The Car and The Mechanic

If life is a highway, then I am the car broken down on the side of the road. Flecks of dust and smoke layer my rusting coat as newer, faster, better models pass me by. If rust was my sole problem, then this would not be worth the write. However, the rust is just a symbol of decay covered by dirt. With the simple hope, that no one will notice how bad I have gotten. A new a coat won’t fix the problem; it just hides it. There are still other vehicles. I will still gather dust. That’s what I do though. I slap on a new coat of paint. I smile. I laugh. I struggle pretty. Keeping up physical appearances, but scared to open the hood.

What’s under there? I can’t decipher what is broken and what is not. All I know is, I can’t go anywhere. I can play a tune to keep myself occupied, but singing songs is just a lyrical high. Temporary relief. Mindless redirection. Each song becoming shorter than the last. Until, there is nothing left to play.

What if I can’t be fixed? What if I sat in disrepair too long? What if the damage is permanent? A tow truck should gather me and dump me at a junk yard. Parts of me are good. I can be sold for parts. Tiny pieces carry value. I can play a song on the radio. I can windshield wipe years worth of tears. It’s my best function. Maybe, I can shine a light. Illuminate for others what I cannot see myself. If I can assist a passerby, shouldn’t I? It gives some value to this old broken down truck.

Why is the dump more appealing than The Mechanic? Why dump myself before diagnosed. I guess I’m just too scared to hear how broken I am. To have someone look past the dirt and cheap paint job and check under the hood. Under the hood, I cannot hide behind my tunes or wipes or light. The Mechanic sees my brokenness, and I hate it. Sometimes, I hate Him. I hate that He doesn’t allow me to live in disillusion. He will not let me live in my functional fantasy without acknowledgement to my frailty. He tells me I am broken, and I hate Him for it. Why can’t I fix it myself? I hate the agony of repair. Most of all, I hate the cost. I hate the way it drains my wallet. Repair empties me; repair fixes me. It gets me back on the road. I hate the Mechanic, but I need Him. I need to be repaired and He is the only one who can do it. I hate that, I have to rely on Him for everything. I am a car complexly engineered. I have spigots and gears. Why do I need Him? I guess everyone has a Manufacturer?

I need to be repaired. I cannot be sold for parts. Disambiguated. Being spread apart is worse than being broken.

Call the tow truck. Go to the Mechanic Manufacturer. Let Him fix you. You are broken. You can’t be sold for parts. You will not separate yourself. Be whole. Be repaired. Drive again.

Fixed. A new problem arises.

Where do I go from here?

 

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Weighing In

I finished Whole30 yesterday. I capped it off with my favorite dessert: melon trifecta (watermelon, honeydew, and cantaloupe). Today, I simply attend work meetings and have the rest of the day to myself. When, I wake I will go to the gym, where I will be able to weigh myself….and I don’t know why, but that thought scares me.

Thanksgiving, after months of a poor girls diet, I stepped on the scale and weighed more than I ever had. Two hundred and sixty-five pounds. Instantly, I hated every pound of myself. I didn’t want to look at myself. I couldn’t find anything lovely about me. My face was hideous. My body horrendous. My esteem demolished. Every insult hurled at me about my looks resurfaced. Fat. Ugly. Cow. Behemoth. I clearly saw the faces of all the boys and girls who made me feel so small. I began believing that my weight was the reason no man was interested in me. No one wants to date a fat girl. I remember telling that to myself as a teenager. I told myself that yesterday.

I am scared to step on that scale, because I know that a massive part of me still places such deep value on that number. My beauty is in that number. My value is in that number. My hope is in that number. I don’t even know what that number is. There was no set amount of pound I desired to lose. All I know is that a number dictates so much of how I feel about myself and I hate it. I really do hate it. I hate that a decade past adolescence, I still have similar fears. I hate that I believe no one wants to date me because I’m fat and because I’m fat, I’m unattractive. I know this massive body positive movement going on, but even if I am positive about my body it does not mean I am perceived to be more attractive. Most of all, I despise that I work with teenage girls and still struggle with this. The young women, I serve, are so beautiful. It is easy to see their loveliness, but so hard to see my own…..

This is an area where I needs God’s grace. Because ultimately, I choose to surrender my worth. I choose to operate from a lie…even if feels true because of my empty relationship history.

God, silence all these voices. Silence me. Remind me my worth, that it was ordained before my birth and that is has nothing to do or say. When, I am slim or weigh 310 pound remind me that my worth is not assigned by man, but by God. You make me worthy.

Today, I step on a scale and pray all I see is a number.

Here in this Place

If you read through a couple of my blog posts (like the previous one) or have a heart-to-heart conversation with me, you will know I have had my lot of daddy issues. From hating the man to ignoring his existence to being here in this place with him, I have struggled greatly with the way that I relate to him, but all of that has taken an interesting turn recently.

September 17th, my and my dad had a conversation, where I let it all out. Many times, I have unsuccessfully attempted to do so. All ending in failure and frustration, but at the end of the conversation I said something to him that gripped both him and I. He often makes references to being the spiritual head of our family and how I should respect that. He talks about how he is without honor in his own home. Knowing God, intimately and personally, I take offense to both statements. One, because I honor him. My lifestyle brings honor to him. I am an African-American women, who has graduated from college with honors and without loans. I moved to Texas to work with people I have never met in my life and did extremely well. I was accepted into one of the top seminaries in the nation. My whole life revolves around how I can please the Lord. The one time I was drunk (and before some of y’all get ya panties in a bunch I realize bad choice), I kept screaming, “I’m so sorry, Jesus! Jesus is so ashamed of me.” So, the no honor thing just pissed me off. More than that I hated it, because that scripture (Mark 6:4) was used in a way to belittle me. And they did. I felt so little, but worse than feeling little I felt insignificant. I felt like everything God created me to be was pointless. And folks, that is a hellish place to be. But back to the conversation. I ended it with this phrase,

“If you want to have a relationship with me, you need to pursue me! Because that is exactly what God did for us. He didn’t ask me to meet him halfway or to pursue him. Because, HE is my Father and HE wanted a relationship with HIS child.”

After letting the tension settle, my dad agreed. He FREAKING agreed with me. I went into my room that night and bawled. I turned on a song called When I am Afraid by Laura Hackett and just cried. I don’t know why I was crying. The conversation ended as good as it could, but it was just one of those where I was overwhelmingly (and frighteningly) emotional. I haven’t thought much about it until today. Because, I realized something: I am worth pursuing.

I jokingly boast with friends that I am awesome, but oft-times I think of myself in relation to my deficits. I look at my left hand holding on to all the things that I assume make me lesser than some fictional other person. The biggest of them all being my body. Not simply just weight, but health issues that are out of my control. I would focus on them and just imagine, “How in the world am I going to present this to anyone? I’m so ashamed. Why would anyone even waste their time?” But in this time off I have had the time to concentrate on the abundance in my right hand. Oh my GOD (literally to God), the perspective. I don’t want to list them off, but the ways the LORD has blessed me far outweigh the pitfalls of being me. And it didn’t see that. I never noticed that and for that reason I am worth pursuing. Let me tell you why this is important.

I am the WORST at liking guys. I pick out guys based on my deficits. I say I don’t have a type, but I do. My (previous) type are nice guys with terrible decision-making skills. Typically, he is a well liked guy in a group of people, but he makes really really stupid decisions. More than that, I have always pursued these “nice-ish guys”. But I am not a tyrannosaurus looking for a partner so I don’t miss Noah’s Ark. I am a woman and I am awesome. I ain’t no Halle Berry, but let me tell you something Halle Berry ain’t no Tosin Akande. GOD has brought me to a place in our relationship where I am understanding myself a whole lot better, because I am understanding HIM a whole lot better. I am worth being pursued. I am worth being pursued because if God pursued me, then a man (the right man) can too.

I can’t believe that took 23 years to figure out.

So, if you are wondering about me and my dad. He is actually pursuing a relationship with me, but pray for me y’all. My heart very easily falls back into the bull it did before. I have forgiven my father. Forgiveness is a purposeful decision, but reconciliation is a whole new battlefield. Can I ask the readers of this blog to leave a prayer for me in the comment section or a message on Facebook that my heart would just soften towards my dad and I would just give him a chance. The way God is constantly giving me chances knowing I am a screwball.

Lord Jesus, here I am in this place. It is such a funny process walking with You. I always ask You to take me deeper than I could ever wander and You do. By the way, I meant physical location wise. However, this is much better than I had in mind. I never seem to know my destinations, but I get there and then everything just makes sense. I don’t ever think I said this before, but thank You for pursuing me. Thank You for thinking me worth the journey from perfection and holiness to sin and folly. Thank You for always loving me even when I never noticed and even when I didn’t love You back. You are so good to me. Thank You for this amazing journey. The past six years walking with You have been epic. Thank you for this month of reflection and recharge. Whether You send me to Mozambique or Sevilla or to Iran or Venezuela or to remain in Houston or return to Atlanta, thank You. My trust is in You alone, and as long as You are in my heart then I am home. I love you and Amen

Celebrating Good Men

Sometimes, the one ends up representing the many. That’s what happened to me. For a long time one man has represented all men for me. I made an idol of loathing men. I hate their power. I hate that God asks me to submit to them. They are so untrustworthy. They manipulate people. Men, they want me to stifle my voice. They want me to feel like I am nothing; so they can feel like something. They did that to me. However, it was not men, it was man, a man, my dad.

However, this post is not about him. It is not about the multitude (like five tops) of guys that have made me feel so small. This is an apology and a celebration of the men who have put up with my craziness over the past several years.

Tonight, I dedicate this post to the men who have prayed for me. Who have actively just lifted me up to Jesus. For the men who don’t simply see me as a woman, but as a sister, their sister in Christ. Thank you men so much. I don’t know what in the world the Lord has as your reward, but I hope and pray it is something grand. There is something so endearing about knowing that someone is praying for you. I think it is because men and women cannot be anything, but genuine and vulnerable before the Lord. Thanks for mentioning me when you were at your most vulnerable. Thanks for mentioning to God. He heard, and He answered.

Thank you to the men who put up with my hurtful words and didn’t return them back to me. I have said some terrible things to you men. I probably still will (God’s working on that with me). I am never angry with you. Sincerely, I am never mad. I am my father’s daughter. I like to believe if I can take away your value I can ascribe it to myself. Please know that the venom I spew makes me so sick as well. You men are never ever the words I say. Please continue accepting my apologies and be patient with me. At sometime, I will get it.

Thank you to the guys that have been AMAZING LEADERS. Literally, a ton of my appreciation goes to this group of men. I remember conversing with God and stating, “God, how am I supposed to submit to a man? I don’t trust them and they all lead poorly” Literally, days later God sent a male leader that I respected so much. Without even knowing, he taught me how godly men lead. While, I never developed feelings for this man, I will be looking for the same leadership qualities in my husband. So, many times as an adolescent male leaders placed me in roles where women previously were, not at all thinking of my actual skill set or spiritual gifts. Seeing a guy assess that and then act on it was amazing.

Thank you to the sensitive guys, who have shared private moments with me. Who have opened themselves up to me. I know most people don’t accept it, but I do. It is beautiful and amazing. I live for those moments.

Thank you to the guys who smile at me or tell me I’m pretty. I like to believe I am, but it is nice to have someone else think that sometimes.

Thank you finally to my man. I do not think I have met you, yet. Please, know I am already thankful for you. I have prayed for you, and hold you in the closest place in my heart. I neither think of you as a perfect god or a fault-filled devil. You are human. You know life is harsh. You have made mistakes, but we all have. Christ forgave you. So how can I hold anything against you? So much of who I am right now is in preparation to one day be married. I am not learning a lot of housework skills (that will be split fairly). However, I want to be emotionally ready for you. I am dealing with my dad bags. While, I would love to meander around the dating world, I know it is not the best thing for me to do. Thank you for putting up with the first 10 years of crazy and tons of years more. Thank you for being an amazing leader to our big beautiful diverse family. Thank you for praying for me. Thank you for telling me I’m pretty, when appropriate (let’s be real here, some days I look awful). Thank you for having intimate moments with me, filled with secrets and jokes and whispers and tears and laughter. Thank you for loving me like Christ loves the church. I look forward to meeting you soon.

Thanks men, keep up the good work. Because there are tons of women just like me and worse who need some men to be GOOD MEN!