I am learning more and more each day how important it is to tell my story or share my insecurities. We never know when someone in the room struggles with the same thing and how we can overcome it together. We must overcome the fear of people judging us and be willing to be naked with the truth of our struggles.
My hairstylist had just finished my hair, and I looked in the mirror and said something like, “girl, you are back and looking good.” My stylist started laughing at the sheer fact that I was talking to myself in such a way. We both were laughing, and I began to share my reason for doing this with her. I shared with her how I have more negative thoughts than positive thoughts. I shared how I can be critical of my body and mind and only focus on the blemishes and how I can compare myself to other women more than I like to admit. I shared how I look in the mirror, and I say how fat or ugly I look. Now I told you we were both just laughing before I explained. As I was sharing, I noticed a shift in her demeanor. She became quiet and started to relate personally to my story.
Then I shifted and began sharing something I recently started doing with her, mainly in the mornings after I awake. I shared how I now intentionally look in the mirror and remind myself how fearfully and wonderfully I am made because God said so. I remind myself that I am God’s Masterpiece and that my imperfections are perfect because He is perfect. I shared with her that every time I speak ill of myself, I say I am not good enough. I am telling Him that He does not know what He is doing. I am telling Him that I do not like His work which causes me to be ungrateful for the life He has given me. I can become entitled and complain to Him about how He could have done a better job and so forth and so on. As I share, my stylist cuts in and tells me it is time for me to go. She said, “Miss Lady, I did not ask for this today.” She was joking with me. She and I have a great relationship that goes beyond hair. But then she started sharing how she is struggling with the same thing, and what I was saying was convicting. We continued to dialogue a little more about our struggles and how we needed to be more grateful for all the Lord has done and continues to do in us. We talked about how He’s perfect, and so we are perfect. I challenged her to start each day by looking in the mirror and affirming her loveliness. Not because she says so and not because the world says so, but because God says so. His words and thoughts are the only things that matter.
What if I never busted out and talked to myself in her mirror? What if I never shared my actual inner struggles with her? What if I never shared one of the ways I used to overcome my stinking thinking? I spent many years living “what if” that I am determined to live “why not.” Why not be vulnerable? Why not share? Why not be transparent? Because, at best, someone else may get free from hearing my struggles. At worst, people will know my true self and judge me. No matter what, I win!

Recently I was asked to speak and share my story at our women’s prayer. The theme given to me was “Sharing Love Through the Lack.” As I began to pray and think about the assignment and how it connected to my life, I kept pulling toward the word “lack.” I looked the word up in the dictionary to see how it was defined. One of the definitions that stood out to me was “deficiency or absence of something needed, desirable, or customary.” As I was preparing, the thoughts of all the ways I have and feel lack in my life flooded my mind. Memories of how I did not feel protected, cared for, nurtured, or prioritized as a little girl. Then the thoughts shifted to how I had some of the same feelings throughout my marriage and other relationships.

There were times I felt under loved, not valued, and an afterthought. I desired affection and intimacy at the heart level. No matter what I would do or say, the message of what I needed and wanted seemed not to compute with the person I was relaying it to. Which, in turn, would further solidify my feelings of lack. But leave it to the Holy Spirit to come along and interrupt my regularly scheduled thinking. As I prayed and searched inwardly for what the Lord was showing me about loving through lack, it was made clear that lack was an illusion. At least for those who name Jesus as their Lord and Savior. If I say I am a child of God, which I do, and my life is surrendered to Him, I cannot indeed have lacked. Since one of the names of the God I serve is “I Am,” I cannot indeed have lacked. “I Am” encompasses everything I had needed and will ever need! I am not saying that the lack I felt and desired from the people in my life was not real. I am not saying that I did not feel the voids of my needs not being met. I am not saying that the hurt, anger, disappointment, and emptiness I felt were not real feelings. What I am saying is even in all that, the actual reality is I never lacked anything. My God has and continues to provide for me and ongoingly fills my voids. In my youth and immaturity, I was not aware of His presence. When I felt depleted from sharing love with no reciprocation, He was always there filling me up. When I felt abandoned or I was an afterthought, He reassured me that I am and always have been a priority in His heart. He has given me everything I need to live this life on purpose. The difference now is when I start to have those feelings of lack; because I do, I remember that lack is an illusion. Because my God supplies all my needs according to the riches of His glory in Christ Jesus! (Philippians 4:19)

Let me share a true story with you all that I recently gotten clarity on which has helped my perspective to be changed about the event. Now I must fore mention what I am about to share is very personal and transparent about my life. It is not easy to share some of my darkest secrets that some will judge and shame me for, but a part of my purpose in life is to help others be free. And due to the calling on my life to share my story for others to see what hope looks like, I am willing to die so that others can not only live but thrive.
When I was twelve years old, I was sitting on a step with a boy who liked me, and I liked him too. Our families were close, and we were sitting outside on the steps waiting for our parents to leave a family event. My mother and grandmother exited the house and stood on the stoop above where we were seated and talking. Now let’s think about this, I was twelve, so I am sure our conversation was much ado about nothing. I think he tried to sneak a kiss, but the adults showed up. My grandmother was unhappy that I was sitting on the steps with a boy and sternly told me to get in the car. As I was getting up to go to the car, I overheard her say something to my mother that confused and deeply hurt me. I hear my grandmother say, “She is fresh, fast, and boy crazy. She is going to be the first one of your daughters to get pregnant.” I cannot recall if my mother said anything to refute that statement, but I would say no if I had to guess. She was just as scared of my grandmother as us children. I did not understand what she said and why she would say anything like that about me. Did I think boys were cute? Sure I did? But the getting pregnant statement was confusing me. I knew about sex a little, but I was not thinking about it. The truth be told, I was still playing with baby dolls and creating pretend people out of my mother’s nail polish and perfume bottles. And even in my confusion, I knew it was not a compliment she was giving me, and therefore it hurt my feelings.
Fast forward four years, and now I am sixteen years old and can have boyfriends. I am also at an age where sex is on my mind, and I am open to exploring what it is all about. I did not have a mother who sat me down and talked to me about becoming sexually active; she would say, “I do not want you to have sex, but if you do, please let me know, and I will take you to the doctors for birth control.” Of course, when it came to the first time I had sex, I did not tell my mother. My first consented sexual experience was not magical, and it did not take very long. I remember wondering what all the hype was over sex. I did not think about it afterwards and did not feel much happened. Some weeks later, I would discover quite a bit happened; I was pregnant!
I remember my mother asking me if my period had come on. It was not until she asked that question did it dawn on me that it had not. I did not know she checked trash cans around my time a month to see any evidence of a monthly visit from “Aunt Flo.” (Aunt Flo is a reference to a woman’s menstrual cycle.) She began to ask me had I had sex, and I had to confess that I did. She immediately took me for a pregnancy test at her doctor, and it confirmed my worst nightmare. I was horrified at the thought of having a baby at sixteen. I did not want to experience labor and delivery nor give up my freedom. My mother asked me if I wanted to have the baby, place the baby up for adoption or abort the baby. She made it clear that she would support me with whatever decision I made, but I had to make it. I chose abortion because of my fears but consciously because of what my grandmother said about me when I was twelve. I had a mindset that I was not going to prove her right. And I wish I could say that was the only time I made that decision, but I made it two more times after that.
The focus of my story is not about the abortions I had; it is about what I learned about that generational curse my grandmother spoke over me when I was twelve. I am also not saying I had the worst grandmother in the world. The truth is my grandmother played a significant role in helping my mother meet our basic and practical needs. She loved her grandchildren with the love that was afforded to her. She did not know any better in many ways because no one who came before her had decided to do better and change the legacy.
Recently, I had a counseling check-in with my pastor. Three months ago, my husband suddenly died from a heart attack, and it shook my world and turned it upside down. My pastor does occasional check-ins to see how I am doing. He is a true shepherd. In our two-hour session, we talked about many things related to my journey, and I shared my memory about my grandmother. He began to help me process through the whole statement because I was and have been fixated only on the pregnancy part of her words. After some time, he helped me understand that my grandmother had placed a generational curse over me, which has had a continual hold over my life forty-four years.
I was so focused on the pregnancy part that I did not realize how damaging the words fresh, fast, and boy crazy were and that those words were the curse bestowed on me. The pregnancy part was the consequences of the labels. He asked me several times if I thought my grandmother was right about me, and I said no each time. But at twelve years old, I was too immature and afraid of my grandmother to argue otherwise. Those words caused me to live my life out as if they were true of me. Somewhere in the subconscious believing there was something wrong with me. I spent my life editing myself according to the room I was in, not wanting to come off as fresh, fast, or boy crazy. I would even feel I was wrong for liking boys at a young age. I worked hard at trying not to be perceived as fast or fresh. Until this day, I try to blend in with the walls if I am in a room full of men. I never want anyone to confuse my natural outgoing personality with being attracted to them. I am constantly evaluating myself on how I am behaving. Am I laughing too much, am I spending too much time talking to these gentlemen, and am I acting appropriately where everyone in the room understands my intentions. I am learning more about myself each day, and I am moving towards healing.
The reason why I felt led to share this story is so others can experience clarity and healing. I am not the only one who has received generational curses upon my life. We all have. If you were told you were bad, dumb, stupid, ugly, fat, worth nothing, and cry baby, to name a few, then you have been cursed. We become accustomed to being described by these adjectives to the point they become a part of our normalcy and acceptance. We make light of them at the moment, even when they hurt our feelings. When you are a child, you can feel powerless against those in authority over you, so you be quiet. The ripple effect of that can manifest in adulthood by creating a narrative that you are not hurt by the words and continue to say nothing. I want to encourage everyone who reads this story to reflect upon what was said to you and be honest about how they made you feel. Look for positive words to speak over your life. At first, you may have to say them several times throughout the day for weeks or months before they become the norm; but do not stop saying them! Do not be afraid to correct anyone speaking negative things about you. Teach people how to treat you. And most importantly, make it a point from this day forward not to speak curses over others!

What is something easy for you but used to be a challenge?

I was giving the question above as a writing prompt from a professional writer to ponder and respond too. Below is my response after reflecting on which one of the many challenges over the years have become a little easier.

I found the question above challenging at first. I am sure there are many easier things for me today than they were in my past, but it was a little difficult to recall one. Then I thought about where I am presently in my life and some of the milestones I have accomplished in challenging situations. It is easier today for me to find joy amid challenging and uncomfortable times.

There was a time in my life that I would only look at my situations one-dimensionally and dramatically. I could only see the wrong that others caused me. I would repeatedly rehearse what occurred, not occurred, said, and not said. I could not see beyond the injustice and sometimes the horror of the offense against me to see any light at the end of the tunnel. I would let my emotions entangle themselves in the offender’s violation so that I would walk around functionally depressed. Depending on who I told my story to, I could shoplift emotional sympathy on some days. As I began to grow and mature in my relationship with the Lord, I began to let Him heal me from the inside out. I began to allow His word to permeate my heart, soul, and mind. Instead of asking the question, “why me?” I began to ask Him, “what am I supposed to learn?” I began to look at my uncomfortable situations as Him trusting me with the pain because He knew I would do right by it. Like Job, He knew I would be hurt, sad, confused, and in a great deal of pain, but I would never curse Him. He always knew I would come out better on the other side because, after all, He created me.

After some time, I was tired of licking my wounds and stunting my growth. I decided one day that I was going to choose JOY no matter what was going on. I decided that I would look for the light at the end of each tunnel, no matter how far in the distance it was. Some days I would have to squint my eyes real tight to see, but it was there. I realized that joy is a decision, not a given. I had to be intentional about the kind of day I wanted to have despite what was happening in my life. I had to decide to believe that God is good in every situation, even the worst ones. By no means does this mean that I pretend that things do not hurt me or do not feel good; it just means I have to reach beyond the present moment to seek and search for what God is up to in the situation. I can smile and have joy alongside the tears and heartache because I know who’s in control. Although this has gotten easier for me over the years, I still get tempted to fall back into old habits and familiar and comfortable ways. I must intentionally choose every day, every moment, and sometimes every second to walk in JOY!

Transitionsin life are unavoidable. Even when you do not want things to change it isbeyond your control. There was a time when I would have described myself as someonewho was comfortable with change. Could handle any and all change that came myway with ease. Easily adaptable I would say when asked. Either I really believedthis to be true or I was lying to myself.

It was all fun and games until my sons began to develop into adults. When they began forging their own paths aside from me and my husband. When girlfriends came along, and their opinions held more weight than mine. When I was bumped down to second place because there was a new sheriff in town and her title was wife. Perhaps the hardest change I must face presently is my youngest son relocating six states from home.

I have such duality with how I feel about it. A duality that makes me feel happy and sad at the same time. On one hand, I am proud and excited for his accomplishments and opportunity that has been presented to him. He has worked hard and is now reaping the harvest of his diligent. He has earned his wings to soar in this season of his life. Afterall, it is what his father and I have been training him for since he entered the world. We were grooming him for such a time as this. Right?! But on the other hand, I am sad to see him go. I do not want to let go. I want to selfishly hold onto the time when he never wanted to leave my sight. I want to yell and demand that he not move away! I want to manipulate him into finding a job closer in order to live closer to home. I know that I would be fighting a losing battle. No matter how much I try to bury my head in the sand and pretend to not notice. Or cover my ears and loudly repeat “la la la la la” in order not to hear the conversation it will not stop the presenting change from happening.

In just a short few weeks I will accompany my baby boy to the airport and wave goodbye as he begins the next chapter of his life. I will be happy, sad and even a little scared because I know how hard and cruel the world can be. I know he will be just a scared and nervous as me but will be sure to hide it so not to alarm me. I know he will have more questions than answers in the beginning but hesitant to ask at first in order to not worry me. I am also very aware that he is prepared for this journey. I know he is ready to soar to new heights because I know the God in which he places his trust and faith. The Lord has prepared him for such a time as this. I must now walk in another level of trust and faith in the Lord concerning the son He loaned me 26 years ago.

I am still not sure if I ever was comfortable or even liked change, but I do know whether I like it or not change is going to happen!

A year ago, in January 2018 I was away at our yearly Leadership Intensive with other leaders from church. Our pastor asked us to dig deep and dream big. He asked us to pray and asked the Lord to renew our hope in things we aspire to do. A “brand-new hope” he called it! It was the first time I had said out loud that I hope to write a book someday. Not just write a book but to then travel around the world on a book tour. After it was out in the room, I instantly felt a knot in my stomach. What made me say that aloud? Now they are going to expect me to write a book.

I spent the next several months having anxiety off and on about how to write a book. Most of the time talking myself out of abandoning my “brand-new hope.” I spent time telling myself that I do not have anything interesting to say. Comparing myself to those around me that I admire and deem more brilliant. I often define my writing as elementary and not eloquent. I write with simple words and not deep and profound ones. I want to sound scholarly, so others will find me interesting. It doesn’t help when I read stories written by others because it seems to validate my evaluation of myself. I had to do something but what? I enrolled in a Creative Writing class in the Fall of 2018.

Early in the semester I was struggling with a couple of writing assignments. So much so I started thinking about dropping the class. I talked myself off the ledge. You must talk to yourself sometimes. I made an appointment to meet with my professor for more clarity. As we were conversing, I revealed to him I was an over thinker. Well I thought I was revealing a secret to a man I never met. He responds back saying, “I know, and you are also very critical of yourself.” He then asked me why do I think I am this way when it comes to writing. I admitted that I was afraid to get it wrong. Now the next words out of his mouth was the beginning of my courage being awakened. He said, “Writing is neither right or wrong. If you continue to approach it this way you will never think you are good enough.”This is a big part of why I am here in this place now.

I have never written a blog before. I am pretty sure I don’t know what I am doing. Even with much uncertainty I know I am called to write. I am called to share my story and journey. I can’t hold on to something that’s not mine. I believe that blogging is a path that I must take before I reach the path of writing a book.

So, what am I doing here? I am facing my fears and starting my writing journey. I invite you to tag along and see where the journey takes me!

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton