To paraphrase that ubiquitous bumper sticker, life happens, and, yes, since it rains on the just and the unjust, life will often blindside us.

 I was blindsided a few weeks ago; my truck began to shake, rattle and roll and when I took it in to the mechanic, he said, “Major Tune-Up and gave me the cost.

 “Can’t afford that right now,” was what I thought so I determined I would just shake, rattle and roll until I could get the truck fixed. I had just signed on to City Car Share, so I would had that option for those moments when I had to drive some distance.

 Then it happened; the truck began to run hot and at every stop, water had to be added. I had managed to get the funds together for the major tune-up but when mechanic took a look on Monday, he declared that this second issue had to be fixed first, something like twice the estimate for the tune-up.

 Whaaat!!! I had just managed to get the money I needed for the tune-up and now I was being told I would need twice that amount?

 Can you say blindsided?

 Now, I will be the first to admit that when life blindsides me, I don’t always go to the spiritual side. Pardon me if I am not Susie Super Spiritual All The Time. Sometimes I go to the dark side, the woe-is-me side, the “nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen” side! I go to the table in the corner in the back in dark where I nurse my sorrows.

 You can judge me deficient, if you like, but that’s where I went but I didn’t stay there long, just long enough to realize that Sorrow Songs (W.E.B. DuBois used this terminology for Negro Spirituals) were not going to take care of the problem.

My grandmother used to sing a song, “Couldn’t hear nobody pray…..” She taught me that song when I was a little girl and from that song Donna, the adult,  gets the point that sometimes you just have to pray yourself out of that valley, all alone, by yourself; sometimes the only voice you hear will be your voice.

 I got another estimate, which was ½ of my first mechanic’s estimate, and through the Lord’s grace, the truck was fixed.

 But, my predicament got me to thinking, “What do you do when life blindsides you?”

What Do You Do When Life Blindsides You?

Blindside: catch unawares, especially with harmful consequences

Right Away: Assess The Damage But Do Not Assume Responsibility For The Repair

            Psalm 61:1-3

 Retreat: Get Away From The Confusion

            James 4:8

            1 Kings 19

 Be Careful: Choose Your Confidantes Wisely Because Sometimes They Will Make You Think That It’s Your Fault

            Job 2:11-13

 Pay Attention: Follow Directions Even When They Make No Sense

            Gideon: From 33,000 to 300

 Recognize: The Claim Work Is Not Yours

            2 Chronicles 20:1-15

            Psalm 27

 Prepare For Battle: Put On All the Armor of God

            Ephesians 6:10-18

 Expect Victory: Practice Praise In The Face Of Battle

            2 Chronicles 20:15-24

            Psalm 27

 Do Not: Rehearse Your Misery To Anyone Who Will Listen

        We seem to love to tell our stories of misery and pain. We regale anyone who will listen with our tales of traged

        and chaos. We tell these stories over and over again as though we are going into some great production, “My

        Misery.”

 Stop: Rehearsing Your Misery

The Beatles song, “Yesterday” is a beautiful song, but it is also a song of sorrow, a song of loss. When life blindsides you it is very easy to fall into the pit of woe. We console ourselves with tears as we consider the “damage.”

            Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
            Now it looks as though they’re here to stay
            Oh, I believe in yesterday.

            Suddenly, I’m not half to man I used to be,
            There’s a shadow hanging over me.
            Oh, yesterday came suddenly.

            Why she had to go I don’t know she wouldn’t say.
            I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday.

            Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play.
            Now I need a place to hide away.
            Oh, I believe in yesterday. ~Paul McCartney

Learn The Lesson

    Job 42:5

 Stop Telling The Story

The fact that you were blindsided will not change. Telling the story over and over will not change anything. You might as well choose to tell another story. Why not tell of God’s redemption in spite of the fact that Adam’s decision blindsided all mankind for centuries. It is because of His great love and mercy that we can endure the challenges that are part and parcel of being blindsided. The old hymn is a reminder of whose praises we should constantly sing, even when we are blindsided.

I love to tell the story of unseen things above,
of Jesus and his glory,of Jesus and his love.               
I love to tell the story, because I know 'tis true; 
it satisfies my longings as nothing else can do.   

I love to tell the story, 'twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love.  

2. I love to tell the story; more wonderful it seems
than all the golden fancies of all our golden dreams.
I love to tell the story, it did so much for me;
and that is just the reason I tell it now to thee.

3. I love to tell the story;'tis pleasant to repeat
what seems, each time I tell it, more wonderfully sweet.
I love to tell the story, for some have never heard
the message of salvation from God's own holy Word.               

4. I love to tell the story,for those who know it best
seem hungering and thirsting to hear it like the rest.
And when,in scenes of glory, I sing the new, new song,
'twill be the old, old story that I have loved so long.            

What lessons have you learned from Dr. King’s “I Have A Dream” speech?

Have you named your dream? Have you dared to dream beyond your boundaries?

What does that look like for you?

Are you passive or proactive?

Are you willing to take a chance on your dreams even when others don’t believe in you?

Are you a reactor or a responder?

Are you stretching yourself or has the elasticity of your dreams lost its snap?

Have you dared to be different in spite of the demands from others that you stay the same? Do you recognize the sound of your own voice,, the strength of your own voice?

Does your dream include helping others?

Have you dared to dream beyond your boundaries?

As a member of the generation that was the first to benefit from the efforts of Dr. King and the movement, I often think back to those days where possibility was always a hope but never a certainty. I think about a community that was marginalized yet continued to insist that every member of the community push towards excellence in spite of the uncertainty.

My community has gained much ground since the Civil Rights Act was signed into being, but I have to wonder about the substance of our dreams today. When the pursuit of every right was a struggle, the dream was about freedom for all and equality in every thing (though the idea of equality in every thing will never be an absolute for everyone simply because of the way the world turns), what is the dream pursuit today? Well, if I take a hard look at the pop culture of our world today, then what I see is the pursuit of status, wealth and prestige. It is no longer about reaching back to “uplift” my sister or my brother; it is now about what I can do, what I can get for me, myself and I. Was that really Dr. King’s dream?

What is your dream, not just for you but for your sphere of influence?

Have you learned to dream beyond your boundaries?

We live in fast times and most of us are on fast tracks that leave little time for relationship building. Our matriarchal ancestors did not have the distractions that invade our 21st century lives. They, in fact, worked very hard to stay connected. Because of the distance from one house to another, they had to plan get-togethers where they cooked and canned and sewed while they talked and caught up on each other’s lives.

Today we seem to have little time to connect in person; we text and instant message and tweet and facebook one another, but rarely do we sit down to break bread face to face, which begs the question, “Since we do have all these technological devices with which we can stay connected almost effortlessly, is this concept of Sisterhood a Myth or a Must?”

In the short story, “A Jury of Her Peers,” (http://www.learner.org/interactives/literature/story/fulltext.html) Susan Glaspell underscores not only the importance of Sisterhood and the deep need for women to be connected to one another, she also magnifies why women also need the heart to heart connection with other women and how isolation from those connections can drive one to desperate acts. It does not matter if we agree with the action taken by the wife in the story (or the apparent act of the wife), what the writer wants us to see (from my vantage point) is the absolute need for women to not just physically see one another, but that each woman would see as absolute necessity a Sister to Sister, Soul to Soul connection.

Sisterhood is not about similar journeys down similar paths; Sisterhood is about a linking of arms as women journey through life with a shared understanding that the journey is about more than just reaching a certain goal. It is about the sharing of ideas and ideals, a connection full of hope that each woman will live her best life and that every woman will celebrate her Sister’s victory and will come alongside as support, to be there to lift her up when she falls.

One key part to Sisterhood is that each woman must accept herself just as she is, scars and all. She must know herself from the inside out and come to a place where she embraces her history and knows the strength of her own voice. Once we accept who we are from the inside out, we are then empowered to extend our hands to our Sisters, an offering of help and encouragement as we all journey through this land.

The Myth? That we do not need one another, or that we cannot get along with one another. The Must? We must trample the myth under our feet as we strive to form Sister bonds that will endure the test of time.

My daughters cringe at the thought of riding any length of time on the train. “It takes too long,” they say. They are part of the microwave generation, born into a time when you can get from point A to B point without breaking a sweat.

People are in such a hurry these days. Rather than stop to smell the roses, we have screen savers that flash pictures of nature in realistic vibrancy at us before we connect with the world wide web.

In our quest to seize the moment in the moment, we have lost touch with a sense of sanctity and internal harmony. Because we are wired for “Go, go, go” all the time, we cannot even enjoy the gift of those unexpected moments when we have absolutely nothing to do. We rush to fill such voids with background white noise, as we search our digital calendars to make sure we are not being unproductive slugs.

I wish for every hurry scurry, making it happen all the time individual, the joy of genuine silence. A silence that embraces them in such a way that their soul is quieted and filled with a serenity beyond comprehension.

But this will require the patience of waiting and who has time for that?

I silently repeated the mantra to myself, but in spite of my determination not to cry, a solitary tear slowly made its way out of my right eye and down my cheek. Grateful for the hairstyle that almost camouflaged that one tear, I did my best to dab at it without calling too much attention to it or myself.

I came to the “Breakfast of Champions” that morning with the full intention of celebrating the story of Sheila Bailey and Stephanie Carter, two generations united through one experience in that place known as the pastor’s wife. Sheila Bailey is the widow of the founding pastor of the Concord Baptist Church of Dallas, Texas. Stephanie Carter is the wife of the current pastor of the Concord Baptist Church of Dallas, the successor to the internationally known pastor, Dr. E. K. Bailey.

The two women, former first lady and current first lady, sat on the platform before the pastors wives gathered in that place to share their story of the passing of the baton after the death of Dr. Bailey. I listened as Sheila B. (her ministry name) spoke of the conversations she and her husband had before he became ill about what she should do if something happened to him and at some point it became untenable for her to stay at Concord. I listened intently as she spoke of the plans he put in place for his successor during his illness. I listened as Stephanie shared her surprise when her husband told her he would be Dr. Bailey’s assistant with the understanding that the assistant would become the pastor in the event of Dr. Bailey’s death. Dr. Bailey did die and the baton was passed to Pastor Carter. It has been eight years and Sheila B. is still at the Concord Church and the Pastor and First Lady Carter honor her person and her presence.

I do not know when that solitary tear showed up, but it did. I did not want to cry, but during the course of the women’s conversation, a sadness was triggered in me that I did not know was still there. Unlike Dr. Bailey, my husband’s death was sudden, an unexpected happening in an otherwise uneventful day. In my mind, when he died the concept of me as “First Lady” died with him. I fully expected that the only difference in the ministry would be a new pastor with a new vision. The people were well taught, and the people of God, given the facts, would normally do the right thing, wouldn’t they?

My journey on the path of “Life after Death” does not run parallel to Sheila Bailey’s. During the Q & A following the conversation between the two women, one woman stood and declared that their story needed to not only be shared with the pastors wives, it should also be shared with the church at large, for “I have heard the horror stories out there about what happens to the pastor’s wife after the husband dies.”

I have never thought of my story as a horror story, but it certainly did not turn out the way I expected. Within months, the church took on a persona that was the antithesis of what had been in place for most of the twenty years of my husband’s ministry. Changes were made and promises were discarded. To this day I do not know exactly what happened behind the scenes, but I do recall that “Ah ha” moment one Sunday morning when a member asked me, “Sis. Williams, why do they want to make you the bad guy?”

I had no answer then. I have no answer now.

The women, with whom I sat that morning, know my story. I met them six months before my husband died. They were there six months after his death when I returned to the Conference more than a little dazed. The church had not yet changed drastically and I had not yet experienced all that would eventually transpire. Those ladies walked with me through that valley and have seen me come out on the other side with a stronger sense of self and a more confident voice. Still, I can only imagine what they were thinking that morning. Did they wonder what I was thinking as I listened to the story of the two women? Did they wonder how I might be feeling as the room celebrated the story of a transition that had to be Holy Spirit driven? The woman to my right put her hand on my shoulder. She did not need to say a word. I felt her compassion.

Life, or the new normal as I call it, is nothing like it was in those twenty years of ministry. I no longer belong to the church. I rarely see or speak to those members who were so much a part of my life back then. I have no longings or nostalgia for those days. It was a time of spiritual growth for me, as well as a time of learning how to move out of my comfort zone. It was a time of refining for me as God prepared me for such a time as this.

I celebrate God’s grace and mercy in the life of Sheila Bailey, the smooth passing of the baton from predecessor to successor. I can also celebrate the woman I have become in Christ simply because God, in His infinite wisdom, chose to transition me in a different way. The women who surround me today, women who never knew my husband, have showered me with love and acceptance. They have challenged me as well and encouraged me to “Do you.” I never would have had reason to get to know them had my transition been smooth and without challenge.

The single, solitary tear that made its way down my cheek that morning was not about my mourning for what used to be; I mourned for what should have been and the loss the Church suffered because it chose not to do the right thing.

I am the better. I am the stronger. I harbor no bitterness. I have no regrets. I will not cry.

Apparently, women too often draw their worth, their self-value, from what they have, or what they do well rather than from inside themselves. A successful husband, beautiful and talented children, a lovely home, fashionable clothes, are too often seen as a measure of a woman’s worth.

The pastor’s wife is not immune. This idea of value by proxy can be carried into the ministry, only then it becomes a husband who can really preach the people under the pews (it helps if he can sing, too), a church family that is polished and pious, a magnificent sanctuary and an outstanding choir and a church name that is known throughout the land. One year, a PW conference assigned its networking groups by church membership size. A friend of mine who was in the 5000 members+ size said that too many of the wives introduced themselves by the size of their church, (“I am First Lady so and so and our church size is…..). And do not get me started on the predilection to always introduce oneself as “First Lady.”

Perhaps another marker for the value of the pastor’s wife (often wielded by the congregation) is what she does well in the church. Can she sing well (being able to play the piano is a plus, too). Certainly she should do one or the other. Why not teach a class in the children’s ministry. Can’t she fill in wherever there is a need, wear whatever hat the church wants her to wear and speaking of hats, shouldn’t she wear one every Sunday?

While we are on the subject, let’s include prayer warrior, encourager, counselor, listener, lover, wife, mother, never complains, always smiles and is never offended by any crazy remark anyone says about her husband, her children or her. Why not strive for perfection, go for the gold, reach beyond the moon? Do it! Do it! Do it!

Hold it! What is wrong with this picture. Everything! The PW who is trying to establish her worth through doing is asking for trouble and heartache. If she fails in any of these areas, down goes the esteem. She will feel worthless and guilty. If she balances all the hats and one falls off, she instantly begins to castigate herself for being weak and ineffective.

The PW must discover who she is in Christ alone. Luke 9:23 applies to the pastor’s wife as well. In the midst of all the doing, the question has to be asked, “What about Jesus?”

“I must decrease; He must increase.” Once the relationship between the PW and Jesus is established, the pastor’s wife will no longer seek value through what she has or what she does or how she looks to others. Her value will be in Christ alone as she asks daily, “Lord, what can I do for you? Establish my to-do list and set my priorities.”

The PW must be careful that she does not fall into the Martha syndrome and and forget to nurture the Mary inside. You know the story, Martha was so busy taking care of what she deemed the important stuff. She probably was wired that way, the A-personality bordering on obsessive compulsive. Mary, the intuit, the dreamer, though she probably started to help Martha (she knew her sister), eventually takes a seat at the feet of Jesus. Martha, in her OC state rebukes Jesus for not making Mary return to the heat of the kitchen to which Jesus calmly reminds Martha that sometimes the most needful thing is to sit at His feet and learn of him and from Him.

The PW must choose the needful thing. She must let God decide what He wants her to do, and where He wants her to serve.

Years ago, I watched a television program, an interview of Mother Teresa. Her closing remarks have stayed with me and they come to me in times of challenge. “If I am on the mountain, living in a mansion and that is where God wants me to be, that’s alright. If I am in a ditch cut to pieces and that is where God wants me to be, that’s alright too.” That kind of trust can only come from a vibrant, powerful relationship with a loving Savior. As long as I am where God wants me to be, I will be alright.

John 15:16 tells me that I have worth, and it is not based on anything that I have done. It was while I was yet a sinner, when I was headed in the wrong direction, when my back was to Him, that Jesus died for me. I was dead in my trespasses and my sins, but Jesus died for me that I might have life and have it more abundantly.

“My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus blood and righteousness. I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus name.” No, not in my own power, or initiative, or abilities. Without Him I am nothing; without Him I can do nothing.

The PW must stand on Christ the solid rock; all other ground (and stuff) is sinking sand!

———————————————————————————————-

I was a pastor’s wife, for twenty years I was a pastor’s wife. I might as well have said, “I am a martian,” for that was about as much as people knew about the pastor’s wife. It was to many (too many), an alien lifestyle — one to which they could not (and probably still cannot) relate.

Even if people attend church regularly, they may still only know the pastor’s wife from a distance. Though many members do recognize her as the woman who is married to their pastor, they may not even know her full name and more often than not, she is simply introduced as “our pastor’s wife.”

How, then, does the pastor’s wife see herself?

Well, if you ask ten pastors wives, you will probably get ten different answers.

One wife may proclaim involvement is the key, while another shuns any visible involvement at all. “Sweet and quiet spirited,” this one says, while the proponent of gregariousness makes her thoughts known. “Modesty in dress,” is advocated by that one over there while the fashion diva over here is astonished at such nonsense.

Actually, each wife probably sees her place only as it relates to her temperament, her church, her family, and above all else, her husband/pastor’s wishes.

THE CALL

Wives have conveyed to me that their husbands state, rather emphatically, “The husband is called, not the wife.” I have heard a pastor or two say that their wife’s “job” is to take care of them. Period. When my husband was called to the pastorate, I was astounded at the advice he received from “seasoned” pastors. “Don’t let her sing int he choir; dress her up and sit her down. Let her look pretty. Don’t let her get involved with the members.”

I had no prior experience as a PW, but this “advice” did not go over well with me. I had no clue what being the pastor’s wife would entail, but I knew there was something fishy about that counsel given to my husband. I had to wonder what was I in for (pardon the grammatical faux pas). I had no mentor. No experienced wife with whom I could talk. To fill in the experience gap, I read books; I learned through trial and error. I bumped my head more than a few times against tradition and what seemed to be the latent male chauvinism of the clergy.

Here is what I discovered. The idea that God calls the man and not the woman seems to imply an engine-caboose relationship between the pastor and his wife. Wherever the engine goes, the caboose must follow. The caboose has no power of its own. It is totally dependent on the engine. No one ever wrote about the caboose that could. Only the engine could.

If the PW is indeed the caboose, she never has to get involved in anything. All she has to do is attach herself to the engine and show up when the engine shows up. She can then be disconnected and moved to a side track where she quietly waits for her engine to return. She sits……. and waits. The world may say they also serve who only sit and wait, but the pastor’s wife who sits and waits finds herself with time to think, and think, and think. About being the caboose. About being disconnected. About being neglected. About being ignored. About being useless. In the engine’s ministry, she is usually the last one into the station and as other cars are added, she may find herself being moved further and further away from the engine.

Would God make such a move, to call a husband and leave the wife without a place, to be mere decoration, an accessory on the arm of her husband? Would God leave her place to be defined by the whims of others? Does it make sense to believe that God would forget or overlook a place for the wife in the ministry of her husband? Is the pastor’s wife the only member of the body of Christ who has absolutely no spiritual gift at all. Is she excluded by the Holy Spirit when it comes to being an active member of the church?

The PW who is a homemaker (in the midst of a congregation of professional women) needs to be assured by her pastor/husband that she is vital to his ministry, that her maintenance of home and hearth provides him with sanctuary, a quiet place for him and his family, a place of refreshing and restoration.

The PW who is a business woman, needs to be acknowledged as enabling her husband to focus fully on his ministry without the additional concern of how to adequately provide for his family (despite the press, very few pastors receive sufficient salary or benefits). The church needs to know that the pastor loves and respects his wife, and appreciates her support of the ministry.

Yes, I do believe that the woman is called to the place of pastor’s wife. No, I do not believe it to be a pastoral type of call (for that woman who does not believe she has been called into the ministry). Rather, each PW must see the ministry as her friend and not her enemy. She must recognize her value to the ministry as a member of that assembly of God. She, too, must realize that she has been given a spiritual gift (or gifts) by the Holy Spirit that are vital to the well-being of the body of Christ.

But, what if the husband is adamant? The wife is not called to anything. Her place is to sit and look pretty. She is to be silent in all things at all times. What then?

As a child of the Most High God, in all situations the pastor’s wife must obey God. What does the Word say? Wives submit to your own husbands. Members obey them that have the rule over you. Yes, it is a double whammy, but it is also the reality of being the pastor’s wife; you have two commands rolled into one person. YIKES!

In spite of the YIKES, the pastor’s wife must come to this conclusion: As a wife, I am called to submit to the headship of my husband. As a member of the body of Christ, I am called to obey my pastor. Therefore, I will sit and wait until God moves on my behalf. Not sit and chafe; sit and wait (which means, according to Dr. Charles Stanley, “to pause for further instruction”).

Frustrating? Probably. Still, God may be teaching a most important lesson to the pastor’s wife. She should see the waiting period as an opportunity for growth. Be still. God is still God. If a door is to be opened, God will open that door. Give it time. It will happen. I have seen a pastor’s opinion change when it suddenly dawned on him that when he could not depend on anyone else, he could depend on his wife.

The wife must wait on the Lord, and while she is waiting, she can think on Philippians 4:8.

The pastor’s wife’s place is not an elevated position, but it is one which she must see as being ordained by God. It is a place which only she can fill, a helpmeet suitable for that pastor. She stands, figuratively and literally, by her husband’s side loving God’s people. She has already filled the void in her husband’s life (remember that missing rib) and without her there very well could be a void in her husband’s ministry.

When my husband was called to pastor the Trinity Church, I was just a church girl, practiced in the ways and traditions of the church, but nowhere close to being a student of God’s word. There were, however, two women who joined the church that knew the Word well; they were his go-to teachers, women who knew the history behind the context and could make it come alive for the members of the church. I did not see them as a threat but as role models for where I needed to be. Eventually, as members grew in the Word of God (including me), God called these women to other ministries and by that time I was ready to step into the place of teacher. When that time came, my husband began to challenge me to stretch myself, moved me into those challenging ministries and engaged me in theological conversations without talking down to me or pooh-poohing my thoughts. He invested his ministry in me and I am the Christian and a student of the Word I am today because of him, because of his ministry of teaching and evangelism. He never treated me as an accessory or an after-thought and even when I did not believe it, he would say to the Church, “My wife is the best Christian I know.”It was just as well, because I never did figure out how to sit down and look pretty.

By the way, those doors for public ministry did not open until after my husband’s death. It is a truth I am still learning: God’s ways are not our ways and His thoughts are not our thoughts (Isaiah 55).

Coming Up: The Pastor’s Wife and Self-Esteem

“Who the #!*& are you?” Again, Seriously? Since when does one have to come to a new setting with a curriculum vitae of their life? Whatever happened to gradually getting to know someone? I’ll tell you what happened. Ratings happened; waiting for relationships to meld on camera is probably like watching paint dry. No one is going to tune in to see that.

And, you know you were waiting for some stuff to hit the fan. Beautiful, blessed women just sitting down to a good meal and casual, cordial conversation will not send the ratings soaring. We can get that stuff in our everyday lives. We want some madness, some craziness, some “I don’t care if the camera is on me and I am outside at a nice restaurant in Malibu where all the other folks (you know what I mean) are watching and having their stereotyped musings confirmed,” insanity.  Sure enough near the end of the program, BAM!  Words lead to pushing and heels taken off and sisters trying to get at each other (Compton and Oakland in the HOUSE!!!!). You know you watched and tweeted about it and delighted in the stupid madness of it all. NOW THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!!!!! LET’S DO THIS!!!!

Sighhhhhhhhhh.

I truly pray that there is no reality in these reality programs, that everything is scripted and the drama that unfolds before us is the figment of some producer/writer imagination. I pray this, but I know it isn’t so, that what we see (for the most part), is what we get.

Sighhhhhhhhhh.

I have no words for these programs; I do not have the words or the energy to express my distress about the images presented to national and international audiences, images that are appalling at best, and to me, downright embarrassing. O, yes, I hear you, “You, Donna, watched it.” Yes, I did; such programs provide great fodder for future programs not just about reality shows but about women, our take on one another, how we build or destroy friendships, etc. But, guess what. I’m too old school to keep watching. I can no longer watch women who have been blessed beyond their wildest imaginations trash those blessings as soon as the camera comes on. And we digital voyeurs devour it all, hook, line and sinker.

Sighhhhhhhhhhh.

Out all of those “ladies” last night, I would probably be Tonya (though I would try to intervene to stop a fight that’s happening over my head and I hope I am not as loquacious as she seemed to be). But, then, I wouldn’t be a part of that group. I have a feeling that they don’t do their shopping at Payless and J. C. Penney.

Sighhhhhhhhhhh.

Feel free to disagree with me, but DON’T MAKE ME TAKE OFF MY HEELS!!!

It is easy to complain about the stuff life serves up to us, the chaos we have to straighten that was created by others, the slights we endure simply because someone thinks “it is so,” though they have no proof and do not have the courage to talk to us in person. Yes, it has taken me a while to get to a place where I am comfortable with the skin I am in. I have learned to accept the things I cannot do and rejoice in the things I can still accomplish. My sleep is not as sound as it once was, but I still am able to lie down and go to sleep. My walk is not as comfortable as it once was, but I am still able to walk. I have to pop a blood pressure pill everyday, but it is the only medication I have to take right now.

If I were to get caught up in all the minuses of life, I would have to wonder “Why am I still here? What is the point in my still being around if life is just going to keep throwing me negative curve balls?” It would be oh so easy to count the scars and point out the bruises, but what would any of that accomplish? Still, there is the temptation to wonder, “Why am I still here?” The world in which I live does not value age and discounts any wisdom I may have, so why am I still here?

Ms. Campbell answered the question for me this morning as the song resonated in my heart, “Oh Lord, we magnify your name; O Lord, we magnify your name. For the awesome things you’ve done and for your gift, your only son, O Lord, we magnify your name.”

I am still here to magnify His name, in season and out of season, through the valleys and over the mountains, in the doldrums and when the winds are briskly blowing. I am still here to magnify, to make great, to celebrate in praise, His name. Everything else is extraneous.

This is the challenge. This is the blessing. This is the reason I am still here.

O LORD, WE MAGNIFY YOUR NAME!!!