Frustration and Stress and then...PEACE...

Peace is not the absence of war. It is the embrace of the Prince of Peace in the midst of war.

I am learning that everyday now, as I wrestle with my emotions about the situation my family is in right now. I think of the Scripture I read this morning before beginning my day today:

John 14:27 (Amplified Version) "Peace I leave with you; My [own] peace I now give and bequeath to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. [Stop allowing yourselves to be agitated and disturbed; and do not permit yourselves to be fearful and intimidated and cowardly and unsettled.]"

I read this with new eyes, as if the familiarity was no longer the blindfold that had shielded my eyes each time I had read it before. I read it while a soft whisper resounding in my ear assured me that Christ was in the room with me, as I swallowed the words.

I can choose to accept the peace that Christ gives. He gives it to me freely, but I have to reach out my hand to take it. I can refuse it and try to remedy situations like the ones I am facing now, as my niece and her sisters' lives hang in the balance, precariously. I can try to block out my emotions by listening to music that does not feed my achey soul and instead feeds my lust for a carnal distraction. I can try to be a stoic, mature person whom is not touched by the reality that the children in my life are depending on me to pray for them and instead choose to hope for the best instead of lifting them up.

Or...I can grab hold to this Word and say, "I choose Peace."

I choose Christ's peace today. I choose to trust Christ when He says His peace is not like the world's peace because that peace has never been a sustaining, perpetual peace. It has been fleeting and momentarily fulfilling. Then it disappears. Like it did yesterday when I stalked around my house like a raging lunatic, shouting out my defiance and declarations.

I choose to believe that Christ's peace is more than alcohol, boyfriends, food, shopping, and even the distraction of work. It is that which stays with me in the night when there is nothing else to do and no one else to take my focus.

I will stop allowing myself to be agitated and angry and a cursing Peter. I stop allowing myself to become unsettled, fearful, intimidated, cowardly...disturbed. I do not want to be a disturbed individual. No one wants to be around disturbed individuals.

I choose to accept Christ's peace today.

When Someone Says Thank You

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday (as can be seen from the silly picture above) with my family, my "children" and my mom. There were no tears shed, there were no arguments. There was only good food, laughter, movies, and the sound of children talking and playing in the house. For me that is what is most important about the holidays. My mom and I are establishing our own traditions, mirroring the traditions we had in yesteryear when my grandparents were still alive and I was a little girl.

Last night as I talked with my 18-year-old niece, I realized that some things have to remain as a legacy. Family must be a present reality in the lives of the children that are growing up in our home. There is so much missing and I refuse to miss the tiny powerful mmoments of love that they need today. I want my grandparents legacy of family to live on when I am gone too.

My niece told me last night that she appreciates my mom and I so much for being there for her, even though her parents did not. Her mother and father seem to hate the presence of family so much that they tried to convince her that the only way to make it through life was independently, unattached, "on your own." But we have tried so hard to show her that everybody needs somebody, and family must be constant. True love starts there.

She said to me, "Thank you, Auntie Mya." Tears filled my eyes as I remembered the bullets shot through my heart when her mother tried to separate us from her for some crazy reason, and I fought to stay (even on the fringes of her life) because I loved her so very deeply. I remembered the arrows my own brother had shot through my soul out of selfish ambition and hatred. I felt the wounds still somewhat fresh from the last battle I had waged against him when it came down to telling my story in "Father to the Fatherless."

And I knew then that the warfare, the battle for her heart, her soul, her future was and still is worth it. She left me with these words:

"I don't know how I make it through each day; I don't know how I do what I do. I just do. I don't even remember yesterday. All I see is my future."

My 18-year-old baby is a mother to a 2-year-old curly haired boy, who understands far more than I ever imagined what family means - even when neither of her parents are there to teach her. I see her future too, and I am excited for her as well.

Finding Art in the Foreign Soil of Life

Reading Leeana Tankersley's new book, Found Art, was reading the internal map of a woman whose life is in a constant place of discovery. Some discoveries are beautiful, immortal; others speak of the hurt and despair of this world that highlight the enormity of our mortality. As a woman married to a United States serviceman, her life became something far more than what she could have ever imagined it would be, when she said "I do." It became more than a mission of living a new combined life with a husband and a newly constructed household. It became a purpose she had to accomplish within herself, a world she had to be introduced to, a way of finding the art lying hidden beneath the surface.

Change is never easy.

The foreign soil of a life utterly uprooted and changed time and again tested Leeana to the breaking point at times. But the reality that she had to accept and the lesson her writing teaches anyone who reads her book is that the truest sign of that acceptance is the ability to appreciate the beauty in the most foreign of places, in the most strange circumstances which call upon all of us to reach for God even in the most unconventional of ways. God exists in the unfamiliar as much as the familiar. God's peace can exist even when our lives are anything but peaceful.

The precious emblems of life, the art that we find in the ruins of life, are the very tokens of belief that we all need to push forward when God requires so much more than we believe we can give. This what Leeana's book is about - the finding of those moments, those emblems, those irreplaceable artifacts of life that point to God's enormous grace in the face of life's challenges. This is her story, uniquely hers and uniquely powerful as all testimonies are, but it is also her permission to us all - to live with our eyes, our heart, our minds wide open even when we are afraid to do so.

Book Reviews: Trying This Again

I tried to start doing this last year when I began this blog but never quite got the hang of reviewing books as I said I would do. So I am going to start this endeavor again, choosing a book off "Myowne Bookshelf" to review. The first book I have selected to review is "Found Art" by Leeana Tankersley who is a friend of a writer that I have connected with after attending the Calvin College Festival of Faith and Writing almost two years ago (Shauna Niequist, whose blog is listed below). Stay tuned to a future post that will review her book.

A Mother's Prayer

This is the prayer of my heart today, as I care for the children entrusted to my care, the three little girls that needed a home and needed my heart:

Lord, please help me to be the best mom I can be at this time, for these precious babies you have lent to us. Please help me impact their lives in a positive way, giving them the opportunities to experience life like they never have before. Do not let me cause any more harm, stress, pain, or grief than they have already experienced in their short lives. Please be our Provision, our Source, our Peace, our Safety.

Thank you for the privilege of mothering another's children. Being a mother is such an honor that I would never take it lightly...

In Jesus Precious Name...thank you Father for giving me your Fathering and Mothering Heart...Help me to always see them like you see them...Queen Esthers for their generation...

Beautiful Additions

My sister friend Tashara and her husband Idris have a new baby boy added to their family about a little more than a month ago. His name is Raphiel and has joined his brother Josiah in Myowneworld's Beautiful Baby Club. Wouldn't you agree?

Derrion Albert...the Face Behind the War for Our Youth

The youth violence that is so prevalent in the major cities of this country is so heartbreaking. Hearing the story of the young man that killed outside of his high school on Chicago's South Side made me realize that as a believer in Christ, I have to hit my knees and prayer more vigorously for the children and teens in this country.

I saw the video of this baby being beaten to death senselessly by a group of young men displaying dangerous out of control behavior. I saw this baby lose his life when he had nothing to do with the riot. I saw his mother weeping for her son. And I realized something.

The sound of the trumpet must be raised; the alarm of spiritual warfare for our children must resound across this land. There is no reason for all this violence except Satan himself wants to destroy our kids. Some people think it is a race issue, and perhaps it is. Some think it is a socioeconomic issue. It is partially that. But what we need to know is that there is a diabolical plot by the enemy of our souls to destroy mankind, starting with our children and teens. The enemy is seeking to devour our babies. The issues that spur the violence are not the reason for the violence.

There is a root cause that the Church must combat through fasting, prayer, and action. It is not enough to carry out the spiritual disciplines. It is not enough to pray. It is not enough to take action by physically being present. We must do all three things to make the impact this nation and this world needs.

When I Don't Know What God Has in Mind...

I embrace His will anyway.

Yesterday, I made room in my house for the arrival of two children. My niece is living with my mom and I after a long spiritual, physical, and emotional battle with the foster care system in Kent County, Michigan.

We received a phone call last week that the foster care agency would like for us to take her little sisters as well.

They are really just babies (5 and 2 years old respectively) and have been bounced from foster home to foster home. In my heart, I have wanted all three in my home since all this mess took place.

And now, the babies are coming.

I have always wanted to impact children in some way. The mothering heart beating within me has always desired to be a mother, and although this may only be temporary, I believe that for this small space in time, God wants me to open my heart, my life, and my home to these precious girls.

This is not the way I planned for my life to go, but I am willing to do whatever God has in mind. I am surrendering my will in exchange for His. And after reading Pastoral Musings from Rain City today, I realize that having that mentality is just what God desires. (If you have time, read the post for October 1st.) Being ready for my plans to change because God has His own agenda for me is the measure of being a Christian, that is the least that I can do.

And I am okay with that. I take joy in the fact that I have a chance to impact a life (three of them) and hopefully one day, the God that I love will be able to use this time of planting a seed of love to yield a bountiful harvest in their lives later.

Hair, Hair, Brand New Hair

So here are some pics of my new coiffure. I decided I needed a drastic change to my outside as my inside is changing too. I have always wanted to dye my hair a bold artistic color. I am by no means a behind the scenes, incognito, shy person. I used to be, especially when I was a little girl. But as I've gotten older, I've realized that I love me, I love the person God made me to be, and there is no reason to be ashamed of her. It is okay to do what I was born to do: STAND OUT.

Here's to a brand new me.

Art Portfolio: Picture #2

The title of this piece is "Playing With Mommy's Hair."

The baby in this picture loves touching her mother's hair, which amuses the mother to no end. The baby's surprised expression shows that not only is she experiencing a little heaven on earth as she feels the senation of her mother's hair in her little fist, but she is pleasantly surprised that someone caught her enjoying herself.

Perhaps one day she will grow up to have beautiful hair like her mommy. But until then she will explore, appreciating her mommy as only she can.

I am thinking that my portfolio will feature women and their glory. Hair is so important to us all - it crowns our queenly nature. So this portfolio will deal exclusively with what it means to be a woman, what we celebrate, the beauty God has given to all of us. We'll see the direction the portfolio will take us in later posts.

Essence of Spirit Artistic Expressions

This is one of my first pictures in my new art portfolio. I am returning to my first loves: art and writing. I have been embracing my call as a writer for a while now, but art kind of got put on the back burner. But, forgetting about how much I used to love drawing as a child and a teenager, how I used to hang my pictures on the wall of my bedroom, how I used to imagine painting, working with clay, and drawing as a way of life, and how I hoped that one day I could represent my name's meaning (Essence of Spirit) to the fullest both in the literary and art worlds would be like forgetting who I am on the inside.

This picture is something I've been working on for a little while. The thing I like the most is the detail in the woman's afro and the look in her eyes. Her stare is so penetrating, makes you wonder what she is thinking, makes you realize that there is so much more to her than what meets the eye. If you look closely you will see words hidden in her hair (the Fruit of the Spirit, listed in Galatians 5:22-23).

I can only hope I can start doing more art like this on a much broader scale, like my mom's best friend Jo used to do. I also hope to return to painting again and working with clay again.

I went to a art festival a couple weeks ago and when I saw people just like me with a passion for birthing artistic pieces, I knew I could not use excuses anymore as to why I am not producing. I am behind schedule, so it is time to get busy. My plan is to present a portfolio to the artistic director at Studio 1219, a art gallery in Port Huron. I want to start displaying my work instead of keeping it to myself.

Let me know what you think of this piece... The title of this work is "Fruit of the Spirit."

Ten Things I Never Thought Would Happen

I will be 32 in less than a month...imagine that... Time flies when you are having...fun...

In celebration of nearly 32 years of life I would like to compile a list of things I definitely didn't plan on by the time I reached 32.

I never thought...

(10) I'd be THIS chubby. (As one of my older cousins said to herself when she began the BWS - Black Women's Spread - "HAS IT COME TO THIS?") And go figure, I haven't had babies yet. BWS ususally happens AFTER children. Apparently, I am in trouble...apparently I am jumping the gun.

(9) I'd be living with my mother - AGAIN. Her wearing muu-muus around the house are seriously a scary, yet hilarious sight. My next question is, will that be me in another 32 years?

(8) I'd be living in a town lamer than the one I grew up in. I have literally seen tractors being driven down main throughfares and have had to shake my head in disbelief. I also have shaken my head at the number of restaurants that close at 9 on a Saturday night.

(7) I'd be single, not any closer to marriage than I was at 16, and fighting off the advances of married men...some being the husbands of some of my friends (or used-to-be friends). Must have a sign on my forehead or on my t-shirt or on my car's license plate. They are coming out of the woodwork like roaches.

(6) I'd be raising the child of my older brother rather than my own child. I think I may be too tired when it's time for my own hard-headed 16-year-old. Especially if the clothes get littler, skimpier, sexier. My child will be wearing a garbage bag if trends keep going the way they are going.

(5) I'd have to plan for vacations months in advance just to cancel them because the money I had saved for the occasion sprouted wings and took flight. It seemed like when I was younger, money was in unlimited supply...especially when it was somebody else's...

(4) I'd get my hair done every three months or so instead of every weekend (like I had planned). Now, I just make the "do" do what it wants to do. Scary thought, huh? It's mostly combed every day.

(3) I'd beg to go on "What Not to Wear" just so I could replace my wardrobe with a whole new one. Still trying to figure out how to pretend like I would be soooo surprised that one of my (great, wonderful, sensitive, and caring) friends recommended me for the show since technically I can't recomend myself.

(2) I'd no longer be the fun aunt my nieces and nephews used to adore (or at least like to be around). Maybe they were just being kind...maybe I wasn't that fun to begin with...

(1) I'd be so ornery and creaky...like a little old lady...joints popping when I get out of a sitting position or when I climb stairs.


And now, here's the flip side...then things I never imagined I would be doing.

I never thought I would enjoy:

(10) Going to the gym, to get rid of all this...stuff...and there is a lot of...stuff...

(9) Eating salad instead of chocolate.

(8) Telling myself that I would be okay if I wasn't a size six ever again in life.

(7) Dancing to the latest jams using old school moves (like my mom used to do). And how I (my nieces) would laugh at her (me).

(6) Being such a goody-goody. The piercings have closed, the hair is all one color (mostly), and the tight jeans have been shipped off to Goodwill since the tightness uncomfortably squeezes my thick thighs. It's not as fun as it looks, fellas, to smash all this into that.

(5) Listening to jazz instead of hip-hop and rap as my music of choice. Don't get me wrong I do like some bass and bounce in my car but when I am chilling, I love to chillax to the jazz station. Go figure.

(4) Telling stories from "back in my day..."

(3) Going to church more than I enjoy going to a nightclub. Who would have thunk it? The girl that used to hit the floor with her girls on a Friday night now would prefer an open mic night for singles at a church called Revolution?

(2) Going to art shows, poetry readings, and movies alone. I used to invite people to go with me, but the older I get the more I prefer the pleasure of my own company.

(1) Enjoy my relationship with Jesus more than the day before. As a teen I didn't think it could be any more carefree than it was then. But now...

Gaining Clarity for my Next Season

I never thought I would want to come back home to Grand Rapids. I never thought I would miss it. But the funny thing is as much as I want to be adventurous and move somewhere else by myself, I know I am not ready to leave my family and friends just yet. I know at some point (perhaps when I am married) I will leave Michigan. But being separated from my godchildren and nieces and nephews is not desirable at this time. And also, I believe that I have found my next church home. If you recall, earlier this year, I was wrestling with leaving my current church in Port Huron. It's not that it isn't a progressive ministry; I just believe that I have outgrown it and need something more.

I do believe leaving that ministry has to be strategic and planned by God. I can't just walk out because I love my godmother deeply, sincerely, and because she is working so hard to maintain the ministry, I can't just walk out on her. But I am planning to talk to her about it when she and I return from our respective vacations. I know that I cannot stay forever, and my heart strings are being pulled in a different direction.

God will give me the time and the season that I can return home to Grand Rapids and subsequently to leave the ministry that I have been a part of for the last nearly 12 years. It's not easy but I know the right time will present itself soon.

Hmmm...

Apparently black people from Port Huron don't like the 4-H Fair. Must have something to do with the Confederate flags flying around.

And yet my friend and her husband and her precious baby daughter were there with me, laughing at the possibility that there were really people there that didn't think we belonged in the vicinity. But as always, we do belong. I make it quite clear that I don't live in the boxes my grandparents and great-grandparents had to. I remember the stories of segregation and hatred and brutality and Confederate flags symbolizing closed doors, and I stare into the eyes of those that are surprised to see me at the Goodell's County Fair. I stare into their eyes and by staring at them dare them to say a word to me about the self-imposed reality they live in. It's not my reality, I say silently. I have somewhere to get to - a place my forefathers never thought they would ever go. So if these arrogant, racist strangers want to stay in a place of separation that's their choice, but as long as I have the opportunity to do so, I will show up wherever there's corndogs and ferris wheels and country music. Because I can.

Interesting Country Type Stuff

I am about to go to the Goodell's County Fair with a good sister friend of mine in a few minutes. Let me say this first. I am definitely a big city girl, but I do like a little bit of country. This means music and country fairs and bonfires with smores. But when it comes down to actually living on a farm, I suddenly morph into big city chick. We'll see how the city girl likes a 4-H Fair...

It's Time to Sit Down...

I am officially unemployed for a month. I should be worried, but I am simply too tired to be worried. I am planning on sitting on a beach near my house equipped with all the necessary books (#1 being my Bible), pens, and notebooks for days of hearing God's voice, writing, and getting rejuvenated so I can move into a new season. I can think of nothing better to do. I have given so much of me that I need to have time to just be quiet and let God pour Himself into my life again. There is nothing else I'd rather do right now. It's not that I am loving the possibility of not making money or having to go on unemployment, but I need a serious break, a serious retreat...

So, here I go...

30 days...

Slacker!

I have not written on here in a while and I feel that I need to play catch up. There has been a lot going on, so I promise (at least to myself) to post more after this week. I will be off for a month from work, so I will have plenty of time to write then.

My Fondest Memory of Michael Jackson

It broke my heart yesterday to hear that the singer of the soundtrack of my childhood died yesterday. I have to say that I believe Michael Jackson may have had physical ailments no one was aware of but one ailment he did suffer from that we all were cognizant of was his broken heart. He had been ostracized and rejected by an American society that was ready to put a noose around his neck as a result of false abuse allegations. The love America once had for him dried up and he was left wondering why people were so quick to label him as a pedophile just because he would rather be with children than with adults. Sometimes, I feel just like him.

I believe that he simply was a wounded man from childhood that had never been given the chance to be a child, so when he became an adult he tried to regain what he had lost. Apparently no one had ever told him that regaining childhood is impossible, and when you try to, people look at you like you're crazy.

Which is exactly what happened.

And now, he is dead, I believe, of a broken heart. Rejection can kill you.

But as I remember with the rest of the world today what a great, one-of-a-kind artist he was, I want to tell you a little story.

Picture this: 1982, Southeast side of Grand Rapids, Michigan, 636 Thomas Street to be exact, a bright living room with an antique record player. A four-year-old girl with pig tails, barrettes, and a colorful outfit begs her grandma to "Play the Jackson Five for me, pleeeease?" The grandma, not usually a fan of secular music, having been raised in the church with the awareness that all secular music has the ability to send you to hell, smiles broadly, knowing her only granddaughter loved music, loved to sing, loved to dance, and above all loved Michael Jackson. Everyone in the family knew this; a cousin called all the time to ask the little girl if she was still in love with Michael Jackson and if she still planned to marry him. The answer was always yes.

The little girl's grandma carefully removed the 45 from it's jacket and placed the disc on the turntable, and suddenly her granddaughter's favorite song of all, "ABC", projected from the speakers. The little girl immediately began dancing and bopping all around the living room, singing along to every word. Her grandma stood in the doorway of the living room laughing and bopping right along with her baby.

That little girl was me. The music my grandma played for me was one of the happiest memories I had growing up. My home life was so dysfunctional and when I went to visit my granparents' home, that was the one time I could dance and sing and be a kid and make someone else dance and sing and lay down all the constraints that religion and life and even poverty tried to place on her.

When Michael died yesterday, I felt like part of my childhood went with him. I felt the sincere loss of the days when I could be with my grandma in her house. She went home to be with the Lord in 2005 and as long as I had his music I could relive those days with her. I know it makes very little sense, but his music represented happier times for me - not only when I was four but throughout my childhood and adolescence.

I pray today for his family, his children, and others like me that appreciated his existence. I pray he found the peace that evaded him while he was alive. I hope he knows that he really was loved, even by a little four-year-old dancing around her grandma's living room.

What Happens When We Fight Back...

A couple months ago I wrote about a major issue that was taking place in my family that had literally thrown me to my knees. My niece and her siblings had been placed in foster care, though my niece and one of her sisters should have been placed with their fathers or their fathers' families. My mother and I decided to join alongside my brother in the fight for his rights as a father to parent his child or at least to have a say-so in where his daughter should go, since her mother had not maintained her parental standing.

I talked about the frustrations of watching how Michigan and specifically Kent County had botched the case and how our family had been literally undergone character assassination every time we stood up in protest. It has not been an easy battle but I believed then, as I still do now, that families should not be splintered and the real battle was between us and Satan himself, the chief destroyer of families.

It has taken what seems like forever (but really only since November) to get some measure of victory. The truth is God taught my hands to war with wisdom and with the gifts and abilities He has given me to wage war spiritually and naturally. The pen is truly mightier than the sword. The Spirit of God instructed me on how to complete an impacting fight as a Christian by using that same pen.

I wrote a formal complaint to the state, wrote letters to others, and stood in faith believing that I was standing on the side of righteousness against racism, classism, and even judicial injustice. After God showed me where to go and what to do, He taught me how to trust Him and wait.

And now, my family has regained custody of my niece, and in fact, I am still fighting to keep the girls together ultimately if they are not returned to the permanent care of their mother. The battle we waged shook some pretty influential places and positions and I believe it made lots of people remember that truth prevails, even if that truth comes from the mouth of a seemingly insignifcant African-American grandmother and her big-mouth wordsmith of a daughter.

The end result I hope is much bigger than a victory for my family. I hope other families will begin strengthening their families too so that children aren't separated by a system that truly means well but sometimes makes life-altering mistakes that the children will pay for for the rest of their lives.

Thank you to those who prayed for my brother, my niece, and my family. We certainly needed it then, and we still need it now. There is much more to the story that is in fact still happening but this is where God has brought us for now. One thing I know for sure, those who believe in the cause of the Kingdom of God should never remain silent in the face of injustice - even if you don't know if it matters or not. Your voice matters more than you can ever know.

What is in a Name?

A week or so ago, my first cousin Kamani and his wife Amber had their third son, a boy that will follow his older brothers that stand admiringly over his bassinet, I am sure, everyday. The brothers, Kamani Jr. and Jaheim are already fighting over who will love him more.

My cousin and his wife decided to name this baby boy directly and indirectly after our grandfather, Harrison "King" Jones, Sr. I complained a bit when I heard my cousin say that they would possibly choose the name Harrison for their new son (as this is his father's name as well). But I have hidden that name in the treasure chest of the future, hoping to name my first son Harrison William after the names of the greatest father figures I could ever have. The truth is, my cousin had every right to name his son Harrison, but instead he decided on a much different, wonderfully powerful name that I love for that little boy. The very name speaks of greatness.

My new baby cousin is named Kingston Xxavior. I think the name is brilliant. He will be called "King" after my grandfather. And for our family, this is an amazing tribute to the man that helped teach us all what family is truly all about. My grandfather's nickname was given because he truly was a man above men, a wise sage in the community in which we all grew up.

And so, I welcome Kingston Xxavior - already thinking of a poem to write in honor of his name, already thinking of the power that his very name connotes. I look forward to what this little boy will grow up to be...