Who loves you more?

The worst kept secret in my 7th grade class was Jimmy's crush on Raquel. His infatuation with her was public knowledge, from the skinny buck-toothed class reject to our math and homeroom teacher. His cheeks would flush red whenever she'd speak to him. He'd spoil her with sodas and Crybabies from the corner store. A natural comedian, he would turn his talent on high to hear her laugh and see her smile. 

It was equally evident how his attraction to her was not exactly returned.

Raquel was beautiful. She knew it, Jimmy knew it, and the entire male body of our 7th and 8th grade classes knew it. But chubby Jimmy was only good enough to hang out with, take gifts from, and become distracted from the uselessness of middle school classwork. He wasn't considered worthy for entry in her circle of suitors. 

I remember watching Jimmy trail after Raquel, shamelessly fawning after someone who would never fully reciprocate his actions. 

And at 12, it seemed off to me. 

It still does at 26. 

But I hear that, in a way, that's how it should be. 

A friend of mine said, 

"In a relationship, the man should love the woman more than the woman loves the man. Women, we already love with all we have. So if our man loves us more than we do him, it will balance out."

True, men and women do love differently. 

But when you start to measure, what conversion chart do you use? 

Two of his "I love you's" equals 10 of mine?

Three of his kisses equals 5 of my hugs?

Nine of his hours spent helping me with my thesis equals 3 days of me taking care of him while he recovered from surgery?

Or is it 10 of his hours?

It's tricky talk when we begin to speak of love in matters of portion. 

Love is intangible and if it can be weighed, the scales don't exist.

 All in all, love is rarely what you say but always what you do. 

So make sure you're doing something. 

Hard

Something inside of me hardened. 


It's an odd feeling to get when someone is giving you advice. 


Yet it happened. 


I felt sadness fill my core. 


My mouth contorted in an attempt to stop the pending frown.


And something in me became solid and hard as steel. 


Usually, I welcome spoonfuls of guidance from those I trust. 


But I couldn't digest this dose.


I tried to swallow each letter. 


Each syllable. 


Each argument. 


But I vomited them all up immediately.


And I didn't understand why.


And it troubled me deeply.


So I went home. 


Sat on the steps. 


And thought. 


And prayed. 


And cried. 


Then it came to me. 

Maybe it's not digesting because it's not supposed to. 

I hardened for a reason.

Hardened so that the pounding of her words against my heart wasn't enough to break through. 

Hardened so that it would obliterate the precarious logic behind her reasoning. 

Hardened so that the truth encased within me wouldn't be tainted. 

People can be sincere in their advice. 

And they can be sincerely wrong. 

Look Up

My day starts at an hour when most people are still sleeping. 


The sound of chirping birds fall into my ears, singing a duet with my alarm clock.


My eyes half closed, I place a bare foot on the floor. 


I turn towards the window but I don't know why. I can't see anything because it's still dark. 


The motion of walking wakes up my leg muscles as I begin the routine. 


Shower. 


CNN. 


Toothbrush.


Eggs.


Comb.


Mascara. 


Coat.


Keys. 


Door. 


The morning air is brisk and flushes away whatever sleep is left in me. 


My body's awake but my mind fully isn't. 


I've forgotten something.


But then I look up. 


I see licorice black branches against the cool gray sky. 


Or an orange flood bleeding into the fresh morning. 


Or a wide stroke of periwinkle floating in the atmosphere. 


Or a creamy cluster of pink clouds slow dancing in the air. 


I look up and see God. 


And I remember what and Who I've forgotten. 
________________________________
The heavens proclaim the glory of God.
 The skies display His craftsmanship.
 Day after day they continue to speak;
 Night after night they make Him known.
 They speak without a sound or word;their voice is never heard.
 Yet their message has gone throughout the earth, and their words to all the world.


-Psalm 19:1-4

Power Trip

 It was a sad story. A minister was convicted of murdering his wife in order to carry on multiple affairs with women in his congregation. Most of the women had reached out to him for help with failing marriages. But their trust in him soon became obviously misplaced. 


A woman who had been one of the minister's lovers and her husband sat before the television reporter with matching melancholy expressions. 


And the woman said something that stuck in my brain: 

"Power corrupts and church is a place [where] people can get power."

The ideas sound so foreign next to each other. 

Corrupt control and church. 


Clout in a holy place. 


But it can happen..so easily.


Raise your hand and you become head over the 75th church anniversary committee. 


Attend a meeting and your name is typed in as the guest speaker at this year's conference. 


Show your face and say "Hallelujah" enough times and you earn a permanent seat on the third row on the dais, in perfect view of the podium. 


Then titles become Velcroed to first names. 


Expectation and duties are heightened to a frightening level. 


True leadership becomes disfigured.

And then the main idea is forgotten.

Because how can anyone really have power or pull or sway in the Almighty's house? 


When we're all supposed to be servants?
__________________________________________________________________
Jesus got them together to settle things down. "You've observed how godless rulers throw their weight around," He said, "and when people get a little power how quickly it goes to their heads. It's not going to be that way with you. Whoever wants to be great must become a servant. Whoever wants to be first among you must be your slave. That is what the Son of Man has done: He came to serve, not to be served—and then to give away His life in exchange for many who are held hostage."


-Mark 10:41-45 (The Message)

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.