Tied

Evelyn was quiet for a moment.

I could tell she was mentally digging into her past, brushing off old encounters. 

And I could see memories lining her eyes. 

I saw pain pad her cheeks.

And I felt the icy sick atmosphere of regret fill the room as she exhaled. 

"I'm telling you this because I've been there."

Her voice wasn't soaked with her normal sunshined wisdom. 

It was coated with solemn experience. 

"Sex is not as simple as people want to believe it is." 

In her younger days, Evelyn was far from loose. With candied yam colored skin and wide soulful eyes, she had no trouble getting attached.

But when it came to men, she was understandably discriminating. She didn't have dreams of cavalier casanovas or l'amour de la journée. 

She wanted longevity, permanence. 

Someone whose heart for God and His will would be identical to hers. 

So she dated. 

Entertained a select few here. 

Dined with a select few there. 

Yet none of them captivated her. 

Until he came. 

And she fell. 

Hard. 

His tenor timbre tickled and dripped down her fingertips. 

His rugged swagger warmed her belly. 

His company soothed her heart. 

His very being was like moonshine. 

Intoxicating her past the point where control was an option and concern was a choice. 

Her grip was lost.

And a willing spirit lay defeated. 

But all remained well until things went south. 

The man exited.

And Evelyn was single again...but not really. 

She explained, 

"Physical intimacy is not just physical. It took me years to get over him because I was literally still tied to him. I could feel him even if he was miles away. He could even feel when I was upset. 

That is why God didn't design us to do this carefreely. It was created with a lifelong bond in mind. 

Spirits become wrapped together.

Yours with his. His with yours."

My soul tied to another's. A knot that can't easily be undone. 


Another lesson that's making me think. 

Spoiler alert

When I was younger and would hear the story of how my parents met, I'd close my eyes and imagine myself watching how it all went down. 

I'd see my father walk into the department store, trying not to trip over his bellbottom pants. He picks out his Afro with the fist-handled pick and sticks his nametag on his shirt. As he heads to the cash register, he encounters a new employee, a cashier, on her first day of work. 

With a neat mini-fro and a dusky brown wrap dress, my mother introduces herself and flashes a shy smile. My father, the store manager, says hi and goes on about his way, noting to himself that the new girl has quite the pretty smile. 

I wondered what would happen if I went back in time, entered the store at that moment, and told them all that would happen. 

You two are going to fall in love!

You're going to propose to her in 7 years! 

You're going to have two children! 

There will be financial difficulties and in-law issues but you will be married for more than a quarter century!

I'm sure they'd look at me, look at each other, and deem me certifiable. 

But if  I told them how the story will go...

How it will progress...

How it will end...

If they knew all that, it might make things easier. 

Make nights more restful. 

Make days less stressful. 

Make their hearts more comfortable.

But...

If they knew all that, it would have messed up their faith walk. 

Such knowledge would have eliminated lessons that God wanted them learn. 

It would have ruined the story. 

There are days where I imagine my future daughter watching my story unfold. 

Is her father standing right before my eyes, and she's screaming at me to recognize him?

Is she blurting out spoilers?

Is she reading lines written in the script before they are even said? 

She probably is. 

But I have to be glad I can't hear her.

Trying to continue to trust Him

BFF (Part 3)

"Tell me I'm wrong."

Robin gripped the steering wheel as she spoke. Her lilac lidded eyes were narrowed as she focused on the road and awaited my answer. 


But I chewed on the lid of my coffee cup and kept silent.

"Come on. I'm waiting for you to tell me that I'm wrong for feeling this way. Tell me I'm wrong." 

But I couldn't tell her. Because she wasn't. And, 

"I would feel the exact same way." 

Reassured in her feelings, Robin let out a sigh that sounded rough and weary.

 We were on our way home from Lola's birthday party. After months of planning, it had finally arrived. But it was anything but fun. 

Feet throbbing from standing for 6 hours in heels while serving food.

Fingers skinned from twisting plastic flowers. 

Heads spinning from loud DJ music. 

Wallets empty from expense... after expense.... after expense... after expense. 

All while trying to keep a decade plus long friendship in tact. 

It was sad to hear about Lola's behavior. Robin had been venting to me about her rudeness throughout the party's planning process.

Her unreasonableness.

Her ego.

Indeed, it was sad.

But not surprising. 

In high school during a few brief moments, her mask cracked and through its crevices, I saw pieces of bad temper and egotism.

It was just a quick peek here or there. 

I saw it then. 

But Robin never did and thus was caught completely off guard.

It's crazy how certain situations can shake the mask completely off and reveal what else is inside. 

And trigger new opinions about an old friend.

Wait

There are moments in my singleness where I start to wander and wonder...

About where he is and where He is...

About if I expect too much...

About what would happen if I throw caution/wisdom/knowledge/conviction out the window and settle for whatever I can get...

But after that, I always come to the same conclusion: 

It's best to wait. 

Last weekend, a friend sent this poem to me. This woman says it so much better than I ever could. 

Not saying that I want someone who can spit Scripture at a moment's notice ('cause I can't). 

Not saying that I'm the epitome of Proverbs 31 (I can't even sew).

But someone who understands that Christ doesn't come off like a coat you can't wear anymore? 

Someone who's running the same race I am and towards the same finish line I'm trying to get to?

Yes, I'll take that.

Thank You Lord for the Monday morning encouragement.

Weak

In my grandmother's library, there was a book of Bible stories that I loved to read. The stories were short, making it easy for my 9-year-old self to understand. But what I liked the most about the book were the illustrations. 


There was one in particular that I remember, a picture that depicted the story of Samson and Delilah. In this drawing, Delilah was a knockout. Shiny ebony locks that cascaded down her shoulders, pouty red lips, and kohl rimmed eyelids.  She wore a dreamy, almost seductive expression as she looked at Samson, who seemed to be completely charmed by this woman.


I was talking to my life coach this week, and she introduced a thought to me that never crossed my mind. 


She heard a pastor once say that,  

"Whoever said that Delilah was beautiful? Her appearance isn't spoken of anywhere in the story. Her most notable feature is her ability to extract the secret of Samson's strength.  And how was she able to do it? She provided a place of solace and comfort, a place for him to lay his head." 

What a concept. 

Samson, after a day of leading Israel and fighting their enemies, recovers and rests in Delilah's arms and lap. She gently massages his scalp and smooths his curls around her index finger while cooing soft words of comfort and peace.  

I had always envisioned Delilah as this ridiculously gorgeous femme fatale, a Halle Berry twin with a body so curvaceous that all she had to do was whisper a request, and it would be done in 3 seconds flat. 

But the idea, not that she might have been an average looking gal, but that it was her disposition, her aura, and her personality that was so soothing that it made the strongest man in the world give up his might....

There is a lesson I can take from that (minus Delilah's terrible betrayal). 


I want to be a place where my love can rest easy...


be secure....


breathe deeply....


and not have his trust interrupted.


A place where he can become weak and know his power is safe with me. 

Watch What You Eat

Water Cooler Lesson of the Week:

Before you indulge in the office’s free lunch, consider the hands that made and touch it. 

A couple of months ago, a coworker of mine brought in a homemade carrot cake. He placed it on a nearby island for anyone with a sugar jones to enjoy. The frosting was creamy and inviting. The cherries on top looked fresh and sweet. But I was halfway through my slice of cake when I noticed Amy’s stern look. 

“What?” I said, with my mouth full.

She asked me, “Why are you eating from them?”

I searched her face for any sign of humor or glee. But there was none. She was all business.

But I had no idea where she was coming from. “What do you mean?”

“You know we don’t eat from them. You only see them here but who knows what their habits are like at home. You don’t know what their kitchens look like. You don’t know if they’re clean. And some of them you know for sure aren't!”

Another friend told me a similar story of a former coworker who would always share her dishes with the office. My friend never partook of the offered treats due to the fact that said coworker went dumpster diving on a regular basis.

My appetite suddenly gone, I looked down at my slice of cake and slowly flipped it over into a nearby trashcan.

Recently, a dessert of a giant chocolate dipped, candy confetti encrusted fortune cookie was placed in the kitchen. I watched as whole palms groped the cookie, noses swept over the chocolate, and coffee-odored breath moistened the sprinkles.

While watching, I saw Amy out of the corner of my eye. She smirked and gave me a knowing nod.

That’s why we don’t eat from them.

There's still time

The cry came suddenly. 


A cry that turned into untamed, pain-filled sobs. 


The sobbing soon became the loudest sound in the church, completely outdoing the soft playing gospel music. I, along with everyone else seated in the wooden pews, fell silent and agonized with her. Each moan of her sorrow cut to our hearts and caused our vision to blur. 


I watched Amy as she made her way to the casket to look at her father for the final time. I heard her sniff and softly weep as she gazed. 


It was such a sad scene to view so I closed my eyes to pray... 


And think...


About my own father...

I wonder how much longer he will be on this earth? 

Do I spend enough time with him? 

Does he really know how much I love him? 

About my family... 

When was the last time I told my mother how much she means to me? 

I don't think my sister knows how much I care about her. 

My aunt is such a good woman. I don't think I've ever told her that. 

About my friends... 

Naomi is always so supportive. I really appreciate her. 

Dylan is a wonderful friend. He's always checking on me. 

Chrysanthemum truly is my best friend. I don't know what I'd do without her. 

I don't want to say accolades that can no longer be heard. 

Or buy gifts that can't be enjoyed.

Or give love that can't be felt.  

I don't want anything to be left unsaid when it's time to say any final goodbyes. 

So I'm deciding to say everything, to do everything now

While there's still time.