Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Love is a miracle. A divine mystery motivated by God that causes its actors to give selflessly to the object of their affection. It still exists. God is still in the miracle business. But miracles are rare in villages of unbelief. And it seems like so many have stopped believing. Silly as it seems, I'll hold on to my fantasy. I call it faith - Faith in love, faith in God, faith in miracles... Divine mysteries motivated by the Most High, growing us into selfless abandon. Seeds who have been called, finally to bud.
Stuck in the Middle
Like those poor little mice caught in those glue traps
Sometimes we get stuck.
they wrestle and wriggle to no avail
the only way to free ourselves is to dislocate a shoulder or break a leg
And even that might not be successful.
Stuck!
Doomed to a slow horrible death of starvation and discomfort.
That is how I feel today.
Stuck
Stuck in a net of not enough
confined to a future of frustration
entangled in almosts but never was...
Sometimes we get stuck.
they wrestle and wriggle to no avail
the only way to free ourselves is to dislocate a shoulder or break a leg
And even that might not be successful.
Stuck!
Doomed to a slow horrible death of starvation and discomfort.
That is how I feel today.
Stuck
Stuck in a net of not enough
confined to a future of frustration
entangled in almosts but never was...
Thursday, July 21, 2011
The Same Old Song - The Remix
I've been meaning to write about this for a while, but the characters of my psyche have been at war with each other on the issue...
Blame it on my love of Hip Hop, or my convictions about an artist's right to create, but part of me wants to give Kan-yizzy the benefit of the doubt. His Monster video was jarring, and thought provoking; all great elements of great art. I even want to impose my own interpretation and believe that the half naked, white, female bodies hanging from nooses, stuffed under couch cushions and laying dead in beds (to be positioned for Kaye's pleasure), were images used to amplify and critique societies perception of Black men as sexual predators and murderers, with an insatiable appetite for the white woman's body - or more appropriately, that which belongs to white men. If that were the case, I might laud the video as brilliant.
In a world where media masquerades as art and influences us more than most would care to admit, I desperately desire to assign such an interpretation , unfortunately, I don't have enough confidence in Kanye to believe what I'm pushing. His antics in the past, have demonstrated that he is a man of impulse and frivolity rather than intention. In fact, his ego-maniacal and often oxy-moronic rantings suggest Kanye doesn't stand for anything, except maybe Kanye. While these glaringly disturbing images could be considered art, or a statement, I liken them to a dog who takes a dump in your favorite shoes, a ploy for attention. This parade of flesh, glam and hubris was not a critique of racial, sexual politics - well... not intentionally. It was just another iteration of the same old song - "I'm Worthy - Cause Girls Will have Sex with Me" that's played every day in our media. In fact this was the extremely glossed up, depraved remix - "I've Made It - Cause Skinny White Women Will Play Dead While I Touch Them." Like I said, the remix, but the same old song nonetheless.
My intention is not to argue that Kanye hates women, he needs them far too much. The presence of these pale, white, lifeless bodies in the Monster video doesn't represent creativity, but in fact the opposite. They are the formulaic strategy for getting the world to take note, and the fetishizing of the gruesome and the feminine in the media world.
These elements of the video come as no surprise in a society where women are feigning agency as they step into roles constructed for men's fantasies. These constructs are dangerously at work in Monster as all the dead bodies in the video are women, save two, while the only people exacting violence in the video were female as well. The principal men in the video do not engage in the eating of human flesh, or the stabbing of human bodies. They just sit around looking stylish in Italian suits and the latest fashion, against a backdrop of lurid perversion. Yeah, I said it perversion. How strange that I feel funny even using the word perversion for fear of being called a bible thumper(which I proudly admit to, by the way), but what else can you call scenes that imply necrophilia, cannibalism, violence,and yup I'm gonna say it, MISOGYNY. (I was trying so hard not to let the little feminist out. I'm still not comfortable with the label) Watching the Monster video, I had somehow stumbled into a world where women were both victim and villain, principle bait and expendable accessory.
This is best displayed in Nikki Minaj's portion of the video. A featured rap artist, like Kaye and Jay Z, Nikki's scenes differ greatly from the cool, collected and designer treatment the men receive. Instead, Nikki is the villain, binding and gagging a more feminine version of HERSELF. (scratching my head)Boy has she made it! Comparable to her contemporaries who saunter about scantily clad, women in the music industry, even the heavy hitters like Beyonce and Lady Gaga have had to turn to adopting deviant alter egos that abuse and degrate themselves in order to be considered relevant. The supple reality of femininity and authentic sexuality is no longer enough to titillate or satiate the masses. Deviance is the order of the day.
As Nikki writhes on the ground, in her lace tights and thong, with a full moon shot of her backside at the close of the video, it is clear that though she gets to come along for the ride, her agency must fall in line with the perception and perspective of the industry in which she functions - An industry where women are accessories, used in the building up of men's images. What's even more alarming - In today's society, the more macabre, the more twisted, the more detached from reality these accessories, the better.
I'm reminded of Lauryn Hill's 1997 song Superstar:
Come on baby, light my fire
Everything you drop is so tired
Music is supposed to inspire
How come we ain't getting no higher?
Ever Higher!
CB
Blame it on my love of Hip Hop, or my convictions about an artist's right to create, but part of me wants to give Kan-yizzy the benefit of the doubt. His Monster video was jarring, and thought provoking; all great elements of great art. I even want to impose my own interpretation and believe that the half naked, white, female bodies hanging from nooses, stuffed under couch cushions and laying dead in beds (to be positioned for Kaye's pleasure), were images used to amplify and critique societies perception of Black men as sexual predators and murderers, with an insatiable appetite for the white woman's body - or more appropriately, that which belongs to white men. If that were the case, I might laud the video as brilliant.
In a world where media masquerades as art and influences us more than most would care to admit, I desperately desire to assign such an interpretation , unfortunately, I don't have enough confidence in Kanye to believe what I'm pushing. His antics in the past, have demonstrated that he is a man of impulse and frivolity rather than intention. In fact, his ego-maniacal and often oxy-moronic rantings suggest Kanye doesn't stand for anything, except maybe Kanye. While these glaringly disturbing images could be considered art, or a statement, I liken them to a dog who takes a dump in your favorite shoes, a ploy for attention. This parade of flesh, glam and hubris was not a critique of racial, sexual politics - well... not intentionally. It was just another iteration of the same old song - "I'm Worthy - Cause Girls Will have Sex with Me" that's played every day in our media. In fact this was the extremely glossed up, depraved remix - "I've Made It - Cause Skinny White Women Will Play Dead While I Touch Them." Like I said, the remix, but the same old song nonetheless.
My intention is not to argue that Kanye hates women, he needs them far too much. The presence of these pale, white, lifeless bodies in the Monster video doesn't represent creativity, but in fact the opposite. They are the formulaic strategy for getting the world to take note, and the fetishizing of the gruesome and the feminine in the media world.
These elements of the video come as no surprise in a society where women are feigning agency as they step into roles constructed for men's fantasies. These constructs are dangerously at work in Monster as all the dead bodies in the video are women, save two, while the only people exacting violence in the video were female as well. The principal men in the video do not engage in the eating of human flesh, or the stabbing of human bodies. They just sit around looking stylish in Italian suits and the latest fashion, against a backdrop of lurid perversion. Yeah, I said it perversion. How strange that I feel funny even using the word perversion for fear of being called a bible thumper(which I proudly admit to, by the way), but what else can you call scenes that imply necrophilia, cannibalism, violence,and yup I'm gonna say it, MISOGYNY. (I was trying so hard not to let the little feminist out. I'm still not comfortable with the label) Watching the Monster video, I had somehow stumbled into a world where women were both victim and villain, principle bait and expendable accessory.
This is best displayed in Nikki Minaj's portion of the video. A featured rap artist, like Kaye and Jay Z, Nikki's scenes differ greatly from the cool, collected and designer treatment the men receive. Instead, Nikki is the villain, binding and gagging a more feminine version of HERSELF. (scratching my head)Boy has she made it! Comparable to her contemporaries who saunter about scantily clad, women in the music industry, even the heavy hitters like Beyonce and Lady Gaga have had to turn to adopting deviant alter egos that abuse and degrate themselves in order to be considered relevant. The supple reality of femininity and authentic sexuality is no longer enough to titillate or satiate the masses. Deviance is the order of the day.
As Nikki writhes on the ground, in her lace tights and thong, with a full moon shot of her backside at the close of the video, it is clear that though she gets to come along for the ride, her agency must fall in line with the perception and perspective of the industry in which she functions - An industry where women are accessories, used in the building up of men's images. What's even more alarming - In today's society, the more macabre, the more twisted, the more detached from reality these accessories, the better.
I'm reminded of Lauryn Hill's 1997 song Superstar:
Come on baby, light my fire
Everything you drop is so tired
Music is supposed to inspire
How come we ain't getting no higher?
Ever Higher!
CB
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Getting Back in the Race
I used to be a runner. It started out as a vanity thing. I was literally running from the sloppy spread that often accompanies one's twenties. However, weekly runs soon morphed from merely penance I paid the piper for my indulgences in ice cream, cheese and potatoes, into something much more beautiful and sacred.
I am not really sure how it happened. In some ways I think I might have Tye Tribbet and his crazy antics to thank, but somewhere between my Aruba Ready Runs, to my Punta (as in Punta Cana) Prep, my treadmill became an altar of sorts. You see my runs represented about 50-60 minutes of mandatory time - By myself. Don't be mistaken, I love me, and can crack myself up better than anyone I know, but after minute 17 on a treadmill, I'm "over me" and looking for new distractions. My solution - Hardcore runners playlists.
My career as a DJ (Yes, in my mind the creator of an Itunes playlist that will get you moving is in fact a DJ!) began with the hardest, base driven beats hip hop could offer. I rocked out to Method Man, Eminem, Busta Rhymes, Jay Z, but as I matured, in age, or throug more involvement in church, the messages my musical motivation offered seemed more detrimental than the pounds I was trying to shed. Gradually, my playlists swapped players, pimps and thugs for sanitized pop stars, and finally, gospel and Christian rap artists.
In part, the evolution of my playlists were a direct reaction to my understanding of how vulnerable I was mentally, during my runs. Running had become a time of introspection and meditation. It was the one part of the day when I could tune out, uninterrupted, and reflect on everything that was important to me. That reflection seemed compromised when bathed in the tenor of violence, rage or gratuitous profanity. Interestingly, the more gospel I listened to while I ran, the greater my worship, my walk and my stride became. It was as if I had invited God along for my runs, and He was overjoyed to come.
Running with God made exercise - prayer, sprints - somatic songs of praise, and stitches- lessons in pressing through discomfort because victory was certain. I learned so much about myself, my will power and the deep, abiding and comforting presence of God. Isaiah 41:30's "They shall run and not grow weary," took on a whole new meaning. I looked forward to my run. They had become my devotional time, where the boost of endorphins was eclipsed by awesome encounters with the Holy Spirit. I swear sometimes I felt like the treadmill was glowing when I was done.
But sometime last year, I learned a new, really effective weight loss method, and I stopped running. In the excitement of pain free weight loss, I forgot the real goal, the real prize I was chasing. Along with my weekly runs went 4 hours of time with God a week. Not only had my body stopped moving, but my spirit had become stagnant. I'd stopped running in the race towards Christ and had become comfortable in my year long water break of sorts.
Interestingly it was an encounter with some old school Missy Elliot and Beyonce's "Who Run the World" single that began beckoning me out of retirement and back to the treadmill again. Surely not the most holy of songs, but they reminded me of that sweet time of communion God and I had shared so many times, at our favorite meeting place. And so, I plan to get back in my running shoes and back into the race... both of them! For the prize and the journey are too exquisite to stop now.
Ever Higher!
I am not really sure how it happened. In some ways I think I might have Tye Tribbet and his crazy antics to thank, but somewhere between my Aruba Ready Runs, to my Punta (as in Punta Cana) Prep, my treadmill became an altar of sorts. You see my runs represented about 50-60 minutes of mandatory time - By myself. Don't be mistaken, I love me, and can crack myself up better than anyone I know, but after minute 17 on a treadmill, I'm "over me" and looking for new distractions. My solution - Hardcore runners playlists.
My career as a DJ (Yes, in my mind the creator of an Itunes playlist that will get you moving is in fact a DJ!) began with the hardest, base driven beats hip hop could offer. I rocked out to Method Man, Eminem, Busta Rhymes, Jay Z, but as I matured, in age, or throug more involvement in church, the messages my musical motivation offered seemed more detrimental than the pounds I was trying to shed. Gradually, my playlists swapped players, pimps and thugs for sanitized pop stars, and finally, gospel and Christian rap artists.
In part, the evolution of my playlists were a direct reaction to my understanding of how vulnerable I was mentally, during my runs. Running had become a time of introspection and meditation. It was the one part of the day when I could tune out, uninterrupted, and reflect on everything that was important to me. That reflection seemed compromised when bathed in the tenor of violence, rage or gratuitous profanity. Interestingly, the more gospel I listened to while I ran, the greater my worship, my walk and my stride became. It was as if I had invited God along for my runs, and He was overjoyed to come.
Running with God made exercise - prayer, sprints - somatic songs of praise, and stitches- lessons in pressing through discomfort because victory was certain. I learned so much about myself, my will power and the deep, abiding and comforting presence of God. Isaiah 41:30's "They shall run and not grow weary," took on a whole new meaning. I looked forward to my run. They had become my devotional time, where the boost of endorphins was eclipsed by awesome encounters with the Holy Spirit. I swear sometimes I felt like the treadmill was glowing when I was done.
But sometime last year, I learned a new, really effective weight loss method, and I stopped running. In the excitement of pain free weight loss, I forgot the real goal, the real prize I was chasing. Along with my weekly runs went 4 hours of time with God a week. Not only had my body stopped moving, but my spirit had become stagnant. I'd stopped running in the race towards Christ and had become comfortable in my year long water break of sorts.
Interestingly it was an encounter with some old school Missy Elliot and Beyonce's "Who Run the World" single that began beckoning me out of retirement and back to the treadmill again. Surely not the most holy of songs, but they reminded me of that sweet time of communion God and I had shared so many times, at our favorite meeting place. And so, I plan to get back in my running shoes and back into the race... both of them! For the prize and the journey are too exquisite to stop now.
Ever Higher!
Friday, April 1, 2011
Lay-away Brothers
Ladies,
We can't rock with every dude in his current state. Let’s face it, so many of them are not ready. They are unwilling to come out of the shadows of boyhood and to step into the light of manhood. I know. I get it. It’s a tall order. There's a lot of pressure, and there are always his issues with self esteem. We make up all the right excuses for their behavior, and we don't own up to the fact that they are not ready, and therefore incapable of giving us what we need.
I know it sounds harsh, but the sooner you come to grips with that stark and honest truth, the sooner you can find that strong, beautiful and bold woman you used to know and get her back in the driver’s seat of your life. But he has so much potential... Yeah, I get it, but keeping him comfortable in a situation where he gets all he wants without reciprocity, in whatever manner is important to you, is not the business. In fact, it's the kind of situation that will make you wither and wilt.
Anyone who knows me knows I am a fan of another chance (its the Christian in me I tell you). Sometimes, I just don't know when to stop giving them out. The Masochist in me never likes to give up on people or making a relationship work, sometimes to my own detriment. But I had to come to grips with the fact that while there might not be anything wrong with keeping the man with potential on the roster, he MUST be demoted to the layaway roster.
Often women get stuck on the potential of a man. It keeps us enslaved to subpar behavior for way too long. If you really think about it, potential is essentially something that MIGHT come to pass. It's not definite, it is a mere possibility, you know, like the one where he never changes and you become trapped in a web of dysfunction with 3 kids, 2 from other women, that you've agreed to raise because "you love him so much." Tomorrow matters, but not as much as today. In fact, what we do with today, determines our tomorrow. The question is not what can he be tomorrow, but who and what is he today? If the answer isn't the man that makes me happy, by supporting me, cherishing me and contributing to my well being, then he has to be kicked to the curb.
Now some men must be thrown into the sea of forgetfulness, but those brothers who have great raw materials, but just aren't ready, need to be put on lay-away. I don't mean anything derogatory by that. You'll see what I mean in a minute. If a man is not ready to show up and put in the work necessary to make a relationship work, he must be put on lay-away. That's the category that places him in the friend zone, maybe with the occasional date. What that means is, the benefit package - essentially all aspects of you in a committed relationship are off limits. That includes, sex! You'll need your wits about you after all. I don't care how cute he is, how good he smells, or how much you need to be held. If he's not ready to do the work, he get's no play. Ocytocin is real, and will leave you addicted to a man, in the corner twitching as you obsess about his behavior.
Secondly, you MUST see other people. You can't make him your world; after all, he hasn’t really applied for the position. At this point you don't even know that he is your destiny, in fact likelihood is, he not because the will of god suffers no lack. If your relationship is lacking, it means it’s not for you now. Your lay-away brother is not your future husband, he is simply a guy you know who has some good qualities that have yet to manifest. Let him cook. You wouldn't eat a half raw cake. Incidentally, some of those other people you are seeing, should be your girls. Fill your time with people who affirm you, your beauty and your gifts. Eat up all the wonderful things that ARE for you now, and be thankful for them each day. This is the way we stay connected to our reality so that we don't fall for the illusion that settling is the only option.
Finally, keep watch over how much time and energy you give to your lay-away brother. You don't go visit that furniture set or sick outfit daily, but you might swing by monthly to keep you motivated. Don't give yourself away. Live life, and remember, you simply know this boy/man, you are not building with him, cause guess what? He ain't ready or willing to build. Real commitment, consideration and availability can only take place when your gentleman "suitor" with all the potential, turns potential into reality. PERIOD. If he's yours, putting him in the lay-away category will be just the kick in the pants he needed. If he's not, it will weed him out even quicker. By the way, the longer someone remains in lay-away the less of your time he deserves; even Wal-Mart puts the TV back on the market after 6 months. In the case, that putting a man on lay-away genuinely turns you two into PLATONIC friends, even better. Guys are great, even when they are not your boyfriend, or husband. But the best way to enjoy them is with your boundaries intact. Ladies, you only get one you. Be vigilant about who you allow to experience you and how.
Ever Higher!
We can't rock with every dude in his current state. Let’s face it, so many of them are not ready. They are unwilling to come out of the shadows of boyhood and to step into the light of manhood. I know. I get it. It’s a tall order. There's a lot of pressure, and there are always his issues with self esteem. We make up all the right excuses for their behavior, and we don't own up to the fact that they are not ready, and therefore incapable of giving us what we need.
I know it sounds harsh, but the sooner you come to grips with that stark and honest truth, the sooner you can find that strong, beautiful and bold woman you used to know and get her back in the driver’s seat of your life. But he has so much potential... Yeah, I get it, but keeping him comfortable in a situation where he gets all he wants without reciprocity, in whatever manner is important to you, is not the business. In fact, it's the kind of situation that will make you wither and wilt.
Anyone who knows me knows I am a fan of another chance (its the Christian in me I tell you). Sometimes, I just don't know when to stop giving them out. The Masochist in me never likes to give up on people or making a relationship work, sometimes to my own detriment. But I had to come to grips with the fact that while there might not be anything wrong with keeping the man with potential on the roster, he MUST be demoted to the layaway roster.
Often women get stuck on the potential of a man. It keeps us enslaved to subpar behavior for way too long. If you really think about it, potential is essentially something that MIGHT come to pass. It's not definite, it is a mere possibility, you know, like the one where he never changes and you become trapped in a web of dysfunction with 3 kids, 2 from other women, that you've agreed to raise because "you love him so much." Tomorrow matters, but not as much as today. In fact, what we do with today, determines our tomorrow. The question is not what can he be tomorrow, but who and what is he today? If the answer isn't the man that makes me happy, by supporting me, cherishing me and contributing to my well being, then he has to be kicked to the curb.
Now some men must be thrown into the sea of forgetfulness, but those brothers who have great raw materials, but just aren't ready, need to be put on lay-away. I don't mean anything derogatory by that. You'll see what I mean in a minute. If a man is not ready to show up and put in the work necessary to make a relationship work, he must be put on lay-away. That's the category that places him in the friend zone, maybe with the occasional date. What that means is, the benefit package - essentially all aspects of you in a committed relationship are off limits. That includes, sex! You'll need your wits about you after all. I don't care how cute he is, how good he smells, or how much you need to be held. If he's not ready to do the work, he get's no play. Ocytocin is real, and will leave you addicted to a man, in the corner twitching as you obsess about his behavior.
Secondly, you MUST see other people. You can't make him your world; after all, he hasn’t really applied for the position. At this point you don't even know that he is your destiny, in fact likelihood is, he not because the will of god suffers no lack. If your relationship is lacking, it means it’s not for you now. Your lay-away brother is not your future husband, he is simply a guy you know who has some good qualities that have yet to manifest. Let him cook. You wouldn't eat a half raw cake. Incidentally, some of those other people you are seeing, should be your girls. Fill your time with people who affirm you, your beauty and your gifts. Eat up all the wonderful things that ARE for you now, and be thankful for them each day. This is the way we stay connected to our reality so that we don't fall for the illusion that settling is the only option.
Finally, keep watch over how much time and energy you give to your lay-away brother. You don't go visit that furniture set or sick outfit daily, but you might swing by monthly to keep you motivated. Don't give yourself away. Live life, and remember, you simply know this boy/man, you are not building with him, cause guess what? He ain't ready or willing to build. Real commitment, consideration and availability can only take place when your gentleman "suitor" with all the potential, turns potential into reality. PERIOD. If he's yours, putting him in the lay-away category will be just the kick in the pants he needed. If he's not, it will weed him out even quicker. By the way, the longer someone remains in lay-away the less of your time he deserves; even Wal-Mart puts the TV back on the market after 6 months. In the case, that putting a man on lay-away genuinely turns you two into PLATONIC friends, even better. Guys are great, even when they are not your boyfriend, or husband. But the best way to enjoy them is with your boundaries intact. Ladies, you only get one you. Be vigilant about who you allow to experience you and how.
Ever Higher!
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Lenten Writing
Throughout my life, I have always refrained from behaviors during lent - essentially denying myself in an effort to draw nearer to God. This year, I am trying something new. This year, I will be writing as my Lenten observance. I will celebrate God's gift of writing in me, by refraining from burying my talents.
I often wonder why I shrink from an activity that gives me such pleasure. The practice of writing has been with me since my childhood. I have always had love of words, finding just the right ones that encapsulate my mood, emotion or opinion. I have been lauded for my ability to write too many times to count and still I resist it. Though words and ideas materialize in my head daily, my need for perfection makes me swallow them, leaving them buried somewhere deep inside my consciousness, and I suffer for it. I imagine somewhere inside me there is a tree full of stories and wisdom whose fruit could feed the nations, or at the very least a few little girls and boys like me, who are afraid of becoming themselves.
And so this Lenten season I will write, I will not deny the gift, I will not be afraid, and I will draw closer to God through the risk of becoming what he is calling me to be. I will not fear imperfection, rejection or criticism, I will simply write for his glory, for his goodness, for his kindness, and for his mercy in continuing to provide the gift, in the midst of my neglect.
Thank you Lord for the love of words.
For the way they dazzle me, and the profundity of their sum.
Thank you for inspiration and characters and colors predicates and plots.
Thank you for paper and pen, keyboards and fingers, and the ever evolving desire to tell my story and consequently your story too.
Your love is inside these words you have given me,
Often they are my meat.
Consistently they move me to a higher understanding of you, and a fuller understanding of me.
Thank you for poetry and prose, lyrics and fables,
Compound, $2 Dukenese words and the often dismissed, gritty words of my people.
You are the living Word.
I live because of your Word.
Lord give me words and life to live... and I will write.
Ever Higher!
I often wonder why I shrink from an activity that gives me such pleasure. The practice of writing has been with me since my childhood. I have always had love of words, finding just the right ones that encapsulate my mood, emotion or opinion. I have been lauded for my ability to write too many times to count and still I resist it. Though words and ideas materialize in my head daily, my need for perfection makes me swallow them, leaving them buried somewhere deep inside my consciousness, and I suffer for it. I imagine somewhere inside me there is a tree full of stories and wisdom whose fruit could feed the nations, or at the very least a few little girls and boys like me, who are afraid of becoming themselves.
And so this Lenten season I will write, I will not deny the gift, I will not be afraid, and I will draw closer to God through the risk of becoming what he is calling me to be. I will not fear imperfection, rejection or criticism, I will simply write for his glory, for his goodness, for his kindness, and for his mercy in continuing to provide the gift, in the midst of my neglect.
Thank you Lord for the love of words.
For the way they dazzle me, and the profundity of their sum.
Thank you for inspiration and characters and colors predicates and plots.
Thank you for paper and pen, keyboards and fingers, and the ever evolving desire to tell my story and consequently your story too.
Your love is inside these words you have given me,
Often they are my meat.
Consistently they move me to a higher understanding of you, and a fuller understanding of me.
Thank you for poetry and prose, lyrics and fables,
Compound, $2 Dukenese words and the often dismissed, gritty words of my people.
You are the living Word.
I live because of your Word.
Lord give me words and life to live... and I will write.
Ever Higher!
Monday, October 4, 2010
Meantime Munching
So the truth of it is I am ovulating. I am a 34 year old, single woman whose body is hell bent on getting me pregnant. Only trouble is I am also redeemed, bought with a price. Yes, yes, Jesus has changed my whole life. I don’t mean to sound irreverent. I am so glad he changed me. But He has come in and completely rearranged this life so that when the hormones call and the desire to be held and stroked and romanced torment me, I must resist. Some might think it’s just sexual desire, something that can be remedied with an orgasm, but it is much more than contracting genitalia that the body seeks, but the full experience of intimacy. We crave the feeling of flesh upon flesh, warmth upon skin, the weight of another’s body pressing you in.
So what is a girl to do - 34, supple, and single and in love with and devoted to God? What’s she supposed to do when the priest of her future household has yet to materialize, and prospects look grim? Who’s to say how long the wait is going to be? The only viable option is to hunker down, grab your bible and pray without ceasing. Well, actually it’s not the only option- especially when friends of the opposite sex whom the Lord has clearly identified as buoys, not ports, offer their bodies as a living sacrifices.
Don’t get me wrong the love God provides for us is great, and even somatic in nature on occasion, but he has also created a desire in us to experience embodied love and intimacy, touch and the giving of our bodies as gifts to one another. Surely this is only to happen within the confines of marriage. The potency of the creative power of such union and interaction are far too great to be swapped cavalierly with just anybody, so what do you do when the flesh calls, and those who are clearly not your end are offering themselves up to be your meantime? Worse yet what happens when curiosity has prevailed and you have had a nibble or two and now want to go back for the whole meal, because it tastes good, and because you NEED the nourishment?
Recently God has reminded me of Esau and his birthright – sold in haste because of the growling of his stomach. His future ripped from him on account of some red stuff. Not even prime rib, or filet mignon… but red stuff – essentially something to make the hunger pangs cease. He was hated by God even before birth, perhaps because of the nature of his character. Esau refused to endure and refused to consider the consequences of his actions on his future. So essentially, choosing the meantime is functioning in an Esau mentality – a mentality that is hated by God.
It almost seems unfair. How can God have such disdain for us eating from forbidden fruit when there is famine in the land? To my best estimation, such fruit, the red stuff, falls horribly beneath the plans God has for us, and witnesses to the world, a lack of faith in His ability to sustain us. And isn’t that really the case. Like Esau we can’t hear past the grumbling of our stomachs to remember the promises and faithfulness of the Lord. What’s worse such indulgences develop an adiction to junk food, junk relationships, and behavior that does not edify or glorify.
Most recently I have found myself pulling myself out of a situation that does not glorify God. I have been gobbling down red stuff as fast as I can” before my Daddy comes home(slow down yall, it’s not what you’re thinking.) But even in the midst of munching on my meantime, I found that it did not satisfy, but rather sat like a rock in my stomach, like bad milk waiting to wreak havoc on my system. As I reviewed my actions and the Esau mentality I’d assumed, I could not help but lament. . It was then that the Lord, true to form and character, comforted me in my tears. Wait, again I say wait on the Lord and he will strengthen thine heart. When we remove the focus off of our appetites, whatever they might be, and refocus on God, he truly does strengthen our hearts. In that moment of lament, repentance and worship, I received manna from on high – a days worth of strength to resist forsaking my future for my meantime. He supplied my needs for today, and challenged me to have faith that he will supply my needs for tomorrow as well. The trick is I have to go back to God every day for a new portion. We seek after other things daily… Keep me faithful Lord.
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