Fear of being wrong

It falls along the lines of fear of failure, however, in regards to spirituality and peace, it’s much deeper than that.

I’ve struggled with fear of failure before and have come to realize I’ve also struggled with fear of success. What a trap it is to face both of these nonverbal beasts. A trap that allows for nothing to be productive. A trap that grips tighter at one’s arms, legs and mind. Every discouraging thought flooding to the forefront of your mind each time you decide for a brief moment to accomplish something…anything, as if a steel wall was built there for that very purpose. What a trap. A trap that renders you numb to the notion of any attempts to show life. Visions fade. Goals vanish. Tasks are left undone. All this because of some phantom beast or beasts that exist in your mind’s mind to do nothing but delay, stall, procrastinate and halt your progress. Oh, what a trap. I thank Jesus for releasing me of these imperturbable traps.

Fear of failing is one thing, fear of success another, but what about fear of being wrong. Of course, besides the obvious pride that goes into this kind of fear, the thought that you can possibly be wrong about that certain thing can destroy someone’s life and well-being all together in one good swoop. I’ve come across many who have devoted themselves to things out of sheer excitement. These things, sometimes harmful, seem like a sure thing, at the time anyway. That being said it scares me so much for those people who refuse to accept obvious truths no matter how elaborate the proof is, out of fear that there’s that one off chance they may be wrong. I suppose this particular blog is just to say that although I know that I know that I know that Jesus is real, alive and well and all about my good, if by some off chance this was all an elaborate hoax, if the Bible was written by man’s mind, well if the joke is on me and I die and that’s it….

I had an amazing life. Peace, love, purpose…and so so much more…I would have had a blessed life. That being said I fell in love with Jesus and continue to work on my relationship with Him daily…with absolutely NO REGRETS, wrong or not…but, I’m not! 😉 🙂

Isaiah 54:4 “Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame. Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated…”

Romans 10:11 As the Scripture says, “Anyone who trusts in him will never be put to shame.”

No waiting in line and no appointments needed

These days there is no shortage of businesses offering shorter wait times and speedy services for a price most find reasonable enough compared to the alternative of spending one’s time waiting for the same outcome. Fast food, I’m guessing because research on fast food doesn’t interest me, however, was for convenience sakes, but now with the rise of social media, online shopping and the like, avoiding lines in itself has become a thing. What’s crazy, as we strive to avoid the wait time to receive conventional services and products, a lot of that wait time we avoid not only comes with a price tag to match but also some essential things may not be included. For instance, fast food, as convenient as it may be, lacks the nutrients we truly need from the meal. Not only that, nowadays in an attempt to avoid lines, certain conveniences such as fast food actually puts you right smack dab in a line that can take just as much time if not longer had you just cooked yourself. This blog, however, isn’t about fast food. 

I hate lines.

Who doesn’t right?

Over the years I’ve grown in my patience and am pretty good at adapting to a line I must be in, but something came to mind a few days ago as I worshipped and praised God for where He’s brought me and where He’s taking me. The thought was this…

When it comes to Jesus and his anointing, his blessings, his peace, his Love, all of Him, I don’t have to wait in line. In fact, I don’t even have to make an appointment. I suppose you can call this one of those Ah-ha moments when you’ve realized something so obvious but you were oblivious. His added convenience of no-line waiting and no appointment needed is one I am utterly grateful for. Plus nothing He gives comes without all the good benefits for your life. His unconditional love alone out of all his glorious benefits and gifts, you can’t get anywhere else. And if we think on it there are those people in life who actually, on purpose, make you wait for their love. How ridiculous.  Flip that though, because that’s what we do to Jesus. We are the ones who make him wait. And he’s the one offering so much. We are ridiculous.

Now for all those who need it, the disclaimer is this…Jesus isn’t a genie or anything that grants wishes on demand. He often gives you not what you ask for but whats better and his wait time for the things you do ask are always right on time, eliminating the perceived notion of that painfully tedious wait time. He is the ultimate provider, healer, comforter and so much more! If you desire His unchanging love and all that comes with knowing him I just want to give you that sense of Ah-ha I had and remind you…You don’t have to make an appointment or wait in line. We are the ones who actually make him wait. Yes, He’s actually just waiting on you. He’s always in the market for you. 

Isaiah 30:18 Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him!

…And If I had to, His line would absolutely be worth the wait, as it is full of all the right nutrients I need for every course in my life. God bless you reader and if getting to know Jesus more is on your heart and you need a little guidance, feel free to reach out.

 

From peace to wandering feet.

So I said to Amithys, my furry child, “you left your peace to chase feet.” You see she had been lying atop the large sectional, head stretched out peering through the window, just plain ole’ chillin’, til’ I made a movement that is. Next thing I hear is the sound of her bell from around her collar, jingling as she followed behind me. She had no regards to her own comfort and peace. She didn’t bother for a second to stay put and continue basking in the warmth of the sun that shown through the large window. Her peace wasn’t as important to her as it was to follow my wandering feet. It was quite cute and funny as she stretched out each step to fully awaken herself.

As the words, “you left your peace to chase feet” left my lips, I giggled but quickly thought to myself, “Goretty, how about marinating on that for a while yourself?” I don’t take credit because I’m not that brilliant. My Spirit, however, loves to convict me, no matter how silly the reference. You gotta admit it was a profound thought for early in the morning, pre-caffeine.

I mean think about it for a sec. How often have you found yourself soaking in the warmth of peace and harmony, looking good, feeling good, having somewhat of a balance in life then all of a sudden BOOM! You, yourself stray to follow whatever peace hindering whim that comes about. Some may say, “oh that’s just you being you” or even “she’s spontaneous and goes after things”, which may look okay from the outside but what are you chasing? I had to ask myself some important questions. Do I subconsciously crave drama? I don’t believe so. Do I fear calmness? Maybe but why? Do I feel worthy of peace? Sometimes… I mean why do I deserve it? Asking myself these questions and digging a little deeper than comfortable to seek the answers is helping me to reclaim and hold on to my peace for longer periods of time. Of course I have to continue to ask myself these types of questions and be honest with myself. You can’t lie to yourself about yourself. At least you really shouldn’t because if and when you start to believe those lies yourself… ohhh boy…To regain peace, you’ll have to have your pieces not someone else’s or made up pieces. Imagine two different puzzles. The pieces from one cannot complete the other. When dealing with yourself, it’s all about you, the true you.

But the kicker, as unique you and your ‘what matters’  are and no matter how unique others are and their issues we have a chance, an opportunity to receive peace if we accept a gift that only God can provide and when that gift speaks decide. Decide to be still and listen. Peace is coming. When The Holy Spirit speaks it may be hard to listen at times. Amithys is a mere kitten and we are mere human beings. Like Amithys however, when I said lay down and stay still she continued on, still unfamiliar to my authority and commands, she purred about, jingling behind my feet when my commands were clear.

For so long in this journey, a journey to me, a journey to peace, each coming with their own set of struggles and continuing growth, a journey to my Jesus and his gift to me, The Holy Spirit, I was unfamiliar to the voice. I blatantly ignored nudging warnings at times. I dulled the voice of the one who held my peace and kept it safe for me. I would find a sense of peace for a while to only find a new thing to chase which brought on its own particular brand of misery. Of course some of these times, these so-called peace moments, overtime proved to never have been to begin with, peaceful I mean. And some instances, I believe you’ll find you’ve strayed way too far and dulled your senses too profoundly to even hear the loudest call of the Spirit. Those are the scariest parts of life in my opinion. But even those times, even those unbelievably scary moments in life, you are not alone.

Be still, call out to Him, and listen. Don’t remove yourself from God-given peace. Because the rest, well the rest are just other pieces to someone else’s puzzle. They mimic happiness and contentment but in truth they won’t fit. You are unique and only He can give you your brand of peace. He has the missing piece. He is the missing piece.

…I’ve written a few blog posts now and I don’t know why but this one had me a little more than kind of nervous. Hope it was a blessing 🙂

 

Familiar ground

I lived like a child, only enjoying what gave instant pleasure. What’s wrong with that some may ask? Well when you’re a childlike adult who thrives on pleasure and instant gratification, many things can and did go wrong. I made such poor decisions that I found myself in similar situations I was running from. One of my deepest fears was repeating that day but my new beginning in Florida became a sun-shinier version of the one I left behind.

My life was becoming an endless cycle of nothingness wrapped in my own gross misconduct to cover up my ball of anguish. And as much as I went searching for pleasure I was ending up wallowing in despair, fear, and anxiety. Not enough words to explain the eye of the tornado I was living in within myself. Emotions I felt that day wrapped in the new ones I created through various horrible actions, decisions and my masochist behavior was destroying me. I was destroying me. I was helping the enemy in his quest and had no idea.

I recall a time, the feeling, the fear, the not knowing what was to come of this particular moment in time, it was all rushing back with every breath, and every step forward. If it weren’t for God’s grace I know I would’ve been raped…again. Why was I surprised though? I had been living blind, decidedly blind, not realizing I was putting myself back in those same sort of circumstances. You know, sometimes it was almost as if I was giving away pieces of myself, time, money, heart, whatever was left of it anyway, just giving pieces away so I wouldn’t feel as if it was being taken. Giving of oneself not wholeheartedly, to be able to endure and avoid the feeling of being seized, captured, or possessed. Give so you won’t feel like you’re being taken advantage of….but you are. That was my new beginning. That was my existence. Living to avoid reliving but walking a fine line on familiar ground.

Isaiah 43:18-19 “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.

…The former things were stalking me and had made their way into the present. I didn’t perceive what He had planned. I was too busy trying, on my own, to escape. My now, then, was that wasteland. It was so hard to forget. I later realized not dwelling in it didn’t mean I had to forget or that I should. I wanted to though. I think. The pain I felt was overwhelming but like the memories that haunted me, they were mine. Or so I thought.

Digging my pit

I watched my mother work and work. The only time she enjoyed time for herself and had a blast was when she took her yearly trips to her birth place in Haiti. The only place I ever heard her desire to visit besides her childhood home was Florida. This was mainly due to the fact that my unofficial godmother/ her b.f.f. visited there so often. She eventually moved there and my mom never got the chance to visit.

Although I watched both parents always work and had multiple jobs at times, I never had that kind of work ethic. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m not lazy. Far from it. I mean I’ve worked since I was about 15. Working is all gravy until you have to, at least in my case. I just am wired a little differently. I never wanted to be under someone else for as long as I could remember. I loved and required freedom over a chained existence. As I got older, the need to have things but not through typical hard work became part of who I was. We’ll get more into my work history at a  later post perhaps, but I say this to say, I left for Florida to pursue a new life, one my mother might have had, but lived my life more entwined in chains than she ever was working her crazy hours to provide for our family. She may had to work for someone else all her life but she most certainly was free. I know and understand that now.

The day I moved, I longed for the sense of freedom to come crashing through my every being. I ached for it. Can someone ever be free of themselves, their thoughts, and memories though? I half expected it to be like a switch one can just turn on then whammo, I’d have my sense of freedom. With every mile driven south, another heap of chains was added through sheer grief and turmoil. Spiritually, I weighed more getting out of the car to Florida then when I left Boston. Honestly I believe that spiritual weight and heaviness would have come on a lot quicker had I stayed. I think somewhere in the midst of it all, I was surrendering. No. I had surrendered. To put it mildly, I had surrendered to never feeling content and happy again. That was very mildly. It’s so difficult to explain. I guess what it was is I just sort of gave up. I gave up and gave in. The situation took away my mother and parts of me, but by this point I was just giving pieces away. My joy, my compassion, my morals, my sense of self, my freedom. I didn’t know it but I was going further into the dark rabbit hole, all chained up with my grief. So with that and whatever was left of Goretty, pass the chains, if anything well, Florida would have to deal with.

Psalms 40:1-2 I waited patiently for the Lord; He turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.

…In those days there was nothing patient about me. Had I been who knows. God was faithful though, even when I wasn’t. He was working even when I wasn’t. He plucked me out of Boston where my grief began. After turning into someone I didn’t even recognize, He still remembered me and freed me from my own personal pit. Today, well today I thank Him that I even have the opportunity to surrender to His will. And no one else’s. Now that’s freedom.

Question to Reader:

What chains do you put on yourself?

The sounds that plagued me

I thought I’d be terrorized for the rest of my days. Memory is something else I tell ya. For a while I thought perhaps I was one of those people compared to an elephant because my memory was so in tack. I realized my mind had another mind, one of its own. That mind was selective. Drawn only to those memories that rendered me a coward, jumping out of my skin at every turn at what seemed to birth a déjà vu moment. Numbing those senses was my only refuge during those in the valley moments of my life.

The crashing of pots and pans that resulted in her facial disfigurement. The sounds of feet, in haste, rushing down flights of stairs to her rescue. Rescue from what, at that  moment, we did not know. Those are the sounds that plagued me. The meeting of metal to the skull then the resounding clanging as that piece of metal hit the tile floors. The slamming of a bathroom door. The rummaging of a not so much a stranger aimlessly looking to destroy whatever crossed his path. Those are the sounds that plagued me. The shouts to go away and what are you doings spilling out from a crackled voice that was my own.

Many more sounds followed but the two that haunted me to the point of…I couldn’t speak of them were the laughter and gargling. The laughter, the sick almost clownish, empty giggling laughter of a once welcomed individual, that sound, that horribly frightening sound, followed me even as I slept. There were many horrific sounds. None however, can top the gargling. The gargling at times brought me to my knees. Not to pray but to force the noise out by squeezing my ears against my head tight enough between the palm of my hands, fighting back tears and hoping to pass out into a deep dream-free slumber. A vain attempt because I longed for dream-free rest that never came. Remove my innermost memories was my wish, my only wish, in those times. Gargling, trying to breathe through a mouthful of ones own blood. I misspoke, or mis-wrote…whatever, what tops that sound was much worse. The sound that tormented me more than the agony of hearing her struggle to breath as she choked on her own fluid of life was the sound that followed. The sound when she was unable to struggle for life any longer. So now the sounds of silence had its own torment to dish out.

Philippians 4:8 Finally, brothers (Goretty, readers, you) whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy think about such things.

Being able to put aside memories that stalked my every waking and sleeping moments was a far more difficult task for mere puffs of smoke and or gulps from a bottle could handle. But what grace. What mercy. What honest to goodness breath of fresh air it is to be able to sort through the silence and noise and hear my Jesus. He calls on to me through it all. And now, now a shower behind closed doors with my children on the other side making various noises and slamming this bedroom door and crashing that toy truck against the other, those noises are exactly what they are. Just that.

Philippians 4:9 Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me-put into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.

Back up to Philippians 4:7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Very deep sigh. Jesus is so awesome ya. So very awesome.

Wearing black…

I’m pretty sure this tradition has died down in this country if it’s not dead. I’m referring to the custom of wearing black for a period of mourning. Now a days it’s more common to see t-shirts with a portrait of a deceased loved one in honor of their memory. This however, from what I’ve witnessed, only lasts during the wakes, funerals, and any ceremonial gatherings, then end up being worn to bed or around the house etc.. To be honest I never quite understood any of it. For me it’s just one of those things we do because well because we do. I didn’t and still don’t understand what clothing has to do with honoring a loved one but I tried it and to each his/her own.

My black wardrobe journey was to last 6 months to a year from what I was told. Now if any of you, my readers, are as oldish 😉 as I  am you may remember the t.v. show  ‘Punky Brewster’. It was about the girl who never matched her clothes and loved colors. She was a regular bag of skittles to say the least. From her clothing, hair accessories, and even her room, a variety of colors were her signature look. If I remember correctly, it was an era before the rainbow was taken as a symbol of being homosexual. Punky was all about all colors of the rainbow. I was never as bad as she but I did and still do enjoy colors.

I didn’t have much black until the death of my mother. One of my aunts took me shopping and got me a few things during that time. From then on, Goretty was in black. It didn’t faze me during the funeral, the wake, and even after all the ceremonial things were accomplished. When the dust started to settle however, and it was less about gathering people for various dinners and memory get-together this and that and became more about my day-to-day life and emotions, I honestly believe that the wearing of black became less about honoring my mother and my mourning period and more about drowning in the pit of my own sorrow. It made everything worse. It forced me to remember, and you know how much I love that (sarcastically). Each time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, which I was consciously not doing as much as I could help it, I was reminded of why I was in the dark garments to begin with. I respected tradition to a point and I was doing what I felt I had to in order to please others, by no fault of their own, and to honor my mother. Was I being selfish to hate this tradition?

At the time, wearing those dark clothes formed a blanket around me, a dark harsh, burden-filled blanket, that separated me from the rest of the world or so I thought. At first I thought I’d might enjoy it to be honest because when people knew you were in mourning they tend to let you just be, in fear of saying the wrong things, again or so I thought. Not only was I feeling already on display from having been on the news and everything else but now, wearing these dark clothes was like having a billboard sign right over my head that guided people’s attentions back to that horrible day. I could barely stay in my own skin little-lone the dark materials I wore.

It wasn’t until after I moved did I decide to shed some light to my wardrobe. At first I was torn then came a bit of guilt for not lasting more than a few months. The brighter more vibrant clothing did little for my mood but I can’t say it added any more negatives as the dark ones did. That alone was a small source of relief. Very small.

I now know without a doubt that I had nothing to feel guilty about. I now know my mother didn’t require me to suffer in such a way. I now know Jesus only wants me to feel joy in my heart. I came into this world not in dark materials or colorful attires but as me. Just me. They both, my mother and my God love me for me. Goretty.