When Faith Meets Roadblocks

We’ve all been traveling down the road, many times our usual route, only to find we must detour and travel into areas we are unfamiliar with. When this happens, we fret about arriving at our destination on time. We also might become angry that our routine has been disrupted. It might even cause us to be anxious because we aren’t quite sure where we’re going. Life can be like this too sometimes. We are going about our daily lives when the unthinkable happens; a roadblock, if you will. Life is very good at making sure we meet those roadblocks at some point in our lives. And the Devil tries to ensure that our lives become uprooted when we meet these obstacles. What are we to do when we meet these inevitable roadblocks of life? I’ve said it many times; faith is easy when life is going well. It is always the difficult times when we question our faith, when we question God. Sometimes it takes every ounce of physical strength we possess to navigate through those times. How do you react to situations that bring you to your knees and cause you to question every truth you know? This is the point where faith is the most crucial to our survival, to being able to face the world. This is the point where we have no choice but to believe. Believe that there is more joy than sorrow, more hope than bleakness, more good than evil, more love than hate. This is the point where we submit to God and trust that His love is greater than any roadblock we could ever face. The detours in our life may not be what we asked for. We may be terrified to travel down roads unknown. However, we must cling to His promise that He will be our light and that He will carry us when we cannot walk. Sometimes those very detours that we are afraid of lead us to majestic places that we never could have imagined, but we have to trust. And even though these words are so much easier to write than the actual act, it IS the truth. He is the truth. There is a reason we were not meant to travel that road at that particular time. We may not understand and we might cry out in disbelief, but we cannot allow our joy to be taken from us, no matter what life puts in our path. We were created with purpose and divinely planned. We have to know that no matter the road He is leading us down, that’s the road that was meant for us. So when your faith meets those roadblocks, don’t despair, just trust. Pray for strength and courage to go where He leads you. Don’t allow the shadows and darkness to overcome your soul. Have faith that His way is the right way and pray for comfort as your path leads you away from the roadblocks and into His presence.

When Trust is Tarnished

When I was seventeen, I was raped by an ex-boyfriend. We were friends at the time (which was rare for a past high school relationship or any relationship for that matter) and I cherished our friendship. I trusted him. My parents trusted him. It hurt me deeply when, after I emphatically told him that I had no interest in being physical, he took what he wanted anyway. Once that happened, I found it hard to trust any man. Men that I had known for years began to receive side-glances from me and I questioned every invitation, every conversation, everything in general. I hated feeling this way because I always had comfortable relationships with my guy friends. This is why it wasn’t a big deal at all for me to spend time with an ex-boyfriend. It was something I was used to; you know, just “hanging with the guys.” That fateful day changed everything for me. I went on to get married right after high school. I felt that I had found “the one.” It was a step I don’t think I was quite ready for and yet, I still made the leap. Suffice it to say, we didn’t last. We had many problems, one of which was my own inability to remain faithful. Sex had become meaningless to me. All that I had ever tied emotionally to sexual intercourse had been shut off and it had become nothing more than a purely physical act. Sex, for me, was only a means to an end for pleasure and reproduction, period. I met my second husband in the midst of my divorce from hubby number one. I wasn’t even open to meeting anyone romantically at the time. We just happened to share common friends and we ended up in the same places frequently. He wasn’t forward at all and I found myself becoming the aggressor (which was completely out of character for me). I went after him and I guess you could say I “caught” him. We began dating and it wasn’t long before we moved in together and later got married. We now have two beautiful boys and we are going on seven years of marriage. I can’t say I’m completely healed from my past scars because that would be an outright lie. It creeps up on me in the worst ways. When my husband lies to me, it sets me back. I clam up and find it difficult to be open. Thankfully, he tries his best to reach out to me and draw my feelings out as gently as possible. I’m blessed that he cares enough to do that because it wouldn’t take much to send me back to prior misbehavior. I won’t go so far to say that sex is still meaningless to me; my husband has helped to change that, but it hasn’t been easy. It’s a conscious effort on my part to remind myself that this man is different. This man has been there for me through some difficult times and I honestly can’t imagine how I’d wade through some of my deepest feelings without him. He catches me when I’m falling into the abyss and pulls me back into reality. It isn’t easy to heal from scars created by sexual assault. I know I’ll always carry some emotional baggage from that day. However, finding a gentle, sensitive and caring man has helped volumes that I couldn’t begin to describe, even if I thought I could.

Beautifully Broken

I am broken…

My past experiences have changed me.

Much of my innocence and parts of who I am have been stripped away.

This is often reflected in my mistakes and misjudgments.

I’m not proud of this, but let it be known…I am a sinner!

I don’t always make the choices I know that I should.

Today is the day that I come out from behind the shadows of excuses, ignorance and pure arrogance.

I accept responsibility and own my misdeeds.

I am broken…beautifully broken.

Sometimes it takes being cut down to size to regrow into the person whose reflection you actually recognize.

Perfection will never be achieved, but this recognition is even better; the realization that brokenness is not only okay, but it’s also beautiful because it’s real.

Realizing that admitting your faults is not weakness, but a strength that many of us won’t ever find.

Rise above your inadequacies and mistakes.

Own them, grow towards the light and above all, love yourself.

Tamir Rice

Can someone please explain something to me because I’m not quite sure I that I understand? The city of Cleveland is blaming the death of Tamir Rice on the 12-year old “by the failure ... to exercise due care to avoid injury.” As I read those words, my head was literally shaking in disbelief. So, let me get this straight: a 12-year old went to the park to play with a toy gun (a common toy played with by young boys) when someone called the cops on him as a purported threat. The police arrive and without even taking the time to assess the situation (let’s be real here…from the time they arrived to the time when they fatally shot him was NOT ample time to do so), shot and killed him. And instead of the police being questioned by their actions, it is not only accepted that they did nothing wrong, but the fault is placed on the victim?! Let’s say for a minute that I bought into this BS. Ok, the young man had a gun without the safety tip on it and was possibly waving it around. And perhaps he made a move toward the toy gun when the officers approached. I still don’t see how the officers had enough time to fully evaluate what was going on, much less to see the tip missing. In addition, the officer who fatally shot Tamir has described this child as being a “menacing 12-year old in an adult body.” Are you kidding me?! A grown man describes a 12-year boy this way? If this officer truly felt “menaced” by a 12-year old, I think he should probably find another job because he obviously isn’t mentally or physically suited to handle police work (unless he’s behind a desk).

Essentially, based on all of this, we are expected to believe that a 12-year old should’ve been knowledgeable enough to understand his actions and expect such treatment from law enforcement. Let’s say I buy into this logic too; after all, a 12-old is a reasonable age to expect discernment of right from wrong. Tamir Rice was not doing anything illegal. He wasn’t doing drugs or drinking. He was simply playing at the park, just as many other young kids do. However, according to the city of Cleveland, he should’ve known that playing with a toy gun in such a manner would inevitably lead to his demise. Ok, ok. Does anyone remember a young man from Texas named Ethan Couch? He was a 16-year old who made the choice to drink and drive. He wound up killing four people and was only sentenced to rehab and probation, no jail time at all. His defense was that he was a product of “affluenza,” wherein he wasn’t properly taught right from wrong and this somehow excuses his reckless regard for human life? He was a young, dumb kid that didn’t know any better, but Tamir Rice was a “menacing” 12-year old who should’ve known better by “exercising care to avoid injury?” Or, as some people have pointed out, his parents should’ve taught him proper use of a toy gun. Tamir Rice didn’t kill anyone. He didn’t even harm anyone. In fact, HE is the one who wound up dead; but it’s ok for another OLDER teen to commit quadruple vehicular manslaughter and not only receive no punishment, but also no blame because he didn’t know right from wrong?! I seriously don’t understand this. Ethan Couch was older, broke several laws, killed four people and is still alive today, but Tamir Rice didn’t kill or hurt anyone, broke no laws and was not only killed but also BLAMED for his death? How does that work exactly, because I’m at a loss to comprehend this. There is an obvious disparity in our justice system and whether its race or class, something needs to be done. We need to make our voices heard that this is NOT okay. My heart is sad and I mourn the loss of this young man. It wasn’t your fault, Tamir. It wasn’t your fault. 

http://www.theroot.com/articles/news/2015/03/cleveland_officials_blame_tamir_rice_for_his_own_shooting_death.html

 

An Unscheduled Tribute

It was the first day at a new school. I was transitioning from middle school to high school and to say it was overwhelming would be an understatement. Few of my junior high friends would be joining me and although my brother was a senior, he wanted nothing to do with me (a lowly freshman). Being the stubborn person I am, I took a deep breath and dove headfirst into my new adventure. After dealing with some registration issues, I received my schedule and gave it the once-over. I was pretty surprised to see Reading Comprehension listed as one of my classes, but I shrugged it off and headed to find my homeroom. When it came time to enter my reading class, I was still quite skeptical but took it all in stride. Because it was my first day and I was a newbie, I figured the school had to know what the right classes for me were. My teacher (Ms. Curtis) introduced herself and explained how the class would be structured. Right away, I knew that I was going to enjoy this class because it would give me a chance to do what I loved best: write. We were to keep a journal, where we could write about anything we wanted to and it would be kept between us and Ms. Curtis. In turn, she would respond to our entries and give us feedback. I was more than excited about this prospect and enthusiastically wrote to her every day. I began by writing about mundane topics, but I eventually wrote about more personal things as the semester progressed. Ms. Curtis became much more than a teacher to me in those weeks; she was a mentor and (I felt) a friend. I knew I could tell her absolutely anything and she wouldn’t judge me. She always gave me fantastic advice and I found myself feverishly anticipating her class. She treated all who were in her class equally and with a great amount of care and attention. I often found myself telling her things that I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone else and it meant a lot to me, the personal touch she gave my journal.

I wasn’t long in her class before the school discovered they had made a mistake with my schedule and I was never supposed to have been enrolled in a reading class. Although I was happy to know I would be placed in more advanced classes, I was going to miss this particular one a great deal. I felt as though I had been open and vulnerable in a way that helped me adjust to a major transition in my life. I may not have needed the class academically, but I know that I benefited from it on a much higher level. It may have been a mistake, but I’ll always believe that it was a divine mistake.

It wasn’t just me either, no; she touched many young lives at my high school. Even within my small circle of friends, we all loved her just the same. There aren’t many teachers who make you feel like family, but she did. I even had her over at my house once! I can’t say that about any other teacher I’ve ever had in my life. She’s a special woman, a rare gem. I’m blessed to have her in my life to this day and to have profited from her profound influence. She changed me (and my life) in so many ways. I wish I could explain the way she touched my heart, but I don’t think I need to. I see it; it comes out brilliantly in my writing and in my thought-processes. It’s almost as though I can envision her responses even though she is no longer writing them to me. I’m forever blessed by simply knowing her and I take great pride having been her student, mentee and now, friend.

Reading at the dinner table

When I was growing up, my parents insisted that we all have dinner together as family. With all of our lives so hectic (us kids in school and both parents working full-time jobs), dinner was sometimes the only quality time we had on any given day. We turned off the televisions and we didn’t answer the phone if it rang; this was our time. We normally chatted about our day or we might announce some exciting event, although sometimes we didn’t really talk at all (and that was okay). Even though we did have this steadfast rule, I happened to be the only exception. One of my passions has always been reading and most days you could find my face buried inside a book. Dinnertime was no different and my parents allowed me to do so at the table while we ate. I think they knew that if they didn’t make this exception, I might not even make it to the dinner table. And although it was important to have our family time, my parents also knew that reading was too. Every now and then, I was asked to put my book aside if someone had something newsworthy to share; otherwise, I was free to immerse myself in literature. I remember my sister complaining one night that it wasn’t fair that I was allowed to read but she couldn’t watch TV. My parents explained that she was more than welcome to bring a book to the dinner table, but TV was still off-limits. They told her that there was inherent value in reading a book whereas television was hardly enriching. I’m glad my parents let me do this because it encouraged my interest in reading and (I like to believe) writing as well. Although I’m not as much of an avid reader these days (I work full-time and have two kids), I still love to sit down with a good book when I have the time. I also encourage my boys to read as well and will have no problem letting them bring a book to the dinner table when we share our evenings together.

Being an expressive, emotional person

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been very in tune with my emotions. I’m a sensitive person and as such, I feel things quite deeply. As I’ve grown, I’ve learned to handle the stronger emotions in a more efficient way, but there’s no doubt that my experiences have truly touched the depths of my heart and soul. I can distinctly remember being a pre-teen and putting my headphones on, only to sit in front of an open window and feel the cool breeze through the window screen. I’d close my eyes and allow myself to become lost in the music. I’d let the lyrics soak into my mind as the tempo took over my body. I recall doing this a lot when I had arguments with friends or boyfriends. There was a serenity of sorts felt within by doing this simple thing. Even today, when I think about those times, I can almost feel the air flowing through the room.
            There have been times when it was suggested that I try to suppress the things I was feeling. I have never been good at doing that nor have I ever understood why I needed to. In my experience, whenever I’ve held back, I’ve become an angry and irritable person, one whom I’m not fond of. Even when my emotions are messy or intense, it’s been necessary for me to release them however I need to. In retrospect, I think the notion of suppression may have been an attempt to consider how others were affected by my feelings. I’m not advocating that people should express themselves without any thought to how it will make those around them feel, but I don’t think it’s fair to ask a person to hold back because of what others might think. My feelings are just that; mine. And while I’m more than happy to share them, I’m not inclined to take away from them to make someone else more comfortable. I would never ask someone to hide their feelings because they made me uncomfortable. Life doesn’t always promise us comfort, but we should be allowed to express our feelings in our way (except in regards to physical harm, to others or ourselves).
            I’ve learned to embrace my emotions and other people’s as well. In fact, I believe that it is because I’m so self-aware that I’m able to empathize with other people. The only downside is that I tend to overinvest in what other people are feeling to the point that it begins to affect me. While this can be good on some levels, it isn’t always optimal for me to do that. I find it easy to be able to imagine myself in someone’s shoes and think of how I might feel in the same situation. While I won’t always be able to fully understand, just being able to try can be meaningful. I’ve gained new perspectives and attitudes due to this ability. It’s also why I chose psychology for my major in college. I enjoy being able to connect with others in such a real and raw manner.
            It isn’t always easy being able to comprehend how you’re feeling and why. I’ve found myself to be in the wrong on many occasions and I’ll admit; I’m a stubborn person. I do not like to admit when I’m incorrect, but I find it easier to recognize when I am. I can decipher the thought process that led me to that conclusion, but it still doesn’t make me right. It can also be overwhelming at times. Just because I understand my feelings so well doesn’t make them any easier to digest. I think sometimes ignorance can be a friend to us. Unfortunately, for me, I know too much about my feelings to be able to pretend that I don’t.  I’m working on trying to express these sentiments through my writing and my hope is that I am able to touch someone who is on the other side, reading along. Don’t be afraid of your emotions and let yourself feel things, even when it isn’t easy to do so. It’ll help you (hopefully) come to terms with things and perhaps learn something about yourself in the process.