...And Now for Your Regularly Scheduled Program

Whew-boy...

That was something else. I'm hoping I'm at the end of a period of my life. I think it will leave forever-marks on my psyche. Migraines are no joke.

Since December of last year, I've gotten my all-day, every day migraines down to once a week or less. Halleluiah.

Halleluiah. Halleluiah. Halleluiah.

Why does pain always feel like an eternity? Why does joy feel like but a moment?

What I learned:

1. Be grateful for every. little. thing. When I was first trying different things to stop the migraines, and I had been taking medications for a week or so (anti-seizure!), I got to the point where I wouldn't have a migraine until late morning. I became so grateful for that small grace period. I didn't know it was something to be thankful for before. Those small quiet times of peace. I know now.
2. If it hurts you (or anyone else for that matter) in the long run, don't do it. I can't justify eating any old way anymore. The consequences are too severe. My diet affects whether or not I have migraines and I keep to it diligently. I don't think about the foods I'm losing, but the freedom I'm gaining. It's too easy to reach for that which gives you the smallest pleasures right now, only to bring you the heaviest sorrows later. Don't be fooled--it ain't worth it.
3. Time is precious. I can't be wasting it dawdling or worrying over trivial things. There are too many significant things to look forward to and to experience. It's kind of paradoxical to me because I figure I should be living now like I'm already in heaven. There, I'll be making the most of my time, doing meaningful, significant work, even though I'll have all the time in the world. So why am I not doing that now, when I have so few seconds to spare?
4. I am who God made me. And God didn't make me in sin. That happened when I was born into this world. Therefore, I won't confuse my sin with me. Also, God wants me right now. That means all the things that people tell me: that I'm not good enough, that I should change, that they don't like who I am--that all don't matter. God knows who I'm supposed to be. So I'll only listen and answer to Him on the subject of where I am and where supposed to be--thank you very much.

It's not all over, however. I still have many periods of brain fog, during which I struggle to think and follow what's happening outside of me. I'm still fighting the battle. I'm still fighting. Because the last thing I learned is that pain does not endure. I endure.

Dear Enemy

I pray that you never get 

what you deserve.

Instead I hope that 

God blesses you

and keeps you,

opens your eyes and

your heart--

fills your life with

joy and truth.

I forgive the harm

and the hurt

that you've burdened on me.

For your sake, I pray

you accept the One

who can bring you

salvation.

I want for you

an eternity in happiness

by my side, laughing together,

dear enemy.

My Heaven, Your Hell.

After the bright lights subside
there you stand, in the midst
of tall grasses and sweet air.

Humming reaches your ears
and you turn your head
in anticipation and eagerness.

Up there! What do you see?
Choirs of angels swaying in song...
But you frown at the noise.

They swing their shoulders
as they utter their praises
scats and beatboxing and rapping.

You cringe and pull your head
back in confusion and contempt.
Surely angels would sing hymns?

This isn't the reverent spirituals
befitting a great King. Would a Holy
God accept music such as this?

Before you can question further--
Over a hill women and men spill
to greet you with joyful smiles.

Your blood runs cold and your
own smile falls. Not very many
of them look very much like you.

Some have turbans. Others robes.
A few wear colored braids and
wild hairstyles you have never seen before.

Where are the familiar faces that you
expected? Surely this place would be
filled with the people you held dear.

In a sudden flash, you contemplate
the possibility that you have gotten
it all wrong; that this beautiful place

that you thought was full of angels
and saints was ridden with demons and
lost souls. Not Heaven, but Hell.

Forgiving without Forgetting

I'm called to not only forgive, but to intercede for those who have wronged me. They are people, worthy of eternity. This is so easy to forget.

However, their past deeds do not fade from my mind. These things leave scars that never heal. I'm left with the seams that I trail my thoughts over, hating the feel but unable to help the obsession. How do I get past it? I'm stuck here in this circular pattern. I want out of this trap.

I am a network of ridges, dimples, and scabs. Infections lay underneath, waiting to boil up and fester. Is this the result of forgiveness or un-forgiveness? I think I'm asking the wrong questions. It's the outcome of unmended relationships that have trickled down to every arena of my life. I absolved my betrayers' responsibilities, while believing that I must take them over. No.

I must let them go. I cannot carry them for they are too heavy and too painful to hold. The scars are unsurprising.

Yet even as I move on from the hurts, the memory of them follows. Can I outrun them? No, that would be an unnecessary effort. I am to use them, empower myself. They are evidence of bestowed strength, and I would be foolish to escape that.

I must never forget that, although at times my focus skews inward and I wallow in my pain because I am thinking small. The meanness of my perceptions pushes out everyone who stands beside me until I convince myself that I am alone. My vision then grows smaller and smaller until I can no longer see. I've blinded myself.

Now when I try to open my eyes, I am still in the dark. Even if light comes near, I turn away. It hurts my eyes. But the deepness of my void scares me, and I begin searching for that light. It's a futile exercise with sightless eyes.

I want out so I finally decide to find help. By this point I'm broken and ashamed--all because someone wronged me. I'm led back into the world and startled to find people waiting for me. But I forget that I'm not helped yet. I'm still holding onto something, my hands spasming.

Somewhere down the road I get used to keeping my hands closed. But I slam against a wall and to protect myself I open my hands. I drop those debts that don't belong to me, still unpaid. Then, I ask for them to be taken away. The burden that lifts amazes me.

What do I do know? I move on and use those ghosts that don't quite recede to build myself up and to keep my eyes open for those who are in the same position I once was. But what about the betrayer in my life. I forgave, but do I have a right to demand change?

That I don't know.

The Problem with Rap

"As long as it's not rap."

Then there's the awkwardness of people trying to look at me or my husband from the sides of their eyes. Trying to gauge our reactions without us noticing. But of course we notice. We see the false preoccupation with lint on shirts or pants or hair. We feel every scrape and creak of the chairs we sit in. All around us bodies make to go places, but are confined, going nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

We are black and so we must like rap. Are we offended? Not in the way one would assume. Rap is not my favorite genre of music, for one. Yet when people sneer at the thought of it, I become a target of that disdain, whether or not that was the intention (and sometimes that is the intention). At that point, I wonder what else this person is intolerant of. What else is presumed of me that they'd rather not exist?