PURPOSEFUL CREATIVITY

I cannot believe it has been almost a month since I wrote a post.  I don't know if it was laziness that kept me away from the computer this long or just being in a creative slump.  I believe it was more the latter concern that had me holding the couch down on my days off instead of taking my laptop to my neighborhood coffee shop or Barnes and Noble to finish my latest project.  I mustered up enough creativity to help my pastor finish another chapbook project and then back into the slumps I went.

The question I often ask myself is this: For me to be someone that loves to be creative - loves to draw, paint, and write - why is procrastination always my nemesis?  Why do I wrestle with it so?  I know it's not because I'm lazy.  My work output in my 9 to 5 (or rather, 7 - 6) is proof of that.  Why is the demon of procrastination harassing me when I know I am capable of being a creative person everyday.

When I was a girl, I spent countless hours writing stories and poems, drawing pictures, and daydreaming.  The urge to create was not a once a month venture; it happened everyday.  EVERYDAY.  It was like eating, sleeping, and breathing.  It was second nature.  My family saw my projects as part of who I was as a person.  For some reason, as I grew older everything else in life got in the way of that second nature.  I retrained myself to be a hard worker in other areas (namely other areas that pay the bills) and lost the ability to produce something everyday.

I hate that I allowed myself to turn into that person.  I had always promised myself that I would be the same creative person I was as a child because it kept me sane; being the same inventive person was necessary to my survival.

And now, I am not that person - not really.  I  mean, on the inside, yes.  I feel the urgency to be innovative and unique and eccentric.  That is something that cannot be systematically changed.  I think that is because I am built to be this person.  By nature, I am designed by God to be "a creative".  But one lesson I think we are all subject to learn in life is that the minute you get away from what you are designed to do, you begin to lose the essence of who you are.

So what is the resolution?

A few weeks ago I was praying about this very issue...this issue of me getting so far away from the real me.  I was sad because I felt totally isolated.  This has been a very real concern of mine for years because I was not connected to the world of creative people (creatives) and that too has been the reason for so much substantial growth as a child in the pursuit of being who I was born to be.  I had connections in that world of artists, writers, poets, and innovators; this is what keeps you vibrant too when you are surrounded by members of your own tribe.

I began to pray about who I should be connected to, not just what projects I should find myself working on and books to finish writing.  Those endeavors are great, but what if you don't have anyone to connect with to help you slog through the processes that those projects require?  What if no one reads what you write?  What if no one looks at your pictures and paintings and asks the right questions to help you add that one missing element that will make those visual displays of artistry complete?

God just answered that prayer in an amazing way.  I am now connected to people that are also working through the creative process in their own worlds.  I am not alone.  And now, honestly, I have a reason to keep pursuing new avenues of creativity, belonging somewhere with people of my own tribe.

This is more important than simply doing things and having all these projects.  This is ideal for a person like me, who longs daily for a place to belong.

Does this solve the battle with procrastination or lack of fulfillment?  No.  No, it does not.  But what it does now is it gives me accountability with others that understand me and understands why it is so important to be who God made me to be.

With that being said, I have now decided to move forward with some creative ventures that my readers and those perusing my blog may find interesting.

I will be starting a new blog which is fully devoted to poetry, art, and photography.  I will not write on that blog as I do on this one because it will not be designed for that purpose.  This blog will remain the place it has always been for the past 6 years or so: a place for me to flesh out some thoughts through the written word.

Next, I have a Facebook Page separate from my regular page that is devoted to Myowneworld creativity and spirituality through art and photography.  This is the place where people can follow me in a more "real time" method as I begin this new journey.  I have no idea how to move with this page but at least it keeps me connected everyday in "real time" in ways having a more detailed blog will not.

And I will continue to fight the battle against the very thing that tried to silence who I really am.  Nothing is more important than being the person God made you to be.

In Elegy: In Remembrance of Maya

 

I remember the exact moment when I received this book.  I was 18 years old; it was a gift - passed from the hands of Jacqueline Neal on December 17, 1995 to my hands.  We were exchanging gifts at a Women's Ministry Christmas event at Nehemiah Baptist Church in Grand Rapids, Michigan.  My 18-year-old mind had not yet been formed into the ways of womanhood, in terms of my own independence; yet, there I was amongst many women from all walks of life. 

 

Jacqueline wrote these words inside the cover: 

 

"I've heard and read some of your poems and they are great.  Somehow, I thought you would enjoy this book.  God bless you."

 

She did not know that Maya Angelou was my favorite writer, poet, sage of all time (even at that age).  I had already read many of her books and was just beginning to build my library.  But this book, all Maya's collected poems, was the prized jewel of them all.  This beautiful woman, an example of Christian faith in my world, had thought of me when she selected my name for the secret Santa activity, and she had allowed Holy Spirit to lead her.  I really believed that then as I looked at the book in awe and met her eyes with tears in my own.

 

Today I still believe God led her to give me that book.

 

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach when I turned my computer on this morning to do some work.  My writer, my poetess, my sage had entered Heaven just before 8 this morning.  She slipped silently into the Eternal Presence of our Lord.  The tears began to fall.  I reached for the phone to call my mother, whom had already called me twice.  We were both saddened by the news of her departure, but I knew this day would come.  I often wondered how my heart would handle it when she, of all my favorite writers, would leave for the halls of Heaven. 

 

I reached for the gift I had been given at 18 years old.  Surprisingly, the book and it's cover are still in rather pristine condition for the many times I have pulled it from the shelf to read a poem or two.  This book has traveled with me from place to place, never lost or left in a box.  I take it out to join me in each house I have lived in.  And today, it is even more prized because the woman that wrote the poems within has left this world and left me here to write evermore. 

 

I opened the book, noticing a sticky note sticking out of the very back of it.  The neon green slip of paper was attached to an essay.  I opened three stapled pages.  I knew immediately what it was and when I had written the words on those pages.  I stopped my tears and began to read the words of a 19 year old girl whom had owned the book for a year.  I had written these words.  Now they are a landmark and a comfort on this day of all days.  The title of the essay was "Maya and Me".

 

"My favorite writer in the known world is an extraordinary woman by name of Maya.  She is much like me in her style just as I am like her.  Her mentality in writing and her creative use and play with words are things I truly admire.

 

I often wonder about the realm of her creativity, if is indeed much more remarkable than that which she expresses to this outward world.  Perhaps, her more definite spiritual self is just as hidden as mine.

 

The majesty with which she writes can only truly express that which she understands about herself and the world around her.  The mystery which causes writers to undertake the task of expression is desired to be discerned.  This is why the words we so easily toy with down on paper seem to intrigue us so much.  There is an underlying element of suspense that causes us to search for deeper spiritual truths that, although may not be able to be voiced, could perhaps be written down.

 

We as writers, Maya and I, try earnestly to speak from the soul what human beings in our inadequacies cannot even fathom.  Perhaps the soul does not speak in a language discernible; perhaps it speaks as softly and simply that our search for depth is much too complex.  I believe, as I would think that Maya would hasten to agree, that life is built around the emblem of simplicity - rare and treasured.  (Just as Richard Foster.)

 

Maya's simplistic words, deep and frank, cause me to love her all the more.  I have found a portion of myself in her, in sync with her outlook.  Yet, my unique self is like no one else, not even her.

 

Her devotion to simplicity in life, her reflections on the past cause us all to recollect on what embraces us as human beings.  In this we do well to be like her in action and thinking, if nothing else.

 

The other quirk about our relationship through writing is the fact that Maya is in love with words.  I feel like in order to be a true writer one must establish an adoration of language and the words in language.  Written words put into expression human feelings and emotions.  If Maya did not even resolutely love words, she could never tell the world how it feels to fall in love with someone or how it feels to be abused or misused.

 

I guess when I read her poetry and her collections of thoughts, I see images of myself in her play of words.  Her life, though not identical to mine, explores the deep caverns of existence and the pains of existence.

 

Sorrow runs deep, and misery hates to be alone.  Every word so eloquently spoken in the quiet of her books' pages expresses perhaps a little sorrow, pain, and even joy within her as it is within me.

 

I feel like her; when I write, I can speak much more openly and clearly than physically uttering one word.  There is no such thing as foolishness in the mind of a writer, in a writer's world.  The words I speak in poetry, in discovery of self through novel-writing, can never be turned away as uselessness.

 

The most important thing to us, in this world, is the freedom and liberty of expression we find in writing.  There is a liberation in being able to speak one's mind, to share what is sometimes difficult for others to say.

 

For example, the best way for me to reach others for Christ, to come at them from their level is through poetry and through real-to-life depictions in storytelling.  In them, I unlock doors that even I have never been through.  I discover more to the extremes of human rationale than life has revealed to me in this short time.

 

Maya and I...we are unique in our ability to stand on top of the world and look down, with pen and notebook in hand, ready to write down the words of the silent voice of human experience.

                                                             simpleprofounddeep..."

 

I found this today when I needed to read it.  She is gone on.  Her words, as many have said, live on because they are still needed.  The beauty and the mystery exist in the way that words transcend time and space.  I believe God meant for them to be that way because when our lives are over, the words we have written will tell the world around us that we were here and we mattered.

 

Maya mattered to me.  I would not be Mya if she had not been here - if she had not been the Maya we all needed.  Her legacy has reached to Heaven, and I wonder at her entrance there.

Spring Looks Like This

I take a walk everyday around our backyard looking to see new beauty. We moved here in the late fall so everything was nearly past it's prime,  preparing for winter. But now that it's spring I can see flowers and plants and smell scents that I didn't before. Isn't it amazing when you can experience life all over again for the first time?

The tiny Locke dogs,  like me,  love exploring our home. But they also love the warm sun that was hidden for a while. In the winter the rays shine through the windows,  deceiving us into believing we can be embraced by them.  As the seasons have changed,  so  we change with them -  deceived no more. We can embrace warmth; it will hug us back.

I travel to the far reaches of our little piece of property and love it all, looking through eyes of wonder like a child. The purple flowers on the bush next to the blue shed,  the greenery that weeks ago didn't exist in my eyesight,  and the ferns sprouting along the fence... they all came alive when I thought there was nothing underneath the ground or inside the tree trunks or within the bushes.

Isn't that like all of us?  We go through wintry seasons and everything appears dead. But then resurrection comes and  we must rethink how we view the potential that sleeps inside.

This is how  we awaken. This is  we spring forth and bud,  producing life again. This is how spring looks.

Good morning, new person not the same.

Hello new season. 

Home

My husband and I sang and danced our way through bagging leaves this afternoon. Honestly,  it felt awesome to be taking care of our little area of the world. The sun started shining and we worked hard to continue making our house a home. I'm sure it sounds silly but when I think of how much I have wanted a home, it felt beautiful to work on the yard. It felt beautiful to share the work with my husband,  knowing that one day we will host barbeques and birthday parties and graduation parties.  We will sit out here on warm summer nights with a Redd's in hand,  relishing the stars and the firepit and conversation without a television for distraction. For me that's home.

The Truth Is...

I can't believe it has taken me nearly two months to sit down and post on here.  I would say I have been busy, but the truth is...I have been pretty self-absorbed and even a little afraid to post what I need to say.  I am not afraid to tell my truth.  It's just that sometimes when you tell it, the words are hot, searing, raw.  But I can't get away from where I am right now and  what has been on my mind and heart.  Lots of good things have been happening (I met one of my favorite bloggers at the Festival of Faith and Writing in Grand Rapids last week, but that is a post for next time).  But there have been some things going on in my life that have caused me to take pause.

My husband and I, now married a year and four months, have an empty house still.  By now there should have been children's voices and laughter and even cries.  I should be holding our child in my arms and waxing poetic how my husband's namesake takes a nap with him every Saturday afternoon.  I posted about how our house really was made for children to live in, our backyard was made for romping and playing and discovering.

But there is only the silence.

The silence is what kills my passion sometimes.  I hate to say it like that.  But it is my truth.  It is a hard truth, but mine nonetheless.

I have what the doctors say in all the medical blogs and books about reproduction; I have "unexplained infertility".  People have tried to tell me that a baby will come at some point.  Just relax.  Just chill out.  Just do this.  Just do that.  I don't get mad anymore at the well meaning suggestions.  I just get quiet and stop telling people because quite frankly all the people telling me that have at least one child clamoring for their attention.  They don't know what it feels like to be in my position.  And I don't expect them to understand.  I just expect them to listen.

I want to say, "If you love me...just listen.  Don't try to resolve what a doctor couldn't.  Don't try to tell me what I should be doing when you have never been here before.  Don't give me a list of dos and don'ts because I've done all that.  You aren't telling me something new."

As I thought about this "unexplained fertility" and what that means for my empty house and empty arms a year after all the tests and procedures started, I realized something that I haven't heard anyone say.  I realized that for now there is a truth that I am embracing that will make all these people that mean well quite uncomfortable.

I read a book recently called The Rise, written by Sarah Lewis.  In her book she explores the topic of failure in creativity.  This intrigues me as an artist, a writer, a creator.  And as a woman that longs to be a mom.

I am wrestling with the idea of loss or what could be defined as the near win (as she talks about in the book).  In terms of my life right now, The near win signifies the failure wrapped inside of infertility.  This has been a difficult and embarrassing process - this process of disappointment.  I thought that pregnancy would just happen.  I mean, point blank, I have my job because a whole bunch of pregnancies just happened (not all but a goodly number of them) and we are trying to figure out what to do about the children.

The truth is, at least for me right now, we live in fallible bodies, and where we think we will be physically successful, we may not be.  I didn't take into consideration that there aren't any guarantees in this body.  There are no guarantees that we won't get sick or have abnormalities or unexplained deficiencies.  We can't control these bodies; we have the responsibilities to take care of them and treat them right.  But there are no guarantees that they will operate as they were intended to in God's mind and heart when He made human beings.  There is no guarantee that our bodies won't fail.

We can live with a supernatural awareness that we can be healed and whole.  But we can also have bodies that go their own way.  We don't like to look at it that way.  I believe that is why a lot of people that mean well in my life won't like this post.  They don't want to hear that I accept whatever is going on in my body right now and what hasn't happened and what didn't work.  They don't want to hear this: infertility is a failure to reproduce.  Infertility is a failure of the body.

In this realization, I am not focused on the perceived failure.  I am not looking for pity or quick answers.  I am running to God at a breakneck speed.  Why?  Because this unexplained infertility explains my need for God - more than ever now.  It shows my physical need for God.

I need Him to fill in the gaps - whether than means to heal what appears to be fragmented or fractured or broken or  whether that means to change my perspective.  That change is difficult - more than anyone can imagine.  When you think you will accomplish the very thing you have always dreamed to accomplish (even something as seemingly base as birthing a child) and you don't, it rocks you.  You can get knocked off your proverbial square right on your ass.  And the question becomes not whether you can do that one more fertility treatment or lose weight or pray and fast about it; it becomes whether you can love God despite the disappointment.  Whether you can still look Him in the eyes and not look away, holding His gaze, and letting the tears fall.

A lot of people look away from God when they are disappointed.  Or they try religion on for size when real faith is too raw.

The change of perception is difficult, but it prepares you for what God really means to happen.

When I read this woman's book, my faith was solidified even in this.  I can still grow from this.  I can be made better.  I can take in the failure and then redirect the energy of it into a more healthy and creative space.  I appreciate people's attempts at cushioning the blow of infertility.  I love the testimonies from other women that have overcome it (one way or another).  I know that when they try to talk me out of seeing the infertility issue as a failure of the body (which is actually the proof that this body is fallible in need of an infallible God), they are really uncomfortable with nature of this and want to make me feel better.  It's hard seeing the person you love hurting and depressed and disappointed (like I was).

But listen...my body is fallible. IT IS.  Yours is; everybody's is in one way or another.  My body is supposed to fail sometimes because I live in it, and it lives on this earth.  Whether we like it or not, this is the truth.

But it's not ALL the truth.

God is on the other side of our fallibility.

This is not a negative self-view.  For me this is a form of grace - not punishment - to see that this body needs God as much as my mind and heart and spirit does.  The creative part of my feminine body has the potential to fail.  And when I see that, I don't see me as bad or unworthy.

I see myself in a place of vulnerability and in need of God Himself.  Right here.  Right in this space where it hurts and I am bleeding and raw on the inside.  Right here where my arms ache to hold our baby.  He is right here.

"Improbable foundations lead to iconic rises," Sarah Lewis says.

So now the question is no longer, how in the world am I expected to get through this?  It becomes, whose life will rise from my body's failure?

Plow, Sow, Plant, Harvest

"Does he who plows for sowing plow continually?  Does he continue to plow and harrow ground after it is smooth?"  Isaiah 28:24

Sometimes I find myself doing the same repetitive thing over and over again, knowing that I should move forward in the decision to sow, to plant, to grow in the area that God has intended, but because of fear I do the same safe motion.  It is easier to re-plow an already plowed ground because that is safe.  It is easier to prepare the ground rather than plant the seed; in planting we are trusting that the conditions outside of our control will come into alignment.  We are trusting that the God Whom brings the increase will indeed do just that without our assistance and control.  We are trusting that there will be a harvest after we have done everything that is humanly possible in the most impossible of situations.  I do this repetitive plowing, this silly motion that does nothing and assumes no risk in the bringing forth of a harvest in my life.  What about you?

"When he has leveled its surface, does he not cast abroad [the seed of] dill or fennel and scatter cummin [a seasoning], and put wheat in rows, and barley in its intended place, and spelt [an inferior kind of wheat] as the border.  [And he trains each of them correctly] for his God instructs him correctly and teaches him."  Isaiah 28:25-26

God brings increase and change and opportunity into our lives to grow.  When we follow his instruction, it means that we are learning to trust the One that controls the outcome of the risk we plant into the Universe.  We cast the seed in the intended places in just the manner that is necessary for those seeds to grow into something great.  We train the plants to grow.  We take the risk to wait for the harvest.

"For dill is not threshed with a sharp threshing instrument, nor is a cartwheel rolled over cummin; but dill is beaten off with a staff, and cummin with a rod [by hand].  Does one crush bread grain?  No, he does not thresh it continuously.  But when he has driven his cartwheel and his horses over it, he scatters it [tossing it up to the wind] without having crushed it."  Isaiah 28:27-28

There is a pattern that we must follow depending on what is to come forth in our lives.  We have planted and sown certain seeds in our lives and the harvest that comes has to come forth by strategy.  This takes an element of risk as well and risk takes strategy. The risk to bring forth greatness has to come forth with some measure of obedience to the process.  And it is all on purpose, even when it makes no sense.

I am learning this.  Everything can't come to fruition the same way.  But it is up to me to learn how to bring the intended results into my life.

"This also comes from the Lord of hosts, Who is wonderful in counsel and excellent in wisdom and effectual working."  Isaiah 28:29

God has a plan.  Period.  It may mean taking a risk in bringing that plan to life, but He knows the best way to bring it forth.  He knows what works and what doesn't work.  He knows how best to get us where we should be.  It makes no sense to re-plow already plowed ground when we are supposed to plant the seeds God gives us to plant.  It makes no sense to bring in the harvest with faulty methods when there is already a divine plan to do so.

I am learning that today. 

GOING BEYOND HERE

One thing I know for sure....I can be all in for this moment but I probably won't retire from this place that I call a job.  I could be in the building for 26 more years and get my little certificate and fight with the state over my well-deserved benefits.  But I know and anyone that knows me knows I won't.  I will be here for the time I am able to make a difference in the families and children I come into contact with, but at the end of the day, I won't be spending my life here.

It's not the same as it was in my parents' or my grandparents' day when you endured whatever you had to endure for the sake of a 30-plus year paycheck just to retire with half the money you thought you were owed.  This is not even my testimony, though it could be if I just pretended that this is all I ever really want.

But I really have my heart set on holding babies for the next 30-plus years, whether they are mine or not.  I really have my heart set on writing books and helping other people write books and reading books others have written because I love words.  I really have my heart set on using what I have in my creative and business mind to support my household.

Being an entrepreneur is in my blood.  It is my bread and butter.  It is what keeps me up at night.  But it is also the thing that reminds me that the job I go to everyday doesn't have the right to give me high blood pressure or anxiety or any form of angst.  I figure if that is the reciprocation of all the hard work and passion, it is time to find another place to pour out my energies.

This morning, I am up early thinking and reading and writing and making lists in my head about how to get to the place where my visions come to life.  It is not enough to have a dream anymore...you only have one life, you know?  So why spend life wishing and dreaming and then driving to a building where you know where your best efforts are whittled down to what others think about you?

I know better than that.

I know that there is more to life than this.

I know I am not going to retire from this job in 26 years.  There would be no point in wasting time doing something that on any given day gives me heart palpitations and frustrating thoughts instead of vision and creativity in doing something new.

Before I moved to Port Huron, I had a home daycare that I was just starting.  I was so excited about impacting kids in my own way, loving someone else's babies like I love my own, and I have kept that feeling in my heart even through the journey of working at other jobs since that move.  That dream has not died, and lately, it has become a persistent echo in my ear.

I was a freelance writer and worked on various projects for companies and individuals, including myself.  I was brave and fearless and God was opening more doors than I could count because I believed that the sky was the limit.

Now?  I feel like a fearful little girl.  I am afraid to start these businesses again because what if they don't pan out?  What if I have to network far more than I did when I lived in my hometown?  What if this requires even more faith than I had 8 years ago?  What if this isn't the right thing to do?

Faced with the option to stay somewhere for 30 years or forge my own path, what if the path is much more rugged than I thought?  What if it requires more of me than 30 years fulfilling governmental requirements in a job that makes me question myself everyday?

But...the thought invades my heart and mind that I need to have faith that God has a much bigger plan than I could ever make on my own.  It sounds simple but I have never been a person that could live in a box.  I have never been a person that could live inside the safe zone.  That doesn't mean that I live in the realm of stupidity.  However, if it was done before, can't it be done again?

I know more now.

I have lived a little more now.

I was happier then.

Can't I be happy now?

What if I take a risk?

And life opens up when I take the risk to have faith that God will use me when I open these gifts and callings to Him.

What happens when you know the place where you are doesn't want what you have to offer but the place of faith God is calling you to does?

THIS MORNING

I just finished writing the short of their life story, telling how he got in trouble in his youth, and how his wife has always been there for him and his boys.  I just wrote about how her sons know that she loves them because she puts up with their crap and loves them fiercely anyway.  I just wrote it and was planning to send it all in so they could finish the legalization of what they have done since day one - caring for just one more grandchild and keeping their family together as only they know how to do.

And then...

The co-worker with the long blond hair and the sweet disposition came into my cube, holding her cell phone - looking down at it and not at me.  My first thought when she said their names was to sigh.  I didn't have what I needed to send it all in - the story and the forms and the legal paperwork.  She interrupted me.  At 8 this morning, she interrupted me.

Why do our hands flutter up to cover our mouths when we get bad news?  Why do the tears spring so suddenly to the eyes and the cheeks get hot?  Why does the breath suck back into our lungs with such force, keeping us from screaming?

I met this family a few years ago when I started working here, working with families that were in disrepair and needed the truth to set them free.  Their family was one.  They were caring grandparents then too, and I fell in love with how they loved their sons but didn't, not one time, accept their bad choices.  I loved how they hugged their grandchildren close and held them until they could go home again.  And three years later, when they had to do it all over again, I jumped at the chance to work alongside them again.

And then...

This morning, my co-worker stood in my cube and told me the unthinkable.

A woman that has loved her man for 40 years had to watch him leave her for heaven this morning.

Why THIS morning?  Why now, when they were doing it all again?  Why, when they were better together than apart?

I tried not to cry the messy tears I am known to cry.  I tried to keep them all in, but I ran.  I ran for a safe place to cry astonished tears as I thought of her - the wife and mother left holding onto the pieces.  And I cried, thinking of him...gone.  He would have never left if he had a choice.  But he had no choice this morning and no one knows why.

I am a strong woman, yes.  I love my job because I love the people - like this beautiful couple.  But I have no answers, and while I know I need to show up at the door of their home at 5:00 this evening to hug her, I don't have answers.  And I so desperately want to have answers.

Wait...

No...

I don't want to have answers.

I want to have him back in that house with her (the woman he has loved for forty-plus years).  I want my godfather back from heaven so my godmother isn't without him anymore.  I want my friend's daughter back from the arms of Jesus so she can be the princess in her family again - wearing her crown.

I don't want death surprising families anymore.  I don't want the grief and pain that it causes.  I don't want to answer why this has to happen now, as it does everyday somewhere.

This morning, I came in with no idea that this woman said goodbye to her husband while I laid next to mine in bed well before a new day could be embraced.  I had no idea the rock of that family would leave so suddenly.  And as I type this, I am speechless.  I am rendered silent with a prayer burning in my heart.

This New Year's Life

We think we are barren when the seed that we hoped would be planted inside at the time we hoped does not come to fruition.  I thought the issue I struggled with was barrenness and infertility - both naturally and spiritually.  But it never was.  That has never been the issue.  My body is ready.  I am ready.

There is so much to living a new life in a new year that we don't often understand.  It is not about plans or resolutions or goals.  I do not have any this year, in terms of what I will do different or better.  I have realizations and revelations this year.  The first is that my life is not my own.  My time is not my own.  A new life within is Christ and His Presence and not simply this baby I am longing to hold.  His life is exchanged for my life.  When I accepted Him as Lord and Savior, His life replaced my own (Myowne) and whatever happens (no matter when) is up to His divine timing.  Whether the timing demands that I fight or stand or be strong in faith with reliance on Word, it is determined by Him and not by me.

Yes, we can speak things.  Yes, we can believe and hope for things.  That is the result of the new life beating and pulsing within.  But the truth is, the life we now live is not our own and He does what He will according to His own divine timing.  Our responsibility is to be aware of it and to live out the reality of it.

I have not been doing that; I have accepted the whisper from the enemy that says I will never give birth to my own child.  I have believed him because the melodramatic side of me believes that I have done so much wrong in my past that something as big as being a mother to God-graced children is not destined for my future.  How could I be a good mother when I am such a damaged woman - a woman with scars? I am not talking about simply carrying and birthing another human being.  Where I spend 40 hours a week of my time, I am all too familiar with the human nature of conception and birth and bad parenting.  I am talking about mothering a member of the next generation and doing it well.  Doing it so well that the child grows up and declares freedom to enslaved nations or changes the trajectory of life with the power of God.  That child. One of the many meant to make a difference even in the smallest of ways.

Secretly, I thought I must be barren - that my womb cannot be the place where life can develop.  What I was reminded of this morning is that there is life within me - a life that is not my own.  And He lives.  And if He can live there, how can another human NOT?  How can a baby not, if the Creator and King of the Universe chooses to make his abode with me in the highest of dimensions?  If He can live here and develop His life in me, then the path has been made clear and I am fruitful.

My life is not Myowne.

It belongs wholly to Him.

And everything that must come forth from it must come from Him, in His timing.  It is not up to me or my husband or a doctor at a fertility clinic or all the wishes in the world that will bring new life into being this year.  It is up to the Jesus that gave His life for me and now has decided to allow His Spirit to live through me.

I did not think of this while I was accepting a closed womb.  But I know now that my womb isn't closed.  My ability to bring forth is not denied.

I am not barren.

And His timing is perfect.

Where The Magic Happens

THE UNFAMILIAR WAITING

I've seriously thought about deleting my Facebook account instead of deleting people, and it's not for the reasons you would think.  I want to hit the delete button, at least for a little while, because it hurts too much to look.  It hurts this time of year when I want to be close to the people on that page that have moved on without me so close by.  It really disappoints me that I cannot be in my hometown in the church I love so very much and am missing all that is going on, all the exciting end of the year things that make Revolution the church that held my heart like Jesus in the manger.  And finally, it is hard to see the children that I have adored since birth growing up or all grown up without me.

I know...it's selfish...and I have to accept that life changes.  But must everything change? every relationship? every friendship? every place? every memory?

It's a snowy Tuesday here on the East Side of the state, the suburbs of Detroit where I live now.  I drove from the doctor's office this morning, wondering if this baby I am waiting to make an appearance will even know all the things that have made me who I am, will even recognize the friends that I thought would be aunts to him or her, will see my hometown as a home-away-from-home.  I wonder if my child will gravitate toward Detroit, the place I despised as a child, but now live shoulder to shoulder with.  This baby will have his or her own hometown to grow up in, and it won't be St. Louis and then Port Huron like Daddy or Grand Rapids like Mommy.  I wait to see what my child will embrace as home (beyond the physical location, but that feeling you get when the only home you know is all you want to know).

My mind during this time of year misses the familiar.  Christmas was a warm familiar place for me even some years ago when love surrounded me, where I was surrounded by family and friends.  I wish that I could combine my life now with my life then.  I wish I could show my husband the world that swirls in my memories but it feels so long gone now.  I gaze at the pictures and read the stories and live vicariously through all those I miss and then I want to hit the delete button and forget about them.  I want to not see how I don't fit there anymore.  But I can't hit the delete button for my mind's instant recall.  So I find myself waiting to be okay with not being as involved with the lives that were so fully intertwined with mine.

We started going to church in Troy.  We still attend like visitors and  lately, with all the sadness at not being at my old church, I haven't wanted to go.  This is horrible to admit - that I have had to convince myself that I will one day fight past the feeling that I only fit in in one place.  It's ridiculous and I know my husband thinks I am just being silly, but the right church for you is hard to replicate somewhere else and I've never been able to do it.  I have never been able to not miss the love I felt at my old church.  I cannot just switch that feeling over.  And I find myself waiting for the sadness to pass and acceptance to walk through the sanctuary doors with me.

This Advent season feels so much more like waiting - more than any other year.  I feel like I am waiting for  the next season to begin, an unfamiliar place that smells and tastes and feels like change - a change I am learning to be ready for.  In this season, I think a lot about the kind of wife I must be, the kind of mother I will be, the kind of daughter I have to be.  I know these places by mind but not by heart and I realize that some things within those places cannot be planned for because I have never been there before.

And in the middle of all this waiting that seems to be endless, I find myself waiting for the God of change to change me.  The Christ in Christmas has to be my focus so that when change comes I won't grieve yesterday and miss today.  Life has to be lived for today.  It has to be embraced right now.  And I am learning that, even in this place that is so unfamiliar.

Best Friend

One of life's greatest joys is a tiny dog loving you no matter what.

ALL SETTLED IN....AND THE DOGS ARE TOO...

I took some time off from the blog to get used to our new house, and I have to say that we are all settled in.  We are all used to the unique facets of this new house.  We are trying to figure out ways to enjoy every area of our new blessing.

All of us are.

Even the two little black dogs that think they should have the run of the whole house...whether I happen to think so or not.

I had this thought: they would understand that they have to be confined to the upstairs until after the honeymoon period of the new home has worn off.  I assumed they would understand that they are not allowed to go downstairs to the beautifully finished basement with the creme colored carpet until I say they are allowed to go.  I assumed they knew the same rules apply at the new house as they did at the old apartment.  I assumed my cute little monsters would sit obediently at the top of the basement stairs and wait for us to come back up.

Well, first off I had that wrong.

When you have two little chihuahuas, you cannot assume anything about their perspective on life.  You cannot think they will just understand when their human daddy is heading down to his crazy shower with the wall spigots that THEY CANNOT GO, TOO.  You cannot assume that they understand how they need to wait until YOU THINK they are ready.

They will not ask, "Hey, Human Mommy, am I ready, yet?"

They will not obey your yelling as they wind their little bodies past his, dashing through his legs, as he makes his way down the stairs.

They WILL take off knowing you cannot just push your husband out the way to save your carpet.

They WILL christen the creme colored carpet with their little sausage turds and then take off running while you are screaming for their punishment.

The fat one will hunch low and shoot out like a missile for the opposite side of the basement to hide.  The skinny one will take off for the upstairs when he sees his girl get in trouble, deciding to leave his own tiny remnants in the bathroom you thought was fit for a queen and in no way appropriate for a 4 pound terror to do his business.

This will happen - while you are assuming they will act right and consider your feelings about their disobedience.

This is how we have settled in.  I am realizing that I can't banish them to the pound because they are the most hard-headed creatures on the planet (besides me, obviously).  They have to get used to this new home.  And they don't care if the carpet is creme.  I may have a hissy fit while I am re-cleaning the carpet and screaming bloody murder, but they will just stare at me with big brown eyes and think I am crazy.

We are home.

And so are they.

MOVING, MOVING, MOVING

So we are moving in three days....moving from the first apartment we shared as husband and wife, and now, we are moving into the home we have been waiting for.  We both are excited about the prospect of NEVER MOVING AGAIN.  But for me, and I suspect for Mr., this move signifies that we are moving into a new phase of marriage.  We are really in it and I love being IN IT.

Every time we walk into the house and soften our hearts to match the beauty of hard wood floors and a stone fire place and soothing colors on the walls that make me want to paint pictures to enhance even more, we know we are home.  We feel like we belong there, that we have found that place that will hold so many of our memories.  I could see it from the first time that I walked in the door.  And in three days we will call this place our home.

There is a huge difference between living in a house and living in a home.

As a little girl, the one thing I longed for more than anything else was a home.  We lived in a lot of apartments, many of which didn't have much green space.  My grandparents house was a home, and when my grandfather passed away my grandmother moved to a new home that became a refuge for all of us at some point or another.  One thing I always said was I wanted my children to never know what it was like to live in a home that wasn't theirs.  It is still very important to me that they grow up in the a house of their own, that will be a generational blessing to them should they decide to keep it long after their father and I are gone to be with the Lord.

It's not about owning a piece of the American Dream, per se.  That's a nice thought.  For me, it's about having a place to belong, a place to raise my children, a place to watch them grow up in those bedrooms that will likely be painted new colors and be decorated with toys and books and little clothes.  My mom wanted  wanted to give me these things when I was a little girl, but because of her injury on the job three decades ago she was denied the chance.  I believe that she will have it again for herself, but I also believe that she will have a home soon too.  I am living her dream too, which makes this all the more sweeter in my eyes...that my mom is here to see me live out that aspiration too.

When Destiny Doesn't Make Sense

I turned 36 a few days ago and one of my Facebook posts stated that I am 36 but I feel 26.  Some of my oh-so-kind Facebook friends said that I look anywhere between 18 and 26.  Truthfully, I do feel much younger than my birth certificate says I am and that is a wonderful thing.  The reality is God has graced me to be more vibrant and full of life than I have ever been.  Perhaps as I am getting older, I am actually "mounting up with wings as eagles" and "running and not growing weary, walking and not fainting".  My husband says that when I reach 40 I will feel my age; the joints will start creaking and things will start hurting and I won't move as fast.  What he doesn't know is that I am praying that he will actually feel like I do instead of me feeling like he does.  I want him to have vitality and strength and health.

We have a beautiful home to move into in a few weeks, and there is so much more to life than creaking through it, hoping for Heaven.  I definitely don't want us to live out the rest of our earthbound days with that mentality.  Why should we?  I don't believe that is God's best for anybody.

This morning, I turned on my computer at home and began finishing up another chapter in my next book.  It has taken me some time to begin writing about Esther and the process she went through to live out her greatest destiny.  This Bible character is my favorite person to study in biblical history.  The Old Testament book that was named for her is so significant in my life, dating back to age 17 when someone mysteriously wrote the name on a t-shirt at a camp, describing me.  I never found out who wrote it, but even then I had long held the suspicion that she was someone that had lived a life that I was born to live too.  Even back then, I knew that my name might as well had been Esther for the significant journey my life was destined to take.

So this morning, I sat at my dining room table with my laptop, tapping away.  And the thought came to me that while she may not have known the direction her life was going when it was falling apart, God had a plan for her...not just for her people using her, but a plan for her.  Of course, there is always a big-picture scenario in everyone's life.  We all have a role to play in the whole scheme of things. But privately, individually, separately we also have plans for our own lives.  God has something planned on the horizon. And it's not just for someone else.  It's for you and me too.

Esther was raised as an adopted daughter to her cousin when her parents died.  She ultimately had a heritage that was salvaged.  But she could have ended up as a beggar in the street.  She could have ended up without a place to call home.  God had a better plan for her - a plan that not only included adoption, but also included a home in a palace and a role as a queen over 127 provinces.  Her life had value and that value was much bigger than she may have realized.  That is what I believe God wants for all of us: to finish the process and live our best life, destiny on purpose.  We may not understand why our paths have to go the directions they go or why we have to overcome so much pain and loss at times, but there is more to fulfillment than we even know.  We don't have to have all the answers.

We just need to develop trust in God - more and more everyday.  Sometimes He asks us to trust Him in the craziest ways and through the craziest times in our lives, when everything seems to be falling apart.  Two years ago when I thought I had lost love for good, God had a greater plan and today, I am married to a king and moving into a palace.  God knew my destiny even when I didn't...especially when I didn't know it or where I would end up.  But I have learned, if nothing else, that that is the point of the process for each of us.

Home

It has taken me a while to write a new blog post, which is really not abnormal for me.  Sometimes I wait.  It isn't for lack of things to write about.  Believe me...I am always writing (even if it is in my head and not down on paper or typed on a computer screen).

At any case, it has taken some time to write because there is the sense that once I tell this story, the story of my life with Mr. now, I won't be able to stop.  But now, it's really a matter of using this venue to "brag on God".  At some point in all our lives, we have to give honor where honor is due.  What's more, we have to realize that the One that created us has a definite plan for our lives and it is up to us individually to obey the course of those plans - even when those same plans make little to no sense whatsoever.

My husband and I spent the last few months searching for a home, walking in crazy faith to find that home that would be the place where our children (and perhaps other children that need a safe place and the love we can give) can call home.  That home was out there.  I knew it, and I wanted my husband to believe with me.  It was hard sometimes to get him to see that God had the perfect home for us.  It didn't matter if in the natural sense there was no possible way that all the elements would line up, if we had very little to spend on a house, if we had made some mistakes individually and collectively before.  There was a home for us, specifically for us, and that house is part of the plan for our lives.

How do you live in the realm of faith?  How do you exist in that place where all odds are against you and the truth is hard to see because the facts don't line up?  How do you believe God's command to move forward when it makes more sense to stand still and put down tent pegs where you are?

This move toward a home, a territory, a place for us, a generational blessing for these children that are waiting to be born here was not my idea.  I was scared to death to step out here.  It felt right in my spirit but wrong to my flesh, to my finite mind.  It didn't make sense.

But I have learned that few things in life ever do...the things worth stepping out in faith for don't ever make a whole lot of sense.

The day Mr. signed the last line on the documents sealing the deal, the Unites States Government went into shut-down mode.  And then everything began to make sense.  And then the topic of this first blog post for October 2013 came to mind.

The shutdown that we are not existing in, no matter whose fault it is or for how long, caused many families to be placed in the position of having to wait for the homes that they were seeking government-backed mortgages for.  There is no possible way I could have known that.  All I knew, all I insisted on when Mr. and I debated back and forth about the wisdom of finding a home RIGHT NOW, is that God said move NOW.  The words I kept returning to in my duct-taped Bible were the stories of Abraham moving in faith toward a home he had not seen and did not have a clear picture of and the offspring of Abraham going in to possess the land generations later.  There was no such thing as renting the promise land; there was ownership.

The urgency was much bigger than even our parents realized.  They wanted to be supportive but did not understand why we were "moving so fast".  They wondered if we would bite off more than we could chew in buying a house when our marriage wasn't even a year old.

All I knew was the process of moving forward, and my husband made the decision to do what needed to be done.  I have never been more in awe of him than when he finally trusted that God had spoken to me about the next move for our family - even when it didn't make sense.  My husband trusted God, but he also trusted me like the husband trusted his wife in Proverbs 31.

God knew that this was shutdown was going to happen.  He knew it all the way up until the date of October 1.  And the same day that others were shut out of their dreams (even if on a momentary basis), we were able to advance in faith.  Our God knows the times and the seasons of this earth; it is up to us that love and believe Him to trust that He can lead us into a goodly land, that He can lead us home.



There is a gray house with blue shutters on a quiet street where we will live.  Our children's school is behind the woods that border our property.  They will walk to school and have friends in that neighborhood.  These children will have the home I wasn't able to have physically, but did have spiritually.  Our children are in line for a generational blessing.  And really, it isn't about the house at all.  It's about the blessing that has traveled down both my husband's and my bloodlines.

But this home is not just for our birth children.  There are others that will be impacted by the little gray house with blue shutters and the love emanating from the very walls.  There are lives that will be touched by the books written in that house and the pictures painted in that house and the music composed in that house.  There are relationships with the God that led us to that house which will be built there.  My babies will learn about God in that house, like I learned about God in my grandparents' house 35 years ago.

And to me...that is what the faith was for.  That is what the pressing forward toward a dream was for.  That is what the true blessing is for.

I AM PART OF ROYALTY

Last week Thursday, I spent some time at a week-long summer camp experience for children.  Forty children ages 6 to 12 (except for two "littles" that were not quite 6, but needed to be there anyway) listened to how love can find them and hold them despite difficult beginnings and situations outside of what their small hands could control.  They learned how the Jesus I love so much could be their foundation for life.  They sang songs with exuberant adults, clapped and moved energetically, and become so enmeshed in the moments, I am sure the last day of camp was harder than any of us could comprehend.

Royal Family Kids Camp has satellite, independent summer camps for kids in foster care all over the world, but also in my neck of the woods.  The children that participated were part of a family for a week; they were invited to be part of an eternal family no matter where in the world they might end up after the actual camp experience was over.

And me?

I was honored to be there.  I was honored to see them swimming and sliding down soapy tarps on hillsides and loving their Camp Buddies.  I was honored to see the children be allowed to let "the kids hidden inside" come out - romping and playing and being celebrated.

But more, I was proud to be part of the Royal Family behind Royal Family Kids' Camp.  The camp is hosted by others that believe in Christ's mission to save, believe that God has a place for everyone because of what Christ did 2000 years ago.  The underlying tone of the camp, which on the surface looks similar to other summer camps with all the activities, is the mission to love these kids with the love God has shown to us all.

My belief is that children deserve to be loved like God intended.  That doesn't mean you preach it more than you show it, more than you give people permission to be who they were born to be.  You embrace and give significance to others by paying homage to who they are as humans on this earth, by loving them simply because they are here.  Then you remind them that their existence is not by happenstance and is not a mistake.  No such thing.

Last week those kids knew this.  It was repeated over and over in loving action, so much so that the children responded.  Souls that had been stifled by adult circumstances outside the camp's fun and peace were able to say, "Yes!  I am here!  And I matter!"

If that isn't the real Gospel in action, I don't know what it is.

The sun (Son) was shining a week ago at a camp.

And kids that have little to laugh about threw their heads back and laughed like Heaven just touched earth.  (Truth is, it did - through the hands and feet and love flowing like living water.)

Every child was given a surprise birthday party and Heaven touched earth again when these babies realized their lives were indeed worth celebrating everyday.

I could feel the Presence of God, the warmth of Him on my skin, because Heaven touched earth.  We were loving His babies, and the fullness of His Presence wrapped us all up.  The King wrapped us in His Royal Garments (love).

And a week later, I am still wrapped.  I hope these children went back to the world where they were "just" foster kids, knowing they are so much more - knowing that God has them in His arms no matter what happens.  They are royal.

WHEN THE WORST THING COMES...

I held her hand, clasped in both of my own, and because it is still too raw (the hearts still bleed), I cannot and will not go into the details of the deluge of pain that changed everything for her.  But this one thing I remember, as I sat there gazing into questioning and wondering eyes, are her words.  The words were not phrased in a question, thank God, because I had no answers.  I still don't.

"The very thing I feared the most," that mama said, tearful, "has already happened.  Nothing else can be worse than this."

And the next morning, my heart still haunted by it all, I sat at my writing desk and wrote the following words:

"Will I still believe?"

And then...words not written by my hand landed hard on my heart.

"Will you still love Me?"

That whisper belonged to the One that made me, as if He was continuing the thoughts of that same heart - letting me know that He was with me in the silence.  I can hear His Spirit whisper when I can't hear anything else...when the wind is ripping at the world outside, the deluge is pouring down, the earth is trembling, and I, like Elijah the prophet in the Old Testament, stand at the edge of the cave where I have hidden my heart from the pain of life.  He whispers...just like He did then, documented in those pages.  He whispers still.

He even whispers when I hold the hands of the hurting.

In the face of the unfair, will we still believe that He is who He says He is?

Some questions, you answer in a whisper, down deep in the blood and bones because verbalizing the words just aren't enough

And just now, as I think of all this, I read words written by Ann Voskamp (one of the hearers of the God-whisper).  Please read the full post at her blog at www.aholyexperience.com, under the title "When You Just Want God to Show Up and Answer Your Prayers".

"Faith is this unwavering trust in the heart of God in the hurt of here."

We don't always get our prayers answered the way we think we should, but the trying of faith is right there, Ann relays in her poetic way (I summarize).  That is where we learn to believe Him, when there really is no reason to.  Even if He doesn't answer, even if the worst fear comes and gnaws our hearts into a myriad of pieces, will we still believe?  Or will we know that the worst can happen and sometimes does, but God will always be right there in the midst of it?

Will we still love Him and believe in His love, to the very end, after the worst has happened?

Thoughts of the Baby Prince

We who live in the United States are so far removed from the world of the United Kingdom, of England, of the celebrations in the streets over a baby few of the countrymen will ever be privileged to see - more or less, hold in loving arms.  And yet, on the world news, the world around this monarchy stopped when the news came that Prince William and Princess Kate had a baby boy, finally.

"A Prince is Born!" the headlines shout.

Millions of champagne bottles were purchased.  Visitors filled neighborhood pubs to toast in the arrival.  People took off from work to stand in front of the hospital where the 8-pound-6-ounce baby boy burst forth from his mother's body into the awaiting universe.

I sat and watched momentarily awed at the semblance of honor and prestige - much as I had done two years ago.  Funny that two years ago, when this baby's parents wed in a ceremony witnessed round the world with much fanfare, I sat much as I did when their son entered the world.  Awed and aching with love for a relationship, for a family to be built.

And then I had the thought this morning after: this baby boy had been anticipated by his parents and the world.  I wondered if everyone wondered about this child that had been carried for over half a year, who he would be and the lives he would touch and if he would ever be king one day.  If nothing else, he was born into a royal lineage and that would be enough.  He was a born prince, loved by a whole nation and a monarchy.

My thoughts turned to my own child to be or already being carried in my womb and most certainly in my heart.  Who would this child be?  Would the world he was destined to be born into be ultimately glad regarding his arrival?  Would he like a prince in a Kingdom, be a world-changer?  Who was this child to be?

As his mother, I already know he is meant to be great or else he would never have come this way.  Just as Prince William and Princess Kate took precious time with their son, the baby prince, my husband and I will be honored to love him and raise him and prepare him for a world that needs him one day.

Another thought crossed my mind, as I considered the thousands of other children sharing the baby prince's birthday but not his lineage.  A whole nation celebrated the arrival of the British baby born into a long-standing monarchy.  But who celebrated when these others were born?  Who cheered and toasted and kissed the cheeks of others at the thought of their arrivals?  Who loved them?

And finally, it occurred to me that this is the response that every baby deserves to have.  Every child deserves to have his or her presence heralded and appreciated.  But this is not always the case.  If it were, there would be no need for me to be an advocate for so many.  I wonder, though, if we have the chance every day to love children like a whole nation today loves a baby prince today.

THE BLOOD OF A CHILD

It has taken me some time to write anything concerning the Trayvon Martin murder trial and the resulting decision regarding it, although I have posted a few comments on my Facebook about it.  The truth is I love children and teens of all races, nationalities, and backgrounds, desiring to advocate for as many as humanly possible (most especially those in foster care or living in poverty), and this case has ripped my heart from my chest.  It has grieved my heart so.  It has taken my breath from me.

I am in shock.

In the midst of all the media attention turning the trial away from Trayvon's life so quickly snuffed out and toward the right of a grown man to "defend himself", I want to return our attention to the overlooked reality. The real question posed to the jury from day one wasn't whether George Zimmerman had a right to defend himself and his neighborhood from a supposed threat in the embodiment of a 17-year-old.  The question, the bottom line, was this and will always be this:

Did George Zimmerman have the right to kill a child?

Did George Zimmerman have the right to shoot a child in the heart and leave him bleeding on the ground because Trayvon, for all intents and purposes, confronted and fought back against him (the perpetrator)?

Did George have that right - to kill a black boy walking through his neighborhood (not once considering that the boy had a right to be there all along)?

Again, did he have the right to kill...A CHILD?

I work in what is endearingly described as "the system."  I work as an advocate to protect the lives of children from infancy through age 17.  I have been an advocate for this population group for many years, long before I became a social worker in the Child Protection division of Department of Human Services.  My eyes have locked eyes with boys that remind me of Trayvon: my words have ministered to and taught boys that wear hoodies, boys that talk on cell phones to girls, and boys that drink Arizona Iced Tea and eat Skittles.  I adore two boys named Davon and Anthony that are around the same age as this boy.  And I would give my life to protect them all.

So, from the moment that I heard about this boy...this boy shot in the heart...I have been heartbroken.  How could anyone pretend like this boy deserved the result that he got?  How could anyone act like the victim was the one that victimized a man that stalked him?  How could the 6 women on that jury forget that the man sitting in the defendant's chair had killed a child?

It was hard to stomach, as I saw boys I knew and had known in the face and demeanor of Trayvon Martin; it was unbelievable that some people had the audacity to think because he wore gold fronts in his mouth and stuck his middle fingers up on Facebook pictures that he was a thug, a delinquent, deserving of death because he fought back.  How many times have I seen teenagers in this generation wearing those?  (Heck, Jill Scott, who is part of my generation, wore them at a concert recently.  Is she, singer extraordinaire, a thug too?)  How many times have I seen pictures of my nieces with middle fingers up to the sky?

Is that the reason Trayvon was dehumanized?

Is that the reason some in our society think George Zimmerman was protected under the law, standing his ground against a CHILD?  While some may think Trayvon was more man than child, I beg to differ.  The laws that I am required to abide by as a sworn-in protector of children clearly state that childhood ends at 18, not 17.  Children can be placed in foster care as a means of protection, even at age 17.  So at what point did a 17-year-old child become public enemy number one?  When did he become a man?  When did he become a man pummeling another man, instead of what he really was - a child fighting back against an unknown assailant, like good parents have taught their children to do when a stranger accosts them?

My hope is that we all learn a lesson from this, even as further litigation against George Zimmerman looms in the near future.  We all have to remember who truly deserves protection in this world.

The children in this generation are worth us taking a second look.  Sometimes the ones we have to protect sag their pants.  Sometimes, they wear gold fronts in their mouths.  Sometimes, they take pictures with their middle fingers up to the world.  Sometimes, they say things that are derogatory or shocking.  Sometimes, they defy logic.  They even fight back when they feel threatened...even in the face of death.

But there is one thing I can say, as a lover of this generation's children.  We as adults have a responsibility to love and protect them.  We have to care about them no matter what they look like, no matter what race they are, no matter what.

People can disagree with me.  That's fine.  But this is my platform and I am using it.

George Zimmerman killed a 17-year-old CHILD (not a man, but a child) in cold blood.  The job of holding him responsible was poorly handled by the 6 women on that jury and I am disappointed in them (these wives, mothers, aunts, women).

They knew he was guilty of murder.  Even now, the news comes out that there was division on the jury - between the ones that knew he was guilty and the ones that didn't want him to be.  The ones that were more concerned about his right to stand his ground after stalking a child forgot about and overlooked that child's right to live - to be a child that enjoyed iced tea and skittles, to be a high school student, to be the pride and joy of his mother and father, to study aeronautics after high school graduation (not to steal or sell dope or end up in prison like Mr. Zimmerman obviously thought).  And yet, at the end of the day, I think we all would have preferred a hung jury rather than the one we ended up with.  (Harsh to say, I know, but truth nonetheless.)

And now, we who live in shock as a result look to governmental leadership that have the authority to pay attention to the blood spilled on the ground and not ignore it.

The spilled blood was the blood of a child.