Deliver me from my inner whore…

I remember when I first started dating my husband (or ‘courting’ for those of you who detest the term ‘dating’ in reference to a Christian relationship) I was terrified that I was going to mess it up in the same way I had ruined my other relationships in the past.  I knew I wanted more than just friendship but I was terrified of investing myself emotionally in something that was, by no means, guaranteed.  After I lost the battle of trying to keep it ‘light and flirtatious’ I found myself approaching this relationship very differently than I would have in the past.  Instead of leaving my faith out of it, I put it at the forefront.  I got very real with God (and thus, myself) and the end result was some prayer sessions that would have been hilarious to a spectator, but also very heartfelt. ‘Lord,’ I’d say, ‘Its not too long ago you delivered me from fornication.  I’ve been clean for a while now but I’ve also been single.  I know I still have some tendencies on the inside so I need you to please deliver me from my inner whore. Help me not to mess this one up.’  Perhaps that’s a tad more coherent than I sounded at the time but, I kid you not, I was no less real than that. 

What got me to thinking about this was this NPR article that my husband e-mailed me called ‘Sex Without Intimacy:  No Dating, No Relationships.’ 

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105008712

The very idea sounds awful to me now, but if you had caught me 4-5 years ago, in between my bed-hopping, I would have found nothing wrong with that statement.  Being a modern teen/young adult forces you to make decisions about dating and relationships even if you’re not yet or currently involved in either.  When you embrace the idea that dating can be casual or that dating on any level is outdated, you are, by extension, adopting an entire mindset towards avoiding commitment in general.    

Using myself as an example, I can remember going off to college with the intention to continue on to medical school.  I was raised with the mindset that I needed to finish out my education and establish my career before ever seriously entertaining the idea of marriage.  Of course, when I did the math, waiting 10-15 years to get married seemed like an eternity.  What was I supposed to do in the meantime?  My hormones precluded me from living like a nun, but the idea that marriage would prevent me from achieving my goals prevented me from getting involved in a meaningful relationship.  I started trying to find ways to separate the intimacy from the physical affection.  I wanted all of the stuff that felt good, (the kissing, the cuddling, the hand holding) without any of the responsibility or the drama of a title.

Being promiscuous is a lot easier than most people think.  For me, it was never really a finite decision that I made.  Most people don’t set out thinking to themselves, ‘ You know, I think I’m gonna sleep around for a while.’  It’s more like a series of small decisions to go against your better judgment that eventually leads you down that road.  How did I go from deciding that going on multiple dates per week with different guys was no big deal to deciding that sleeping with more than one guy within the course of a week was ok?  You can talk yourself into just about anything if you’re not careful.  The things you get away with give you permission to take even more risks.  I was looking for convenience and instant gratification, not hard work and sacrifice.  I wanted fun and mystery instead of honesty and devotion.  I started to think things like:

 ‘I’m not cheating, I’m just exploring my options,’

‘Its actually better for me to give into my urges right away because the longer I wait, the more likely I’ll make an even worse decision later,’

‘I don’t need to use protection all the time unless I get a gut feeling that I need to.’ 

I honestly didn’t see it as recklessness.  I saw it as taking control of my sexuality like Samantha on ‘Sex and the City.’ The problem is, that by the time I realized I had gotten off on the wrong exit, I was so far down the highway that I had crossed the state line and not even realized it.  My wakeup call?  Finding myself in an STD clinic in downtown Newark, NJ after a call from the State Health Department telling me that I had been exposed to some STDs.  Sitting next to a few prostitutes and crackheads will give you some real perspective.  As much as I wanted to tell myself that I was better than them, we were all in the same place waiting on the same test results because we had all been irresponsible.

After that I began to take inventory.  Clearly there was a huge error in my decision-making abilities.  I could finally admit to myself that having sex just for the sake of having it was neither freeing nor liberating.  When you find yourself, at times saying ‘yes’ without really even being attracted to the guy that’s a problem.  I can tell you that I don’t know some of my partners’ last names, or if they had jobs, or children, or how many partners they’d had before me.  I would be involved with someone for months and be on such a casual basis with them that I didn’t know until we were ending things that he was a Muslim, or a drug dealer, or living at a halfway house.  I was a smart girl with a good head on her shoulders on the surface, but an idiot when it came onto men. 

I realize now that I had become a slave to my compulsions.  If I wanted sex but not the person, I would still have it.  If I was feeling empty, lonely, hurt, vengeful, or just looking for some attention, then sex was always my answer.  And it wasn’t that I didn’t have good parents, or that I lived in a bad neighborhood, or that my friends were so awful, or that I didn’t grow up in church and learn about Jesus.  It was that my mind had been tampered with by so many things and I no longer had a standard.  And when you lose your standards, you lose your ability to distinguish right from wrong.  To say that I’m grateful today that I am not a contributor to the rising Chlamydia statistic is a gross understatement.  I spent two years living dangerously and then another year or so after that trying desperately to clean up my act.  I know I should, but I have no STDs to show for it and no children.  What do I have?  I married a virgin who also happens to be my pastor’s son and I still have two years of medical school to go.  Ironic?  Sure.  But I call it a demonstration of God’s grace and ability to change anyone.  To be continued….

Comments on ‘The Art of Change’

If that sounded at all familiar to you then you must be thinking of one of my favorite poems of all time. I based this somewhat loosely on my interpration of ‘One Art’ by Elizabeth Bishop.  In case you’ve never heard of it, check it out.  It will be well worth it.  http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15212

First, some backstory.  A dear friend of mine said to me today that I would make a great mother.  In all my 25 years, I have never been told that by anyone and, somehow, I instinctively knew that she would not have been able to say that about me (truthfully) even a year ago.  I realized that I must have really grown and evolved as a woman to deserve such a compliment, and perhaps I had to travel all the way to southwest VA to go to school just to hear someone say that to me in a way that would resonate.  In fact, I probably wouldn’t have been able to receive that comment at all not too long ago.  But because of my experiences (and yes difficulties) with being away from home and all the people and things I love, I’m a different (dare I say better) person.

For some reason, this got me thinking about this poem.  (if it doesn’t make sense why…don’t try to follow my train of thought cuz its usually all over the place and makes sense only to me).  I think the the ideas that she explores are so brilliant and complex.  I have a thing for taking things that are not necessarily Christian or intended to be Christian and interpreting them in a Christian light.  Like how she’s talking about the inevitability of loss and how you can start out losing tangible things like keys or a watch but in time, you realize that you can lose bigger things, like time and relationships.  But is she talking about the kind of loss that is inevitable (even deserved) due to carelessness?  Perhaps to some degree, but I’m inclined to believe that she is referring to the kind of loss that no one can control.  Things are filled with the intent to be lost by virtue of the fact that they are filled with the intent to change.  I felt like I lost everything when I moved here and that all I was doing was sacrificing things that were important to me out of obedience to God’s call on my life.  I wondered so many times if medical school was worth the sacrifice of the first 7 months of my marriage, attacks on my health/mental status, homesickness, alienation, loneliness, anxiety, and depression.  But it wasn’t a true loss.  It was simply a drastic change.  Anyone else thinking of the scripture, ‘the suffering of this present time is not worthy to be compared to the glory that shall be revealed in us’? (that one was for you Pastor)

In retrospect, my marriage has been amazingly strengthened by this separation and we are virtual experts at communicating with each other now. My relationship with the Lord has also been strengthened by virtue of the fact that I’ve had little else to lean on all this time.  And the Lord has brought wonderful people into my life (Christian and non) who have helped to shape and mold my character in such wonderful ways.

Now that I’m moving back in 6 wks (gosh, time kind of flew), I’m preparing for the ways in which the familiar has changed in my absence.  Change requires loss…of the familiar, that is.  That’s why I tend to fight, because (like most people) I cling stubbornly to what I know.  There is comfort in the familiar but there is no catalyst for growth there.  The issue I wrote about is learning how to consistently deal with change gracefully, and the key to that is in your mindset.  One could easily use the excuse that since change is inevitable we should just allow life to happen to us and ‘go with the flow.’  I suppose it can feel like God is just playing chess with my life at times, but I don’t believe that for a second.  We are not rocks or trees, things which have no bearing on their environment or even the outcome of their own life cycle.  Trees can’t do a thing about the soil they’re planted in or the inclinations of the weather, and those things determine whether they will live or die.  But we have the ability to connect with our creator and produce change.  And when the unavoidable happens, we can choose how we will respond to it.  And growth is nothing more than change that has been shown to work for your benefit.  Its hard, but training your mind to view every change (desirable or undesirable) as a catalyst for growth will save sooo much grief.  Of course, I’ll probably need that reminder again myself in a few months.    

Now I’ve begun to see prayer in a similar way…as little seeds of change that we plant in the soil of faith.  I see the fruit of prayers that I’ve watered for months and years being produced all around me and I can’t help but rejoice.  I thank God that he’s given me (and us) such power in the Earth and when we remember that we have it, then we become truly powerful.  We may not be in charge but we sure have a say! Ser bendito! (That one was for my hubby)

                                                                                               ~JP~

The Art of Change…

The Art of Change

I am standing on the precipice of time hanging over a turbulent sea

Watching as those things I love are carried away from me

On blue-green waves they drift to the horizon

And my eyes follow them, with tears, to the meeting place of water and sky

Past meets present and present meets possibility

Inevitability blends with the colors of uncertainty

 

Tortured that I cannot turn the tide

And wondering, ‘How do I master this art?’

 

This change that’s always blowing through my life

At times a blissful breeze against my cheek

But usually a savage gust that renders me weak

And I am left to assemble the pieces of the wreckage

It seems everything is subject to this current called change

And in an instant, history is rearranged

 

I was not born the woman I will die

I cannot predict the outcome of my intentions

I spend my time reaching for goals behind closed doors

But when I touch them, they no longer look like they did before

Or is it me who’s been transformed by the process

And seeking further still more distant progress?

 

The mastery of this art does not lie in halting time

There is no triumph in forcing life to be still

A true master understands the purpose of the seasons

When to hold strong, when to let go, and when to use reason

He never contends with the Creator for control

Trusting Him to perfect and develop the character of his soul

 

When you love the age that is rewarded with wisdom

And loss becomes the newness that replaces the familiar

When you know your authority comes not from knowing what the future holds

But in a partnership with Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

When you face the hardest of hardships with a Spirit that cries,

‘I know the Lord, my God, will provide’

Extracting joy from sorrow, simply grateful to be alive

When you allow faith to be your teacher

And prayer to plant seeds of growth

A transformation that renews your mind will arrive

And then you’ll find, you were never meant to be a master

                                                                                      ~JP~

Making Amends…

Dear Friend,

Seems like forever since I’ve called you that

And maybe that means you’re not anymore

But things never really ended so they’re kind of just suspended…

Weightless, shapeless, drifting questions searching for answers

So I guess that leaves us somewhere between enemies and acquaintances

A new category I’m calling the ‘unfriend’

 

I shouldn’t have let things go for this long

I shouldn’t have let my anger towards you prevent me from holding on

See, I was blinded by all the things I wished you’d done

And all the ways you’d disappointed me that I couldn’t see what I had done wrong

Jealous, cuz you seemed to nurture other friendships more than mine

Confused, cuz I kept giving you the things I needed and feeling empty inside

Hurt, cuz I needed you beside me but you kept leaving my behind

But now you’re not around at all, which I’ve found, is much worse

 

We used to be so tight, kindred souls in separate skin

I told you my secrets, we laughed and we cried

I thought we’d be in each other’s lives until the day one of us died

Now so much time has passed and so much has changed in the space since we last spoke

Is there anything to be done about it now?

 

Wish I knew how to find you; I have so much I need to say

Like how I let go of the anger a long time ago, but I don’t know if you would even care

All I know is, I need forgiveness for the part I played in bringing this friendship to an end

All the times you hurt me, I never told you

I just held it in my heart and let it poison me against you

And when I needed you most, I pushed you away

Knowing that I would get a little hurt from you, to satisfy my pain

Now I’m praying that somehow, wherever you are, you’ll sense my apology

And know that I’ll always care

 God bless you for the years we did share

And maybe somewhere we don’t know is waiting for us to get there

And make amends

From One Vessel To Another…(Continued)

[continued from "From One Vessel to Another..."]
We are vessels full of power with a treasure from the Lord. This has been resonating in my spirit all week long just itching for a way to get on paper (or should I say, on screen?)  As I mentioned in my last entry, there were some things that were impressed upon my heart to study and gain understanding about after the night of the concert (see previous entry for details).  The car ride home afterwards proved especially interesting because my husband and the couple who had accompanied us that night (close friends of ours) found ourselves speaking about the things that had impressed us as well as the things that had troubled us. 

From One Vessel to Another…

Recently, I was at a church event promoting the debut of a newly formed local singing group. As the evening unfolded, my mind became fixed on the themes that were threaded throughout the evening both explicitly (by the various participants) and implicitly (in the atmosphere created by the church venue).  Everything about that night caused my mind to reflect on the relationship between gifts/callings and the glory of God.  It started with the praise dancer who interpreted the Corinthians Song by Micah Stampley.  She was followed by a soloist, who sang ‘Holiness is What I Long For.’  Finally, there was the minister, whose message title was ‘Hidden in Plain Sight.’  And as the Lord often does, he began to weave together the elements of the evening as if by design:  the illustrative movements of the dancer, the meaning of the words in the song, and the spirit of the message that was delivered shortly thereafter so that they complemented each other and it moved me so deeply that I’ve been thinking about it ever since.  I found myself surrounded by a plethora of raw talent that night…vibrant and versatile musicians and singers with unbelievable range and vocal power.  Everyone I witnessed that night was technically talented in their area.  They had mastered the art of performance and skillful delivery to an audience of spectators…but the three people who stood out to me, the ones I remember the most are the three that I mentioned specifically.  In my opinion, they weren’t any more or less talented than their counterparts but it seemed as if they had something else flowing out of them that flowed onto me and got me excited and engaged beyond appreciation.  They managed to get into my head and heart so that I was thinking and feeling right along with them and not feeling like a spectator at all.  I left that night knowing I had been impacted by and connected to them in unique ways, not only because of what they’d done, but because of how they’d done it. (More on this later…)

And then, a not so wonderful thing happened…something that silenced my praise and quickly dampened the elation in my spirit to one of quiet guardedness.  It was time for the offering to come forth and I watched as the mighty messenger of God who had just moments ago spoken sound doctrine with power and conviction proceeded to badger and bully us into giving what she felt was an appropriate offering.  She told us that we all needed to give at least $20 unless you really didn’t have it and that if you were writing a check to leave it blank because the money wouldn’t be going to the church but to the singing group.  When we walked up to give our offerings, instead of depositing our cash onto plates, or into baskets, we were expected to place it on top of the table only to, moments later, watch it get snatched up and counted into the total by one of the ushers.  Subsequently, the announcement was made that X amount of dollars was needed to ‘meet the goal’ and X amount of people needed to give X amount of dollars each before the evening could go on.  Confused?  So am I…still!  And just like that, my spiritual high had been contaminated and I could not even enjoy the main event the way I wanted to.  It was like a swift betrayal had taken place and this minister had no idea she was the culprit.  How could she not understand that we would be more than willing to part with our hard-earned money to bless a ministry so long as things were handled in a dignified and respectful manner?  If my giving was supposed to be an act of worship, why did I feel like I had just been handled and hustled by some con artist in a back alley? And how on Earth could she have ministered so beautifully to my soul only to turn around moments later and handle the offering so disgracefully? 

I thank God that I am now at a point in my Christian walk that I no longer write off a church, organization, or a person simply because they do something (s) that I don’t like.  After all, I see things in secular movies and on TV all the time that are disagreeable to my faith but I can still like them based on the fact that the overall premise of it was good.  I could have been annoyed by the fact that the group we came out to honor and bless didn’t take to the stage until more than 3 hrs after the event started or that it was made out to be some sort of a crime to leave immediately after the group performed despite the lateness of the hour or the fact that I was, once again, being expected to shout my head off through Praise and Worship, the welcome/acknowledgements of the host, the message, and the singing group’s performance.  I could have been very annoyed by all of this, but I chose not to dwell on it.  I am even willing to look past the debauchery that was made of the offering enough to focus on the more positive aspects of the evening.  I do not, however, believe that such things should be ignored, excused, or tolerated. 

I think the issue of tithes and offerings is one that has been taught poorly and handled poorly by the vast majority of church leaders causing people to be confused, defensive, and stringent when it comes onto their money.  When someone can acknowledge that there are crooks behind the pulpit who will shake you down for every penny you’ve got and in the same breath begin to guilt/coerce you into giving, that’s a huge problem.  This topic is a whole separate study that I won’t get into any further here but I just wanted to at least acknowledge it for now.  I also think that beyond the offering issue, we need to find a way to hold each other accountable for the ways in which we fall short without tearing each other to shreds.  Just because we’re the church or happen to be black and in the church (i.e. the black church) doesn’t mean we can’t do things decently and in order.  We can start things on time and end them in a timely manner; we can be organized and professional in our finances, business dealings, and event planning without discouraging non-Christians from wanting to deal with us; we can do more than pray for the people in or congregation who have fallen on hard times; we can spend less time in our pews and at least as much time as the secular world giving back to the poor, the sick, and the otherwise needy; we can devote time to our ministries without neglecting our families and allowing them to fall apart right under our noses; we can even disagree, criticize, and correct each other in love without taking off to hide in another church or starting a new church full of people who only agree with us.  Yes we can church! (and not just because Obama says so)  I refuse to believe that being on point in what we do and how we do it will cause us to be any less spiritual or holy.  For now, I’ll conclude since this post is already far too long.  I’ll continue with the study I did based on the events of that evening in my next post.

To be Continued…..

(2005)

My heart is heavy with the plight of nappy-headed black females everywhere.  You know who you are.  You’re the woman who’s just like me.  You don’t have that good hair that’s mixed with Indian.  What you do have is impossibly coarse hair that’s difficult to tame and generations of women in your family who are struggling just like you are for those little things that seem to come so easily to other people…appreciable growth…a healthy sheen…or simply, a way of living peaceably with it.

                I was raised to love myself for who God made me but to take care of what he made me look like; to call my features beautiful even when the world seems to tell me otherwise; to thank God for breath in my body, the active use of my limbs, no physical deformities, and a sound, intelligent mind. (Can I get an amen?!)  These are all valuable lessons that later failed me as I found myself surrounded by silky-haired children with straight noses and futures that required virtually no effort to secure.  I wondered why I was so different; why my hair was so impossible to comb through in its natural state; why everything that was meant to beautify me was always so painful.  Mine was a seemingly endless soap-opera of hot-combs that blackened my ears, perms that incinerated my scalp, and braids that pulled my skin so tight that I had no hope of sleeping or closing my eyes completely for at least a few days after I got them.  For 21 years I’ve tortured my scalp with chemicals, heat damage, tension, and sadistic stylists until one day I found myself washing more hair out of the sink than what was left on my head.  According to my dermatologist, my hair follicles had experienced a massive cell death and that it was in my best interest not to perm or braid again.  I thought to myself, “I’ve finally done it.  I’ve gone and killed my hair!”

                So now I find myself at an impasse.  I can no longer endure the criticism of my mother, yet I refuse to fall back into the cycle of ‘no lye’ conditioners (which, by the way, is a huge lie).  It breaks my heart that my mother, who represents the iconic colored woman rooted in strength, independence, and self-sufficiency feels that I need a perm to be worth employing or marrying.  She looks at me wide-eyed with tears in her eyes pleading that I consider my future.  ‘These are the best years of your life and no decent, respectable man will want to marry you with your hair looking that way.’  For she, like every good mother is attempting to spare me a life that she perceives will be empty with destitution and spinsterhood.

                I respect her intentions and yet I do not respect her basis. It has been a most amusing social experiment to see in what way I am treated differently when my hair looks a certain way.  I need only slap some braids in my head and within the course of a day I go from being virtually invisible to becoming the unwilling object of whistles, cat-calls, phrases like ‘yo shorty!’, and the infamous slow-motion, drive-by stare.  A fresh perm can get me a date before I even walk a full block from the beauty salon.  Yet what has all of that attention warranted me?  A past littered with a slew of men who cared more about getting me into bed than about my complex emotional psyche and the woman I was striving to become.  I was weighed down by a spirit of indiscretion and wantonness, loneliness, heartache, and confusion.  It’s the emptiest feeling in the world to value your character based on what your looks can get you.

                What happens at the end of the day when it comes time to set that wig on the nightstand or cut that weave out or undo those braids? How will my husband (who I long to meet and get to know someday) feel about the hair that is truly mine?  Coarse, wild, God-given, and free it’s the full expression of the DNA that was passed onto me.  Why shouldn’t I love it?  But will he?  Will he harbor some secret resentment that he can’t run his fingers through my authenticity without being halted by stubborn knots?  Will he quietly detest the length that I am lacking or the measures that I have to take to keep myself looking the way he likes?  Will he still think our children are beautiful if they get what their mama has?  And how will I know if when he looks at me what he sees is who I am and not just the way I put myself together?

                Do not mistake me.  I have great aspirations of becoming an influential physician someday.  I have every intention of appearing neat, professional, and credible at all times. But I need to know that if, one day, for whatever reason, I am no longer able to clean up quite the same way…if cancer makes all my hair fall out, or I have an accident that disfigures me so badly that any effort I put into my hair becomes inconsequential…I need to know that I will still be loved, that he will still want to spend the rest of his life with me.  And I’d like to believe that there’s someone out there, for every one of those women like me who simply don’t know what the future holds for us and our hair follicles.  We are seeking more than a physical complement in a husband…we are seeking an emotional, mental, and spiritual counterpart.

The Pursuit of Happiness…

            Our forefathers must have been wiser than most of us realize when they penned those famous words of the Declaration of Independence.  “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights; that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”  It occurs to me that life and liberty are presented as things which belong to us simply by virtue of being human beings and that having to earn those things or to be denied them altogether, is in violation of the way God created us.  But I think it’s significant that they didn’t simply say that we have the right to happiness, but rather, the right to pursue it.  Breaking away from England’s tyranny was one thing, but peace and harmony among the colonies was something else entirely.  (I think the Civil War kind of proves that point).  Happiness is the very thing that makes life and liberty worth having, but it’s not something we are automatically given.  We have to work for it.  But what good is life and liberty if you’re miserable?  Plenty of people who have every advantage in the world and appear to have no reason for unhappiness are depressed, battling addictions, and suicidal.  What are they missing, and more importantly, what are we as Christians missing?  Do we all need to be more like Will Smith was in his movie of the same name (different spelling) and relentlessly chase after the seemingly unattainable?

            1 Peter 3: 10-12 (KJV) states, ¹⁰For he that will love life, and see good days, let him refrain his tongue from evil, and his lips that they speak no guile: ¹¹Let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek peace, and ensue it. ¹²For the eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and his ears are open unto their prayers: but the face of the Lord is against them that do evil.

 

            It sounds like Peter is telling us that those things that make life worth living, namely joy and peace, require a commitment on our part to abstain from evil so much so that it doesn’t even cross our lips.  This is cautioning us about the things that we allow ourselves to say without even thinking about it.  Negative, hurtful, and mean things that are no good to others, let alone to ourselves.  ‘Out of the abundance of the heart, our mouth speaks’ and so we must be careful to fill our hearts and feed our minds with good, positive, uplifting, and Godly things as much as possible.  (Phillipians 4: ⁸Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.)  I have found that my mind is easily persuaded to dwell on things that make me sad…mistakes I’ve made, things I want to change about myself, fears, doubts, insecurities, etc.  But when I pray and meditate on good things, my attitude and countenance change and I actually find that I feel good.  A simple concept but not so easy to practice regularly because, like a lot of people, I’ve become addicted to self-pity and sorrow.  It doesn’t feel good, but it’s what I’m used to. 

    The biggest problem with this (besides the fact that it’s extremely unhealthy) is that it takes my focus off of God and the things I should be doing to glorify him.  That’s what makes it evil in the subtlest of ways.  I think Peter knew this and that’s why he tells us to take it beyond saying good things by doing good things.  When you’re busy doing whatever it is that God has given you to do, you don’t have time to worry about yourself.  When I realized that doing good things for other people was a two way street to ‘Feel Good Lane’, I knew I needed to pursue a career that centered around that whole premise.  Everyone needs to feel validated, and few things can do that for you like offering your particular skills, talents, and services to someone who needs it.

            It’s not good enough to simply desire peace and joy, as I so often do, but I must seek it, pursue it, and then work to maintain it.  One thing my husband pointed out to me which has stayed with me ever since is that leaping for joy isn’t really a response to joy so much as a means of obtaining it.  Just as I had to learn how to worship and connect with God by singing, lifting my hands, telling him what he means to me, I think I have to learn/train myself how to obtain joy.  Maybe I don’t have to jump up and down, but I could learn to laugh and smile more.  I’m not suggesting being fake.  Trust me, there are few things that irk me more than insincerity.  But there is such a thing as pressing through and willing yourself to give God glory.  Sometimes, just the act of obedience itself causes my heart to follow shortly after and before you know it, my mind is fully surrendered too.  Why can’t obtaining happiness work the same way?  I’m tired of getting blessed beyond comprehension on Sunday and then seeing my joy dissipate away as the week goes on.  I want to be able to keep my joy so close to me that it becomes rare for me to be without it (instead of the opposite).

            My goal for this week is to spend each day finding at least one good thing, big or small, tangible or intangible, to think about.  Each time I see or remember something, I’m going to take a moment to thank the Lord for it with a smile and continue on with my day.  It’s small, but if I’m going to be chasing happiness for the rest of my life, I’ve got to pace myself.

     I encourage you (just as I’m encouraging myself) to pursue the Joy of the Lord and be strengthened.