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Life's Little Lessons

"If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud." – Emile Zola

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Overheated

Since I made the decision to take the front two panels of my Jeep off this summer, I’ve been able to drive it three out of seven days due to rain. In lieu of my Jeep, I’ve been behind the wheel of a school minivan or my daughter’s car. If you want to live your best life, drive a school van through town.

The thing with my daughter’s car is that it used to be my mother’s car. And then it was my oldest daughters. Then temporarily my sons. And now another daughter. It’s been faithful but it is tired and says “To hell with the Meyers” and has officially given up.

But I didn’t know this. The truth, I heard that the car was having a lot of problems but I wasn’t really listening.

Yesterday I needed to take the car to a graduation party due to a storm. Sadly, when I got there, my engine was hot and overheating. When I left the party, my eyes were on the gauges and it didn’t take long before I had to pull over, not once, but three times to complete the five mile trek home.

I realized though this what a hardship it is for people with unreliable transportation because it truly was not only dangerous for me to be in that car, but most likely dangerous for others on the road with me not to mention money and time no one has. If this is your reality, I am truly sorry. I have a school van you could borrow.

I also realized that I had not really been listening to my daughter as she explained her car troubles to me. There was another car for her to take and she worked it out with her father but it was not affecting me personally therefore I did not really listen.

But I WAS listening *loud and clear* because it was affecting me and that reality put a bad taste in my mouth. I didn’t want to be that person who listened half-assed…and I was.

And lastly, it showed me to pay attention. I drove the whole way to the party oblivious only to realize when I turned the engine off and had smoke billowing out the front that the car was majorly overheating. I did not make that mistake twice. I drove home with my eyes glued to the temperature gauge.

Awareness is key. Once you know something, it is hard to unknow it unless you simply don’t care and in that case, you might as well say good bye to your car, or the relationship you say you care about…maybe even your job.

It you want to avoid massive blow-ups in life, it is wise to take the time to listen, even if it doesn’t personally affect you. Listen not just so YOU can be prepared, but so that you can be the type-of-person that really cares about what SOMEONE ELSE is walking through. Then from there, pay attention to the gauges on your dash and be present. There are all sorts of “gauges” in life that indicate what is right and what is wrong.

Save yourself some heartache and unnecessary frustration. Take it from me, listen and pay attention.

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Stay Present

I think it’s good to look forward to things, to have something on the horizon that is kind of out there but within our sight and reach. I think sometimes that’s why we plan vacations, not to necessarily escape our regular-every-day- lives but to fully live them.

Not only is it wise to do so, it is needed.

I realize now, all the big trips I’ve ever been on have been planned by someone otheer than myself. When I was in direct sales, I received the itinerary months prior to the departure date for the free trip I earned and just showed up wide-eyed and ready to adventure. As a family, we headed to Rehoboth Beach each summer with extended family, which was booked by my mother and basically was like winning the lottery because Grandma’s afford tired mothers the ability to sleep past the butt crack of dawn.

I truly have been a kept woman when it comes to vacation planning.

But as life does, life changed.

So a couple of weeks ago, after months of talking about it, I woke up and called my mother’s travel agent. “Hi Joyce. This is August. Cindy’s daughter. I want to book a cruise for myself and three kids. I want to go in July and I want to leave from Baltimore. What do you have?”

Within five-minutes I was booked and in July, the kids and I will make a five-night jaunt to Bermuda a reality. The experience of booking and subsequently paying (a sobering experience) has been incredibly empowering. I saw my horizon and I knew what I wanted and since I am not fond of details, I’m grateful that other people are and know how to get me where I want to go.

I feel like such an adult.

Besides learning how to be my age, I especially love to travel. I love to explore and make new discoveries. I enjoy meeting interesting people and having new experiences and through it, am able to see, hear and taste different cultures and ways of living. It broadens my horizon and my persepctive…which is an adult thing to do.

But every time I get away, no matter how far I go or how much fun I have, it’s always good to go Home.

I use the example of physically going to a destination as a metaphor of what many of us do in everyday life, but instead of traveling TO somewhere physically, we use our thought-life as the vehicle that whisks us away. We dream about that perfect destination and what life would be like if we could just get there…

We day-dream and jaunt in and out of our present day reality to places in our future. We do it with relationships, the jobs that we have, the houses we live in, the cars that we drive and the clothes that we wear. We attempt to escape our present day sufferings by longing to trade in our current life for another. We romanticize how if we could just inch towards…

Our life would be better. More complete. Somehow different. But often times, that little visit riddle’s us with anxiety, stress, worry and fear. “How in the hell am I going to get there?” That thought steals our current moment, propelling us to figure the future out. We get ahead of ourselves, trying to fix and manipulate situations that haven’t yet, or may ever happen.

We also have the propensity to travel backwards in time to our past, replaying certain experiences in our heads like we have front row seats to an old Shakespearean tragedy which never really gets us where we ultimately want to go. Often times, hanging out too long in those VIP seats makes us susceptible to bouts of depression, resentment, shame and emotions that are hurrid and spastic. We become unsteady and those thoughts and feelings fill us with dread. They make it difficult to roll out of bed, have an attitude of gratitude and take the necessary steps to live in the here and the now. It’s a vicious cycle of expectation, disappointment, reaction and guilt. Wounding and offense envelope us.

How can I speak of such things?

I’ve lived such things.

Our thought travel navigate our life choices. Our behavior is dictated by what we think on and where we dwell. If we want to keep rehashing our past, we will live there, most likely sounding like a broken and boring record to any unlucky soul within ear shot. Similarly, if we want to keep dreaming about all these great and wonderful things we will someday have or do, but never take steps in the here and the now…we diminsh our credibility as well as our voice.

Here’s a little life lesson I gleaned from 2018:

The counselor I’ve been seeing is just as important as the travel agent I booked my cruise through. Both are helping me go where I could not go on my own. Joyce is helping me get away with my kids so we can snorkel together, which is a dream of mine and my counselor is helping me to heal from the inside out by carefully looking at my life. She’s like my own personal organizing consultant Marie Condo who wrote the book “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing.” I sit with her for an hour every few weeks and pick something up in my hands (be it an old memory or a present day happening), and she helps me decide if there is purpose for it to remain in my current life. Does focusing on that memory help me move forward and upward or is it holding me back and stunting my growth? Does dwelling on that thought bring help or harm to myself and others in the here and now?

Those questions ultimately lead me to remember my purpose in the life.

It is not necessarily to DO things. I’ve chased after titles, accolades and attention. I have a shelf full of dusty trophies and article clippings but at the end of the day, they are just that, clutter. I have to continuously remind myself that I am not a human doing but a human being. Being is most important.

Being love.

Being kind.

Being forgiving.

Being brave.

Being all of this and more, but most importantly…

Being present.

I cannot be loving or kind to the person in front of me if I am stuck too far back in life or dreaming of a vacation that’s somewhere too far ahead. I cannot be forgiving . I cannot be brave. I cannot be myself if I am continuously chasing that “someday maybe” who is tethered to what she will do…I have to be present in this very moment and not get too far ahead of myself.

Likewise, regret serves little purpose. Yes it can be a great teacher if listened to in the moment but dwelling on the things I wish I could do over only brings angst and sorrow. Want a do over? I’ve got it. It’s called today. This very moment that I am in.

When I allow my mind to quiet itself, I imagine myself standing on the shore, a vast and beautiful ocean before me. The water is lapping at my feet, the foam tingling my toes, and then it’s gone and the weight of my body presses my being deeper into the sand. The water laps again. My toes tingle once more.

Through this image, I hear the Spirit of God whisper, “Let life come like waves to the shore.”

In and out. In and out.

YOU are the shore.”

I am Home with my feet buried deep in the sand that it is almost impossible to move. It dries quickly like cement and then fills in the gaps, again and again.

The water comes in and it goes back out. The moments come and they go, I don’t have to try to have another one because another one is already afforded to me. It is here. Standing before my eyes.

What’s most important in life is standing, with our feet buried deep, in the present moment. The mundane and regular where it appears that not much is happening or is all that exciting. It’s the laundry and the cooking, the endless routines and piles of work and conversations that never go quite like we planned. It’s the heartache and loss and learning continuously to let go and the joy of knowing what to keep. It’s letting our future rest unknown in the hands of a known God who continuously graces us with a revolving door of people whom we can somehow touch and opportunities to fulfill our purpose.

We miss them if we aren’t paying close enough attention. Our eyes glaze over the people and possibilities placed in our path if we are not careful.

The past and the future both teach us to love in the present. What other purpose would they have? They encourage us to look at life though a different lens, one clearer and not as smudged as our orginal experiences have taught us, to be kinder and somehow gentler than we ourselves have been handled. They teach us to look forward and upward, to have hope and to be full of anticipation and excitement for life. They encourage us to be courageous, even when we are unsure and scared so we can take steps toward something bigger and better than what we currently see…

The fullest life possible.

At the end of our days, if we loved well, we lived well.

Stay present.

 

 

 

 

life interrupted

Like most people, I have a job. In fact, I have several. One of my jobs, my biggest and fullest of them all allows me to work from my former den which is right down my living room steps and is now a working office with a fax machine to prove it.

And since honesty is always the best policy, I’ll go ahead and publicly state that working from home is not all it’s cracked up to be. I am beyond thankful that I can and I do not want to take it for granted but like all good things, working from home is like a double edge sword, especially when working with the public sector.

For example, I can work from home in my pajama’s.

Downside is people can walk right into my office when I don’t have a bra on.

Some lessons are learned the hard way. Yeah. Embarrassment. #sorrynotsorry

I have made breakfast for my kids all while answering the phone. I’ve done loads of laundry in between projects. I’ve been able to take each Seeing Eye Puppy I’ve raised with me to work which really affords me a lot of time with them which is needed and to their benefit.

I could go on and on with the list of the good that comes with the work-from-home package, but the downside is this: I cannot escape work.

Real-life problems I know, I sound like such a whiner. Bear with me, there is a life-lesson here.

The other night at 5:15 PM, I was making dinner for my family and the office bell rang. Surprise. As tempting as it was to let business be business, set hours and let them stand outside the door, I just couldn’t. The door is not the phone. I could not just let them stand long enough to go to voicemail so I welcomed my guest into the office.

They immediately commented on how good my dinner smelt.

Yes, dinner did smell good and I secretly hoped it was not burning or something else equally as tragic but twenty-minutes later, I had answered all their questions, got them what they needed and they were on their way.

August, breathe.

One thing that really bothers me is feeling like I am an inconvenience. I don’t like feeling like I am botheringsomeone, let alone NOTICEABLY bothering someone (because one is in my head and one is a realistic assumption based off of real-life interactions).

So yes, dinner. Ha, nah it’s not burning. I have time. Yes, it’s a new recipe I’m trying. What can I do to help?

Because if I don’t like feeling like a bother, I really don’t want to make someone else potentially feel that way. More importantly, I honestly believe deep down, despite how I sometimes feel, that people are utmost importance and should never be the second or third thought and should never vie for first place when dinner or projects or paper are running the race.

People come first.

So work and home aside, I shift my perspective. I am incredibly honored to have my home also be a conduit for so many people to flow in and out of, even if the lines are sometimes blurred that differentiate the two.

There is grace to shift gears when needed.

So friends, if you find your schedule being compromised and the culprit is your fellow mankind…step back, even if only with yourself, and breathe. Take a long, deep breath and remember WHO you are. Remember that looking your culprit in the eyes with compassion and grace is one of the most loving things you can do, especially when timing is tight.

People are not an inconvenience.

In the thick of things 

I met a friend for coffee today and I realize now, only afterwards, that I sounded like a complete train wreck. Not just a wreck but a TRAIN wreck, that’s the severity of my current situation. I’ve unraveled in perhaps all the wrong and maybe right ways…I just can’t tell yet. 

The verdict is still out. 

What is love anyway? I’m feeling kind of lost. I’m questioning just about everything. Blah blah blah blah blah.”

I interjected other people’s problems because they affect me and felt justified. Yes, I am living IN my circumstances becuase they are big. Someday I will learn that if I cannot properly manage me and my life, why do I think I can manage someone else’s? 

I can’t. 

*Freedom*

We talked about drama (hers) and went I came home, soaked in the bath and realize how I feed mine. 

Drama like debt continues to grow if you perpetuate it. If you want to pay down debt, you could go out and make more money, but mostly that doesn’t work. Not spending moment does. So if I apply this principle to drama, I will reduce the amount of drama in my life if I stop entertainining it. Right? 

Right. 

So I didn’t answer some texts today. Drama. 

I didn’t online shop to pass time. Drama. 

I apologized when I interjected my opinion and I knew I shouldn’t. Drama. 

I mostly likely will cut somethings out of my calendar this week becuase I’m tired and worn and desperately craving the comforts of home and my ugly sweatpants. I’ll find solice in the bath with all its bubbles and I’ll pretend I’m in a small dingy with Jesus. I’ll allow Him, in whatever amount of time is needed, to reset my preset. 

Please, for the love, tell me it’s not wrong to feel all shaken and not stirred, all dry and slightly withery. Tell me it’s ok to feel lost. Tell me it’s ok do all the right things and still have things not work out favorably. 

Becuase if you tell me there’s a formula, and I’ve screwed it all up, I scream. 

I’ll do more than. 

Extreme Home Makeover

I’ll start this off by saying that I hate that show. Secretly.

Because of jealousy, I hate it. It’s not fair that someone gets their entire home overhauled but whatever man. I’m sure they are worthy and such. I’ve watched it and cried along with the rest of the audience so I’m clearly and visibly moved and happy for them but…

I’ve often tried the Extreme Home Makeover theory to my home…meaning ME, and it only causes more debris and issues than worth it.

Seriously, I’m incounseling…Thankfully I have good people who aren’t over-zealous over-achievers.

Overhauls are good and needed but I’ve discovered, you have to be strategic and slow. Which means, one room, one box, one item held in your hands and heart at a time. And in my good opinion, when you take your time and go slow, the cleaning last and the room and the home stays more “tidy” if you are led.

Holy Spirit is good like that.

Real-life example: Currently I have been challenged to look at my response rate when it comes to my device because clearly it sucks. I don’t return calls or texts in a very timely manner **Real almost NEVER** and I know this is an are in my life that I’d like to clean up (for those of you who text or call me, you are clearly NOT surprised this is an issue in fact, some of you have loved me enough to POINT THIS OUT).

Seriously, WHY cannot I not do this? My lack of response is actually quite rude if I am to be honest.

Forgiveness please.

So for the last few days, I have been intentionally sitting and answering texts as they come in. Grueling. Some of my responses only say, “Thank you. I love you. I loathe you.” Whatever. The point is, I’m looking at it closely and trying to place myself in others shoes and am putting forth effort. YEAH ME. 

Intentionality.

Lesson of the Day:

Overhauls aren’t all they are cracked up to me so go slow and be selective. 

One thing at a time.

One day at a time.

Be kind to yourself. Yes.

But also be kind to others. If someone texts you, give them the common courtesy, text back.

“Ahem…August.”

worth more than glue

When I was sixteen, my father beat with the shoes I took off my feet upon coming home from work after taking my boss’s mother to her house. She did not drive and I was later than normal, home later than expected, but I was honest with my accounts however my honesty did not help. I was still beaten for being late because I supposedly was lying about where I’d been.

I ran out the door that night in my barefoot, in the pouring down rain, desperate. I ran across town to my boyfriend’s house and his family welcomed me and my tears into their home. They called my parents and told them I would be at their house for the night and I knew it would be a very long night for it was the first time I ever told anyone that my father beat me.

The next morning I went home to silence and for weeks that silence continued. I had shared our families secret and heard the message loud and clear.

“You are to be like glue and keep our family together. You do not come undone and share our secrets.”

Fast forward years later and it’s weeks before my wedding day. Same thing: sudden rage and a beating. This time I am standing outside my parents farmhouse holding a laundry basket of clothes my mother had just folded for me, my two-year old daughter nearby.

I go home afterwards and cry for hours nursing a headache that won’t go away.

But I am glue. I keep our family together and I don’t give myself any consideration. My father walks me down the aisle despite my knowing deep within myself I don’t want him to but since appearances are everything, I take his left arm in mine and smile.

I’ve hated myself everyday since and it has nothing to do with abuse and everything to do with a little girl who gave up her voice at the expense of squeezing herself into a mold she was not made for.

Now, many years later, I find myself sitting nauseated in a lawyer’s office. I realize that despite whatever the outcome, being there was one of the bravest things I’ve ever done in my life. In my entire life.

I was standing up for me. AS me.

All my life I have found my worth and value in other people and in things, in doings and the like and when those things are good and pretty, when all is going well, I am enough.

And when things aren’t…well. You can imagine.

I have tethered myself to the whipping pole because it’s what I’ve deserved. Surely it must be what I’ve deserved becuase I’ve done wrong and I’ve done right and the results are forever the same: I am not valuable.

Because who beats their grown daughter in front of her own?

I’ve felt like a dog.

Oh to go back to that day and say, “Enough.”

But I can’t go back. All I can do is make peace with my enemy and forgive myself for doing the best that I can, even if the best that I can was not right for me.

“You are the glue that holds are family together.” My husband said these words to me a couple of months ago and I bore the weight. I felt the heaviness of “Suck it up and carry on.” I should want to be glue. Glue sounds capable and strong, almost noble. Like something I could robe myself in as a woman, especially as a mother. But I don’t want to be glue. I don’t want to keep on keeping on, my right arm interlocked in the cusp of everyone else’s for the sake of what?

For the sake of WHO? Jesus?

Is that what it means in real-time with my every-day-life to take up my cross and follow Him? Is that what “laying down my life for my friends” looks like?

Please someone tell me because all I know is that I have this voice inside of me telling me to listen. That it is o.k. to listen. To listen to what I’ve always known deep within myself but been too afraid to stand in.

Because it’s easier to tie myself back to the whipping pole than it is to stand firm in my own truths, which at the end of the day are rooted in His.

I am worth more than glue.

HE says so.

when Easter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be

It’s Easter and it was an off day from the start. The dog ran away (again) and everything on the inside of me was done with his antics and officially didn’t care if he ever returned home. I was not in the mood. We fought briefly over going to Church and when I was there, I had a hard time being as awe-struck as those around me and found myself loathing the hype of the Holiday that exalts Jesus one day and not the next. I forgot to fill and hide the baskets till my youngest asked where they were and sadly no one (myself included) was all that excited about taking a family picture so I took pictures of the puppy instead.

Middle places are hard. Foreign lands are rough. If you haven’t been where you are now at, you can feel like a fish out of water. I secretly wished all day that Jesus would come along my shore in His boat and scoop me up in His net before I exhausted every last breath I had left inside of me because breathing has been laborious.

I went about my day being a lesser version of the self I know I can be. This put together Mom who has all her baskets lined up in a row. This in-step-with-Jesus-praise-be-to-God woman. Today I wasn’t, the reality is I haven’t been and I don’t know how to get back to her. I can’t seem to find her lately and I swear if someone tries to tell me how I might not only cry but scream and pelt eggs filled with candy at them from the egg hunt I just didn’t have the energy for.

But the great and wonderful thing about Easter is this…

Jesus says I don’t have to try to get back to her.

Easter is for people everywhere, yes.

But today Easter was especially for me.

If I have ever experienced first hand the finished work of the cross, it was today. In what feels like BLAH. In what feels like muddling through mire and muck. In what is tasteless and listless…

When I don’t feel like it, He literally expands Himself into my gaps. When I question or just stop questioning all together, He IS regardless and doesn’t just negate where I’m at or tries to drag me out of my slump I’d call an awfully large pit, He sits in it with me.

So when significant Holidays aren’t all that and then some, there’s things called grace, mercy, forgiveness and love.

Mounds of love.

This is what Easter is all about, right?

My Fakest Life

“I feel like I’m living my fakest life.”

These are the words I spoke out loud seven days ago to my husband and now here today, I have a 1:00 PM appointment with a lawyer.

“It’s just an appointment,” I say but I know it is more than. It’s the start of me even though some would say it’s the end.

I say it’s the start. Some say the end. Who am I going to believe?

I choose me.

I’ve been a people pleaser all my life. All of it. Every single day I wake up and for the most part, I aim to please. My decisions are largely based off of what you would think and if you’ve given me your opinion, I most likely pay heed. Can I keep peace? Can I make you happy and maintain status quo and do all the needed and expected things?

Seriously, I can’t. Not one single day more.

Twenty-three years ago I found myself as a single mother with a wedding dress. I discovered I was pregnant in October, was to be married in June after I graduated from college but by Thanksgiving, my fiancé was gone and I was living in the spare bedroom of my parents farmhouse dejected and confused.

And without realizing it, my guild-ridden self began looking for a father for my daughter. A good man.

And I found one.

But here we are, almost twenty-one years later and are at an impasse. I can and will no longer beg or plead for communication and since it has been recommended that I do not publicly share these very private parts of my life that involve other people, I will speak for me, OF me.

Because NOT speaking about this very large part of my life is deafening, almost drowning and it does me no good to pretend this is not happening. I will not live a fake life.

I know WHO I am and one of my nonnegotiable’s is communication. I need it in order to work through anything and if I cannot talk about the things I need to work through, I don’t see movement and I am no longer willing to remain at cross roads wondering which way to go.

So despite not feeling great about it, I will take a step. I will continue to remain open but I am not willing to sacrifice my non-negotiable. I’ve secretly battled within myself for months and openly hoped things would change and go in another direction but they haven’t. I’ve battled if it’s wrong or if it’s right because as one who loves Jesus, taking these steps are incredibly complicated and conflicting. I have seen what NOT communicating has done over time and I refuse to repeat the negative and unhealthy patterns for the safe of maintaining a nice home and the semblance of a family.

My children deserve a better example.

I’d like to say I do but there’s a large part of me that says, “No. Lay your life down for your friends. Sacrifice” but friends, if you only knew where we’ve been and where we’ve dangerously been heading…

I just can’t.

So I won’t just write about the happy things. I won’t just share the good times. That has never been me and trying to people please in order to maintain status quo, even the incredibly watchful yet silent people in my life…no thanks.

No thanks at all.

The Places We Won’t Go

I past him on the street but before I did so, I smelled him.

I smelled urine and the staunch aroma of ammonia made me turn my head away.

I will never forget turning my head away.

Ever.

I walked up the street a block, maybe two, and I turned around. Conviction consuming my heart. I faced my friends who were simply excited to be in the city for the first time  and told them I had to go back. I had to stand in front of this man I turned my face from and extend my hand and offer to buy him food. So I did. I went back and breathed in deep. I smiled and asked his name and David and I walked to McDonald’s.

Today, years later from my encounter with David, I hear the story in Luke. I’ve read it a hundreds times, but today my heart heard something in the story I haven’t heard before. It reminded me of my encounter of David and his urine soaked jeans. It reminded me of the smell that lingered in him and then consequently, on me. It reminded me how I turned my head away. It reminded me of a lot.

Luke 7:36-39 says, “Now one of the Pharisees was requesting Him to dine with him, and He entered the Pharisee’s house and reclined at the table. And there was a woman in the city who was a sinner; and when she learned that He was reclining at the table in the Pharisee’s house, she brought an alabaster vial of perfume, and standing behind Him at His feet, weeping, she began to wet His feet with her tears, and kept wiping them with the hair of her head, and kissing His feet and anointing them with the perfume. Now when the Pharisee who had invited Him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet He would know who and what sort of person this woman is who is touching Him, that she is a sinner.”

The women who washed Jesus’s feet with her tears and her hair wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. She wasn’t afraid to smell. If you know anything about the days when Jesus walked the earth, feet were one of the dirtiest parts of a person. Cleaning someone’s feet was reserved for servants or slaves. They were not reserved for women who used their tears and their hair. A woman. An adulterous, sinful women.  It was a huge social faux pas that packed a mighty spiritual punch and spoke loud and clear of the Gospel we today call Jesus.

I think of her on the floor face to face with the ripe stench of Jesus’ feet and I think of the Pharisee nearby and how his blood must have boiled at the sight of who had just entered his home unwelcome and invaded his and his guest of honor’s space. She’s on her knees in tears going close and he’s putting distance between all three of them, outraged and questioning Jesus’s identity, “If this man were a prophet…”

Oh dear Pharisee…He is more than. Sounds an awful lot like the devil in the wilderness, “If you are the Son of God.” (Matthew 4:6).  Jesus must have heard, “If you are…” more times than Scriptures record and I reminded that our God-given identity is ALWAYS in question.

But SHE knew who He was. Her heart knew. She already had a mighty encounter with the living, breathing God and she would have gone lower if the dirt floor would have allowed. Her posture spoke volumes and she didn’t have to say a single word. Gratitude overflowed from her.

How many times have I felt the need to give lots of words trying to convince myself and others of MY posture?

Too many to count.

So I think:

How far into someone’s dirty stinky mess would I be willing to go?

How low would I be willing to stoop before them?

Saying things is one thing. Saying I would be the woman at Jesus feet sounds beautiful and faith-filled but doing it is another thing all together. Jesus comes to me all the time disguised as the beggar on the street, the friend with the marriage falling a part, my own family member who desperately needs my time and my attention.

How low do I go?

Truth is, sometimes I don’t. There ARE places IN people I will not venture to. It’s too hard and rough and I get too tired of the drama so I walk a block or two and don’t turn back because my judgement and fear are a thick wall that help me keep my distance.

Friends, I want to turn back. It is in my heart to do so. I want to tell the company I keep, “I got to go” as I turnaround. I want to extend my hand but sometimes my own arrogant  pride and blatant stubbornness keep me planted firmly on my own path especially with those closest to me. Especially those who don’t smell of urine. Especially those who look and sound just.like.me.

If there is place in your life you won’t go and there is a person attached to your reasoning, please consider reaching out. Maybe there is good and needed excuse there is space but most times, more than not…

There’s not.

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