Advent 2022: Blessed Quietness

Advent, the four weeks leading up to Christmas, is always a reflective time for me. I didn’t realize until recently that it is beginning of the liturgical calendar. As a Baptist, we don’t pay too much attention to the the Liturgical calendar except for Christmas and Easter. Generally, in our traditions, each individual church and pastor sets their own preaching calendar . But for the high holidays, you can almost guarantee that you’re going to hear a sermon of either the manger or Golgotha’s hill (or probably both!)

So I was fully prepared for this week’s Sunday school lesson to be about the angel meeting Zechariah in the temple. I love the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth. It’s one of my favorite of the Christmas stories, probably because I have entered my Elizabethan age. I’m a married lady with a few years on me. My husband is also a minister. I am more likely to identify with Elizabeth, the big cousin, than I am with the blessed and highly-favored virgin. (I got all three of my babies the regular way.)

Anyway, my teacher asked about Zechariah’s punishment of being silent, and I have been sitting with that question for 24 hours straight. My classmates correctly ascertained that since Zechariah was responsible for speaking on behalf of God, that the angel didn’t want him speaking out of doubt. They also talked about the difference between God’s responses to the men and women asking questions. I didn’t have a problem with any of that.

My problem lies with the question itself. What if Zechariah’s sentence to silence wasn’t so much a punishment, as it was preparation? Sometimes, God has given me things that I released either at the wrong time or to the wrong people. It did not end well. Perhaps, the angel sensed some immaturity in Zechariah’s questions. The angel was bringing good news and just maybe, Zechariah was not ready to hold such a precious gift yet. Also, forced silence makes you appreciate the glory of God in a completely different light. We can hear so much better when our mouths are closed.

Can you imagine the things Zechariah heard while he was forced to be quiet? Imagine hearing the prayers of petitioners that you previously on half-listened to before. Or think about the late night conversations he could have heard between Elizabeth and Mary, as they discussed the joys and woes of pregnancy, and the dreams they had for their unborn sons. Imagine how not being able to speak for a little while, makes you appreciate the gift that is your own voice. After Zechariah’s time of silence was up, his first words were offering up praises to the LORD.

I think the song that Zechariah lifts up at the end of Luke 1 was being written on his heart in during his quiet time. I think that he learned to appreciate the power of his voice, and I think going forward, Zechariah was probably a lot more careful with the weight of his words.

But more than anything, I think Zechariah’s story teaches me that what I might see as punitive is really preparatory for my next season. This reframing has been critical over these last two months as I battled my way through some tough situations. I’ve been in my own season of relative silence, but when the time is right, like Zechariah, I think I’ll have plenty to say.

Advent: to look forward to the coming of something new. As we get ready to close out 2022, I pray that you find something to look forward to.

Until next time.

Photo Credit:

Andrea Piacquadio

Church Girl: The Intro

A few weeks ago, Beyonce dropped her latest album, Renaissance. I didn’t listen to it when it leaked. I didn’t even rush to hear it after the official release date. Instead, I heard the buzz. I heard a few things about the album that made me think that this wasn’t for me. Then @Notkarltonbanks did a spoof about one of the songs on the album, and it caught my attention.

Beyonce has a song called “Church Girl”. Now, I don’t know if you know this about me, but umm… Church girl sounds like a pretty accurate description of me for my entire life. Most of my friends qualify, too. So I gave it a listen, and not only is this song for me and my friends, it might as well be about me and my friends! Have you ever seen church girls at the club? We be the main ones acting a fool. Skirts hiked up, twerking on the wall, on each other, or whatever fool man decided he was going to try to jump in on our girls-only good time. We shut the clubs down on Saturday night, then we get up early Sunday morning, because some of us have to lead praise and worship, serve as greeters, or even teach Sunday school the next day.

I have been the church secretary, sung in the choir, taught Sunday School and Bible study, and I sometimes twerk in the mirror (shout out to Janelle Monae). If the atmosphere and the music are right, I might do it in public. As a girl who has always been too worldly for the church, and to churchy for the world, this song spoke to me. So many churches are filled with girls (and quite a few boys) just like me, who feel like we can’t be our authentic selves in the place that is supposed to be our sanctuary.

So on Saturday nights, some church girls go to shake off the weight of the world that they have been carrying on their shoulders all week long. It feels good to let loose after living a buttoned up, boxed in life. So when Beyonce sang, “I’m warning everybody, soon as I walk in this party, I’m gonna let go of this body. I’m gonna love on me,” I felt it deep in my soul. So many of us are overworked and underappreciated, in the world, and specifically in the churches. We just want a space where we can be free of expectations and judgment, and sadly the church is rarely that place.

I’m hearing that there are those in the church who are condemning Beyonce for her use of a Clark Sisters standard. I, personally, grew up Baptist, so the Clark sisters weren’t on rotation in our house. You were much more likely to hear Stevie Wonder than you were to hear the Gospel Wonders. (You could, of course hear, Kansas City’s own gospel group, The Sensational Wonders, but that’s only because they practiced across the street) That being said, I looked up “Center of Thy Will” today, and it’s pretty good. I seriously doubt I’m the only one who googled the song after Beyonce sampled it. I imagine there are a lot of people being exposed to the Clark Sisters music for the first time. You’d think the church would celebrate the message being spread to new audiences.

The same church that teaches that “whom the Son sets free is free indeed”, spends a lot of time telling its members, particularly its women, what they can and cannot do. You’ve probably seen Bishop Wooten suggesting Mrs. Knowles-Carter had sold her soul to the devil. You might have heard similar sentiments in your own places of worship. In the church’s condemnation of this one woman, they missed the ministry of her music to other women. She is singing to and for a group of people whose voices are often drowned out, or for those too exhausted to speak up. Beyonce’ is speaking to and for the church’s core audience. (There are very few American churches where the women don’t outnumber the men ) I found this album more uplifting and life affirming than a whole lot of the sermons I’ve had to sit through.

There is a generation of church girls who are literally just trying to do the best we can. If the church doesn’t figure out a way to minister to our needs, we’re going to spend a whole lot more time dropping it like a thotty, and a lot less time dropping our offerings in the collection plate.

“Church girl” is the hot mama summer anthem I didn’t know I needed.

This is episode one, because this song, like every church girl I know, is multi-faceted.

Guns and Roses

It’s been almost a month since an 18-year-old walked into a grocery store in Buffalo, NY, shooting thirteen people and killing ten of them. He live-streamed part of his attack. The person arrested for this crime has entered a plea of “not guilty.”

It’s been nearly three weeks since 19 children and two teachers were killed in a classroom in Texas, and I still haven’t talked to my kids about it. I refused to watch a 10-year old testify in Congress that she stayed alive by covering herself in a classmate’s blood. I couldn’t listen to her father say how his daughter has changed since that day. It’s been three weeks and I still have to fight back tears at the thought of it.

We have had more mass shootings than we have had days of the year. Not all of these shootings have been deadly, but many are. There is not enough time to mourn the dead before we get news of another tragedy. It is hard, and it is heartbreaking.

Of course, there are calls for reform and stricter gun laws. I’ve heard people spouting ideas like arm the teachers, and buy your kids bulletproof backpacks. Some of the dumbest plans I’ve heard call for a reduction in entrance and exit points in schools. These people would rather break fire safety laws than enact sensible firearm legislation.

I’ve heard politicians and their operatives talk about the mental health crisis in this country, racial animus, and growing dissatisfaction with the government. These same folks then turn around and discuss the sanctity of the second Amendment. Because I have a curious mind, I decided to take another look at the amendment:

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

It’s funny how we skip over the first part of the amendment, right to the part we like. There is nothing well regulated about the militias that have formed today. At least, not from the outside. I’m not saying they aren’t well organized. I’m saying that some of them are not as interested in a “free State”, unless they agree with the person in the White House. I also have questions as to whether they would extend that freedom to people who may not look or think like they do. But that’s a discussion for another day.

The people have the right to keep and bear arms. It says so right there. But before the constitution, the framers wrote the Declaration of Independence. In it, declared that there were inalienable rights, and among those, were the right to life, the right to liberty, and the right to the pursuit of happiness. What do we do when one of the enumerated rights is in direct contrast with the unalienable rights of others? Don’t see it?

The people in that grocery store, were going about their everyday lives, picking up birthday cakes, and strawberries for dessert. They were deprived of the right to life when someone with an assault rifle took aim at them. There were fourth graders who sat in a locked classroom, deprived of their liberty for nearly an hour, while a gunman shot their teachers and their classmates. And as for the pursuit of happiness, what does that even look like as we’re burying babies and senior citizens, none of whom died of natural causes? This is a man-made disaster, not an act of God.

We are facing a mental health crisis in this country. There is racial animus. People are disappointed in our government and folks are getting desperate. But we also have a gun problem in this country. Anybody with any of the above issues can walk into a store and buy as many guns and as much ammunition as they want with very few restrictions. Until we are seriously willing to do something about that, we will continue to have to lay wreaths and roses at the grave sites of far too many people.

A famous rock band once sang “Welcome to the jungle. It gets worse here everyday.” The song was supposed to be entertaining. Now it almost seems prophetic.

Pass the Mic

One of the best things that came out of this pandemic was Jasmine Sullivan’s Heaux Tales. The songs are interlaced with interludes of women telling stories of their romantic escapades.

I have a confession to make. I can’t personally identify with a single song on the album. That doesn’t stop me from blasting the music while I clean up on Saturday mornings. It doesn’t stop me from singing along when the lyrics get good to me, and it doesn’t stop me from pointing other people to the genius that is Ms. Sullivan.

There’s been a lot of talk about lived experiences in my time-line of late. It all started with Jennifer Buck’s book: Bad and Boujee: Towards a Trap Feminist Theology. Now, several things caught my attention here. First, I don’t trust anybody who spells bourgie that way. Anybody with serious middle class pedigree knows better. (I, personally have not yet reached that level yet, but I do have bourgie aspirations.) Second, I have no idea what Trap Feminism is. I know a little bit about trap music, and I know a little bit about feminism, but I’ve never put the two together. Third, was the girl on the cover with an afro bigger than mine. I am always jealous of anybody with a bigger afro. And then there’s theology, and you cannot have spent any time around me in the last 10-15 years, and not know that I have a serious interest in all things theological. If I could get a sponsor, I would absolutely enroll in somebody’s seminary as soon as possible.

The book definitely had my attention at this point. So I googled the author. She’s got all the right degrees: BA, M.Div, and Ph.D. This isn’t even her first book. And then I saw her picture.

Deep sigh: Now listen, I believe that Dr. Buck is fully capable of writing a scholarly work about the intersections of hip-hop, female empowerment, and theology. I think her title was tragic. I feel like her cover art was a tad misleading, and I think maybe, just maybe, Dr. Buck, missed an opportunity to lift up the voices of black women theologians, who are underrepresented in seminaries across the country, as both students and faculty.

Let me go back to Heaux Tales for a minute. Sometimes, I find myself singing the opening interlude. (Google the whole album if you haven’t heard it. Be warned, it is definitely R rated. If you have heard it, then you already know the first few lyrics.) Nothing on the album even remotely mirrors my own testimony. I know nothing about that life, but if you think I don’t blast that album when I’m cleaning my house you would be very wrong. I can recognize the beauty in the art. I can buy the album and look forward to the upcoming tour. I could even try to write fan fiction based on the album’s interludes. I could even attempt to fool people into thinking I identify with the narratives. But anybody with a discerning ear could tell I wasn’t speaking from personal experience.

I haven’t read it, but I imagine that’s the problem with Dr. Buck’s book. It doesn’t quite ring true, not because her information isn’t accurate, but because it is lacking an air of authenticity. It’s because her target audience knows something in their bones that the writer can only study from the outside looking in. I do not believe that lived experience is a prerequisite for scholarly work, or for ministry for that matter. IF that was the case, I would never be able to sit through the sermon of another male preacher, or listen to the wisdom from an unmarried friend.

I believe that Dr. Buck appreciates hip-hop music, feminism and the work of black women theologians. I think there was a better way to show that appreciation. I think she had an opportunity to listen to and amplify their voices, to sing along, and to tell other people to listen to them. I hope she does that next time.

In the meantime, she should check out Jazmine’s Sullivan’s Heaux Tales, Mo Tales, and look for concert tickets.

And the Oscar Goes To…

Did you know that Samuel L Jackson finally got an Oscar last night? An openly queer woman of color also won the Academy’s highest honor. Did you hear about that? Did you know that the movie that won best picture, was about a child of deaf adults (CODA)? Had you heard that Will Packer directed last night’s show, and is only the second black person to ever do it? Did you hear that Will Smith, after 30 years of chasing being the biggest movie star in the world, finally got an Oscar? Probably not, because all of those accomplishments were overshadowed by another moment in Oscar history, one Chris Rock called “the greatest night in the history of television.”

UGH!!! I know by now you have all read all the hot takes. I have heard everything from “That’s what Chris Rock gets,” to “Will Smith was way out of line” to “this is all Jada’s fault”. And my least favorite take of all “if you’re not a husband, you wouldn’t understand.”

Pause. Let me stop at that last one. To think that a wife, a woman, a spouse of any gender doesn’t understand protecting their spouse’s honor is ignorant on so many levels. I don’t know a wife worth her salt that doesn’t spend countless moments trying to protect her husband’s honor, his integrity, his reputation, his ego, and his heart, EVERY DAGGUM DAY! Ask anybody who knows me, that if you come after Ernie Radford, I’m going to come with everything I got within me, and everything I got in my purse. I don’t care if it’s my mama, his mama, your mama. Everybody can get it.

But my mild-mannered, sensible, husband has taught me that sometimes in my defense of him, I escalate a situation, when, had a I just taken a breath and let things settle, the problem would have worked itself out. Chris Rock told a joke that nobody under 30 even understood. (GI Jane came out in 1997, and also Jada would kill at the role!) Had Mr. Smith looked around the room, he might have seen that. But he didn’t look around the room. He looked at his wife. She was not laughing and that sent him into a tailspin.

Let me be transparent. I didn’t watch the Oscars. I haven’t seen any of the Oscar nominated films, except Encanto, and I haven’t seen anything with either Will Smith or Chris Rock in years. My family will tell you that nothing puts me to sleep faster than a movie. I did, however, read Will’s book. In it, he talks a lot about feeling like a coward, and his ego, and I think we saw both on display last night. In his mind, his greatest failure was not being able to protect his mother from his father. Last night, he saw a familiar hurt in his wife’s eyes, and decided to do something about it…Except his Ego stepped in and said do it now, in front of these people, and in front of the cameras. “Let them all see that you and your family are not to be messed with.”

Except that in defending his wife from a not-so funny joke, he left her open to attack for jokes that were actually hilarious, and way more disrespectful. I’ve seen think-pieces blaming her for all of the shenanigans last night. We had finally gotten over her “entanglement” and in his effort to defend her honor, he brought it all to light again. Listen, if you saw the aftermath of the smack, you practically saw the wheels in Chris Rock’s head working through a joke that involved August Alcina and he stopped himself, probably for the good of his health, and for the protection of his paycheck.

Speaking of protection, the Oscars ain’t got nobody to protect the performers on stage? What kind of nonsense is that? That’s why Beyonce didn’t perform live in the theater! Y’all got her messed up. Ain’t no way Will would have made it from his seat if Julius was around.

Anyway, it was arguably the biggest night of Will Smith’s career, and it was overshadowed by what might be recorded as a low-point in his public life. The whole thing makes me sad, and makes me contemplate my own actions more carefully. I wish I could take some of my actions back, but not all. Some of those folks deserved whatever I gave them.

But really, the Oscar should go to all these folks acting like they were watching the Oscars, before the incident. Or the people acting like they know what they would do in that situation. Y’all are putting on the performance of a lifetime! Congratulations!

The Book was Better!

We all know a book supremacist, somebody who swears that the books are better than the on-screen portrayal. Famously, Crissle West, of The Read podcast, is a perfect example. She frequently tells her co-host, Kid Fury, and the listeners how horrible the Harry Potter movies were in comparison to the books. She makes no effort to conceal her distaste for the films. She admits freely that she has only been able to sit through two and a half of the movies. I’ve heard similar critiques about the Game of Thrones series, anything based on J.R.R Tolkien’s novels, and even the children’s book , Mr. Lemoncello’s Library.

Book supremacy is a real thing. There is something to be said to leaving things to the imagination. Which brings me to my point: Mike Todd’s sermon illustration crossed several lines. I went back and forth about whether or not to watch the video of him hacking up phlegm, rubbing it in his hands, and then wiping it on another black man’s face in the middle of a pandemic! But ultimately, I felt like I had to watch if I was going to comment, and I couldn’t not comment. Everybody else is commenting. Let me throw in my two mites. (You see my little biblical reference. I be reading and stuff!)

First let me say this. I like Mike Todd. His “Crazy Faith” sermon series was a blessing to so many people, including myself. I sang along when he sang, “I got the keys, keys, keys…”. Relationship Goals is a best seller for a reason. But umm, this latest sermon illustration went just a bit too far, which he acknowledged and apologized for. I appreciate you for doing this. I wish more pastors felt compelled to apologize when they misstep or overstep in public. Unfortunately that is not the norm.

Mike Todd absolutely owed an apology to his congregation, and to every person who watched that demonstration. But more importantly, he owed an apology to that young man who stood there and took that abuse, all in the name of making the word come alive. I love a good sermon illustration. I love it when pastors pull out props. I love a multimedia presentation. Some of us need that to understand biblical concepts.

I refuse to watch the Babysitter’s club shows, because nothing on screen can recapture the nostalgia of my mid-90s self reading about Claudia (the real star in the books) and her friends dealing with teenage issues. Denzel Washington’s lone tear in Glory, was a magnificent piece of work, but even that horrible scene wasn’t as bad as actual slavery. I didn’t like the Passion of the Christ because there is no real way to depict the agony of a crucifixion. No movie magic can portray the painful death of Jesus on Golgotha’s hill. And none of us needed to see Mike Todd spit into his hands (twice) and rub it on somebody’s face.

Remember, when the old church mothers would corner young women and tell them they were dressed inappropriately. If your skirt was too short and/or too tight, (as many of them were in the 1990s) the older women would say “leave something to the imagination.” How come nobody ever said that to the pastor?

The word to the pastor is always, “Make it plain.” Plain doesn’t get you likes or retweets in today’s social media environment. Instead, some preachers are opting for sensationalism. And in employing the sensational, we have lost our common sense. We have forgotten that God’s word and his grace are sufficient. Nothing needs to be added. Nothing needs to be taken away. The Word is enough.

I guess that makes me a book supremacist, too. I wish more of us were.

Wonder(ful) Years

When I hear the term “reboot”, I think of turning my computer off and turning it back on again. It is basically my go-to move for all tech support related issues. My computer is frozen. Reboot. My phone is glitching. Reboot. Can’t open a website. Turn it off for a few minutes. It should be fine.

So usually the the term reboot has a negative connotation for me. It usually means something has gone wrong. That’s how I think about these television shows, too. I had no desire to watch any of them. Yes, I watched Will and Grace and Roseanne when I was younger, but I grew up. I would assume the characters on those shows should have grown up, too. But then, I saw a trailer on Facebook for “The Wonder Years” and I was intrigued. I was hooked after one episode.

Have you seen the melanated marvel that is the newest version of “The Wonder Years”? Set in 1968 in Montgomery, Alabama, we get to watch the coming of age story of Dean Williams. He’s a 12-year old boy in an ever-changing world. They cover first love, first heartbreak, and the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, all in the first episode. In episode two, they sing the Negro National Anthem.

As a kid, I watched the original show with Fred Savage. I always dreamed that some boy would look at me like Kevin Arnold looked at Winnie Cooper. Of course, Winnie spent all her time on a bike, and I spent my time reading books. We weren’t really that similar. And I was hoping to grow out of that middle school angst, but that never really happened. I think I finally outgrew my awkward teenage stage at about age 32. Somehow, I did get one of the boys from the neighborhood to marry me, though. Neither one of us is too sure how that happened. But that’s enough about my extended period of weirdness. One of the benefits of watching this show is getting ideas about how to shepherd my kiddos through their own awkward stages.

The cast is stunning. I have loved Dule Hill since the West Wing (the only other reboot I’d consider watching.) I can’t believe he’s old enough to be playing a dad on TV, even though I’m sitting here playing a parent in real life. Tony-nominated Saycon Sengblah shines every time on the screen. But the real stars on this show are the kids. EJ Williams, Amari O’Neal, and Milan Ray all look like they could be my son’s friends. I just want to feed them and let them hang out on my sofa. Then, there’s the voice of Don Cheadle narrating their adventures. This show is my new favorite thing.

I need y’all to watch this show and tell me if you love it as much as I do.

Corona Curriculum

We have learned a lot in the last eighteen months.   The first thing COVID taught us was an economics lesson, as the laws of supply and demand were on full display as the whole nation experienced a shortage of paper goods.  There were price hikes and even fist fights over toilet paper in grocery store aisles.  After the economics lesson, we all took a brief course in Computer Science, becoming our own IT departments.  Almost anything can be fixed by restarting your computer.  A whole lot of us decided to take a science elective, as we read up on virology, biology.  Heck, some of us even turned to Scientology.  We had time to read since all of our events were canceled.  But of all the things we learned, I think the thing that will stick with us the longest is our new lexicon.

I surely wish I had never learned what Ivermectin and  ECMO machines are.  Anti-masker is a word I could live without aIso. I would love to never hear the word ‘droplets’ again, unless we’re talking about rain. But there are a few virus vocabulary words that I hope will stick around

Just as influenza was shortened to the “flu”, the novel coronavirus was abbreviated to Coronavirus, The ‘Rona’, or the ‘Vid’.

I used to think zoom was a word that meant to move fast.  I had no idea that it was the only way that I could connect with my friends and family for over a year!

If you had said, “you’re on mute” to me two years ago,  I would have thought you were rudely telling me to be quiet.  In 2021, it actually means the opposite.

Tick-Tock used to be the sound old watches made.  Now, I’m not sure what it is.  I just know it’s got these kids doing goofy dancing and destroying school property.  BTW,   Devious Lick sounds like something kids should definitely not be participating in!

Before the pandemic, “hard pants” was not a phrase you would have heard.  But now, thanks to COVID-19, and the 19 pounds some of us gained during the pandemic, we all know what hard pants are.   Also, if you’re an ything like me, we are likely never to wear hard pants again.  Before the pandemic, I owned two pairs of leggings.  Today, I own at least one pair for every day of the week.

I don’t know if this virus will ever go away.  But it has brought us some things that I hope will stick around, like working from home, virtual church services, and free hand sanitizer everywhere you go.  I hope this new vocabulary sticks around,too.  

Did I leave off your favorite new word? Leave it in the comments below.

Revisit and Revise

Generally speaking, I would prefer people not to touch me, but lately, I’ve been feeling like I need a laying on of hands. If you’re unfamiliar with the practice, it is when the faithful encircle a brother or sister, and stretch out their hands and pray for and speak well over a brother or sister in the faith. It has taken on several secular meanings, but we will not go into those here. (But if that’s where your mind went when you read this, you’re my kind of people.)

Anyway this quest for a spiritual touch lead me to look for my copy of “for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf.” I was upset that I couldn’t find my copy, so I did what any modern girl who already has too much stuff would do. I ordered another copy on Amazon. When I got the new copy, the book was noticeably thicker than my original copy. I flipped through it and found notes from the author, and several pictures from more recent film and stage adaptations of the book.

You should know that “for colored girls” is nearly as sacred to me as the holy writ. I know “Somebody almost walked off with all of my stuff” almost as well as I know the 23rd Psalm. The choreopoem was as important to my formative years as was every Sunday school lesson I ever learned. Just as the Bible was God’s love letter to God’s people, for colored girls was a love letter to black women. I’m not ashamed to say I have read the entirety of this great work by Ntozake Shange many more times than I have read the Bible cover to cover.

I revisit the book probably once a year. So I was taken aback when I came across a poem I hadn’t read before. Taken aback isn’t the right word here. I was confused. You ever heard a preacher take his text and be surprised, because you’ve never heard the words before? That was me, flipping back and forth through these familiar pages, trying to figure out where those words came from. I stopped, and went to the front of book, only to find that the author, Ms. Her Own Things, herself, had added this poem, and changed a few things about the most heartbreaking poem in the whole book.

So now I’m not taken aback. I’m mad. How dare she? This book was a gift to every little colored girl in every corner of the world. At least, it was a love letter to all the little colored girls in my corner of the world. Changing it upset me. It made me grieve for what was there before the change. I have trouble adjusting to this new reality. I don’t like it.

But you know what? Sister Shange has what is called authorial privilege. Simply stated, she wrote it. She has the right to change it. She can add or delete whatever she wants. I don’t have to like it. And no matter how much I felt like it belonged to me, it’s her story, not mine. She can change it any way and any time she wants.

We are halfway through 2021 and I think it’s time to revisit, and possibly revise our goals. My weight loss goal for the year seems a lot less realistic than it did in January when I wrote it. I’ve got some professional goals for this month that don’t seem plausible in the next couple of days. The power of the pen gives me the opportunity to cross out and rewrite any of the things on my list. So take a note or two from the goddess of the choreopoem. You own the rights to your story . It doesn’t matter whether or not any one else likes it. Revisit and revise as often as YOU see fit.

Too Late!

I am notoriously late for almost everything. At work, you can count on me coming in two minutes after the meeting has started. When I had to leave my house for church, I would leave about 5 minutes before church was supposed to start, knowing full well it takes 10 minutes to get my kids in the car, and another 15 minutes to get to church. (I could tell you how mad I would be when I got to the building and church hadn’t started yet, but that’s another blog for another day.)

Anyway, this spirit of tardiness has been haunting me today, because I’m starting too feel like I might be too late. I am squarely fitting into that middle age category now, and I’m worried that I waited too long. Gone are the days when I had plenty of time to correct the mistakes of my twenties. The discovery age of my thirties is now in the rearview mirror. I’m smack in the middle of my forties, and I’m still not sure what I am doing with my life. And while I am certainly not in the mid-life crisis stage, yet, I do have some questions: Am I too late to try to write my book? Is it crazy to try jump into another career? Is it too late to pursue the dream? At this point do I even remember what the dream was.

And then I thought of Sarai, the wife of Abraham, receiving the word of the Lord that she would have a baby at the age of 90, and laughing with her whole heart. Even at 90, the Lord saw fit not just to change her name, but change her whole life. Can you imagine having one name for your entire life, only to think your life is winding down and get not one, but two new names? Sarah and Mom. The Lord can completely change your life with just a word.

It’s not too late. You can still become Mrs. and mother. You can still be owner and operator. The world is waiting on you to be Doctor and Diva, or whatever else you feel called to be.

The word and world are both waiting on you. I promise, it’s not too late.