Tag: loss

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Because We’ve Loved Deeply

The new year has begun. And while many of us are jumping with joy into our new goals, resolutions, and even relationships, others are navigating unexpected pathways into grief and mourning, due to the deaths of loved ones.

In one of my community of friends, I have several brothers and sisters who are mourning the recent death of a dear sister and friend in ministry named E. She battled cancer for quite some time and this past weekend she entered into eternal healing and the loving arms of God.

I met E one time, about three years ago.

nordwood-themes-162462-unsplash.jpgShe encouraged me with her heart for God’s kingdom and to see oneness truly happen in the Body of Christ so that the love we have could touch those beyond church walls. She is a woman who leaves an incredibly deep legacy of love, intentional living, and fruit that has borne witness to the power of the gospel of Jesus and God’s indescribable love for people.

She also leaves a husband and three young children, along with family members and a huge community of friends. People who are missing her deeply as the first few days of acute grief settle upon on their shoulders and the pain of the loss becomes a new part of normal.

I know that acute grief and that pain very well.

And from my own journeys of grief, I wrote these words and posted them on E’s CaringBridge site, as a comment to the post her husband wrote sharing that she’d passed away. My prayer for him and those mourning E is that they would be present with their grief. The grief has purpose and it is needed in this journey:

“A dear friend told me 10 years ago, ‘We grieve deeply because we’ve loved deeply.’ S, you and your children and so many others loved and will continue to love E deeply. Your grief is a unique and tangible reflection of that. It says with raised hands, ‘I loved someone, and it mattered, and there will always be something beautiful, significant and special about this.’ Grief shows us where the trees of love in our life have been planted. You planted deeply with E. That love will continue to grow in you and comfort you in the journey ahead. Sending my prayers from Orlando. I am so very sorry for the loss of your beautiful bride. Praying God’s comfort and supernatural peace in this time.”

For those who grieve please know this: you are not alone and as much as you want to let others into your journey with you, please do.

For those who know people who are grieving: choose to be present with them and encourage them. Love them and check in on them regularly. The lessons you see them learn in their grief could help you in future seasons where you too will enter the house of mourning as well.

Life is a gift and it is also finite. The days we have here on Earth will pass by faster than we can imagine. Living and loss are entwined together. We can learn much from both.

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Nia

I think of her and my breath still gets taken away. What if 21 years ago I was walking somewhere with people I love and a random stranger, a white male recently released on parole, ran up to me unprovoked and stabbed me in the neck and stabbed my loved one and then ran away? 21 years of my life as a black young woman would have ceased to exist. Because everything after that heinous moment would not have been. Every laugh that tickled up my vocal chords into the ears of those who love me, every new birthday, every moment growing more into this brown skin, every tear shed through struggles that made these melanin muscles stronger, every breath given from God that gave me more footing to see this world and love and discover Him deeply. Everything would have stopped at 18. It’s not fair that everything has stopped at 18 for her. It’s not fair, it’s not right, and I’m numb at times understanding and living out what it means to be a black woman in America…and the intersectionality that comes with it.

Nia, I remember you, little sister. I remember you. I want this to be made right. I want this to be better. #NiaWilson #sayhername

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Much Has Happened in My World This Year

I can’t believe December 2017 is already here. This year went by faster than I could have realized. Much has happened in my world.

It was my first year in my role as a full-time writer. Tremendous career successes and opportunities took place.

Beautiful moments arrived in my personal life. Experiencing new love and a new relationship and the adventure that comes in opening your life up to someone.

This purple bookbag was my constant companion as I traveled around the country this year.

Seeing a lot of America via work and personal travel. Atlanta. Detroit. Phoenix. Raleigh. Charleston. Richmond. Washington D.C. Crescent City. St. Augustine. Dallas/Ft. Worth. St. Petersburg. Denver. Ft. Collins. Dallas/Ft. Worth. Atlanta. Cleveland. Kent. Digging into writing assignments. Family visits. Weddings. Celebrating a close friend’s birthday. Seeing sister friends. Writing conferences with the Poynter Institute for Media Studies. Conferences for my job.

Dealing with health challenges that I hoped were resolved but now are being revisited, entering a new journey to find sustainable healing.

Looking for more of myself in my spiritual life, seeing where I’ve loved the Lord but have missed special times with Him this year in His Word and in His presence through prayer, almost was on the verge of losing Him as my first love.

Surviving what could have a been a catastrophic natural disaster if Hurricane Irma would have kept her category 5 status as she hurled towards the Florida panhandle. That affected me, the stress of it all stuck to me. My heart and thoughts continue to be with those who experienced her full wrath and that of Hurricane Maria and continue to recover from the damage.

Figuring out my future and places I want to plant my feet by way of community and my spiritual growth. Wrestling with the tension of time sown in places and knowing when it’s time to move to new spaces that resonate more deeply with my heart and who God’s calling me to be.

Learning how deeply important time to myself as a socially extroverted introvert who gets her energy alone really is. Much of this year I’ve been in moments where I’ve had to give more of myself and be present more than I had adequate time to recharge. And it affected me. And I didn’t always show up as my best self because my energy reserves were depleted.

Much has happened in my world this year.

And God continues to be faithful.

He calls me to Himself, seeing my deep need for rest. 11 out of the last 12 months, I’ve either traveled someplace in the country or been engaged in a conference for my job here in Orlando.

God continues to tell me, “Mel, I want to give you rest.“

Have you ever considered what it means to enter the rest of God? To truly, deeply, fully let the One who made you give you what you need, when you need it, exactly the way you need it, to restore your soul and bring peace to your body?

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. – Matthew 11:28-30, The Message

Rest is what God and I are focusing on now and will continue to focus on as the new year approaches.

I’m tired. So tired I haven’t written solely for myself since September. I haven’t written in this space here on my blog that I love and enjoy showing up in. I’ve been in places this year where I’ve been exhausted mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. And that exhaustion happened while I was doing good things, good work, digging in and being fruitful and seeking to thrive.

But I’m learning that like money and time, I, as a human being, am not an unlimited resource.

I’m learning I must choose how I engage in the world and how I show up in the places I’m called to. And what it will mean when I say “yes” and what will be required of me, by way of energy, intention, and presence. Whether that’s coffee with a friend, scheduling a medical appointment, getting ready for my next writing project or choosing to take a moment for self-care. And to use wisdom, time and perspective to help me as I make those decisions.

And the Lord continues to tell me, “Mel, I want to give you rest.” I’m letting Him do that. And choosing to enter into His rest.

I don’t know what your year has felt like or what the upcoming year of 2018 will bring you. But I want to encourage you to rest. To find your center not in the doing and in the busy, but in being and moving externally into the world around you from a foundation of rest. In the moments where life is calm and in the moments where it is chaotic, that foundation of rest in God will ground you.

Maybe it’s too hard for us as humans to admit we have limitations. But we do. They exist, they always have and we can’t shake them off.

I want to live with my limitations in mind so that I can live this life with an intention that is authentic, wise and deliberate.

And my best living comes from resting.

So, that’s what I’m gon’ do.

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A Letter to The President

It’s significant to me that the presidency for America’s first African-American president will come to a close next Thursday, January 19, 2017. It’s significant to many, many people in my life, throughout the nation, and around the world.

It’s significant to pause and consider America changed her history eight years ago and elected her first-ever African American president and person of color president. That’s worthy of celebration. America CHANGED HER HISTORY. She showed that race and color could no longer be a barrier to how she would be led by her own people.

That had never happened before on a presidential level. 

I’ve had the honor to vote in five elections in my lifetime. 1st time in 2000, as a 20 yr-old. And eight of those 16 years that span my voting experience were lived during America’s 1st African-American Presidency. That is historic. That gives me pause.

These eight years and this presidency were not without their challenges, questions, and at times disappointments. But this is life. And we grow through how we learn, listen, and use moments to shape us for more opportunities in the future.

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Seeing President Barack Obama, First Lady Michelle, and their beautiful daughters Malia and Sasha in The White House the last eight years = significance because seeing them means I see me. I see an affirmation of brown skin and black culture that poured confidence and belonging into my soul.

I see tender respect for family, marriage, parenting, and love. I see my President and First Lady, but I also see a dad who hilariously imitates his teenage daughters on their cell phones texting to their friends, “Girl, I couldn’t believe it…” and a mom who goes to CVS to get earphones for her daughter. I see America. Diverse. Not all the same and learning to respect the differences in others. Bridging the gaps. Crossing the divides.

When reports surfaced throughout these eight years at different times of American citizens publicly and often via social media calling The First Lady a “first chimp” or a “monkey” and The President a “spider monkey” or a “nigger” it digs into the significance that grew my confidence through this presidency. It hurts. It makes me mad. People are still calling black people animals some 154 years after the end of American slavery and the declaration of The Emancipation Proclamation. Still seeing us as not human, not enough, less than simply because our skin is a different shade. That hate for The President and The First Lady is unconsciously absorbed by me because I look just like them. I’m black. The hate that so easily spews from ignorant minds towards the leader of the free world can just as easily come my way.

This callous racism surfaces because of the color of the President and The First Lady’s skin, parts of their physical makeup and identity they had no choice in selecting. God created them in His image. He chose their brown skin. He chose my brown skin. He chose all the skin colors in this world. Before the world knew any of us, He knew us. He was present as we were being knit together in our mama’s wombs. He knew US. And this is why the dig of racism is so vitriolic, so sinful, and very demonic: It calls what God created with intention and from love defective and unworthy. And this kind of severe brokenness can only be redeemed through the power and the blood of Jesus Christ.

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Racism forces me to stop and accept that though America did change her history, many people don’t want to live in the present. They lust for the prejudice and bigotry of the past. I hate that people want hate more than they want racial diversity, cultural understanding, and relationships with others who don’t look like them or come from the same background as them. I hate that ignorance is just as alive and well in 2017 as it was after Civil War Reconstruction and early Jim Crow laws took their death grip across the American South and other parts of the nation.

Hate had grandchildren and her sister racism did the same and now we are here. We are here dealing with their kids and we are here trying to protect our kids and we are here fighting to be human.

And yet hate will not win. She’s riddled with deficits.

Love has already won this war and the banner of victory rests beautifully on the shoulders of Jesus, the Messiah. He fills in all the gaps that hate leaves empty and deformed. He is The One who holds all things together:

15 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. 16 For by[f] him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him.17 And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together.

Colossians 1: 15-17

His love reminds me to have hope. That hope inspired me to write a letter of thanks to The President and First Lady this week. In the face of intense realities these last eight years, they both served in their human giftings and also human limitations, with faith and diligence, as they opened their lives and shared their family with millions in our country and around the world. They showed up for the challenges and are leaving next week, having woven some new tapestry into the fabric of America’s ever-evolving story.

In my 37 years of life, this is the first time I’ve written to The President of The United States. The first time I’ve mailed something to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW, Washington, DC 20500. Yesterday, I kept looking at the envelope with my handwriting, touched the stamps, and thought to myself, “I’m mailing a letter to The President. Wow.” I feel like I’m a part of history. I’m grateful for that.

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We Need Rescue

James. Randy. Brian. Cedric. Jason. Quinton. These are the names of men I love. Men who are my father. My uncle. My cousins who are like brothers. My brother. Men whose blood and love runs through my veins. Men who are my family. Men who are black.

My daddy left this earth 11 years ago. The others have found a way to thrive here.

It’s hard to survive on this earth and it takes just about a pure genius to thrive here.

One day I hope to marry a black man and one day I just may have a black son. I haven’t even met them yet and I worry about the trauma and loss that can come with their blackness when it’s hard to survive on this earth.

The type of trauma and loss the families and friends of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile are walking through like a steel fog that refuses to lift.

It’s hard to survive on this earth. It’s hard to survive on this earth.

And it takes just about a pure genius to thrive here.

I want to believe the sheer weight of humanity means something today in 2016. I want to believe that we can be more intentional to preserve life. I want to believe.

The city of Dallas is rocked this morning by deep grief and inconsolable tragedy. Five police officers are dead and several more injured along with two civilians, ambushed by a shooter who “said he wanted to kill white people – especially white officers,” because he was upset about recent police shootings.

AtlantaMy mother spent nearly 30 years of her life serving as a civilian employee with the City of Atlanta’s Police Department. She assisted heads of police, loved and encouraged the officers and absorbed the losses of those killed in the line of duty as if they were our own family.

Black people, blue uniforms, we all have the common gift of hearts that beat and blood that moves through our bodies. Humanity ties us together.

But the loss of human life in these recent incidents feels insurmountable. Their heartbeats no longer beat and they were valuable. The people they beat inside of were valuable. People made in the image of God, with purpose. People woven into the story He’s written for this world.

Race is the conduit through which much pain and offense channels its way into our lives. This struggle is bigger than race. The very nature of our souls is the conversation topic on this table.

Souls that get blinded and lose heart. Souls that don’t detect and remember another person’s humanity. Souls that need rescue.

We all need rescue. God is the only one who can bring us out of this.

It’s hard to survive on this earth. It’s hard to survive on this earth.

And it takes just about a pure genius to thrive here.

In this difficult time in our nation, I invite you to mourn with those who mourn, with the families and friends left in the wake of these deaths. A heart-wrenching journey the loved ones of Christina Grimmie and the Pulse victims continue to walk through. An agonizing journey the loved ones of Lane Graves are experiencing because he was lost too.

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Lament with sorrow for the overwhelming loss of life in these shootings. Life is a gift God gives us.

Lament with sorrow for the tension and pain existing between communities of color and law enforcement. Decades of distrust and injustices keep people on the offense on both sides.

Lament with sorrow for the hate and bitterness that led human beings to take the lives of other human beings.

Lament with sorrow that left to our own devices humanity has no hope in this world.

Turn your lament into thanksgiving that God is our hope. He works through the details in disasters to redeem, restore, and heal.

Keep praying.

It’s hard to survive on this earth. It’s hard to survive on this earth.

And it takes just about a pure genius to thrive here.

For my black brothers, I see you. Don’t lose heart even though you have every plausible reason to. I want things to be different for you. I want you to be safe. I want you to be safe. 

For my black sisters, I feel you. We’re scared for the black men and boys in our lives and we’re tired of mourning the ones we lose. There’s a special fortitude in our DNA. Maybe God placed that in us for times such as these. 

For my non-black friends who stay in this heaviness with us as if this grief were your own, thank you. Thank you for really viewing this through lenses that push you beyond your own experience and beckon you to enter the black narratives we’ve been writing about our story for hundreds of years. The narratives that yell in bitterness and sorrow, ” This IS what is happening to us! Do you see US?”

For my non-black friends who don’t understand what’s happening in your news feeds on social media and why many of your black friends are angry, choose to enter into this with us. Choose to be willing to understand. Read the news. And not just the news you know. 

Think about your father, your uncle, your cousins, your brother. Make it personal to you and then you can see why it’s personal to us.

#AltonSterling #PhilandoCastile #DallasPoliceOfficers