Regardless, I am awake and thanking You for another day, more life, a chance to bask in Your glory.

Lord, increase my faith, please.  If that’s the key to unlocking heaven’s storehouse then I need it.  I need that faith that believes that You can do all things.  Not just the simple things.  Not just the logical things.  I need that faith that believes that I can step out on water; that faith that believes when You speak it is done; that faith that slaps doubt upside the head and tells it, “Move! You don’t belong here!”

I’m thirsting for You badly right now, Father.  Don’t deny me what I need.  You promised to give us what we need, especially if it was in Your will.  Isn’t me having the faith to speak to a mountain and move it in Your will?  I have mountains that need to be moved, Lord.  If those mountains aren’t moved, no, eradicated then I’m going to be lost, man.  Please grant me my request.  Teach me what I need to know; show me what I need to do; help me understand it all; give me the strength to endure the process.

Put Your healing hands on Shawn’s neck, back and thyroid.  Speak to Him as he continues to seek You out.  Thank You for his friendship.  Please honor his desire to know You.  Show Him Your glory as he reads Your word.  As He reads, Lord, melt away the preconceived ideas he’s holding, ignite a flame in his soul that will not only warm him but those he comes in contact with.

To hear Anthis on the phone last night, Father, was to hear a different guy than the one I’ve been speaking to for the past few years.  Thank You for blessing him.  You know You had me shaking a bit.  I know You didn’t do it on any merit of mine, but because I held onto the merits of Christ.  Don’t forget that this is supposed to give him a glimpse of Your majesty, Lord.  You’re directing this whole thing and I am impressed with it entirely.  Thank You for the house and how well that’s working out for him.  Thanks for the job and the great reviews he’s receiving from his superiors and co-workers.

Keep a watchful eye on the revival that All-Nations is trying to have.  You know I have mixed emotions about the whole thing.  Yet, since the church is making an effort I have to pray for at least one soul to connect to You.  It may not even be the ones that are being reached out to, which would be ironic since it is being called a revival instead of a crusade or evangelistic meeting.  If Your spirit is anywhere in the vicinity, Lord, connect with a heart that is open to You.  Be among me, Sis Marva and Sis Sandra as we pray this morning during the early morning power hour which I need to get ready for.

I love talking to You, Father.  Speak to me as only You can do, and may praise continually be on my lips because praise is comely.

Amen.

Long time, no hear right?  I know.  How are things going in your corner of the globe?  How’s the fam? I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me this way, with writing being an almost forgotten art, huh?  You know I love me some you.

That’s really what prompted me to write tonight.  As I was praying earlier today you came across my mind and I just felt impressed to reach out to you.  I’ve been on one of my super critical tangents (you know how I can get) and I finally had to stop and take inventory.  Being of a predominantly melancholy personality it isn’t a hard thing for me to sit and analyze.  What I got from the reflection was that, yes, there is a problem in the world; yes, there is a problem in religion; yes, there is a problem in me.

I’m so tired.  I am almost physically tired, drained from running from God and running my mouth to cover up what I’m afraid for you to see in me.  God already knows, but there are things inside of me that would make you distance yourself from me, and because of that I put up a wall for you.  It’s almost like what Jabez was praying for – asking God to enlarge his territory, build up his borders so that sin wouldn’t get to him and that the sin in him wouldn’t get to others, so he wouldn’t hurt others.

I’m tired of hurting you.  Yes, I have.  I’ve been studying the life of Christ and really picking apart how He handled things, people, friends, leadership, spirituality, Himself.  He wouldn’t treat you as a friend the way I’ve treated you.  I know.  It’s not big things, but still the same, I haven’t been a good friend to you.  I haven’t given you me.  I haven’t given you what you deserve from me and that’s a glimpse of Jesus every time we are in communion.  That’s what I notice about Jesus.  When He was with His friends He gave them a glimpse of heaven because He believed that was important for them to see.

Being the same guy isn’t an option for me anymore.  I want to be meek and lowly in heart, too.  I want you to enjoy being around me because the love that emotes from me is undeniable.  You should feel drawn to me because I am offering you something more than cunning humor, blunt counsel, and a charming personality.  Will you love Jesus more after we’ve gone our separate ways?  That’s what Vonda Beerman asks in one of her songs.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I’m not talking about being all preachy and nun-ish.  That’s not how Jesus rolled either.  He enjoyed the company of his friends as I enjoy yours.  He just gave His friends more than just Himself, and I am barely giving you myself.  I don’t want to talk so much.  I want to listen to you.  I want to hear you.  I want to see your soul and help you navigate the path of life as long as we’re together.  God can teach me to be better.  He can show me how to be better.  He can help me be better.

Haven’t you been wanting someone to live the life that is spoken of so much?  Haven’t you wanted to see someone pick up their cross and follow Christ?  I have.  I have wanted to be that someone.

I thanked God for you today because I know we are friends because of Him.  Thank you for finding me worth investing time in.  Thank you for thinking of me as a treasure.  Now follow me as I follow Christ, not merely in word, but in action.  It’s going to be tough because you know I’m not gentle, or patient, or optimistic, or peaceful, or meek, or humble, or prone to listen, or…okay we’re not going to sit hear and just point out what I’m not!

All I’m saying is that I want to be an example of holiness, an example of what it’s really like to serve the Almighty One with whole-hearted obedience.  I would rather fail working toward that goal than being mediocre as I have been.  I would rather die unloading a massive amount of love and joy and peace and grace on you than being the whack-ass friend that I have been.  I would like to be a marked contrast of the foolishness we see going on in the world of religion.

Just know that without you and God, Huntsville wouldn’t be enough, it wouldn’t even be bearable.  I pray all is well and that this letter finds you in perfect peace.  Until I write again…

Lovingly yours

What?

He is.

Yet, day after day I pine for his love, his attention, his affection.  I hate myself for it.

“Look at me,” I see myself yell.  And once he turns around and I have his attention, I walk up to him, face to face, standing there for moments on end until our breathing is rhythmic, unified; until my nerves are settled.

“Why don’t you love me?” I ask.

I reach to touch his stoic face.  He doesn’t flinch.  I caress its familiar features.  They’re aged, marble-like, but flesh.  I search his empty eyes.

“Why don’t you love me?” I ask again.  “Don’t you understand that I need that?  I’ve wanted your love all my life.”

Only his steady breathing assures me he’s alive and possibly hears me.

“Why can’t I leave you alone?” Nothing.

“You know you’re the only man in my adult life that I’ve cried over.”  No response.

“Dad, do you hear me?”  He blinks.

“I guess it’s just as well,” I continue, “You’d probably say something that pisses me off and we’d be back at square one anyway.  I just don’t understand you, man.  Why is it so hard to show your kids affection?  Why is it so difficult to be remotely interested in our day-to-day without making it about you?  Why must you feel that your right to be right comes before our right to your emotions?”

I take a couple of steps back and look down.

“I need you, dad,” I mumble.  I stick my hands in my pockets as a tear tumbles down my left cheek. “What kind of man am I turning out to be?”

“Do you remember that text you sent me that said you were proud of me?” I ask aloud to evoke some kind response.

“I saved it,” I continue, “and I look at it from time to time.  It’s the only time you told me that.  You have said you love me more lately but it feels like lip service; but I know that isn’t the case because you don’t just say things.  But you show more passion and forgiveness to those stupid residual-income-pyramid-get-rich-quick things than you do toward me.  So, I wonder if you even know how to love me.  I don’t know what I want from you.  I’m a grown man.  I shouldn’t be chasing another grown man for his attention.  If you were any other dude you know your ass would be cut off!”

The emotion surprises me.  I tremble.  I turn away.

“You have four kids that damn near hate your guts, but they fret over getting your love.  We show out and show off and show up in order to get some kind of…some kind of something from you.  Maybe we’ve gone without for so long we don’t know when you give it.  Do you see how damaged we are due to your varying foolishness?  Are you happy with how we’ve turned out?  Do you feel responsible at all?”

I glance over my shoulder to catch his glistening eyes.

“You do don’t you!” I run to grab his lifeless hands. I hug him.

“Tell me that you care that we’re jacked up,” I say with my head on his shoulder, “And you do feel some type of responsibility.  Tell me that you lie in bed sometimes thinking about what you could have done, what you could do differently.  Tell me that although you felt your choices were what was best for us, that you can see that they weren’t always.”

I look into his eyes again; empty.  I step back.  Then again.  And again.  And again.  And…again.

“What’s wrong with you?” I yell.  “You’re just like I thought.  Stop standing there like you’re trapped or something; like you’re frozen.  Say something!  Talk to me you f%@kin as whole!”

“Reid,” a voice calls from behind me.  “Come here, son.”

I turn around to see God down on one knee, arms outstretched.

“Father,” I sputter through the tears as I run to Him.

“He can hear you, son.”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” I sob.

“He does.”

“Then my dad’s an as whole.”

God embraces me tighter.  I lay my head on His shoulder.  He’s soft.  I let the tears stream.

“Here’s what I need you to do for your dad,” He says calmly filling my ear with instructions.

I sniffle and lift my head from my pillow and turn it over to the cool, dry side.

“Dang, you’re so melodramatic,” I tell myself.

On The Radio

Natasha was giving her listeners the old one-two-SNAP.  It was geared toward down-low black men, or MSMs (men who sex men) and the women whose lives they are tearing apart.  She had something to say to rappers that promote the foolishness of IT-girls being the ones with small waists, big rumps, supple breasts and the pole dancing skills of a Cirque du Soleil acrobat.  She didn’t leave BET out of the thrashing either considering it allows the foolishness to be promoted.  And, yes, in case you were wondering she had a little something for Congress as well.  It’s time to stop asking “What role does the government have in the AIDS epidemic?”  As Natasha blasted on facebook: “the gova who…if we don’t raise hell they won’t raise a finger…”

Well you know I had to call in. It was too good to pass up.  And I don’t know how much I added to the show, but she asked me something along the lines of what I thought black women should do to protect themselves.

I frankly told her that I think they should be willing to ask the pointed questions.

My response really made me think.  We as a people, you and I, are often afraid to ask the pointed questions to others, and most importantly to ourselves.  “We’ve taken ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ too far,” Natasha commented.  Indeed we have.

On Facebook and Twitter

So I’m awake blowing up facebook and twitter.  I even went so far as to tweet one of my favorite models, @evamarcille, this little diddy: “pose this question to your girls…before U engage in relations do you ask a man if he has sex with men?”  Will I get a response?  I dunno.  But I felt that I had to spread the word.

I mean, we’re living in a day and time that we are so connected to each other yet so disconnected.  That was one of the things we talked about on Talking To Tasha.  What happened to the camaraderie; the feeling of responsibility for each other?  It is best summed up by the words of Jesus: “…the love of many will grow cold…”

All these facebook friends and twitter followers and blah, blah, blah.  We have no sense of accountability toward each other besides updating our status so that the billions of people around the world can know that I just got off the toilet.  Really?

Out of Control

I guess I’m just a little frazzled tonight.

How about you?

Is any of this making you wonder if you’re doing something worthwhile?  Are you using your voice to make a difference?  Are you using the opportunities that you have to make a change?  Are you using the privileges that you have to do something besides scratch your butt and sniff?  I’m just saying.

This video–> Out of Control: The AIDS Epidemic in Black America is the truth.  I keep getting interrupted while I’m watching it, but what I’ve seen is, whew, eye opening.

Am I going to become the next spokesperson for AIDS? I dunno?  Maybe.  I just know that I’m feeling a little duped.  Duped because, like an ostrich, I’ve gotten frightened by life and I’ve had my head in the sand.

Okay…

My favorite line in The Devil Wears Prada is when Nigel is talking to Andy about her lackadaisical work ethic at the magazine and why Miranda isn’t giving her the props she feels she deserves.  He says, “Wake up, SIX,” snapping her into the reality that she wasn’t doing all that she could to succeed.  I’ve been quoting that for about a month now to myself when I open my eyes to a situation be it spiritual, at work, or anything.

Hey, you. Yes, you. Wake up, Six!

There’s an elephant in the room and it is causing major damage. Call it out the next time you have a chance.  Don’t be afraid to ask the pointed questions.  Don’t be afraid of the responses.  The dialogue needs to happen.  Your life may depend on it.

Once I was outside, I glanced the park.  There was no one out. No One.  It wasn’t even that cold actually.  I stood on the landing and surveyed the sidewalk trying to decide how far I wanted to walk, and if I was actually going to do it.

Tiny Steps

I tapped my feet in the water pooling on the landing.  “Why are you about to walk in the rain?” I asked myself.  But deep inside I knew what it was. 

Finally, strolling down the sidewalk I watched the ducks around the pond: some swam, some sat on the edge resting, others played in mud puddles along the sidewalk, while others ran around in circles happily chasing each other.

I admired them almost to the point of jealousy.  They were chillin’ and content where they were, enjoying the weather, enjoying the comraderie, oblivious to anything but what was in front of them.

The rainy day never caused them to wonder about God’s provisions for them.  Would there be enough fish in the water to eat?

And the fish were even more content.  As I crossed the bridge I peeked over the side and watched them float in one spot, conserving their energy I guess since it was cold.  They only moved when I startled them.  I was amazed to realize they could see up that far. 

And even though they were spooked, they didn’t go swimming off to another section of the pond.  They didn’t jump out the water and decide to chill with the ducks for a safer place.  Nope; they didn’t allow a scary situation to push them into something worse.  They trusted the provision God made for them.

Still Small Voice

“What do You have for me, LORD,” I began to pray.  “What do You want me to do?  I just don’t want to make the wrong move.”

I stopped and stared across the pond at my office building draped in the sheer covering of drizzle.  I sighed.  A dark, thick cloud of dispair hovered in my department as we awaited news as to when job cuts were being made… again; and, who from our team of five was being cut.  Thoughts of walking aimlessly downtown through the mist intrigued me.

“Maybe, I’m talking too much, Father.  Have You already told me what I need to do?  I know this, LORD, wherever I need to be to continue growing spiritually is where I want to be.  I don’t want to be a castaway.  Similarly, wherever I will be a blessing to people and bring glory to You is where I want to be.  If that means staying where I am then that’s cool.  Everyone keeps bringing up things to look out for with this other company.  Why can’t You just tell me where You want me to be?”

And like a sweet whisper in the dark of my thoughts I heard, “Noah.”

More Than Miniscule

This was no mere glimmer of hope.  The answer was a beacon on the rough waves of impending meltdown.  God gave me the story of Noah in Genesis 8 back in 2006 (along with the story of Joseph) as reassurance that He wanted me to take a full-time position with my company.  He reminded me of this fact last Thursday night when I was heating up His ear with jumbled excitement.

As I walked up to the landing I smiled inside.

“You did answer me.  I didn’t have to waste energy walking into a closed door.  You want me here.  This is the provision You’ve made for me and You’ll let me know when it’s time to leave.”

I looked at my reflection in the window. 

“Dude, you need to walk more often.”

Night At Bridge Street

Image by jungmoon via Flickr

Since Michael Jackson’s “This Is It” came out in November, my dad and I have made an unspoken social time of every 2-3 weeks at the movies.

He was a Michael Jackson fan.  In turn of course he was looking forward to seeing the movie, so I obliged and splurged for VIP tickets at the Monaco here in Huntsville.  He had never been there.

I was amazed at his amazement.  He was like a kid in a candy or toy store;  bright eyes, smile, talkative, awe.  It was very much like when I took my oldest nephew to see “Transformers: Rise of the Fallen.”  I felt great.

After the movie, I treated dad to another first, dinner at Red Robin.  Good food, good conversation.  I often sit back and contemplate how much I actually inherited and picked up from my dad, as much as I wanted to deny it in the past; and, if I accepted it then, I hated the fact.

Repeat Performances

The last couple of outings were just as good.  They were later in the evening so we weren’t able to add the dinner, but the car conversation to and from is always positive.

We went to see “2012″ on its second debut weekend.  After being anxiety ridden for the first 2 hrs, dad slept most of the last hour, only awaken by my casual nudges and plot updates.  I had to keep him from snoring because that movie was really lulling him to sleep.

Our latest excursion was to see the under anticipated phenomenon known as “AVATAR.”  We loved it.  The funny thing is I was almost bankrupted trying to get us VIP tickets.  I guess because those seats are in the balcony and the seats have more of an ability to recline dad can adjust himself just right visually.  So he always drops hints for us to sit upstairs.  Unfortunately, his senior discount is void in VIP!

Due to my misreading the times we walked in the movie twenty minutes late.  If you’ve seen “AVATAR” then you know that was enough to leave us quite lost for a majority of the movie.  Regardless, dad and I were both captivated.  So much so, that I barely got two comments out of him, which is rare for Pops because he is one of those movie talkers.

Curtain Call

A lot of my friends say how proud they are of me for spending time with my dad knowing how rough things have been between us.  You know, I wish I could take credit and feel good about that; but I know that it’s only because of prayer that it’s happening.  It’s only because of God that I extend myself.

Yes, I want a good, baggage free relationship with my dad before God lays him to rest (or before I’m laid to rest judging by the people my age that are dying).  Yet, sometimes the hurt from the past keeps me from reaching out more.  I may go two or three weeks without calling him.  I’m okay with that, but I know he isn’t.  I talk to my mom two or three times a week.

That’s why I was curious about how much time you spend with your Pops.  Not judging or comparing, just curious to see how different people relate to their dad.

So, how much time do you spend with your dad?

Today wasn’t the first Sabbath of the year but it was the first of the two that I attended church.  I was supposed to have gone out of town, but with our recent “winter wonderland” I chickened out.  Instead of laying around the house I decided to accept the invitation to teach the Adult Sabbath School class at my church.

Good Morning

I went to bed at 6p and woke up around 2a prayed, studied, prayed some more and hopped back in the bed around 5;30a.  Although I have the Gift of Teaching, I still make sure I pray about what ever I’m presenting – in this case we were discussing the fruit of the spirit “element” love.

Class went great.  After that I decided to attend another church’s main service.

Here’s my thought:

If service isn’t the golden ticket, then we need to be attending a service that gives us the level of study needed to facilitate our spiritual growth.  Meaning, as much as I like my pastor, his sermons are geared toward new believers or foundational themes.  It’s always good to keep those things in mind because we’re admonished to desire the milk of the word.  A good glass of milk is cool for an eight year old (I was baptized on July 9th, 2001) if you’re feeding me a real meal in between time.

The plan is to continue going to my church in the mornings since I am children’s ministry leader and then attend the church not too far from us for afternoon service.  Maybe not every Sabbath, but enough to both buoy and challenge my personal study.

Are you appalled?  Why? One must look after and analyze one’s self before being able to look after others.  Jesus told the followers that they needed to count the cost of discipling Him.  And I’ve counted the cost and I can’t sit in a pew to my peril just to save face. That’s what I’d be doing if I sat through services at my church and it’s not worth it.

Besides, what can I give to the kids when my cup is empty?  They deserve more than crumbs.  I’m trying to help them get a foundation and come up higher.  I’ll only be giving them stale milk.  Stale in the sense that what happens when my studies have stalled and my current pastor is only touching on things that pet me, almost stroke me into a spiritual nap?  For some they aren’t being petted; those subjects actually lift them up and give them something to talk about.  I need more.

Good Afternoon

I wish I could do the sermon justice that I heard!  I smile every time I think about it.  The preacher dealt with a familiar topic: deception.  The thing about this particular preacher is that I always wonder what angle is he going to come from.  What has the LORD given him different from all the other preachers?  What will I hear different that I haven’t heard before?

Well, if you’ve never heard of the Alcon Blue Butterfly (as I hadn’t) then you haven’t heard the angle and the gut wrenching way that the preacher taught regarding satan’s favorite tool.

He broke down deception by going to the root of it and showed us the “identical quadruplets” that make it up: deceive, mislead, delude, beguile.  Do you know the definition of deceive?  Do you?  I thought I did too.  He must have used some old school dictionary because when he broke down the definitions of the quadruplets that was enough in itself.  I wish I could give you a link, or post a video or something!

You know as soon as I learn how to post media Tailor Made will have it. *laughs*

He really fed my Gift of Knowledge.  He had pages of notes so I know that it would take me three decent sized posts to really give the subject justice.  The sermon just left me knowing that unless God be for us, HAVE MERCY.

Good Evening

That evening I had dinner with one of the family’s from church that “adopted” me a couple of years ago.  My “brother” Rodney was in town visiting and I hadn’t seen nor spoken to him for almost a year.

It was great.  We discussed the different sermon topics, talked about our goals, discussed men and women, yapped about food, chatted about loans, mulled over careers, traded testimonies of spiritual lessons recently learned.

One of my “sisters” shared with us her dilemma in choosing a career and a focus when she returns back to school.  As she rehearsed her life choices, mistakes, misgivings, hopes, and prayers, wondering who she was, what her purpose was, if she would really fit here or there, she knew she didn’t like this because she’d tried it, she thought she may like that because of this, and I think I wonder, all I could think about was: “that’s what Tailor Made is all about. I need to get on the ball!”

I gave her counsel via my life and encouraged her to read up on her personality and the spiritual gifts.

The lost look of despair that sat on her face really just sealed the deal for me.  In 2010 I am going to give you the subject matter you are coming to get!  It’s time to crack open the books and ride the waves of the internet.

Good Night

What better way to end a fantastic day than curled up in the man chair at Drew and Dawn’s, eating Dawn’s infamous garlic seasoned stove-top-popped corn, watching archived episodes of the long canceled Firefly, and talking to you?

Can you think of a better way of ending the day?

What did you do today, this evening, tonight?

Does anyone know the name of this flower/vine?

“Hello?”

“Wake up, boy! I know you’re trying to sleep in.”

“Hey, Grandma.”

“I figured if I was up then someone else needed to be up with me.”

I rolled onto my back . “Yeah, misery loves company,  huh, grandma?”

Grandma giggled like a school girl.

It was wonderful to wake up to her call this morning.

Beautiful Blooms

This year was her Third Annual Summer Week Visit and I hadn’t spoken to her much since then.  The last time being late August and I was determined then to find out how she had stayed a Christian for over 70 years.

“What am I missing, Grandma?” I asked.  “You have it together. We come to you for advice and prayer.  You’re still hanging in there.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I wish I had it together,” she began, “But, I don’t.  It’s more God hanging on to me than me to Him, Reid.”

It was always humble answers like that that kept me asking questions.  For instance, the first year she came to visit me, we went walking because Grandma lives to walk.  I asked her about being Seventh-Day Adventist and why they are so screwed up in the head (that’s my humble opinion).  She gave me a lot but the one thing that stuck out was her statement: “When I was coming up, it was known that you go to the Sunday churches for the Holy Spirit, then you go to the Seventh-Day Adventist church to learn how to get to Heaven.”

This morning was no different.  She was just as honest and raw as ever: “Baby, I’m realizing that my mission field is my family.  I look around and I see so many of our family outside the ark of safety.  Some of them that used to be inside.  What am I doing for them?  That’s why I have been praying for your momma.  I told the pastor the other day that they need to get stepping with building our church.  I think if we had our church maybe your momma would start coming. At least that’s what I’m hoping and praying for.”

Over seventy years of being a Christian and she admitted that she’s just realizing that her mission field is her family!  I could hear that it was really troubling her.  I think, too, that she is feeling the closeness of her time.  She makes no qualms about it.

Grandma said, “I also told that preacher to hurry up with the church because where am I going to have my funeral.”

Bulbs & Seeds

I guess as she looks around at her brothers and sisters that have passed away and those that are slowly lying in the lap of Alzheihmer’s, she knows she better prepare.

me and grandma during her Third Annual Summer Week Visit

“Your aunts and uncles asked me why I was at the funeral home making arrangements and buying my casket,” she said, “I told them because y’all ain’t gone know what I want so I better get it now.”

“You would think they’d be happy,” I said, “That’s less they’ll have to do.”

“I know,” she said, “Because I remember how I ran around stupid after your granddaddy died. Oh, it almost made me crazy.  I don’t want them to have to deal with that.”

And that’s just how she is.  She even commented about not caring what anyone thought of her.

She said, “Somebody told me one of your cousins was mad at me and didn’t like me anymore. I said, ‘she doesn’t take care of me.’ Reid, I don’t care.  I know it sounds bad and I told the Lord that I probably shouldn’t feel that way.  But I live to please Him not to please people.”

“Well, that’s good, because when you please God you begin to please others,” I interjected.

“Hmph,” she retorted. “I aim to please God.  I don’t care about pleasing these folks.”

The funny thing is, I know she does