Scars...

I just came in from having dinner with a beautiful seventeen year-old young woman here in Gallatin. By most people's standards, she is ugly—disgusting, even. By most people's standards, she isn't going anywhere in life. By most people's vision, she'll never amount to anything. But the moment I saw her two weeks ago, I knew that there was something special inside of her and that she had a future with great promise ahead. So I invited her to dinner.

I picked her up promptly at 6pm. Later she joked that she thought that I was going to be late, because, well, black people are always late. I responded that I was an "on-time negro." We laughed. Anyway, when I arrived at her house, there was a gang of folk, mostly kids, outside in her neighborhood. As she walked out of the house, everyone stopped and stared.  Perhaps it was my New Jersey plates. Perhaps it was her outfit. Here was a young woman who I'd previously seen in too-tight, too-short clothes, but she got dressed up for dinner. Heels and all. It was clear from her walk that she was uncomfortable in her shoes, but she took the time to put herself together and I appreciated that. She had on an asymetrical top with one shouler bare.  As we walked from my car to Chili's, I noticed on a huge scar on her shoulder. Sadly, it wouldn't be the only scar I would see during the night. 

You see, she has a 2 year-old daughter, is a high-school drop-out without a GED, has two felony charges, and just got in trouble last week. She also lost her virginity to her father at the age of seven, has held that secret from the person she loves most (her mother), has been raped, miscarried babies, abused at the hands of boyfriends, and has been bounced around from home to home and state to state. She's been diagnosed bi-polar, is a cutter, and yet, she has a light inside of her that God allowed me to see. Her light is undeniably bright.

I didn't want to be fake with her. So I began the conversation with "I am a teacher, an artist, but I am also a minister. I want you to know who you are out with. I asked you to come to dinner with me because I see something inside of you and I know you've been through a lot in your short life. But I also know that you have so much more living to do and I want to know how you want to live your life." She went from being this hard-rock girl who scowled most of the times I had seen her to a bubbly, smiling, teenage girl. But still there were the scars—visible and invisible. During the time we spent together, she did most of the talking and I listened. I listened with my whole body—my ears, my eyes, my heart, and my soul. Peppered throughout our conversation were tidbits from my own life. She saw a well put together woman, but I showed her discoloration and marks that point to my own life scars. Surprisingly for her, we had some scars in common. I shared with her the liniment and salve that I used to heal. 

Despite her scars, she is hopeful. She wants more for herself and her daughter. She is a dreamer. I gave her some pointers on how to make what she wants happen. I encouraged her to take inventory of her life, including her so-called friends who don't have the same dreams that she does, and get rid of anything and anyone who isn't helping her to grow. I encouraged her, despite her past abuse, to recognize that her body is indeed a temple, worthy of love and respect. I encouraged her to forgive herself. I encouraged her to shake off her haters and to move towards the new life she envisions for herself. I encouraged her to walk in the light that is so desperately trying to break free. I encouraged her to hide her dreams in her heart, to write them on paper, to speak them aloud, and to measure every decision by whether or not they will help her dreams to come true. I encouraged her to believe God...

After cheesecake and brownies and almost being in tears, she and I left Chili's. I dropped her home. It was hard to leave her there. I wanted to take her with me. I wanted to show her something different. I wanted to take her under my wing so she could discover and develop the strength in her own wings. But instead I dropped her back to the place where many of her wounds were inflicted. Needless to say, my heart was aching. 

My heart was aching, but then I remembered what God allowed me to see within her. I remembered that scars are marks of wounds, burns and sores, but they are also signs of healing. Tonight, I pray that she will be completely healed—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I pray that her wounds will be reminders of how resilient she is. I pray that her scars will bear witness to how a life can be transformed. I pray that her scars will prevent another girl or woman, especially her daughter, from being wounded. I pray that one day, someone will love her, scars and all.

I'm wishing on a star...

The vast sky over Tennessee was a sight to behold last night. I'm from the concrete jungle and have been an apartment dweller all of my life, so it is rare that I see stars. The closet thing to stars I see are planes making their descent into Laguardia or Kennedy airports. Well, I saw the stars last night. The stars last night were declaring the glory of God. The stars last night sang me a love song. The stars last night, in the words of Darius Lovehall in Love Jones, "opened my eyes to the possibilities of a thing."They beckoned me to stay a little while longer.  They were brilliant. Resplendent, even. Last night I saw the Big Dipper (clearly and without a doubt). And at thirty-three years old, I saw my first shooting star. It was a night to remember.

I quickly made a wish. It wasn't hard to think of. In fact, it had been lingering in my mind, in my heart, and on my tongue for the last few days, months, and years. After I made my wish, I marveled and asked the folks around me, "Did you see that?" One did. He looked up, smiled and affirmed my sighting. Secretly, I wondered if he made a wish. I wondered what he wished for. He is a native Tennessean and is used to seeing the stars put on their show. Shooting stars may be such a regular occurrence to him that wish making isn't part of his experience with shooting stars. Whatever the case is for him, I know that in that moment I had become enchanted and hopeful. That night sky opened up the opportunity for worship. That shooting star become a moment of prayer. For a moment, everything stopped—sound, time, space—and I was at the altar of the Lord. That shooting star altered me. I am forever changed. 

As I drove home from my star gazing, I recalled the stories I'd heard about shooting stars when I was younger. Not the science of shooting stars—the fact that they are small, quick burning meteors—but the romanticized myth of shooting stars. We all know that I am a hopeless romantic. If my memory serves me correctly, shooting stars are supposed to be good luck. They are like birthday candles; They are used to invoke wishes. Well, I am convinced that God heard my invocation. Whether by shooting stars, birthday candles, or on bended knee, be sure to be enchanted by God and hopeful that He hears and answers the prayers of those who delight in Him (Psalm 37:4)

(image taken from kstp.com/kstpImages/ ShootingStar2.jpg)

Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay...

In 1967, just days before his death, Otis Redding recorded the following lyrics:

I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay

Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time

Well, this evening, after a long day at work and a difficult reentry in the world of exercise, I sat in the backyard in a swing close to the lake and just watched. I wasn't alone. Jack, a three-year old beautiful black lab was sitting next to me as I stroked his head and told him about my day. As we were sitting, instinctively I began singing that Otis Redding tune. I sang it a few rounds until it dawned on me; I wasn't wasting time. 

At that moment I had a revelation. My spirit echoed the words of Habbakuk: But the LORD is in His holy temple: let all the earth keep silence before him (2:19-20). As I sat, looking out on the lake, I was overwhelmed by the presence of God. The trees, the lake, the vast sky, and everything else in my view was in fact the temple of the Lord. I had been talking with Jack, but I got quiet. My head got quiet. My heart got quiet. My soul got quiet. There was a stillness that is reserved only for the reverence of Almighty God. 

I wasn't wasting time. I must admit, I have bought into the lie that if I am not doing something that I am wasting time. Well, my definition of doing 'something' has changed. Even as I sat there, seemingly doing nothing, I was acknowledging Almighty God. In that moment, I  actually discovered time. It was a time like none other. It was devotion time. It was prayer time. It was worship time. It was praise time. So I sat, and took it in. And Jack did too!

He guided me to Tennessee...

I believe I was in ninth grade when Tennessee came out. It was the first single released by Arrested Development. I was attracted to them as a group—the language, the history, the sociology, the anthropology, the activism, the truth, the justice, and the love that deeply shaped their experience, and consequently, their lyrics. (I must note, I also LOVED their bohemian, pre-dirty backpacker sense of style.) In some ways, these lyrics are apropos for this leg of my journey. (I’m writing this as I sit in my connecting flight from Charlotte to Nashville.) 

Lord I've really been real stressed

Down and out, losin ground

Although I am black and proud

Problems got me pessimistic

Brothers and sisters keep messin up

Why does it have to be so damn tuff?

I don't know where I can go

To let these ghosts out of my skull

Last year, I was quite stressed, navigating my way through ministry (church work, school work, work work). I’ve seen and heard some things that have caused me great distress: communities in despair, hopelessness, insecurity, lovelessness, and injustice. I’m not pessimistic, but I certainly do need a place/time to, as Speech of Arrested Development said, “let these ghosts out of my skull.” Decompression. Journaling. Reflection. 

My grandmas past, my brothers gone

I never at once felt so alone

I have been blessed with meaningful relationships this year, both at Drew and beyond, so I cannot say that loneliness is an issue. Though distance separates us, I’ve grown closer with my mother, praise be to God. Through prayer, intentional time to cultivate a relationship, I’ve grown closer to God. At times I’ve had moments of loneliness, but generally, I have felt both connected to God and the folks in my life. Feeling lonely is rather tough when you live in a house with two amazing women of God!

I know you're supposed to be my steering wheel

Not just my spare tire (home)

But lord I ask you (home)

To be my guiding force and truth 

For some strange reason it had to be

He guided me to Tennessee

But still, I’ve been doing much of the steering in my life. I, too, want the Lord to lead me and guide me, to order my steps. Actually, I know that He already has ordered my steps. Truth is, I want to walk in those paths of mercy and truth, purpose and destiny, that God has ordained and planned for me.

So going to Tennessee is as much about my own Shalom as it is about the Shalom of the people in Gallatin. It has to be that way, especially considering that we are woven together in, what Dr. King calls, “an inescapable garment of destiny.” As I move forward in my “being still” and listening attentively to God about my current and next steps, I am confident that the place where revelation and metamorphosis will happen is in Tennessee. For some strange reason, He guided me to Tennessee…

It is strange in that it a new experience, a place I’ve never been before, people I’ve never interacted with. By definition, to be strange is to generate a feeling of uneasiness and to cause one to be unsettled. Tennessee is strange in the newness of it all, but I’m not unsettled. I am trusting God.

©Image taken on US Airways FLight 1021 en route to Nashville, Tennessee

© Tennessee by Arrested Development, 1991.