this past summer, I am moved to dig and share a little deeper, watch a little closer, love a little more, show grace in the midst of uncertainty and be brave in trying.  Love to have you join me as I unfold a new blog  in the next months, which plays more to my journalistic instincts. As I have experienced in my adventures of late, we can disagree and still find common ground.  For me, I need to practice this more!  So come join me and we can practice together.  The blog is still unnamed, if you have any suggestions, let me know!

"Coffee's On" will continue as always.  My lighter, more random side.

For now, thanks a latte for joining me.  (Had to do it.)

BLACK OR WHITE?

Just when you think things cannot get more divisive, they do. 

As recent events in our country erupt, I watch black Americans and white Americans shoot, one to another, and I struggle to respond, not react.

 As a Christian, I know I am an alien in a foreign country (Hebrews 11).  I know that unity is the answer; love heals all; and that what I see in front of me,

Is not it!

Can I solve the myriad of problems we see unfold?

No.

Can I be honest about my own reactions?

Yes.

In an inter-racial event last summer, my own prejudices grabbed me, and exposed a naked ugliness that exploded from the nooks and crannies of my heart.  Surprised me.  Why?

Because if you had asked me prior to the incident, my answer to “Are you prejudiced?” would be, “No!”

Reflection upon that answer alone embarrasses me.  The pride, the glibness, and more to the point,

The unknowing of my own heart.

Jeremy (not his real name) changed my unknowing, to a painful knowing.   The scene?  My neighborhood last summer, hot, humid, Friday evening.  I partnered with a team, two African-Americans who focused on the black community – the program, tagged 11:45, purposed teams who consistently “showed up” to be a solution, a listening ear, a hug, a prayer.

We wore chartreuse tee-shirts, and walked the area every Friday night during the summer.

Most of you know, I am white, a senior, and – well to be honest, not much in tune with what I witnessed that summer.

My journal began to foreshadow my true feelings, “I feel invisible during these walks, and I don’t like being invisible!” But wait!  It gets worse.

Jeremy’s apartment building set the scene – kids playing in the parking lot, the hot concrete their only playground on that hot night –T.V.’s blaring through windows with no screens, and adults hanging out windows to catch a breeze.  Jeremy approached our team immediately, his conversation grew more heated as his evident anger increased, and he shouted, “This god-forsaken neighborhood, I am sick and tired of those blankety-blank no-goods taking over my neighborhood and sending me to this white slum!”

A push-me-over-the-cliff moment!  My own anger rose, I clenched my fists, I felt short of breath, and I knew without a doubt that I could have, WOULD have thrown a punch, had a pastor not been by my side (and probably praying!) My thoughts, crystal clear, screamed “Then get out you dirty rotten scoundrel.  This is my neighborhood, and I don’t like the likes of you in this place!”

A come-to-Jesus moment.

I wish I could report that instantly I saw the error of my own prejudice.  I didn’t.  That MY neighborhood indeed was NOT MINE!

Over the next months, I journaled, sat with those on my team, confessed my true feeling, submitted my resignation to the team (they refused, and loved me into staying), and talked much with my black friends about my own feelings, confused.

My journals are rich with our conversations – and perhaps they will find their way into a deeper essay.  But as I recognized my own predilections based upon my own experiences, I owned them.  I see that as a white person, I can never fully empathize with a black person’s pain, induced in a society where I am in the majority. I can understand that I don’t understand.

 Cultural differences are real, but the richness all the more evident as connections are forged.  I will end with a quotation of a good friend whose response to our dialogues sums up my heart as well.

“The default in this country is white.  There’s food and ethnic food, there’s history and black history.  I will know this country has truly made progress when history includes all history.  Right now all folks need to acknowledge and appreciate and COMPREHEND (italics mine) the value in the differences and diversity of people.”

I, personally, am on a new journey.  I have work to do. 

But God.

 -