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Sometimes God is just funny. Like, I normally think about Him in terms of being loving, and gracious, and kind. Caring, and gentle, and intimate…but not really funny. Today, I had to literally laugh out loud though, because I realized, He really does have a sense of humor. The Guy is a straight up comedian.
About a week ago, I was not in the best mental space. Let’s face it, we’re in a pandemic, and no one really knows how long this thing is going to last. 2020 has been one shock after another, and I feel like, as a collective whole, humanity just could not catch our breath. We took one big gasp in January, and have been holding it ever since.
The first shock was Kobe. I sat there on the couch in my well-furnished basement, with a good friend, and watched CNN, for hours. We were told that Kobe Bryant and his 13-year-old daughter had died with several others in a helicopter crash. We were horrified and entered into a period of grief along with the whole world at the sudden loss of a well-known superstar. We were all suddenly reminded of the brevity of life, even if we weren’t avid sports fans. For months, Kobe and his family, (and those other poor souls), were the talk of our conversations. Were the topic of our heartfelt prayers. But then, the senseless injustices of the Black community came to a head, (once again). For me, it was Ahmaud who gripped my heart. Ahmaud Arbery was a young Black man who was gunned down while running in his neighborhood by three white men. He was unarmed. He was vulnerable. And he was killed. I laid out on the floor, weeping profusely. I could not stop. I couldn’t believe he was so young, and I kept imagining his mother finding her son. Dead. Bleeding. Lifeless. But then I didn’t have much time to even grieve that, because George happened. George Floyd, whom the nation responded so loudly to, was murdered by a white police officer, while his fellow officers stood by, and watched him kneel on George’s neck, mercilessly, while George cried out in agony, weeping for his mother. I could only watch (stomach) some of the video footage.
And somewhere in between these men, was Breonna. Breonna Taylor was gunned down in her own home, by police officers. A horrifying case of mistaken identity. The police officers were released by the way. No charge. No justice.
Throughout these atrocities, there were riots, and looting, and chaos. Grief, and fear, and sorrow. Not to mention, a recent presidential election which usually has folks up in arms in general, but would now have them even more so, during this particular election.
And all of this has happened in the midst of a world wide pandemic, of which the United States is leading in cases. I don’t even want to get into my own feelings of personal loss. My own personal grief. I just shared all this to explain why finally, after the last eight months of walking around with a mask on and dousing my hands in hand sanitizer at every moment’s chance, I felt the heaviness seep in. I felt it, and I recognized it from a past experience I didn’t think I would make it out of.
Well, that particular morning while feeling the heaviness, I decided I needed a pet. I have looked a few times in the past for one, particularly a kitten, but every time, it just never panned out. One time, my bestfriend and I went to the animal shelter near me. This was right when the pandemic hit, but they were closed due to the new crisis. Another time, I looked on Craigslist, but whenever I spotted a cute furry creature I could fall in love with, they would already be sold, once I reached out to the seller. I remember even over a year ago, my old roommate and I looked for a pet, but I didn’t find one I connected with, so I waited.
This particular morning while looking online though, I figured it was time, because of what I was dealing with. But I had a lot of work to do, and so after 20 minutes, I needed to switch gears from online perusing for a furry companion, to bookkeeping for clients. 5 hours later, I was spent. I actually remembered that I was looking for a kitten that morning once done working, but was too tired to go back online. I just wanted to veg out. Interestingly enough, within minutes of me having that thought, I heard a knock on my door. I was confused. It was the middle of the day. Who could it be? Anyone who visits normally calls first. Why didn’t they do that? Why didn’t they ring the doorbell? These were all the thoughts swirling in my mind as I made my way, cautiously, up the stairs, to the door. I peeked out, and saw this little light brown kid. He was holding a black kitten in his arms and peered up at me with large eyes and disheveled black hair. “Hi. Do you want a cat?” he asked.
Now, call it my upbringing with a single mom who was from the streets of Toledo, but my brain was racing. Is this kid in cahoots with a rapist, or mugger, or killer who is going to pop out while I’m distracted by his cuteness with this kitten and knock me out cold? So I start praying, Lord, please don’t let me be a victim in my foolishness to open this door to a stranger! (I’m serious too. I really did pray that.) Then I’m channeling my discernment, feeling for God, because what are the chances that someone is going to offer me a kitten on the very day I was looking for one? I looked at the kid, confused, and he explained, after glancing over his shoulder down my driveway, “My aunt is giving them away.” I stood back, assessed him some more, and knew I had to make a quick decision. I also knew it was God, and that this was my time to commit—or not to commit—to being a pet owner. Did I really want this? But never one to miss out on a blessing, I opened my hands, and he dumped the scared little fluffy bundle into them. I said, “Thanks,” and that was that. He left, and I was in awe.
I have been the proud owner of a small black kitten since that day (it will be one week tomorrow). His name is BJ and I named him that after the suggestion of a good friend who said to name him after a character in my book. (That is, my newest book, and first novel, that I’m still working on.) But people kept asking me what “BJ” stood for and I would cringe because I really didn’t know. It bothered me greatly because I’m someone who values words, values names, especially. I wanted some weighty, deep name that meant something, but all I came up with was, “BJ”. I loved BJ in my novel because he is a loving male friend to my female protagonist, but that couldn’t be enough. I needed a deeper meaning.
So here is the funny part. Remember, I said God was funny? I was driving today from making my normal daily Starbucks run (this began during the pandemic to get out of the house). A venti coffee with light cream sat in the cup holder, while I was thinking about God giving me a black cat, and thinking about how He had done the same thing before and gave my old roommate a black cat. She had named him Benny (short for Ben-Samuel, a nice, strong, Jewish name), and if you’ve been following this blog for a few years, you’ll remember a couple of blog posts about him. He was definitely an interesting character! So I was thinking this, and not for the first time you see. I was thinking about its significance. That God was doing something twice (usually in the Bible when He says something twice like, “verily, verily”, this means to pay attention). And then I thought, Isn’t it funny that God gave us two black cats whose names both start with B? Then it dawned on me! I had to laugh, and I had to share the laughter with someone whom I knew would understand its humor, so I called my old roommate Lianna. I told her how I just realized what “BJ” stood for! “Benny Jr!” I exclaimed with glee, and she laughed with me, and told me that was what she had figured when I initially shared his name!
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. Of course she thought I already knew, but I didn’t. It was plainly in my face and I couldn’t see, I guess, until the time was right.
I laughed hard, and it was a good laugh. A needed laugh. And I think God held that little secret from me for a whole week just so He could see me laugh that hard. Just so He could see my face fill with joy.
Which it does, every time I look at BJ. AKA Benny Jr.!
God is so significant in ALL things. He is an amazing provider, and loves giving us the desires of our hearts. He also loves a good laugh, I’m convinced.
Meet BJ (Ben-Samuel Jr.)
Before this season I knew next to nothing about getting a book publishing deal. And can I tell you a secret? Even with two self-published books under my belt, I still didn’t consider myself “a real writer”. I mean, I’m a good writer (in my opinion) but I did not study writing or major in journalism (except for that brief time period freshman year, but God told me to “x” that idea). I mean, I’ve attended a few writing workshops but honestly, most of my training has come from, well, completely, Holy Spirit teaching me. 😁💕
I have read countless books and have always been an avid reader 🤓. Books were a safe haven growing up for me. I was a loner. Born an only child and struggling in the friendship department (my how things change). Most of my pre-teen years were spent with my nose in a book. I would get so excited when my mom would take me to the library to pick out a few books that I could spend the weekend reading. (Yes, I spent my weekends reading, LOL!) And even though she herself was not a reader, she supported me in my reading. She supported me in everything…
It’s funny how fast God can move in some things. Like this writing thing for example. I was just reading about a writer (one of those real writers, I mean) and how she kept submitting her manuscript and query letter to publishing companies and then getting rejected. Over and over. Until finally, she got accepted. In my mind it was a given she would get accepted. I mean, she was a real writer. (Any writer who knows how to do a query letter, and submit their work to a publishing company, well, that is a real writer to me, LOL.) So that’s why the last couple of months are astounding to me. Because out of nowhere I got a message posted on my social media account from a distant relative (someone I hardly interact with) about a publishing opportunity for black writers. Well, I’m a black writer (I use that term loosely as I’ve already explained my perception of myself as a writer), so I should definitely look into this. Well, I did, and they wanted the first 30 pages of a manuscript. Now, I had resumed writing once the pandemic hit, but had no idea how much I had written, and I wasn’t so sure I had enough written. To my surprise, at the time, I actually had 150 pages written! SMH. So, I quickly started working on my book project to get it submitted. But the company also wanted a query letter included. Hmmm, here we go with that query letter again! Well, shortly thereafter a friend slid into my DM’s with contact information for a well known published author who was offering her services (free of charge mind you) to help black authors put together a query letter for this very opportunity! Crazy. Could God be anymore obvious? LOL. So, I jumped on it, and she really was a godsend in every aspect of the word. Within a few weeks I had my query letter! Then it came time for editing. Or so I thought. I turned back to social media, put out feelers for an editor and reached out to one in particular.
Now, I am a no nonsense type. I like to get stuff done. Give me a project, I’ll knock it out. I love productivity. So when this person suggested we wait to do the editing and that I should revisit the story and dig deeper (without actually having read the story) I was a little annoyed. Come on lady, I’m tryna give birth to this thing and you telling me I’m not done carrying yet! 🤰🏾🙄. Now, she felt this message was from God and that she was hearing something. I’m not one to tell someone else what they are hearing or not hearing, but I know that if it is a word for me, then it is going to have to resonate with me. So I agreed to wait, although I was skeptical 🤔. But I didn’t have to wait too long. I sat with the story again, and Holy Spirit moved quickly. I began writing, and so much more came out of the characters. I was in awe. I sat with the story for a whole month after that and am finally meeting again with the editor (today actually). Hopefully we are ready for the editing stage (fingers crossed). I also submitted those first 30 pages and am awaiting a response from the publishing company. They have 3 months to respond so we have time (2 months left actually).
God has given me several words about this book project. I don’t know how much of an influence it will have but I know that it will have an impact. I love that it reflects my growth spiritually and where I have evolved as a person. It is relatable, down to earth but still revelatory. And to think, when I began writing it, I had no idea it would actually be a published work. I only started writing out of enjoyment.
I am looking forward to the outcome and to see the expression of the Father’s creativity through me in this season. And through so many others.
It’s our time.
Being an only child has its pluses and minuses. Plus: You learn to play on your own. Minus: You usually hate to share. Plus: You usually have your physical needs met. Minus: You can be (maybe a little 🤣) spoiled/self centered. Plus: You have a strong sense of self. Minus: You can be stubborn/bossy. (And some of these characteristics may not describe a typical only child, instead they may just be describing me LOL).
I was talking to a friend recently about growing up an only child and not having that experience of sitting at the dinner table together to share a meal with a family. Growing up in a single parent home my mother was more concerned about me having food on the table over us eating it together. Many evenings she was working when in fact I ate. My friend felt bad for me but even when I myself started feeling bad I was quickly reminded of how she and I shared all of our meals together some 4 months ago when the shut down hit.
And so in that case I could see God giving me that experience of eating with my sister. Similarly I found myself having another redeeming familial experience yesterday when visiting my dad for the Fourth of July weekend. (Side note, there are many in the black community who are not celebrating the fourth and I totally get it. Why should we celebrate the Independence of a nation that enslaved us? And so while we did gather during this holiday my heart personally is not to be affiliated with the “liberty” of slave owners.) For the first time in my whole life I partook in a holiday celebration with my father. This was a huge deal and I had to send out for backup prayer requests to my trusted intercessors who, thankfully, reminded me that I was not alone and that they were with me.
I made the trip physically on my own, trusting God all the way. I knew He was ordering my steps and that even though there had been so much warfare against my relationship with my father much of my life, the Father’s heart was that it be healed and restored.
I went and stood with these people who look like me: dark brown skin and musical. They sang for hours doing karaoke and relived the time when my father was a star in an all male group. He actually went to California to make it big. They had a cd recorded, of which I have the digital copy. You can find it on iTunes 😁. It was heartwarming to see my relatives gathered at the back porch as if it were a stage and watch my father and his old group members perform. I knew God was giving me the desire of my heart.
So many were happy to see me and over and over I heard about how much I look like my dad. I wrestled with my emotions and am still processing but it is not missed by me that the Father is healing.
Sometimes we miss things in our childhood. The enemy comes to steal, kill and destroy. And sometimes God gives us those things later in life.
I never grew up in a household of people who looked like me. My love of music was shared for sure but they were not performers. In my youth I had loved performing and seeing my father’s relatives do so showed me where I got it from. DNA is a powerful thing. We can end up just like the people we were conceived from even when we are not raised by them.
In this season I long. I long for so many things. The thing I have longed for the most and for the longest time is to have a family of my own. The Father has given me His family and that has been a blessing but it has never replaced the longing to have my own. I think that Mary would agree, she still missed Jesus, even after He gave her John.
“When Jesus therefore saw His mother, and the disciple whom He loved standing by, He said to His mother, “Woman, behold your son!””
John 19:26 NKJV
How could she not? He came from her own womb.
But the love and belonging that my blood family has in their heart for me is evident. Even as I struggle with the lost years, I am in awww of the gained days. Being around people who are “mine” is a dream. And there are so many dreams God has made come true.
He is faithful.
In other news stay tuned for a release of a new book I’m working on! I am so excited about this book project and what God wants to do through it! This book has offered me an opportunity to express both my spirituality and black culture. It adequately expresses where I have evolved in my faith at this point in my juncture. May He get all the glory ❤️.
Last night I conversed with a woman who’s known me nearly 20 years. You know you are really getting up there when your friendships last decades.
You know you are blessed as well…
Although she and I have stories that are unique, we have “The Call” that is in common. The Call to live for Him, and we started it together, our sophomore year of college.
I remember those early days of fire, where we were so hungry and so thirsty that nothing could satisfy. We laid down our greatest desires at the time. We have been laying them down ever since, and leaning on each other for support during the very difficult moments. As of late there have been many…
I think God is gracious in that He gives us these people to support us when we are faced with overwhelming obstacles. I get so frustrated with the journey and what all it has entailed, but I look around and see that I am surrounded by many who are on the same path. Many who are living extraordinary lives for Him.
Even if they seem ordinary to us.
I told my friend last night, “We are breathing rare air.” That was the phrase that had come to me. I don’t believe this phrase is reserved for Presidents and Nobel Peace Prize winners. No. I believe that when we are being counter cultural, when we are doing the opposite of what the world says to do, when we are holding on for dear life (and even give up, but He is still holding us), when we are being the standard in a generation that has none, well, we are rare.
And the air is thinner up here.
And yet we are still breathing.
I am reminded of those in Hebrews 11. Those who are in the “Hall of Faith”. The Word says that the world was not worthy of them. Dare I say God feels the same about us? Those of us who are here now, enduring, persevering, sacrificing, suffering long? Dare I say He sees us and knows our sacrifice and the very depths of it? Knows we have given our lives even if not physically but emotionally, mentally, intellectually, socially? And yes, even some physically?
It is a rare thing to believe in something supernatural. In something you cannot see. And even rarer to demonstrate that belief by the actions you choose. To follow Him, knowing that you may not get what you want. But in the end, really, don’t we all just want Him?
In my younger days I would have thought since He is all I want then nothing else will matter. But now I see, it is Him just wanting to be first. It is Him just wanting me to want Him more than anything. Of course He has good things for us. Of course He wants us to enjoy this life. But not if we enjoy it more than Him…
My friend shared last night that He was giving us grit. Yes, I agreed, and went into a story about a prophetic word I received years ago. He said he was giving me backbone then. That word was about 9 years ago. If I was getting backbone then I cannot imagine what other body parts he developed in the time since of this journey.
There are times I feel slain and I am reminded of Job’s cry.
“Though He slay me yet will I trust Him”.
It is not an easy posture for one’s heart. But He never promised it would be easy. He only promised He would be with us.
And the blessing is that He is in His people.
And they are with us too.
Nearly 20 years later…
I was standing near her grave feeling a little awkward because he was standing there too. Never could you have told me we would be in this position (on speaking terms, let alone at her grave). I had come there a little early with a friend so I could have alone time to think about them; the women who had gone before me. The ones who paved the way.
Years ago when my grandmother passed I never visited the cemetery. I didn’t see a need to, she wasn’t there. Instead she was with her Maker. Now that both of them are gone I have found the grave to be a place of connection. I connect with Him.
I connect with them.
So when he asked me if he could come too, well, I was understandably hesitant. We hadn’t really spoken in two years, when everything happened. When I shut the door to further communication. So meeting with him in such a vulnerable place would be a risk. But one I felt Holy Spirit was leading me to take.
My bestfriend was there with me. And really she is my sister. She’s been by my side since I was 14 years old. We fell out in college (over what, neither of us can remember) but she was already grafted into my family by then. My mom and gramma held on to her. I think they were saving her for me for when I would be mature enough to value her.
And oh how I value her…
It was a rainy day, although it wasn’t currently raining, and I was fighting a fierce cold. So inconvenient considering the world was dealing with a pandemic with the same symptoms. We kept taking my temperature and I was assured I didn’t have this illness, this COVID-19. But I did have a cold and it wasn’t letting up. I was just going to have to push through.
He and I didn’t embrace when we met out of precaution because he’s older, but I felt his love just the same. We stood there and talked and it was clear to me he finally had gotten it.
“Thank you for calling me out on my sh$t,” he said. I appreciated his frankness. He was finally demonstrating those qualities I had desired for so long: humility, ownership of wrongdoing, maturity. These were qualities I had wanted in a male counterpart. In the past I had wanted these men to see that me walking out of their lives was the worse thing to have happened and they needed to get it together to get me back. But they wouldn’t. Now standing here in front of this man, my own father, I realized he was the one who really needed to get it. And he did.
He finally did.
I was guarded but he still made me laugh and even tear up. “You are mine,” he said. “You will always be mine. You can hate me but that will never change.” And I was immediately reminded of the Father’s love, and of my mother’s (both are the same really). It was evident that was the love that was in his heart.
He and I are closer in physical distance than we have been my whole life. I told him God was giving him a new beginning. Now I can see that He is giving us a new beginning.
I feel the Father has said the warfare that has come against our relationship these 30+ years is finally over. He is giving us time. Just as He did with my own mother.
The Father has been so merciful with me. I have experienced great pain and heartache within the area of relationships and family, yet He has chosen to move and bring restoration and redemption.
It has not been easy, nor will it be. But He has still been working, bringing about His promises in His own time. And for that I am grateful.
He is still producing miracles.
Even in the mundane.
P.S, Here is a pic from my 37th b day! Fierce and Fabulous 😊😉
I am sitting in my living room on an overstuffed cream chair with a cup of green tea and a book on grief. The crackle of the candle on the window sill is almost drowned out by the ocean wave sounds coming from my speaker. I can smell the scent of pumpkin roll coming from said candle and wish once again that it would never run out. It’s the perfect setting to wind down to.
I had a networking event today of which another introvert called me out on being introverted. She voiced my inner thoughts on being grateful that I had made it out and yet I was simultaneously looking forward to when I would leave.
I did get involved in a few good conversations on travel and such and was encouraged enough that I only left a half hour early. But then, so also did the host…
I am becoming very aware of my introverted ways particularly when I compare myself to my more extroverted friends. When I receive lengthy texts flooding my phone with information I get overwhelmed. When I am invited to several events at once I feel the same. I even do not scroll often on social media because taking in so much information on a variety of people (most of which I never talk to in person) is too much for me. Normally I post. I post about me and the people in my direct sphere. I can handle that. But anything more, feels too much.
Still I love connecting. Usually it happens in small groups like this past weekend when I hosted a friend to share on Mary Kay products. I was able to offer appetizers and a warm and cozy space. I love hosting. Especially in this house which perfectly fits me.
This house has been such a comfort. It is cozy and warm and I feel like I am being hugged at all times. I finally got my bookcase up and tomorrow my loveseat will be delivered. The living room will be complete and all the furniture is now purchased. It is just a matter of wall decor…
I never dreamed I would so enjoy interior decorating or have such a knack for it. But God knew. I stand in awe that He had a place for me. I think about all the places I wanted before I found this house and they were not for me. But it was not because there wasn’t a home for me, there was. It was because they were not the right fit. There was one particular home I really really wanted. I had fallen in love with that house. It hurt me when it did not work out but there was a lesson in that. He was teaching me something even in it falling through.
He has purpose in all things.
Tomorrow I have a long day ahead and I know I will need to get as much rest as I can. I know myself. I know my energy levels. I know when I will reach my end and when I have the capacity for certain engagements.
There are so many joyous times in this season and still sad times. A friend said that watching my life is like reading a good book. I concur. I feel that way sometimes. Like when I go on amazing trips with friends or shopping and catch a good deal or meet with a new client for my business. It is a fabulous life indeed. But still not without its difficulties.
I realize the difficulties have made me more compassionate. I have such a heart for those who experience tragedy or loss or suffering in a way that I did not before.
Again, He has purpose in all things.
Even in the hard things.
Especially in those…
It is Christmas morning. I’m sitting on a comfy couch near a cozy fire drinking a cup of coffee. The tree is small but welcoming and although there are only two presents under it they are wrapped in love. I’m visiting with a woman who goes back to my childhood. She’s the only one I was able to bring with me from that time and for that I hold on to her fiercely. She is mine. And she, like me, did not want to face the holidays alone, so we are facing them together.
I have to admit this life the Father has painted is full of marvelous things. Like yesterday when we drove up the Rocky Mountains and let them take our breath away. Their voluminous size were terrifyingly exhilarating. At once I was reminded at how great the Father is and yet at the same time, so intimate.
It is a wonder.
We laughed and drank and skated and cooked. We did what people talk about doing with their families. Visiting historic landmarks, taking car trips to the mountains, basking in being a family…
Our sisterhood is something I will always be grateful for. This woman walked me down the aisle not on the happiest day of my life but on a day when I needed to do what was most difficult. She stayed two weeks longer when everyone left to make sure I would be ok for my birthday. She has been my rock when I couldn’t see Him anymore…
I could still see Him through her.
And of course she is not the only one. But I want to honor her in this moment in time because she is worthy of being honored. I don’t know what my plans would be if she had not extended her love. If she had not extended her time…
As I get older I hear about others who spend the holidays alone. I have yet to have that experience but I finally realize it is not something I am exempt from. Life is never what we think it will be.
But for now I see the Father’s provision. My dear friend came over and took Christmas pictures of me in my new home, stayed over for hours of fellowship and then came back the next day to drop me off at the airport. I had been visiting with her family previously and was the recipient of more fellowship, more community, more love.
I have known their family for quite some time. They have seen me transform into the woman I am today. They too were there that day I walked down the aisle. They have been there every step of the way.
As life moves along and friends date, get married and have babies, I deal with the weight of my circumstances. I have none of those things. And that is the “rocky” part. The pain, the loss, the trauma…
But this is what I do have…I have snow tubing near the Rocky Mountains Christmas Day. I have waking up to a fire, a cup of coffee and a dear friend who loves me unconditionally. I have a woman who is lavishing a mother’s love upon me in a way that is desperately needed. A new home that came when I least expected and is perfectly tailored for me. Women who have been on this journey with me for more then a decade and even though their life circumstances have changed, they include me in them. They invite me into their family traditions for the holidays. We play spades and bake cookies and enjoy each other. I have provision and style and love. The love is not in the form I thought it would be in. It does not negate the grief and trauma I am still recovering from. It does not fulfill the deep longings of my heart I experience every day and have experienced since that faithful day I submitted to Him at age 19. Giving up the man I wanted to marry at age 22. But it does give me HOPE.
Everyday I wake up, I look at the home He provided and I have hope. He does give us the desires of our hearts. He does manifest His eternal promises in the natural. He does want us to have good things in this life.
He does give His children good gifts…
And that is the reminder of this season. The true meaning of Christmas. A celebration of God sending Yeshua to offer hope for the world. I am always in aww that somehow He chose me to be His. I know I couldn’t have “earned” that right by any great efforts of my own. Believe me I tried. But still somehow I got adopted. I got engrafted into His family. For that I am eternally grateful.
He is my ABBA and I know out of all the gifts He has given me, I am most grateful for that one.
To be His daughter. To be His Love.
To be His.
Merry Christmas from The Rockys☺️☺️☺️.
Yesterday I made the move. And it was right after I spent the holiday out of town with dear friends.
I had packed everything ahead of time because I didn’t want to be stressed the night before trying to get things together (after my flight got in). I am a great planner and I knew planning was going to be key to getting ready for the new season. Still, there are some things you simply cannot plan for…
The night before the move, my good friend picked me up from the airport and we enjoyed our fleeting moments together. She will be entering her own new season soon which also involves moving so I am savoring all of my time with her. She agreed to spend the night and we started the next day at 7 am. I needed to pick up the U-haul truck and make it to my house by 9am. We were making good time and decided to stop for coffee and breakfast. Little did we know we were going to need the sustenance! I had a few other friends coming to help but I was relying on the movers I had hired to be the real muscle. In the past my mom and I always hired movers. We did this because we did not have family, or men, to help. We were always doing things on our own and independence was ingrained in me at a young age. I had friends who had large families and men in their families that would help them relocate. I always envied that about them…
Well about 30 minutes after my friends and I started moving I realized the movers I had hired were MIA. I called them and was initially told they had the wrong time down (even though they were the ones who had chosen the time). Then I was told they were stuck in traffic (which I knew was a bold face lie because we had been out and there was no one traveling the day after Black Friday). So I cancelled the movers and my friends picked up the slack. They were amazing. For 2 and a half hours we created assembly lines, passed boxes to and fro and took trips back and forth between houses. We even stuffed ourselves in the front of a U-Haul truck due to lack of space! (Shout out to Lo for being a real G) LOL. And the crazy part about it all is, WE HAD FUN. We laughed and sang to the music and talked. It was a great time of fellowship and comraderie and I knew it was the Father. He was giving me people. He was giving me a longtime desire of my heart.
There have been several things that have happened in this moving process that has shown me His love and one of them is His use of people. There were some things I simply could not plan for and He has shown me He is the ultimate planner. People would pop up at just the right time. My neighbors who I needed to borrow plyers from. My pastor who’s time is already limited and yet has made it a point to fix anything at my house and breakdown the large items I need to get rid of. His sister who has been so much like a mom to me in this season has been present to look at houses and rejoice with me when I found the right one. My friends, who cleaned the house and helped me physically move. My realtor who took some appliances I needed to dispose of last minute (not to mention the one who actually found this house when I had given up). Even my personal trainer who was squeezed in front of the U-Haul who I’ve only known for 2 months. People, people, people. God has given me people.
God will fill up the lack. He will provide and meet the need however He so chooses. And this is how He has chosen in this season with me.
There were some hard times this week emotionally. The holidays usually are hard for me and now even more so. I am still working through my grief and disappointments. There are changes in my relationships due to the new seasons. There are changes in my relationship with God. But every morning I wake up in this new house and I feel His peace. I walk upstairs and my breath is taken away all of over again. This house is symbolic of hope for the future.
My friends and I are walking out a different path then those who are not chosen. We struggle with how different it is. We so want to be “normal”.
“Singleness is getting awkward,” she said. I laughed but I knew it was true. It has been awkward, I thought. I am a little older and so I knew that that played into my perception. It is also painful, I thought, but didn’t share. I didn’t want to project my pain onto her although, I have so appreciated that I have been able to be completely honest with her in my journey. I have so appreciated that while others transition into building families and focusing on their loved ones, I have people around me who are still in it. They are still walking out this path of waiting. It is comforting to have others who understand and empathize with the journey.
I am grateful for how the Father has moved in my life. He has been very intentional with what He has blessed me with and the opportunities He has given. He has also been intentional with what He has not allowed. Only He knows how we are wired. The intimate desires of our hearts and what will bring about His best in us.
I have changed a lot in this season. Life does that. While some may think it is not for the good, I disagree. I think we need to be balanced out in our perception of life. I think we need to understand the sufferings of humanity to understand the compassion of Christ. If we don’t go through dark times we will never be relatable. I have had to learn how to be relatable.
Thank You Father for how You have moved in my life. Thank You for showing Your Hand and making it known that I am Yours. Even when I feel alone. You are always there.
These days I find myself looking for a new home. The journey (as always) has been interesting. About a month ago I fell in love with a house. It had all of the stuff I wanted and then some. It checked off my check boxes and created a few new ones. The seller was an investor and had remodeled, it seemed, with me in mind. I was initially disappointed to learn that the taxes were significant. I’m a first time buyer and have been coached and supported by others around me who are more experienced. This tax situation, I thought, is going to be a problem. But when I ran the details by my closest and dearest who are more experienced on the matter, instead of being deterred, I was encouraged. Apparently the issue of taxes was minimal compared to what I would be receiving in return. Well I was surprised and pleased by this response. I had let go of the home and laid it down. I have been trained to do so and I think that is my first line of thinking because of this training. But even after revisiting the idea and then getting excited at the prospect, I still held it loosely.
“Is this my home Father?” I asked. In response all I received was peace. I didn’t feel like He was saying it was. I feel like He was saying “Regardless, I’m with you.”
That house didn’t work out. Though it had been on the market for months and the seller kept dropping the price (probably from desperation) a day before I would have made an offer it was taken off the market. Someone got to it first. I told my realtor it wasn’t mine or else nothing could have stopped me from getting it. I have wavered back and forth in that thinking as we have looked at one house after another after another. I can’t seem to find one comparable in my price range.
Now God has confirmed the character and trust worthiness of my realtor. And He has made a way for me to take the first time homeownership classes that initially fell through. And He has not stifled this desire for me to have my own. So the promise must be there.
But so is the process.
When I shared my exasperation with my realtor her response was, “Welcome to home ownership. This is the process.”
A couple of weeks ago I needed to get my fingerprints done for the upcoming tax season for my business. It seemed like a simple feat until I got the run around and ended up going through a few hoops to get it done. In the midst of the chaos I said to myself, “Why is this such a process?!”
And immediately I heard, “Why are you surprised?”
I knew the Father was speaking to me that I have been through other processes before and I have seen how they have prepared me for the promise. Specifically with my business and where He is taking me with it. I can look back and see His intentionality with using waiting to cultivate trust in Him and humility. He worked on my character when I would have been ruled by self and pride.
Often we do not like the process. It can be painful and difficult. In this season I have been shocked at the depths of the process.
However I know there is value in it.
A while ago when talking to a friend about waiting she said, “Nicole the promise does not negate the process.” So true. And to that I would add, “The process prepares you for the promise.”
Looking at the life of Joseph, he went through so much. More then I would ever want to go through in all honesty. Yet eventually his circumstances changed and he was promoted for the final time.
What Joseph was given to steward was greater then he could have possibly imagined.
Looking back on my journey I see that I thought I could do the works. I could check off my checklist and fulfill my call and make my Father proud. But I overestimated myself and underestimated the path I would walk. Thankfully, even in my naïveté I was guaranteed that He would walk with me. It was Him that would complete the work, not me.
And the body, the cloud of witnesses, the ecclesia, well, they would be there too.
“You are not alone”, someone said today in the midst of the prophetic flowing. It was the first time I felt His presence in that way in 4 years. I was in awe.
“The new is here”, came another word.
It is a new day. My hope is that the process is ending and the promise is coming. My good friend Lianna Mueller did an amazing blog on this topic. We are learning to hope without expectations.
I know that God will do it. I just don’t know how. And that is faith. If He said it, He will do it. And if He doesn’t then it wasn’t what is best for me. But regardless, we must believe that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.