Do I Make You Feel Welcomed?

Romans 15: 7 “Therefore welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.” (English Standard Version)

Recently, while visiting a church where my husband was the guest preacher, I sat next to a young woman who had a high-level of energy and engagement during the praise and worship experience. I couldn’t help but to notice that she was eager and enthusiastic about being in the presence of the Lord. I could see it in the way that her body swayed, her hands clapped and her feet tapped in sync with the rhythm of the music. She would turn to me from time to time and smile. After a few minutes, she asked me a question that struck me and was a genuine cause for me to pause and reflect upon. She leaned over and said, “Do I make you feel welcomed?”

At first, I thought perhaps I misunderstood what she was asking. I repeated the question back to her to be sure. “You’re asking me ‘do you make me feel welcomed?’” She nodded affirmatively. I responded right away. Not out of impulse, but out of a true sense of answering her query. “Yes, you do make me feel welcomed.” She smiled even bigger and said, “Good. I work in customer service and I always want people to feel welcomed.”
I went on to engage her in conversation and asked where she worked. She told me that her job was at 45 and Guadalupe. I also learned that she had to work that afternoon after church and that it was her first time of working on a Sunday. But more than that, I learned that she was relational, invitational and intentional about extending hospitality.

Imagine if we all had that priority as we gather in God’s house. Do I make you feel welcomed? To simply lean in and ask the person sitting next to us, whether we know him or not, do I make you feel welcomed? To understand that gathering together in God’s house is about being in community. About a shared experience. About the opportunity to make a meaningful impact within the four walls before we seek to make an impact out in the mission field, beyond the four walls. More than greeting our visitors and guests and making them feel welcomed, what if this became the mantra for how we designed our worship celebrations, our ministry programs, our outreach efforts, our interaction with one another? Do I make you feel welcomed?

Now, before you say that ministry is not about customer service since we are disciples, not customers, then let me offer this. It’s not that we are modeling our ministry upon a business concept of customer service; rather, hospitality is a Christian core element that the business world has modeled. How do you get someone to “follow” your product or service? It begins with being relational.

There are lots of programs and resources developed to teach people how to share the love of Christ, how to evangelize, how to be invitational, and how to share your Christian witness with others. Perhaps we have overlooked the simple and most successful heartfelt method of turning to the person beside you and asking “Do I make you feel welcomed?”  
Well, by the end of the worship service, I had helped Dawn recall the main points of the sermon. I even wrote the third one in her notebook at her urging. We laughed together. We worshiped together. We participated in Holy Communion together. And we enjoyed the connection, all because she recognized an opportunity to do something so profound and so simple. The next time you find yourself at church, whether in the worship celebration or at a ministry meeting, consider asking the person beside you “Do I make you feel welcomed?” and watch what God will do!

Grieving in the Meanwhile...

Grieving the passing of a parent whom you love dearly is about the most exhausting pain you can ever imagine experiencing. Last evening I was talking with a dear friend and expressing to her the unending pain of what it means to be at four months without my mom. I don’t talk about it every day, but it does not mean that the pain has somehow dissipated or even become less frequent.  Honestly, it is like living a life sentence of pain behind invisible bars of anguish, and some days you simply don’t feel like being perky and “in the moment” as you scramble to figure out how to adjust to life without the person who gave you life.  

What I have come to learn and realize is that sometimes other people are not affected by the thing that pains you the most and therefore, they don’t have reason to engage you in conversation about it. My friend said to me, “…and meanwhile you grieve alone. And it hurts.”

Lamenting the “transition” of my mother is hard. I don’t ignore the need to grieve nor do I suppress it. In another recent conversation with a pastor who recently experienced the passing of his mother, he asked me “how are you grieving?” “Intentionally,” I answered. This is not the time to be strong and pretend like I am handling it well. I am human and within the human condition, there is a dis-ease within the mind, soul and body called suffering, and that suffering doesn’t care if you are in the store, or waiting at a red light, or sitting on the pew at church when it decides to redirect your thoughts. That’s what suffering is. It is the inability to control the emotional pain that has engulfed you, and yet you have to respond. Sometimes with buckets of tears, other times in silence.

I know that making the adjustment to not hearing my mom’s voice anymore, or sitting at the kitchen table for a cup of coffee or just laughing together about anything, will be a life-long journey. Grieving is a thread within the community in which we all live. Some people grieve the loss of a relationship, of an unrealized dream, a friendship that went sour and so on. It might not be immediately evident that the grieving process is happening, but it quietly causes a disruption in the everyday life of the person who is experiencing it, and it is an unraveling thread within our shared community.

The Apostle Paul tells us in Romans chapter 12 that we are to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. The only way to do that is to remember that we are in community with one another and to be aware of the unraveling thread called grief. It is okay and perfectly acceptable to simply ask a person how he or she is handling this experience. It is okay to invite him out for lunch or coffee and just be present. It doesn’t make the grief suddenly disappear. Your presence is not meant to do that. Everyone grieves differently in her own way and in her own time. Your response opens a window of fresh air that is good for the soul of the one who is suffering!

Handling Your Doubters

John 10:31-39 (New Living Translation)

³¹ Once again the people picked up stones to kill him. ³² Jesus said, “At my Father’s direction I have done many good works. For which one are you going to stone me?” ³³ They replied, “We’re stoning you not for any good work, but for blasphemy! You, a mere man, claim to be God.” ³⁴ Jesus replied, “It is written in your own Scriptures that God said to certain leaders of the people, ‘I say, you are gods!’ ³⁵ And you know that the Scriptures cannot be altered. So if those people who received God’s message were called ‘gods,’ ³⁶ why do you call it blasphemy when I say, ‘I am the Son of God’? After all, the Father set me apart and sent me into the world. ³⁷ Don’t believe me unless I carry out my Father’s work. ³⁸ But if I do his work, believe in the evidence of the miraculous works I have done, even if you don’t believe me. Then you will know and understand that the Father is in me, and I am in the Father.” ³⁹ Once again they tried to arrest him, but he got away and left them.

    

            For anyone who has ever had to deal with doubters, you know how challenging the situation can be.  Most of us either know somebody who has been in this situation of being challenged every step of the way by people whose sole purpose seems to be to ridicule or to outright dismiss the authority of our role simply because they have a problem with acknowledging who we are. Maybe you’re in a leadership position at work or in an organization and there’s that one person who will seemingly stop at nothing to question not what you are doing, but the authority in which you rightfully do it. That’s the situation that Jesus encounters in this passage.  He is being attacked by a group of naysayers and non-believers who refuse to see Jesus for who he really is – the Son of God.
                Sometimes you might find yourself in a similar situation of being attacked for who you are. Here are three things that we can do to overcome these difficult situations:

1.       Expect that it will happen – This is not the first time that Jesus was attacked for who he is. In fact, this passage opens with the words “once again” which indicates that this has been on-going. Anticipate that you will encounter it and be prepared.

2.       Have an attitude of Endurance – Jesus could have easily given up, but he endured. He had a goal. He was headed to Calvary to fulfill God’s most important plan for humanity. He didn’t let their attempts stop him and neither should you. Press through the stones of name-calling, jealousy, and character attacks. Remember, the end goal is always bigger than the enemy’s goal.

3.       Look for God’s Escape Route – After a brief exchange, Jesus escaped the naysayers and the stones. We can escape our doubters by praying, studying Scripture and staying focused on God’s plan. When we know that we are doing what God has called us and positioned us to do, God will always provide a way.

Remember that the work you are doing is a part of advancing God’s plan for all of humanity. Be determined. Don’t let the doubters detour you from God’s divine plan.

From Barren to Bountiful!

Overnight this tree in our front yard started blooming. For weeks it was barren and it seemed that nothing was happening. But somewhere late in the midnight hour, God shifted the atmosphere and turned things around for our tree. It went from stark naked at dusk to these little vibrant popcorn-sized clusters of blooms.

 

This image is from yesterday's sunset. I love how the light peeks through this tree's situation and shines such a beautiful light. That's how it is with whatever you are going through. Maybe you're in a season where you feel like you are barren and not producing. It could be relationally, professionally, etc. Like this tree, we all go through those times where God has to remove some things from us. And in the process, we feel unproductive and barren. But it won't always look like that. God is preparing you to receive the bountiful blessing that's in store.

 

Think about it - how would this image look if the old, dried and crackling leaves were still on the branches as the new blossoms were coming forth? There wouldn't be enough room. Something would have to give.

 

If we can be like this tree and stand still and transparent before God, then our situations can change, too, late in the midnight hour. Get ready to bloom! Let God shine God's light on your situation and watch what happens!

Why Do I Write?

 Note: In my goal to return to writing this year, I ran across this piece that I wrote about eight years ago, long before I married and long before going to seminary. It appears in the Langdon Review Literary Journal along with a few creative non-fiction pieces. Reading about my "writer self" is necessary to help me to return to a place of joyful writing. It's interesting to see what direction I saw my life heading back then. I took a detour for sure, and headed down another path - pursuing a Master's of Theology. Now I see how these two roads - writing and ministry - converge "in the now." Writing is God's Creative Breath!

 

     Someone asked me the other day why do I write. What exactly is the motivation behind the pen meeting paper. I pondered that for some time because I never thought about it.  I just do it.  I view writing as an intrinsic trait, inherit in my soul, in the marrow of my bones, placed there by God, the Divine One himself, because there is no way that I can take credit for the sense that my writing sometimes makes.

      My writing is borne out of confusion, frustration and emotional overload. But more than that, I write out of pure need. I have to unleash the thoughts that wander through my mind. I have to provide a platform for conversations to take place for the characters that call me out and insist that I tell “their stories.”
     I have no choice but to write. Writing is the air that I breathe. Writing is the water that fertilizes my soul. In the most cataclysmic way, writing is earth’s rotation, the mysteries of the sun and her twin brother the moon. Writing is an outlet, an avenue for me to vent and say things that I could never find a way to do otherwise.
      Since the age of six, I’ve known that writing was my destiny. Whether it was fiction, peppered with real-life events, or expressing thoughts through an essay about an environmental or world event, writing is my way of communicating to people that I might never get the opportunity to meet.
      I began my writing journey as a poet. Lines rhymed and not became my focal point for so long. Then somewhere along the way, I ventured into writing short stories, mostly based on experiences told to me by my mother. That’s when I knew that writing had invaded my being and was here to stay. I found myself at a point of not being able to get enough of the writing. I was driven to the page time and time again to pore over words. And like a musician composing a new piece, I had to find the crescendos and the fortissimos in it all.

And I did.

 

     I began to find that much of who I am rested in the intricacies of the antagonists, the purposes of the protagonists and the sheltered lives of the supporting characters.
     The more I wrote, the more I learned about myself for my own life was reflected in the very fortes and b flats of the cacophony that rang true from the pages of these characters.
     The turning point in my writing came about when I had this notion in my head that I could write a full-length piece. I scripted the thoughts and actions of characters as they came to me and I was determined to allow their lives to be lived one page at a time.
     The challenge came when I skipped ahead to the ending of the stories and thought less about the “in-betweens” that occurred. The thing is, I knew what was going on, but it wasn’t as intense and wasn’t as much of a page turner as some of the other events that were happening.
     I realized even more that art does mirror real life for there are times when the mundane sets in and the goings on in our lives just are not page turners. It is during those times that we take a break and pay attention to the smaller things and sometimes that’s where the real story takes place.
      I have tens of notebooks filled with finished and unfinished thoughts, words scribbled in the margins and one-of-a-kind thoughts written upside down and downside up in the footer section of the page.
     Stories of life in East Texas told through the eyes of a six year old boy are there. Experiences of my travels to the East Coast and the ensuing times that led to my living there. Rowdiness of men gathered around a domino table on a hot Dallas day and the PG-rated conversation that is the norm, is there.
     And then there are the longer pieces, the 100-plus pages of a story, true in nature, filled in by “immersion journalist” research of a little girl in the south central town of Mexia, Texas who is murdered in the 1950s and her death is relegated to just being from natural causes. Ever so often, I can see the image of the little girl begging me to return to this piece so that her spirit can finally be at rest.
     I still don’t know how she picked me to tell her story, but she did, and I suppose the onus is on me to see it through.
     In another novel-in-progress, three characters sashayed their way into my life in the early 1990s when I was a student at North Texas State University, earning a degree in Journalism and English Literature. It happened, of all places, as I sat in an English lit class reading about writers from yesteryear. Fast forward eight years and those same characters brought in family and friends that have now meandered in and out my life, dropping tidbits about their experiences.
     One of the characters beckoned me to start researching the Civil Rights era that took place in Chicago. I did and out of it emerged 75 pages that I would have never anticipated writing. I now have historical facts intertwined with historical fiction. And in it rests a heinous crime.
     When I first began writing, the viewpoint usually was told through the eyes of a male character. I have often read where established writers tell of the difficulties of writing from a viewpoint of a gender other than your own. And then there have been those writers who will tell you that once a character gets in your head and begins to tell a story, it doesn’t matter the gender. Just tell it.
     I have essays about my father’s death ten years ago and the impact that it has upon me even today. I have elegies written to him of things that he never got the opportunity to learn about me, things every dad should know about his daughter but doesn’t because long before death separated us, absence was already there.
     Categorizing my style of writing is impossible as it runs the gamut from humor to creative non-fiction to intense drama. Not every story has a death in it, but there is always an underlying hint of an ending or demise of something of great significance to one of my characters. Somewhere that is a true and real reflection of me, but I have not yet figured it out.
     Several of my most liked pieces have appeared in literary journals in Texas and a few have received notable commendations in a national scope. Two years ago I co-edited an anthology of works by black writers from around the country.  How one gets from writing to then reviewing and editing other people’s writing is a story in itself.  I’ve had the opportunity to be selected to writers’ communities on both coasts, being mentored by famed writers Jewell Parker Rhodes, Patricia Elam and Colson Whitehead.
     People often ask if I am a writer by trade or by hobby. I always answer neither. I am a writer by birth. It spills over into what I do in my career. Writing is what led me to Washington, DC to accept a position with the Smithsonian Institution. Writing is what afforded me national recognition in winning second place in the Copperfield Review Historical Fiction competition. Writing is what allowed me to have a following of sorts, that is, a group of other writers and avid readers who enjoy the words that I manage to put together through the guiding hand of the Creator. Writing is the impetus what will hopefully spur me on toward the discipline to get an MFA.

 

 

It Might Seem Far, but God Will Bring You to it

When I was younger, I was always excited to see blimps flying over my neighborhood. It was a typical sight to see a Goodyear or MetLife blimp sailing across the air. I often wondered was there anyone inside of it. After all, who was piloting it and making sure that it went were it was supposed to go.

Yesterday, as my mother and I were driving from North Dallas back home to DeSoto, we spotted a blimp in the distance. We were heading south on Interstate 75 and saw this large figure floating in the sky. “Look, it’s a blimp,” I yelled, narrowing my focus more intently on it as we rode along.” I said this with the same enthusiasm as I did back when I was an adolescent.

By the time we neared downtown Dallas, the skyline of tall, beautiful buildings had swallowed it. It was no longer visible and seemed completely out of reach. We veered onto Woodall Rodgers Freeway and as soon as we did, the blimp reappeared.

We made our way onto Interstate 35 to head south for home. In the distance, we could see the blimp as it cascaded over the Margaret Hunt Bridge. “That blimp sure is getting around,” my mother shared. “It’s as if God is showing us something in the distance that we will never be able to reach, yet the more we drive the closer we seem to get to it.”

Our trek took us on to Highway 67 and we made it home. I didn’t think much more about the blimp. A short while later, I went to check the mailbox and lo and behold, I looked up toward the sky and there was the blimp! It was now in “reading view” and hovering over my neighborhood. What once seemed to far away, so unreachable and at such a distance was now in direct view.

I realized that’s how God handles his plans with us sometimes. God will give us the “vision” for something and it can seem so far away and unreachable. We often find ourselves thinking that we will never be able to “reach it” or “attain it.” It can literally seem impossible. But after we’ve traveled enough on our journey, remaining faithful and navigating all the twists and turns, the highways and byways of life, God will bring it to us. We don’t have to chase our blessings. God brings it to us.

Whatever you’re dealing with today, I pray that God will remind you that his plan will come into “direct view,” and I pray that you will stay the course of this faith journey. Keep this acronym for faith in mind: For Anything Impossible Trust Him.

Prayer: Dear God, thank you for showing me a glimpse of your plan for my life. Even when things seem so far away and unreachable, I trust that you are working your plan for me. Help me to stay focused on you and to believe that nothing is impossible with you. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.

Are You on the Wrong Train?

One late afternoon, I left work early to board the Metro Subway in search of the Department of Motor Vehicles on the lower end of Maryland. I had been a new resident all of six weeks and was informed by the management of the apartment complex where I lived that I was required to have  Maryland license plates and a Maryland driver’s license or risk having my car towed.

I made my way to the platform of the Metro Subway and waited for the Orange Line to pull up. It was the one I rode everyday to get to the Smithsonian Institution where I worked. I boarded it, and after listening to the operator announce the calls of what was next, I realized that I was going the wrong direction. The train was going north and I was supposed to be going south.

I got off at the next stop and headed back to where I began. When I arrived, all the other workers in DC, Virginia and Maryland also arrived. So much for leaving work early. It was crowded. Trains were full, people poured out like maple syrup and I needed to cross over to the other side of the platform to get on the right train. I did - only to miss the first one that came. I looked up and the sign indicated that the next train was coming in seven minutes. It was the Red Line and I learned that it would take me to the very place that I was trying to reach. As I rode the train, daylight began to grow into dusk. The fall season in Maryland adheres to the time change and night comes quickly. I arrived at my stop, walked two blocks to the DMV and saw the “closed sign” on the door. It was 6:05 p.m. I was tired and frustrated. It was a wasted trip.

As it turns out, I never went back to the DMV and my car was never towed. I made a trip and headed to a place based on a “mandate” given to me by someone else, yet was still able to move through the city with the license and tags that I had from Texas. In fact, I kept them the duration of the time that I worked in Washington, DC and never once was stopped by anyone, ticketed or given a citation.

God recently brought that back to my memory as I have pondered and discerned where I am in my career. I know am in the right “subway terminal” but somehow I feel like I am on the wrong platform, on the wrong line, and need to cross over to get to the right train. Sometimes we think we are headed in the right direction based on simply being in the “subway terminal” of where God is calling us, but trying to navigate your way through the different routes of your call can easily have you on the wrong line. And in the process, it can be expensive (I went through two zones and used up what was on my Metro card) and time-consuming.

Maybe God is telling you to move around the platform and get on the Red Line because the Orange Line is taking you on a different route than what’s necessary for where God wants you to be. And maybe the very thing that is being “mandated” is not even necessary for you to continue in what God has called you to do! Are you on the wrong train? Is it time to go in a different direction? Seek God for clarity.