Shift

The text made my shoulders droop. Queasiness snaked through my stomach. Her distress fell on me like a bowling ball and I sharply exhaled from the sudden weight of it all. I staggered into the office stairwell, my vision blurred as tears filmed my eyes.  My heavy sigh sounded hollow in the empty stairwell as I tried to deal with the heaviness sitting on me.

"Lord, what's going on with my family?"

My 16-year-old cousin Lianna has always been such a quiet soul. She's never really shared much about herself to our family, only allowing another 16-year-old cousin, Tia, into her world. She is a proud Mommy's girl, never seeming to leave her mother's side and tagging along happily on tedious and often unnecessary shopping trips and errands. 

We know that she is reserved. We know that she loves music. We know that she loves her family.

But we wondered. 

About her sagging jeans. 

About her triple X size hoodies and T-shirts. 

About her utter horror at having to wear make-up.

About how she had to be forced to wear dresses. 

About her distaste for wearing her shoulder length hair in curls and waves and desire to wear it in cornrows. 


We wondered.


 And we found out when she told her mother that she was interested in women. 


Her mother weeped from the lowest part of herself, her heart broken. Once I heard what happened, I immediately began praying for my aunt and her reaction/thoughts about this ordeal. I  asked God to watch over my cousin, to free her from that spirit and to restore her heart, mind, and soul.


But while pondering and praying about them, I had to insert a spiritual addendum for Tia.  


Tia is a natural beauty and charmer. Her honey colored eyes and smooth chipmunk cheeks have given her many a high school admirer, a fact that she unapologetically enjoys. She was born to delight, easily eliciting smiles and laughs from anyone she encounters. 

Life hasn't been so delightful for her lately.

Tia's relationship with her mother has been typical, both rocky and smooth. But their 18 year age difference has put them on a level that fosters deep affection but washes away important boundaries.


 Recently, her mother did something out of the ordinary:


She viciously cursed at her and her 8-year-old sister. 


While physically disciplining the younger girl, her mother turned on Tia, who had intervened. Her mother spat at Tia to 

"mind her f****** business. Who the f*** is she?"

She then announced that she doesn't give a f*** what the two girls eat for dinner because she wasn't cooking s***.

The anger and the language and the viciousness with which it was used shocked the two daughters. They spent that night crying from hurt and fear. Tia had decided that she had enough and wanted to leave home to live with a relative. 


Tia's text about the events collided with Lianna's already spinning tornado and absolutely knocked the wind out of me. I tried to soothe and mend as I could, asking God for guidance, for direction and for words to say. 


Soon, I ran out of words. 


And strength. 


It's funny; sometimes you don't think anyone else sees the strain you feel. 


I asked my life coach to add them to her prayer list, which she did. But she also was concerned about me and told me something I forgot (which I often do):

"You need to shift all this off you and onto God. Cast it on the One who is really equipped to carry it."

Though we are to bear one another's burdens, we certainly aren't built to bear them forever or for long.


Shifting it off to Someone with stronger shoulders...

---


For He knows how weak we are; He remembers we are only dust.
-Psalm 103:14

Pain

As a child, I suffered from severe stomach cramps. My stomach would wrinkle and crunch like an accordion and then stretch out like a rubber band about to pop. The pain would radiate from my belly to my thighs to my belly and then wash all over me, and I would lie motionless in a pool of nausea. 

Besides medicine,  I developed ways to deal with it. Curling up in a ball. Walking back and forth. But most of the time, I would gingerly sit down on our sofa and rock back and forth until the pain fled. In my mind, there could be no feeling worse than this. The stings and bangs and aches of the body were tiers above any other type of damage. 

But then I grew up and experienced pain that I didn't even know existed. 

Bruised feelings. 

Broken hopes. 

A cracked heart. 

I remember one evening where my emotions were in complete disarray. I felt like I was suffocating.  Hurt and sorrow and joylessness were piled, one on top of the other. 

They were crushing me. 

On the phone was my sister, who was trying to lift them. She somehow made sense out of my breathless tear-laced phrases and said, 

"You are emotionally exhausted.

Take a shower and lie down."

 So I did. I laid in my bed with tears sliding down my skin, choking on this pain, praying that relief would come soon. 


I used to think that one was worse than the other. 


Not so.


In all its forms, pain hurts. 

Dollar

I was louder than usual. I was bolder than usual. But the statement was so jarring that I had no time to censor myself. 

"You did what?"

 My coworker Bernard repeated himself, reciting it once again with no shame. 

"I bought salmon from the dollar store."

He smiled nonchalantly and nodded his head. During a shopping trip, Bernard had decided to take advantage of a great deal and purchase some dinner, stuffed salmon, from a dollar store. His previous food purchases from those stores always ended well,particularly when he bought one of his favorite snacks, Fig Newtons.


"You could get a whole fig in one bite," he said, his eyes glazing over at the memory. 


 I appreciate the financial relief that dollar stores bring but I'm scared of buying anything from there that I have to chew, absorb or ingest. 


Their items cost a dollar for a reason.

 "So, how was it?"

Bernard began to laugh. When he got home and began to prepare the salmon, he made a disappointing discovery. 


There was only an inch of salmon meat. More than half of the "salmon" was breadcrumb stuffing.


What have we learned? You get what you pay for. 

In the dark

Growing up, I was afraid of the dark. I hated going into a room that was coated in blackness and especially falling asleep in a lightless bedroom. Things looked so much scarier shrouded in shadows. A pile of clothes transforms into a dripping monster. A teddy bear looks like a gross alien. Without light, everything is


fuzzy...


obscured...


deformed...


abnormal....


not true to form...


When my imagination got too much for me to take, I would jet to turn on a lamp, a nightlight, the ceiling light,  or in moments of deep terror, all three. Visibility would flood in and I would be calm again. I would climb back into bed and sleep soundly, assured that no scary threats could hide in the light. 


How do you flip on the light switch in a relationship that grew in the dark?


Two of my friends are in secret relationships, romances that are, for the time being, kept hidden. Their reasons for it are valid: 


Age differences. 


Outside parties being attracted to one partner. 


Wanting the connection to be kept out of the mouths of others. 


But the secrecy is spilling doubt and misgivings into their hearts. One friend expressed, 

"I don't feel like he cares for me."

Another believes that his girlfriend loves him. But, 

"Not the way I need to be loved."

I wonder if the dark is smearing what's true and what's actual into something altogether different. Maybe once the romances are brought into brightness, the curves will turn into angles, the basins will morph into crescendos and what's in limbo will land on earth. 

Lessons

At least once a week, I wander into my coworker Rebecca's office for a teaching session. Over the years, we've grown from coworkers to friendly colleagues to true blue friends. But I'm beginning to believe that God's placed her in my life for an additional purpose: a life coach. Maybe it's because I mirror herself at my age. Or because I'm admittedly tender in a lot of the ways of the world. Whatever it is, I've scribbled dozens of pages of mental notes from her tales of life experience. 

Lesson #290: A man who cooks is a man you hook. 

For the past couple of months, a temp has been working in our department. James is extremely congenial with a warm smile. It is hard not to notice him: his 6-foot frame towered over most of us and his rich baritone made eardrums tingle. Recently, he nailed a permanent position at another organization. As a farewell present to us, he made an incredible batch of deep dish bread pudding. The cinnamon and raisins and vanilla swam beautifully together and before I knew it, I had swallowed the last bit on my plate. As I stood to go to my desk, I saw Rebecca wiggling her fingers, motioning for me to come into her office.  She lowered her voice and said, 

"And he cooks....!"

James had been another one of Rebecca's dating recommendations that I passed on.  I laughed and headed back to my desk but not before she wagged her finger at me, silently instructing me to take notice. 

Lesson #367: If it looks too good to be true, it probably is. 

Rebecca pulled out this story to teach about not letting bliss blind you. At a different place of employment, she was in a relationship with a fellow coworker. Ty was a dream come true. Besides being handsome, he was kind, taking extra steps to get presents and necessities for her young son.  

They did spend time together in the workplace but used discretion to throw coworkers and supervisors alike off their scent. They spoke via phone after hours, conversing and joking about everything under the sun. Ty was 

attentive and most important to Rebecca, he never pressured or asked her about sex.

But that's what made her alarms go off. 

(The first lesson Rebecca taught me was "Christian or not, if a man doesn't ask, mention or try, something's up.") 

As time went on, she noticed fragments of concern. Phone calls at certain times. Sudden departures. A woman answering his phone. Finally, she prayed and asked God to show her if this man was His man for her. Shortly after, she got a phone call from a friend. Her friend was sitting in a beauty salon and overheard a conversation between a customer and a stylist. The customer had just moved from South Carolina to be closer to her fiance. As the conversation went on, her friend realized that this woman's fiance was Ty. 

So Rebecca got up early the next morning. She took sweet time primping for the day. Dousing herself in more perfume than usual. Brushing on one more coat of mascara. Styling her hair just so. That day when Ty came into her office, her beautifully painted face told him to leave her life. Rebecca recounted everything her friend told her and with each sentence, Ty's face grew more and more stricken in disbelief. He asked her, 

"How did you find out?"

Her response?

"Does it matter?"

It didn't. Ty went back to his fiance and Rebecca went back to her life with one more coin of experience in her treasury. 

Lesson #455: Don't settle. Wait for God's best.

 

 Once, Rebecca was deeply in love with a man named Lawrence. She knew he was no good for her. She knew that he had another woman in his life. But she couldn't shake him. His presence lived with her and it seemed there was no way she would ever get over him. One day, she spoke to a older coworker about her dilemma. When she was done venting about the relationship and her entanglement with Lawrence, her coworker spoke very simply to her:

"Sis, you are in a triangle. And that is not God's best for you." 

The older man took her hands in his and prayed. Prayed for her spirit. Prayed for her future. Prayed for God to cut the thread that tied her so tightly to Lawrence. When Rebecca let go of his hands, she said everything she felt for him left instantly. 

"He fell off me like a change of clothes, 

like dead weight." 

The older man continued to encourage Rebecca, never failing to remind her that God's script for her life included a leading man, someone who will love her the way she should be loved.  

I know my mental notepad will continue to be filled with tidbits of her wisdom. 

----

When she speaks, her words are wise, 

and she gives instructions with kindness.

-Proverbs 31:26

Battles

My office has been transformed into a war zone. 

Abigail's words turned into croaks. Red quickly flooded her eyes, and tears collected in the corners, threatening to spill down her cheeks.  Sadness was etched all over her face. The director of my department sat before me, drenched in defeat.

For the past year, she has not gotten along with Regina, the editor-in-chief of our publication. Their battles are legendary. Phone calls so loud that they can be heard beyond the closed door. Fiery e-mails that clog in-boxes. Open disdain when in the presence of one another.  It was common knowledge that the two hate each other. 

Not dislike.

Hate.

And now, it looks like that hate is going to destroy Abigail, professionally and emotionally. The discord between the two has unintentionally drawn battle lines. Some coworkers are on Regina's side, catering to her cause while undermining Abigail. Others are on Abigail's side, having experienced the nastiest side of Regina's attitude and believing that this fall-out is a result of not bending to ridiculous demands. 

It even appears that those who Abigail answers to have made their pick. They told her not to take Regina on because

she.

would.

NOT.

win. 

"I really want to quit," she said wearily, her cry making her voice crack. My heart breaks as I look her and I feel so helpless.

But...

I know Somebody who isn't.  

I am going to join the battle----- the spiritual one.

 It occurred to me that this is not truly between Abigail and Regina but unseen forces, greedy to see them both destroyed. 

Since that day in her office, I pray daily to the Father, asking Him to bring justice and fairness, for peace to return to her personal and work life, and most of all, for her relationship with Him. Jesus definitely uses twists of life to introduce Himself to a daughter who forgot Him. 

Instead of firing a bullet, I will keep whispering prayers until something breaks through. 

And something will.  

--- "O Lord, oppose those who oppose me. Fight those who fight against me. Put on Your armor, and take up Your shield. Prepare for battle, and come to my aid."

-Psalm 35:1-2

Private

Growing up, I would watch the adults in my family collect around a crowded dining room table, a bright cozy  kitchen, or sizzling barbecue grill to talk.


 Talk about everything. 


Children. 


Jobs. 


Spouses. 


Money. 


Coworkers. 


Church folk. 


Relatives.


World events. 


Sex. 


Fears. 


Dreams. 


No topic was ever missed or skipped over. Whenever it became aware that I was in earshot, I was quickly shooed out the room. But the rich laughter and vociferous declarations were too full to be contained and always flowed into the other rooms. 

As I grew older, my sister and I were invited to share in this familial tradition. My sister shined at it. She, of the phone calls to her boyfriends so deafening the whole house would tremble and rippling opinionated spirit, gladly shared her all. I would listen as she would go on about her feelings towards her friends and other matters while my mother would absorb it and then reflect her own thoughts. 

The exchange was common and, in the minds of all in the household,  the way it should be done. 

But...

Where my relatives open doors, I shut them. I chalk lines. I draw curtains. Boundary is my middle name and I spell it P-R-I-V-A-T-E. 

 In this regard, I was viewed as irregular. In my family, everything is to be shared,  and refusal to do so is greeted with confusion, dismay, and disbelief.

 Family members, in particular, my mother, were bothered by my unwillingness to bare my soul. I remember one incident in particular where my mother was visually disturbed that I opted out of a girls' sharing session. 

She learned to live with it but I think she thought that it was a phase from which I would outgrow.

During a recent conversation, she turned the knob on a door that is locked to her for the time being: my love life. When I didn't divulge after minutes of pounding, she said in an exasperated voice, 

"But you're 25!

I was and am far from a recluse. I do share and bare and reveal. But it is within limits and there are few around me who have seen my heart in its entirety. The heaviest and most precious portions always go to those who know how to handle them.

I love and cling to my family and admire their openness. But I've seen these offered portions pricked and chopped to pieces.  

Such a dilemma. Is it wrong to hide parts of your heart from your family?