In Which I Keep it Light

I really wanted to get on here and go into full blown political rant mode. The temptation is strong, but I shall maintain a calm countenance for now. So all I have to say is why is it that every time I see a picture of Donald Trump his lips are whiter than the rest of his face? Someone get this man some carmax, please…..Somebody….ANYBODY…..

In Which I Got a Second Chance

I’m trying to ride this wave of positivity as far as it’ll take me. So this post is another fairly optimistic one.

Yesterday, after I typed that post about forgiveness, restoration, and the like, I closed down my computer and told a lie.  Well, to be honest it was at least four hours later, but here’s the deal. What had happened was….My stepsister got a 2011 Chevrolet Cruze about two and a half years ago. Ever since she drove it off the lot, in all its silver and shiny chrome glory, it’s been giving her all sorts of trouble.  Not even six months after she became it’s official owner the engine light came on and stayed on no matter how many times she took it back to the dealership for them to fix. Last week my stepdad noticed a puddle in the driveway where she usually parked her car.  Upon investigation,he realized that her car was leaking something, but he couldn’t pinpoint the source. Assuming it was the antifreeze leaking, especially since later that week the car began running hot everyday, he took it to a mechanic that he knew personally to have it fixed.  Lo and behold,  the guy delivers worse news: the water pump needs to be completely replaced. In his opinion the car needs to be fixed as well as it can be and immediately traded, as he feels it’s going to end up being a money guzzler.  As a result, my stepsister has been bumming rides to work with her friend in the mornings, and I have been picking her up in the evenings.  Yesterday she messaged me asking could I take her to work this morning at 7:30 AM.  Well, my exams are at 8:00 so I honestly have time to take her to work and still be on time for the exam appointment. Except I like to be at least 35 minutes early since the parking lot fills up and traffic gets congested since a middle school is right down the road from the college. Guess what this girl did? *hangs head in shame* I lied and told her I had to be at school by 7:25 AM. She readily accepted my excuse and said she would try to find another ride. The reality is I could have easily said yes and dropped her off, but I was being selfish and going according to my personal comforts. I wanted to be at the school by 7:25 but I didn’t need to be. I wanted to be super early so I could sit in the car and cram, but I didn’t need to be.  So I told a useless, selfish lie.

Immediately after telling the lie I was convicted. I knew the Holy Spirit was jabbing me in the heart going, “You could have taken her to work. You’d want someone to give you a ride if you needed one!” And that’s true. If I were ever in a situation where I needed a ride to campus or somewhere and my car was on the putz, I’d want someone to be there to help me out. Yes yes, I know. THE SHAME!!!  While dropping her off at her apartment following her night class (I did let her use my car to go to school so don’t judge me too harshly) she told me that the friend who had been taking her lived across town and would probably have her an hour late today. And the Holy Spirit started jabbing me even harder. I think he upgraded from jabbing to stabbing at this point. Gawd, I was getting shanked by Jesus. “Tell her you’ll take her. TELL HER YOU’LL TAKE HER!” And yet I maintained my resistance, thinking to myself that I was justified to stick to my schedule without her interruptions.  But once I pulled into the driveway back home I knew I couldn’t keep up my selfish charade. I sent her a text letting her know that I could take her to work. I didn’t tell her I lied because….well….I don’t have a legitimate reason but you would have done it too!!! She messaged me back letting me know her coworker was going to pick her up and thanked me anyway. I sent a reply letting her know that if the ride didn’t work out to just hit me up. And that was the end of that conversation.

Later that night I asked the Lord to forgive me for lying and being self-serving.  Even though I knew he forgave me I still was disappointed in myself for not being a blessing to someone. Which is ironic because every morning when I say my prayer I ask God to let me be a blessing to someone. And when he gave me the chance I blew it. *shaking my head* The guilt ate me alive all night. I mean, ALL NIGHT. I got up to use the restroom at 2:00 AM and the guilt greeted me in the bathroom, along with the realization that there was no toilet paper on the roll.  WHY MUST YOU PUNISH ME, JESUS! I tried to soothe my remorse by reminding myself that while I didn’t admit to my lie, I did extend the invitation for a ride.  But it didn’t work. The whole situation didn’t sit well with me at all.

Well this morning, I get a message asking me to pick her up so that she could use our shower at the house since the one in her apartment always clogs.  Five minutes after I told her I could, I get another message telling me that her coworker’s tire went flat and she wouldn’t be able to pick her up. And that was funny….even though it wasn’t funny. Immediately I realized that God was giving me another chance to be the blessing I blew the chance of being yesterday.  I’m not going to say he put the poor girl’s tire on flat because if you have never been to Jackson….well, let me tell you. The roads down here are terrible. Pot holes everywhere you turn. I wouldn’t drive a brand new car down here if ever I got one. But he used the present circumstances to extend the invitation of redemption. Like, “Okay, you said you’re sorry and I forgave you. But now I’m giving you another chance to do the right thing.”  So I took her to work and guess what? My usual parking space at school was still empty (even though I missed my parking lot buddy this morning. I have no idea who he is but every morning he parks on the opposite side of me bumping Gucci Mane) and the school traffic completely cleared out. Of course, I did have to ride through some congested traffic on the interstate but it was hardly a hindrance to me being on time for my exam. And I also got there at 7:50, ten minutes before I actually needed to be.

So I was grateful that God allowed me to correct my mistake since many times we are unable to go back to fix a flub of ours. Am I going to tell her I lied? OF COURSE NOT! So she can kill me?!?! Well she probably wouldn’t kill me; she would have done that when I backed her car into a brick post two years ago. But instead of murdering me in the yard, she pitied me. Most likely because by then she already started hating the car.  Now she likely would curse me out or strangle me. But I’d live. And I’m still gonna live….with that lie cleverly hidden on this blog where she’ll never ever ever ever see it. That’s right, I’m taking it to the grave guys. Sue me! (please don’t. I’m a college student…..)

 

In Which I was Encouraged

I’ve been staring at my title trying to reconcile with the fact that “encouraged” is spelled correctly because I’m having one of those moments where words don’t look correct…Moving on….

Those who are currently in school, or know people in school, are aware that this time of the semester is riddled with mid-terms. You smell that? *inhales deeply* that’s the smell of coffee, stress sweat, and tears.  Other than finals week, this is the most stress inducing period of school. So far I have taken three exams and have two left before my trial finally comes to an end.  Now I’ll spill on my grades because it relates to what I’ll say later.  I took my Spanish Exam first, about two weeks ago.  I only missed one question on the exam, but I would have actually made a perfect score if the exam allowed us to go back to previous questions and change the answers (it was a computerized test). Unfortunately our teacher’s requirements did not permit this *side eye* Thus I missed a question even though I literally realized my mistake on the following question.  BUMMER. Such is life. Yesterday I took my Algebra exam and surprisingly came out with a 98. You’re talking about somebody being excited????  After borderline failing AP Calculus senior year of high-school ( I had a D every semester…except the semester I had an F) my confidence in my math skills shattered so this was definitely the boost my deflated ego needed. This morning I had my exam in Marriage and Family, which has proven to be my hardest class second to Algebra. The class is interesting and I honestly love the materials we study; at the same time, it’s reading heavy so it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. I’ve been managing to maintain an A in the class, but today….today I made a B on my exam. Now you may say, “Amber that’s still passing. Why are you whining?” BECAUSE I CAN! No but really, I don’t like to make below A’s in class because for one, I’m a full time student and have ample time to study. Therefore I should be able to study efficiently and diligently enough to make an A on an exam. Secondly, I’ve sucked at a lot of things in life. Basketball? Sucked. Dodge-ball? Sucked. Popularity? Sucked. But I’ve always done well in school. As a result, much of my identity is tied to my academic performance. Don’t be like that….it’s a slippery slope, my friend. Due to this my confidence took a hit when I didn’t perform as well on the test as I believed I should have. I know, I know. It’s such a shallow complaint.  But regardless of the shallow depths of my complaint, I was still upset with my grade. I’ve been messaging my aunt, since she was the relative most adamant about me returning to school, giving her updates on my grades.  I texted her today to let her know that I made a B on the exam, thinking she may say something about me needing to study more or something along the lines of what I would say to myself.  After an hour, she messaged me back saying she felt like cheering and telling me to keep up the good work. And that almost made me cry. Almost….I tend to be a bigger crybaby when I’ve consumed coffee which is unfortunate since I love me some coffee! But her message was truly touching because it’s the encouragement I needed in that moment.

There were a number of reasons that my aunt’s text encouraged me.  For one, it was nice to be reassured that my “under performance” was not as big a deal as I thought it was. And secondly it reminded me of my relationship with God. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned it before but I watch Steven Furtick’s sermons online each week. I started this tradition last year because while I worked at the hotel I never had Sunday’s off so I couldn’t attend church. Even though I’ve quit the hotel (because I’m obviously a quitter) I still watch each week because I genuinely enjoy his teachings. At some point this week I heard either him or the campus minsters at the church speak about how even when you feel like you didn’t live up to your potential or you feel like you slipped, God is still cheering you on. Don’t ask me which sermon. My brain is brimming with facts about cohabitation, distance formulas, and libertarianism so I can’t remember. But to me, my aunt’s message was God reminding me that God still sees the best in me.

This reminder is not only in regards to my grades but in my life in general. I’m hard on myself about everything I do. If I mess up I don’t handle it like, “Ah, well it happens. Get em next time, tiger!” It’s like, “What is life? Why am I failure? Why is crustless bread higher than regular bread? Woe is me!” I hang on to failure like I’m breastfeeding it, nurturing it, raising it.  I have a hard time letting things go. Most times I have to take a deep breath and chant, “It’s not that deep. It’s not that deep. Yea but I coul-IT’S NOT THAT DEEP!”  Thus when I fall short I’m thinking God is responding the same way that I would. We get this thought in our minds that God is shaking his head at us and questioning how he could have created such a flawed creature. When really he’s waiting to pick us up, dust us off, smile on us, and tell us keep going. And he never stops rooting for us.  A couple of weeks ago Pastor Furtick had a guest pastor speak and at the end of the sermon the pastor admitted to losing his job because of his alcoholism. As a preacher you have to imagine that was hard on him. It would feel shameful and embarrassing because you’re supposed to lead your congregation, but you’re struggling with an addiction which has now become public.  He ended up going to rehab and the weight of his condemnation burdened him to the point where the ONLY thing he enjoyed was walking and watching the sunset.  It was during one of these walks that he said God spoke to him, telling him, “I’m not done with you yet.” And that’s such an uplifting message because when you’ve fallen, whether intentionally or unintentionally, if you allow God to work towards your renewal and restoration he will. But that’s if you allow him to. So I’m trying to learn to take my disappointments to God in prayer and say, “God I know I didn’t do the best I could have or should have done. But I can’t hang on to this any longer. I’ve allowed myself to cry about it, but now it’s time to get back on the move. You’ve still got good plans for me and still see the best in me so I know that this isn’t the end.” As Pastor Furtick said, “God is the God of our dead ends.”

Now I do plan to change up my study habits and try to study harder, but at the same time I know that this slip up is minor in the bigger scheme of things. Of course, someone may be saying, “well I did something really bad! I mean…REALLY BAD,” which may be the case.  But God always allows for correction and always extends forgiveness.  One of the campus ministers from Elevation Church said in his devotional yesterday that forgiveness is a gift. It’s not just a dreadful shot to help you get well. We shouldn’t look at forgiveness as burdensome because needing it means we screwed up. But we should instead look at it like, “Wow, God loves me this much that he’s giving me forgiveness. He’s giving me the opportunity to start over again.” I know this may seem contradictory to what I said a couple of posts ago when I spoke about the infamous pastor accused of sexual assault by a few young men. But there is an important difference that must be noted. While sin is equal in God’s eyes, no sin is greater than the other, it is not in society’s eyes. So we take certain blunders more seriously, such as rape, murder, assault, etc. It is also vital to make sure people are aware that these things do not go unnoticed nor should they be tolerated because they harm others. Was I harsh in the way I said it? Yes. I tend to have the terrible habit of typing a post in the height of my emotional distress and thus being very abrasive. I later considered the fact that I could have maintained a strong stance but with a more gentle approach. Yea yea, I’m working on it.  At the same time, I stand by what I said about those issues being prevalent and needing to be addressed. But we have this habit, in general, of equating the world’s punishment with God’s forgiveness. Truly, if you commit a crime you will suffer some sort of punishment because we are not immune from the laws of this world. But if you have committed a crime or done something that would be deemed serious and you wholeheartedly ask for God’s forgiveness he will give it. This may not block repercussions, but it does make you right with him which is ultimately the most important thing. I know that’s difficult for those who have suffered to hear because I, like many people, have a hard time with forgiveness when I know I’ve been wronged. So I know those who have been wronged are justifiably upset. But it is still the truth of the matter that forgiveness is always available.

So I’m going to go ahead and wrap this post up. I’ve got to finish my philosophy for the week because I sense that this man’s exam is going to be tough.  Hopefully I helped encourage someone today. If not then just forgive me for crying about my grades; I am, after all, a sensitive little muffin.

In Which I Cried

Why I feel the need to name all of my journal posts “in which….” I have no idea. But that’s beside the point.  After reading about Khaled Khateeb, the cinematographer for the documentary The White Helmets, being barred from entering the states for the Oscars I decided to watch the documentary.  As you know I love documentaries in the same way I love non-fictional literature. While I was on hiatus last year, I spent most of my days watching Holocaust Documentaries. I also was addicted to the show Evolution of Evil on AHC. Did I watch documentaries about civil rights or slavery? Well I tried, but it gave me such bad heartburn after hearing the word “nigger” repeatedly I had to literally stop before I killed over….or killed someone. You know I live in Mississippi. I would have been tempted to find the first house with a confederate flag…..Yes, I know. Sad *in my Trump voice* So I have to stick to reading books about those two topics. I handle those better. But I like to watch and read about these things, in order to learn more. A lot of the massacres, wars, etc are things we actually did not learn about in school. I guess our system is afraid that if we know about these things then we may be tempted to repeat them. So they stick to white-washed, watered down history. We end up with crap like this happening: https://petapixel.com/2017/01/21/artist-shames-disrespectful-holocaust-memorial-tourists-using-photoshop/ But we won’t get into that today.

ANYWHO, back to The White Helmets; let me just say that I cried the entire time. For one, I’m just a cry baby so you know….there’s that. But watching small children being pulled from rubble or hearing the volunteer men saying that every life has value….well, who wouldn’t have cried? You? You monster! Trying to detail the documentary wouldn’t do it proper justice so I encourage you to watch it for yourselves. It’s on Netflix (I’m not sure if it’s on any other outlet). It’s both heartbreaking and encouraging. The strength in which these men carry themselves, even in the midst of their own losses, is indescribable. And how many of us would do that? Of course we think of our own armed forces, whom we are thankful for because many of us wouldn’t dare sign up for service. Say what you want but I’m one of those people .Sue me. Rich people and the politicians who start wars are also those people but eh, that’s neither here or there.  Still, there is a staunch difference. Rarely are we attacked on American soil. When we think of our military men/women fighting, we think mostly of THEIR safety because they are the ones put in volatile and often unstable situations. Though they fight for the safety of the country, they generally don’t fear that while they are away something will happen to those of us back home.Because, frankly, over here in ye ole America, you’re more likely to be killed by your jealous boyfriend or in a crime of passion. In terms of Syria, they’re fighting on their own soil. They leave their homes to help put out fires and evacuate citizens knowing that a bomb might drop on their streets, killing their family and friends. And yet they don’t lose hope. And I’m not saying that to dampen the honor bestowed upon our military. But you do have to acknowledge the difference there is in the two situations.

So yes, the documentary is a must see. If you don’t like crying then suck it up and watch it anyway. Just make sure no one else is around. I hate that Mr. Khateeb was barred, and I think his work with the film was much needed. Not only were the men he filmed in danger, but he was as well.  The picture was eye opening and honest, without attempting to romanticize tragedy (you know, how fictional films do….it never fails). So yes; just yes.

In Which I Ask How

I was planning to do another political rant, but I decided against it. At least for today. I’ll bottle up all my rants, let them age like fine wine, and then pour them into the glasses of my unsuspecting followers.  Is this post related to politics? Eh….sorta. But just sorta. But on the plus side it will be quite short.

To those whose religious affiliation has put a target on their backs, has magnified the delicacy of their places of worship, has resulted in verbal and physical assault, what can I do to help?  Are there any trustworthy organizations (unlike Redcross) to donate to? And even more than donations, any advised action that I can take to help?  I usually spend much of my time wondering how the collective group of Christians can do better by our Muslim and Jewish counterparts, but I realized that I have to do my part before I can go spouting off about what everybody else can do. Because if I’m not doing my part, then flapping my gums is just me being a loud mouth hypocrite.

With that being said, I want to verbally (well this isn’t exactly verbal but you get my drift) state that I support the safety and freedom of those with Muslim and Jewish beliefs.  I understand that we have different religions and forms of worship, but I respect your beliefs.  I desire that you have no fear of someone harming you, insulting you, threatening you, etc.  And the fact that you have to even endure such, let alone survive in a society that embraces the violence against you, is beyond ridiculous.  I think it took the president far too long to respond to threats against Jewish people, and I can’t recall a single instance that he has responded to hatred against Muslims.  I do believe that he has refused to squash the budding Antisemitism that is rampant in his circle of followers, perhaps for fear of losing their support. His administration has said little of the Alt-Right movement which is overflowing with Antisemitism.  He has endorsed a culture that fears everyone who wears a head scarf and reads the Quran. Or who even “looks” like they are Muslim. His followers (and even some of his opposition because it would be a lie to deny the existence of Islamophobia in the left wing) blatantly ignore the fact that ISIS attacks Muslims far more than they attack non-Muslims.  They also insert violence into the Islam belief system though the Quran speaks against violence. Instead they group everyone in together, a tactic which could honestly be used with the Klan and Christianity if we want to be real with ourselves.  But I can’t change the reaction of the whole of my fellow Christian peers.  I can only offer my voice and whatever other resources are needed to be a help to those who are fearful, hurt, and angry.  I also don’t want to overstep my bounds by trying to the be the voice of Jewish/Muslim Americans since I am neither. I want to openly express disgust for the treatment you all receive, but I want to leave the platform to those who are directly impacted.  Because I’m just a extra in the movie. If I get to reading the whole script, while the lead actor stands in the back ground trying to speak over me, then I’m proving to be a poor ally. So I definitely don’t want to do that.

Again if anyone has suggestions on ways I can help, let me know. And if there is anything in my post that needs to be changed, then also feel free to let me know. As the old Baptists say, “Charge it to my head, not my heart.”

Remember when I said this would be short??? Yea…..I wrote that so long ago that you probably forgot…..

In Which I Try to Anchor Down

Is anchoring down correct sailor terminology? I can’t even swim so I know nothing of sailing. It’ll pass though.  I’ve realized that my mind has become a very chaotic place lately.  Between quadratic formulas, travel bans, and the like, the space behind my forehead has become a pool of muddied waters.  And really it can be greatly overwhelming and has proved to be such.  One of the first few posts I did on here was about different things that anchor me whenever I begin drifting into no man’s land. Usually these anchors are effective and help me to settle back into the soft hands of sanity.  But as of late, my anchors are failing to provide me with assured stability.  I imagine that it gets that way for everyone from time to time thus I’m sure many can relate.  The best way I can describe the feeling is the constant need of a Xanax and sleep because we are constantly being bombarded with often discouraging news and thought provoking work (darn you algebraaaa) which leaves us drained and listless.  It seems that when I am not doing homework, I’m on Yahoo reading about our corn husk in chief and his committee. With that comes the opinions of his little kernel followers who do their best to peg every opposing party as delusion or demonic.  And politics have become so ingrained in my every day life that it feels like it is controlling every fiber of my existence. I would rather not three to four posts straight relate to Trump or my disdain, but I’m quite consumed by the need to voice my opposition to him so…well….you get it.

I usually branch out on some general statement which will shortly follow.  I think when you have certain ascribed statuses you are unable to fully break away from social and political issues.  When your status is included in the minority group then you are more keen than if you are the majority. For one, minority history begs that we be more vigilant than our majority counterparts lest we fall victim to the repetition of history.  So when we are often told that we “don’t understand” (specifically “blacks don’t understand.” Don’t do that. It’s black people. People of color.  But don’t use blacks. It’s just not right) then I most often think that it is actually the other way around. We understand more than our counterparts because the realities of the injustice and unfairness of our world are exposed to us at young ages.

I remember when I was in the third grade.  We had a pool party at our teacher’s house as a reward for good grades and behavior.  Two weeks prior I went to the Wal-Mart in Senatobia with my mom to pick out a swim suit. I don’t remember the style of the suit, but I do remember it being a blue and sea foam green one piece, since blue was my favorite color.  My mom didn’t have the funds to splurge on the suit at the moment so she put it in layaway for me.  The plan was to come back and get the suit before the party.  Well, the plan fell through after she completely forgot, and we ended up at our town’s Wal-Mart the night before instead. There I found a two piece swimsuit. To best describe it would be to say that I was channeling my inner Lava Boy.  It was a fiery orange and yellow; the top was a tank and the bottom were shorts.  Nothing too scandalous other than the fact that I was suddenly The Flash.  When I went to school the next day, as we would ride home with our teacher Mrs. Hawkins later, I took out my swimsuit for my friend Alaina to see. The look of excitement beamed in her eyes through the thick lens of her glasses. “I’ve got the exact same one!” she exclaimed, reaching in her bag and pulling her lava suit out.  All we needed was someone with a blue and gray suit to be our Sharkboy at that point.  While we both chattered in glee another classmate, who was white, came over and stopped dead in front of me. Apparently she was less excited about the quaintness of our local Wal-Mart as it turned out that she had the exact same suit.  “Why didn’t you get swimsuit for black people, Amber?” she spat venomously before she walked back to her group of friends.  Mind you that Alaina who is also white shared the same suit, but she was immune from chastisement. It was only me who had breached some unspoken rule.  Following my return home from the party I spoke with my cousins about the matter. And well….if you think that I’m bad on here they’re a thousand time worse in real life.  The girl’s name was as good as mud by the time they finished spitting and stamping on it, her parents, and her ancestors.  At the time the moment stuck with me and my dislike for her grew to unknown depths.  It was only later, when I was much older, that I thought to myself, “I wonder what her parents said at home if she, a third grader, thought that I didn’t deserve to wear the same bathing suit as she did.”

It is much the same when young women report on the ages that they were first sexualized.  Many stated their teenage years when breasts are beginning to blossom and hips begin to spread. And a surprising many revealed that they were 4 or 7 or 9 when their bodies were commented on sexually. This was especially common in young black girls, who often develop younger than their white peers.  Some stated that they were deemed fast tailed for wearing the same shorts that their skinnier, less curvy friends wore to beat the summer heat.  Or that people made comments about their sexual activity, of which many were not engaged in, being evident due to their thick hips and lips. And curves aren’t necessary to warrant lewd comments. You can be straight as a board and thin as a pencil and still have your grandmother tell you to put some longer pants on because your uncle is coming for dinner. Childhood is often short lived for us.  My first encounter was while I was standing in the line at Kroger at the age of thirteen. I had on denim capri pants with brown, suede criss-cross stitching up the outer leg and an old red band t-shirt I’d borrowed (stolen) from my sister.  As I waited in line, I could hear two firemen behind me making comments about my legs and quite obviously eyeing me. And when I looked back at them, to ensure that it wasn’t my imagination, this did not cause them to cease.  I quickly paid for my items, probably junk food, and shuffled outside to the car where my stepdad sat waiting.  I never mentioned it to anyone.

There are two things that you constantly made aware of: your gender and your race.  These two characteristics will dictate your pay, your chances of getting a job/loan, your likelihood to get arrested, etc.  They are not things that you can strip out of after a hard day of bearing the weight of the world.  Now, the lines of gender are further blurring so that’s a whole other thing. Not to mention the disproportionate assault/murder of transgender people so that really is a whole topic within itself. But generally if you are a woman and you are a person of color, the cushions of being a child are often snatched away well before  our male and white counterparts are made to part with theirs.  Of course this is not always the case, but it is most often the case.  Each day while Ma helped me bathe (I couldn’t be trusted to be in the tub without being monitored. I played with bath toys and got out smelling like dirty water….) she would point at my flat chest, my behind, and basically circle my entire pelvis with an imaginary laser while she rubbed me dry with the towel with the vigor of sanding wood and remind me, “Don’t let anyone touch you there. If it’s not me or I’m not there don’t let them touch you!” Only for me to go to school second grade year and have to go to the office with a group of female classmates and report a boy to the principal for grabbing our butts everyday. Like soldiers we lined up in front of the principal’s desk, but holding our heads down, ashamed that we were even knowledgeable about butts much less speaking about them being grabbed.  And I remember Ma sitting my brother down and talking to him about how to act if ever the police stopped him. He was no older than thirteen.  For us there tends to be no shield, no blinder that stays in tact until we graduate from high-school and branch into “the real world.” Our real world starts when we are much younger.

So I really don’t want to have post after post after post about politics, crime, racism, sexism, etc. I generally don’t like to be serious. But now a days, I’m just tired. I told my friend while we were discussing the opposition to the Black Lives Matter movement that I was exhausted. Can you win for losing? It’s difficult to break away from reality because it rules our timelines, our new stations, and ultimately our conversations and thoughts.  And the more I read my recent posts (this one included) I realize that it’s almost impossible to break away.  It follows us.  And I believe it follows minorities more so because we suffer more in its wake and must always be prepared to stand for something. Even when Rosa Parks stayed in her seat she was standing for something.  I can’t think of a time when we don’t have to reply, debate, protest, defend, answer to, fight. Is there ever really a break? I used to think that I was grasping onto the discrimination of yesteryear.  That division was non-existent. Then life delivered a reminder, certified and signature required, while walking on my uncle’s land with my aunt for exercise in the heat of June. I had on shorts, because who in their right mind wears long pants or tights in Mississippi during the summer?  My aunt and I chattered away, mostly about her hate for exercise, as we walked within the safety of the fenced in acre. Across the street a pick up truck occupied by two older white men and some kids pulled to the end of their driveway. The truck was rusty and red, with mud splattered on the grill.  The kids were sandwiched between the men, barely able to peep over the dashboard. The man driving looked at me and called out of the rolled down window, “that nigger’s got some nice legs,” waiting a minute, likely for my reaction, and then sped away.  And I was the one embarrassed about the encounter, as though I had caused it. It was my mark, my blotch. And that’s what life is like.  So yea, I probably will get on here and continually rant and rave. And when you think to yourself, “they don’t understand” what you really need to ask yourself is do you?

 

In Which I Keep it Brief

As has been implied in my previous posts I am not a Trump supporter. I disagree with his character, his cabinet, his policies, his voters, I even disagree with the hair follicles on his scalp.  I do hope that he proves my negative outlook on him to be falsely based but so far he has not.  With that being said, I reiterate the extreme irritation I have with white evangelicals that hang on to his words like everything he quotes is scripture.  I really do. I dislike the way they continuously use the gospel as a means to keep us from protesting or speaking out.  They act as though we are not allowed to disagree with Trump just because he is our president. They shame us into silence by stating that God has placed Trump in the White House. Well I’m going to say something I hope you will forgive me (or not). Back a year or so ago, when the phenomena commonly known as the Blood Moon first appeared our pastor told us that usually this occurrence coincided with  a major shakeup in the bible. These shakeups were more often not all that great, for lack of better words. He then began to urge us to pray for the country, that we might receive mercy for drifting away from Christianity (which I have a double mind on since I partially disagree with the statement that America was founded on Christian principles since the Christians that “founded” America engaged in mass slaughter of Natives, racism, sexism, slavery, lynching, etc). With that said my assumption is that if God hand picked Trump to be over the United States then well….it’s not exactly for good purposes. Now I could be wrong so let me add that disclaimer in the mix. But in my most personal opinion, America just got what it asked for without God being involved at all. Because while we would like to say that God controls everything this simply is not true. If you go outside and shoot yourself in the foot, you’re going to blow your foot off. Not because it was God’s will, but because it was your choice. God isn’t going to magically deflect the bullet to spare you from your own ignorance. He’s going to have already instilled in you that aiming a gun at your foot and pulling the trigger is not the wise thing to do. So that’s that.

I said I would keep it brief so I’m going to round it up because I need to get back to Algebra.  But the reason why white evangelicals (and white people in general) identify so much with Trump’s rhetoric is because they feel as though they are losing their privilege and that’s an uncomfortable experience. For once in their lifetime they are glimpsing what it feels like to be on the outside looking in.  And all these years they have used their privilege (which they wholly deny, but if they want to know about facts that are not alternative then they could do research and see the benefits of being white in our world) and their bibles to bash us “lesser” beings into submission. So when I get on social media, a habit I am trying to break for my health, and I see long statuses about the spirit of the anti-Christ fueling protests and how God asks us to be compassionate (which let us recall that Jesus never silently stood by as the Pharisees tried to shut him up. It’s not that he lacked compassion, but that he wanted to call a spade a spade. If he did silently stand by then someone please let me know. That’s not me being sarcastic. I legitimately would like to know so I can correct my error) I think of how historically white Christians have been some of the LEAST accepting and compassionate people on this Earth. “Amber, that’s an exaggeration!” Not really. Key words were “some of the…” which is me giving the benefit of the doubt. Because the bible has been used to justify violent colonization, slavery, racism, mass murder, sexism, lynching, blatant hatred, etc. Basically everything I stated in the first paragraph. And I truly wonder deep down in my heart of hearts how many people will not make it into Heaven because white Christians have had such a negative impact on the gospel. Because black people still believe that Christianity is the white man’s religion and refuse to believe in Christ. When honestly Christianity is for anyone who accepts it. And Christianity did not start with violent white men. It started with a Jewish carpenter named Jesus who died so that we could be free. And the white men who read all about Jesus and Paul and God ignored everything it said about equality and love. And they took advantage of illiteracy and spun some tales because they knew that the people they were using their bibles against could never read to know for themselves. And they manipulated scripture (because frankly there are bible verses that can give you the shifty eye) to justify their hateful behavior.  And that just really upsets me. People may think I have an issue with Christianity but I don’t. I have an issue with Christians who refuse to do what’s right and stand up for what’s right. Because frankly you can stand out there with your signs like Westboro baptist (which actually protested Trump and if that isn’t a sign…) and you can lie, endorse lies, and try to condemn people with different beliefs, but what of it if you don’t stand up for the little man? What of it if you ignore that frankly EVERYONE, but white cis men (and some white cis women) is afraid? And even more so ignore the fact that that feeling you’re getting (which is kinda imaginary in your case) is the literal feeling that we have felt for years. We’ve been the ostracized. And it is a daily battle to be a Christian in a marginalized group because it seems like everything is against you and you wonder how God can exist when you’re suffering.  And you try to remind yourself that we suffer not because of God but because of people. And then you have to remind yourself that you’ve got to love them. And that’s a damn hard job.

I didn’t keep it brief and for that I apologize. But I honestly did try. If I offend someone with this post then so be it. Most of my life I’ve been one to bottle my feelings to prevent someone else from being hurt. And I’ve also sat idly by while white people (other groups as well because anti-blackness is worldwide) ignored us when we spoke about how we felt. Or they called it whining, an insult to us who just want to be heard.  And its not fair. And I’m not about to spend the rest of my life stuffing my feelings down to spare people who most often could give less than a damn about mine. Sorry not sorry.

In Which I’m just Asking

To all my Christians who voted for Donald Trump I pose the simple question of why? Scrolling through my Facebook during the election I recall seeing posts about fighting abortion. Girls I went to school with who had kids of their own and in what they deemed safe relationships were the main ones posting such statuses.  Trump was the answer to the issue of this immoral act, murdering babies.  Innocent children who did not choose to be created.  Hillary , Bernie, or all other democrats justified this criminal behavior. They normalized it.  But Trump? Trump would be America’s saving grace. Bringing back Jesus to the White House as Vicki Yohe so delicately put it.  And I wonder how? How is Trump bringing Jesus back into the White House? When was Jesus ever there or when had he ever left? To insinuate that President Obama exiled Jesus from the rulings of the country are laughable.  Was Jesus there when our country, founded on “Christian” principles, invaded other countries, stole from them? Was he there when the Declaration of Independence was penned and signed on a desk in a country that didn’t believe that liberty and freedom were for everyone? When the the Statue of Liberty was erected as a beacon of freedom, hope for arriving immigrants? In waters that washed upon shores soaked in blood, splashed in by women and men who thought themselves superior for their porcelain skin. More pure.  True Americans unlike those filing off boats from other countries forgetting that they were descendants of sailing ships, disease blankets, and war. Laughable. Now the time has come and they have gotten the president they have asked for, fought for, voted for and he has turned away and evicted those who have much more in common with his voters than they will accept.  And silence. Only to raise their voices in anger at the protests, the “immaturity and fragility” of those who march in opposition.  But quiet none the less.

Let me be clear I don’t go by pro-choice or pro-life. I’m not trying to be Raven Symone with the whole “I don’t believe in titles” stance. But while I don’t personally support abortion, I realize it’s really not my business to tell another woman she has to have a child she does not want.  I don’t know her circumstances to tell her what to do. I know that the pulpits cry out that it’s not her choice, it’s God choice.  But in all honesty everything we do on this Earth is our choice.  If it weren’t, God would take the time to convert every single person to Christianity, but he doesn’t which should speak volumes about the amount of choice we have in our lives.  And I must ask what other assistance does this pulpit offer to these women they attempt to force children on, not in the name of Christ but as punishment for their choices.  Will they fight to clean up the foster care system which offers little hope to the kids who are pushed from home to home?  Or add programs to schools to assist young women with childcare as they go through their classes? Help them get better paying jobs to afford clothing, diapers, and food, since breast milk will only sustain for so long?  Counseling and legal aid for victims of rape, incest, or assault in which they are not blamed and their attackers are rightly punished?   Teach their sons the definition of consent and not dress him in a well pressed suit and tie for his court case, cry about HIS future, and yell “Amen!” when he claims that she wanted it? Whisper amongst themselves about her clothing choices and her intoxication or her “negligence?” I remember someone said that they care about the child until it is born.  What do they have to put on the table other than their demands? It’s as though “help” is a word that is foreign to them until they are the ones in need. Until they feel that they are the ones being attacked. And that help came with a touch of bronzer and a baggy suit, said “Make America Great Again” and they thought he was help personified.  Forgive his “locker room talk” because they expect such things from men. Nobody cares about him grabbing a vagina that isn’t attached to them. Ignore his hateful followers who carry swastika embroidered flags, spit on people of color, advocate murder and assault, and grasp at the fragile strings of white male superiority.  Never question why such a crowd stand behind him.

A young lady at work told me that she planned to vote for Hillary until abortion became a subject. Then she switched over to being a Trump supporter. I wondered how she could forfeit every other platform she had on the grounds of a right to choose.  As she sits at home watching the news, hearing of the immigration order and the healthcare repeal, does she feel regret? The decision to build a wall that is to be funded by her money. A wall that will not aid in keeping murderers, terrorists, or rapists out, as he believes.  It’s simply throwing the baby out with the bath water. Preventing those who have hopes and dreams of receiving education in America, raising a family on our sinful soil, attaining the ever allusive American dream. Fleeing from war torn countries with their children swaddled on their backs.  Trying to escape violence and poverty that moves from doorstep to doorstep until it finally reached the threshold of their homes.  Another young lady I went to college with has just left the country to do missionary work. She praised the victory of Trump. Launched her own social media campaign during the election.  Only to leave this country to help the exact people that Trump’s executive orders seek to exile.  To take the Gospel to a lost and dying world as she carries in her heart the admiration of a man who seems to hold no consideration for that world. The irony. Part of the church has it’s own alternative facts, I suppose.

They’ve started a whole twitter that posts screenshots of Trump voters tweeting their regret.  Not because of all the hateful speech Trump has made during his campaign. Not because of the groups he has excluded.  But because they feel attacked now. They feel the way that many of us who voted against him felt.  It’s their healthcare being threatened. It’s their money that is to be used for the wall. It’s them. When it was us, it didn’t matter. Only after their votes have been cast and their ballots counted have their eyes been opened. And yet for some reason the evangelicals still hold on, grasping to the hem of the jacket of his suit like the hem of Jesus’s robe.

I’m not writing this so that people can agree with me or argue with me.  I’m honestly just writing this because I’ve banned myself from Facebook so I have to vent all my frustrations out on this blog.  But I’m upset. I have a right to be upset. This doesn’t mean I don’t want to live in America. It means I want to matter in America. I want the marginalized to matter in America. How can the same Christians who voted for him now sit silently as he, his administration, and his followers act out in hatred and childishness? It frustrates me. And I pray daily for Trump and his administration. I want him to succeed as a president because I prefer the pilot not crash the plane that I’m passenger of.  But do you really expect us to pray silently and ignore whats going on? To just accept the status quo? I can’t even address everything that’s running through my head because then this post would be six pages long. So I did leave some things out which is lucky for whoever stuck through to read this because you had to suffer less. But I can’t think about the people whose visas mean nothing now. Who have to pack up and leave. I can’t think about people waiting to fly to safety who now receive the news that they are not welcome.  I can’t think about people who suffer at the hand of terrorists in their own lands who live in fear daily.   Actual fear. Not the exaggerated fear that Fox news or CNN perpetuates. Out of all of the attacks in America how many have been from outside terrorists? And of all the people who die at the hand of terrorists, how many are Americans? This country needs to accept that the most common violence in America is acted out by Americans. To think that the running slogan is “Make America Great Again” and the people who are being sacrificed for this “greatering” are the ones who think better of America than we often do. I think about what this country is built on, really built on, and who built it.  I think about the natives who were mercilessly murdered or forced into reservations in a land that was theirs. I think about that stupid pipeline. How the protesters were treated like dirt, shot at, violated, sprayed with water, attacked by dogs. Having their heritage transformed into a costume that the hipsters wear to Coachella or a halloween party. I think about islamphobia. How it’s seen as okay to carelessly call people ragheads and criticize their attire. Blame them for 9/11 and target them. Talk about the way they smell (yes I have actually heard people talk about people they think are muslims having a particular smell), interrogate their families, and cry for their deportment. Ignore that many fought on the front-lines in the war and serve in the army to protect a country that thinks they should all be blown to shit. I think about black people. My mom’s elementary school used to receive bomb threats after integration. Emmett Till has been all over Tumblr lately. His mom described in graphic detail the condition of his body when it arrived back in Chicago.  What his murderer said about making him an example.  And I just feel so overwhelmed. And the church always wants to go on the defense, screaming about being under attack all because prayer was taken out of school and Starbucks did some gahdamn red cups or people want to say Happy Fucking Holidays instead of Merry Christmas. And they forget that at one point Christians everywhere were being slaughtered for their Christianity. Read “Foxe’s Book of Martyrs.” That’s what an attack on Christianity really looks like. This “opposition” today is nothing compared to that back then.  Christians in America are safe. Other countries still kill Christians. People are afraid to be caught with a bible in some countries. To think that American Evangelicals truly feel under attack is showing the fragility of Christians. And if they really feel like Christianity is under attack this strategy they are choosing isn’t sufficient. First of all the bible predicts attacks on Christianity anyway. It’s not like this is an off-guard thing.  The bible also predicted that there would be false prophets. Hmmm. Regardless, this world is still suffering. This world still needs Jesus. And being a light to the world and a proper ambassador for Christ is what will help heal it. Not voting against laws or for a candidate who claims to stand on the platform of Christianity. By the time shit hits government level, its too late anyway. What is the church doing in it’s own neighborhoods to help people, to share the gospel? If there is no solid foundation there then laws sure won’t help to spread the love of Jesus.

And when Jesus finally does come back  (because as of late I feel like the Mayans should have been right about 2012. I’m trying to be optimistic but some of this stuff is ridiculous). I wonder how many people will not make it to heaven NOT because of “the ways of the world.” But because the church did not provide any light, hope, or appeal. The church didn’t stand for those suffering. The church didn’t help feed or clothe the poor. It sat idly by because it felt like the changes in the law they thought important would be the beacon of Christianity that this country needs. Would be the humbling that God desires. But it’s not. It’s akin to the Pharisees desire to uphold the old covenant by way of looking to the law for salvation instead of letting God’s grace transform them spiritually. I’m just asking that someone help me understand this whole thing.

Yes, this post was all over the place. I’m feeling too many things at once. Plus, I was frying okra while typing this (just to add a touch of humor to such a bleak post). And no…I’m not about to proofread….

In Which I Pick a Side

I recall a bible verse that speaks on double-mindedness.  Yes, I just took the time to google it. I have no shame. Its James 1:5-8 if you want to take a gander. I know the scripture is referencing a faith struggle, being faithful AND being doubtful won’t benefit your spiritual walk, but I really want to hone in on the part where it says, “he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.”  The two-headed beast that I’m speaking on today does not really relate to faith. Hopefully you all will forgive me for taking the verse a bit out of it’s context. But hey, unlike some people I’m not going to use the bible to endorse Donal….never mind.  But I wanted to pinpoint the fact that being of two minds is a frustrating and fruitless thing.

I hinted (hardly hinting, I just outright said it) in one my previous posts that I am back in school.  Since I started the semester I decided that it would be best to pack my bags and return home.  While living with my grandmother has allowed me to be a help to my aunt and uncle who are her main caretakers, it has been exhausting.  I’ve admitted to not having the best relationship with her, but I realized that she is an anxiety trigger for me.  I feel like I’m constantly being watched and monitored, and not having my own space has been tough. The only times I am at ease are when I’m not home, when she’s not home, or when she’s sleep. Other than that my anxiety level stays at a level 94. Of course, since my main focus is school, I’m not working a job that provides an income high enough for me to afford my own place so I’ll be back with my parents. Which is it’s own level of difficulty seeing as to how I’m twenty-four years old and now feel that it’s time I cut the umbilical cord and be independent.  While I accept that I’m kind of unable to fully be independent it is still frustrating. It’s even more frustrating that I’m still teetering between the two locations because I have some loose ends to tie up this way before I can return home.  So quite frankly this is also holding me up from looking into another job, but that’s another glass of whine for another day.  Being unable to fully plant myself in one spot quite frankly makes me want to tear my hair out, but I can’t afford to do that because my edges are already thin (over-twisting your dreadlocks will do that to ya).  It makes me feel as if I am going no where and going fast.

Mr. Victor (my buddy from church) asked me one time, “Are you moving forward or are you going backwards? Because if you think you’re standing still, you’re really moving backwards.” And I’ve been a VHS on rewind for a long couple of months. I’ve done some productive things such as help my family and work, but while they are productive they are not beneficial. That sounds selfish and maybe it is. But as a twenty-four year old I still have a lot left to do in life, Lord willing and creek don’t rise.  I want a stable career, I kinda want to get married, I less than kinda want to have kids, and I want to be happy and successful. I want to be as helpful to my family as possible, but I also don’t want to put my life on hold any longer. As I have been at my grandmother’s I have not been working towards my future.  As things got tough at the hotel where I worked I realized that it was my choice to be there and that I could fault no one but myself.  I could try to blame my aunt who volunteered me for the job when I did not even want it, but the fact of the matter is that I accepted the job. Not only did I accept it, but I stayed there for almost a year. So my unhappiness was due to my own complacency.  For a while it started to feel sort of okay. I could afford to buy meaningless items, clothes that I still have not worn to this day, shoes I wore once but decided I didn’t really like after all, books I haven’t finished, a whole bunch of hooplah in other words. I got to meet some pretty cool people at work, who avoided drama, and added a healthy dose of humor to my life. But I was denying the disconnect that I always felt. I knew that I was not supposed to be sticking around long term because I never felt like moving back fit. It’s like this bad habit I have of buying things in the store that I know are too big. I will literally try the clothing item on and note that it’s one size larger than I need. Then I’ll take it home, wash it in hot water for a thousand times, and hope that it’ll shrink to the size I need.  Don’t do that. Just don’t.  Because you’ll waste time and money trying to work with something that is not guaranteed to work. It can shrink too much or not at all and then just ends up taking up space in your closet.  Moving back was me walking out of the store with a size *insert number here* knowing I really needed a size *insert smaller number here.  And staying is not having room in my closet for clothes that I know I want and can actually fit.

I may have used the analogy of buying clothes that are too large, but it’s best to describe it is growing out of something.  I think I grew out of my hometown some time ago.  The only people that I feel connected to here are my aunt and uncle.  The friends I have made are all on different pages that I am.  We want different things in life, which I don’t fault them for, but what they want is not what I want so it’s hard for us to play at the same game, ya know.  I feel as though I talk about my desires and dreams they look at me with that shifty eyed look. You know the look. I’ll post the meme in another post for you to see it.  I could always be imagining it, but the conversation usually ends or falters whenever I get started. Because my hometown is more of a traditional town and I’m not a traditional sort of girl. I’m the kind of person who eats pizza with honey. So my dreams and desires are all “artsy” and that’s looked upon as a something you eventually grow out of.  Instead I’ll get suggestions of nursing, factory work, etc , and all I can say is nope. No offense to those who occupy those areas, but that’s just not me.  This town is built on survival, survival and old money. If you don’t have old money then you’ve got to survive. I don’t want to survive. I’ve talked about that before. I could be in denial of the realities of adulthood, but I see people who are doing more than survive and I want to be one of them. I’m hoping that doesn’t make me sound all high and mighty. I don’t want to seem like I think I’m better than anyone because tuh, I struggle to think I’m AS good as anyone. But since I feel out of place my loneliness has increased, and that also motivates me to pack it up.

I understand that there will be times in life when I’m in a position of waiting, and waiting is not all that fun. But waiting is often necessary. I’m currently waiting necessarily and thought I’m understanding, it still aggravates my soul. And I have this tendency to cry when I’m frustrated so then I’m all snotty and frustrated which is not cute. But I’m still pushing myself to work hard on my school work, practice the guitar faithfully, and practice writing.  Because I still have my goal in mind and I know I can do it, regardless of the hangups that happen along the way.  For a while I thought I’d missed my time when I dropped out of school 5 years ago or even when I withdrew two years ago (they took my scholarship because I dropped a class. But they didn’t tell me that I had to have five classes to keep it so I blame the school….), but in a way things are working out because back then I was responsible for all of my school finances. I was working fulltime which made it hard to study and I was also battling untreated depression. So it was a heavier burden, though not as heavy as I’m sure others have carried.  Now I am more aware of my mental state whenever I feel hopeless and am more prepared to push through it (or work around it, honestly). Being in a place where I have to handle my own business, such as grocery shopping alone or going to the dentist, has helped me with my anxiety. Back in the day as soon as I felt like I couldn’t do something I’d take that as a sign to just stop. But since Granny’s groceries won’t buy themselves and I’ve had to push through the feeling to do what needs to be done it’s helped me accept that I am able to do what’s necessary even when anxiety tells me otherwise (that was a run on sentence. I can’t help it). My parents are also able to help me pay for school now since my step-dad has been blessed with a job that pays their workers like they genuinely care about their well-being. But I’m also fortunate to receive financial aid and have the help of my brother to assist me in scholarship essays (I’ll let you know if I ever win one…) so I haven’t had to enlist their help. So maybe the time is now, and I just have to be patient.  Mr. Victor sent me an email after I told him that my last minute school-enrollment worked out telling me that 2017 would be my year. I’m going to hold him to that statement.  As he has believed in me and has also blessed me tremendously with books, advice, and even the guitar I’m practicing I plan to make him proud.

So I just needed to write that, because I was working my way to being upset at having to wait another week or two to go back home.  But now I feel better about the whole situation.  This is also why I have to put my facebook account on hold because I probably sound like a downright pessimist who enjoys venting all my feelings to my poor facebook friends.  Once I write it down I tend to feel better then I get buyers remorse when I look at those angry sounding statuses I post.  Anywho, hopefully everyone is fairing well out there. The sun is shining here in ye ole Mississippi. I know Trump is president and that can put a damper on your next four years, but lets try to hang in there.  I’m not about to reread this so…..forgive the errors….

In Which We Must Not Be Silent

I know it’s contrary to popular theme, but this post is not about Martin Luther King Jr.  This is not to say that I don’t celebrate Dr. King (because I do. I’m not here for this Robert E. Lee Day ordeal that Mississippi is trying to pull, but I’m trying to be on good behavior so we’ll forgo speaking about it). But as you all may or may not know Bishop Eddie Long has passed away.  If you are unfamiliar with the bishop then who are you? Patrick Star? I’m just going to advise you to google. His name pops up pretty quick once you key in a few letters so it’s pretty easy. Anyway, as I scroll through my social media there are mixed reactions to the death. There is pity for the family/church, mourning due to the loss of a shepherd of God’s flock, and outright joy that the man is dead.  Of course, people are clashing because they feel differently and one of the things I have noticed is that many non-Christians (some Christians as well) are upset that the church is completely glossing over the fact that Long was accused of sexual assault by multiple young men/boys.  To be honest, I’m leaning towards the side of the non-Christians. I too believe that the church has some answering to do for their lack of response and action when sexual abuse is pretty rampant. Bishop Long is not the first sex offender in the church. He also will not be the last.  We’ve seen cases in the Catholic Church about rape/sexual assault as well.  So this is nothing new nor is it something unusual, unfortunately.  I have attended a church in which the Pastor was accused of making sexual advances towards a woman (whether she attended the church or not, I’m not sure. We had not been attending the church long since we had just moved).It was also discovered that he was embezzling money so it was a complex issue. Once the head bishop found out he replaced the pastor along with his staff and severed church ties with the pastor. While many people were angry others stood with the ex-pastor and followed him to his new church that he later opened. I have nothing to say about either of those decisions as that was their choice to make.  I just wanted to show how common immoral/dangerous behavior is in the church.

The issue the church has is that they choose to use their faith as an excuse to not speak out against this behavior.  We have been conditioned to fear voicing any opposition to our spiritual leaders, even if they may say/do something wrong.  I grew up in a Baptist church and all of the older people at the church would make sure that they stressed to us kiddos to not speak poorly of the pastor.  They termed it “putting your mouth on a man of God.”  We’d be told the story of the Elisha and the bears (2 Kings 2:23-25) to emphasize the need of holding our tongues.  If you put your mouth on a pastor, in the hypothetical sense, you were inviting death and destruction into your life.  It not only made us afraid that we were going to get mauled by bears if we spoke ill of the reverend. And I’m not even sure if Mississippi has bears. We were even scared to point out that the pastor was bald. This ideology also placed Pastors/ministers on a pedestal.  We grow to fear/respect man as much as we fear/respect God. Now there is a thin line between fear and respect.  While we acknowledge the power of God and fear that power we also note that God has established a new covenant with us through Christ which leads us from a fearful relationship into one of reverence and love. God is the same God in the new covenant as he is from the old covenant. But our relationship with him and what we must do to have that relationship is different. That’s just a side diddy.  While our pastors and leaders are put over us to lead/teach us, they are NOT on the same level as God.

The bible blatantly states that God expects more from our leaders than he does from the congregation. Why? Because we look to them for guidance so if they are not doing whats right they jeopardize the spiritual health/growth of the flock.  So they’re not supposed to be let off the hook because of their anointing. They are to be more responsible because of it.  Paul tells us that it is the job of the brothers to let one another know when they aren’t doing right and to help them get on the right path. The church isn’t supposed to turn a blind eye to the inner workings of the church, regardless of status, title, or position.  We get it, respect your leader and forgive. We know. But this does not translate into silence and acceptance.

We also have a duty to protect our children.  Remember what Jesus said about it being better for a man to throw himself into the sea with a stone around his neck than causing a child to fall into sin/to stumble? God does not play about kids.  There are a number of kids being abused/assaulted not just by a pastor, but in general in the church, whatever denomination. And this is not acceptable. And its funny that this is a subject hardly touched upon even though its important.  The first time I heard a pastor actually speak on sexual abuse in the church was when I was in my late teens, probably 18 or 19. Pastor Johnson. He was also the first I had heard speak on domestic violence.He was the replacement pastor following the scandal at the church mentioned earlier.  He spoke on it frequently and angrily because it upset him that it was all too common in the church. Other than that I had never heard it being addressed.  Why? Why isn’t this discussed more? People pick and choose what they want to focus in on. If it makes them squirm and uncomfortable they want to leave it unaddressed. Sexual abuse is like taboo because it has been sort of adopted into our culture.  Many people were abused as children, but were shunned when they spoke out about it. It tainted their reputations. It made them look attention hungry or as though they were “hot in the pants.” They were blamed and lashed out against. It was and is rare for the actual abuser to face the consequences of their offenses. Those sitting in pews don’t want to think about predatory behavior that many of them have witnessed, if not committed. It’s hush hush. They can tell you to put on some more clothes when grown men come in the house, but they can’t discuss the fact that the adults shouldn’t look children sexually in the first place. When you read or hear of accounts of kids being sexualized, spoken to sexually, touched, groped, etc you know that it’s common so speaking about it should be even MORE common.

People think that because you speak about it you’re trying to tarnish the church or the pastors. If there is sexual abuse happening in the church or a pastor is engaging in sexual abuse they are tarnishing themselves. They don’t need any help looking bad.  The church does not get a pass because we believe in God. God extends forgiveness, but he also addresses our sins. And you hate to say it (well I do, Lord forgive me), but according to the bible and the mercy  of God if Bishop Long asked for forgiveness he is forgiven by God. I know I’m not alone in thinking that’s unfair. He violated the innocence of helpless kids. They carry the scars and the burdens. They carry the shame that isn’t theirs. So excuse me for being upset about it. But don’t be mistaken, the forgiveness of God does not exempt you from answering to Earthly repercussions. The fact that forgiveness is readily available also shouldn’t be used to plead silence either. When the situation arose it was still the duty of the Church to let the victims know they empathized with them and would do what they needed to do to help them on their path to healing.  Instead what you got was people running around yelling that only God could judge him and that it’s all up to God. Telling you not to say anything because he’s God’s anointed. Basically they’re just really throwing God in there to excuse their negligence. And it ends up looking like you’re giving him a pass.  When it appears that you’re patting the abuser on the back, especially if they are in a position of power, the victim feels like they are to blame.  “If that person is not responsible for my abuse, then I must be.”  That’s the culture that is built and solidified. If someone of no religion or of another religion came and abused one of their children the reaction would have been more severe. Why? Because that person does not have the protection of a pulpit, a robe, a bible, etc.  God’s grace is not a ticket to do whatever you want because you know that God is forgiving/merciful.  God’s grace will call you to be Holy and give you strength to not behave in a way contradictory to that holiness.  What will the church do to protect the flock from harm from within? Will they do anything? Or will they continue to sweep these things under the rug? And the church can’t be mad that it’s looked at with contempt because people feel as though it provides no safety and no accountability.

Do I feel for Bishop Long’s family? Yes. Because they are not guilty of his sins and they still have the right to mourn.  Do I wish hell and fire on Bishop Long? No. As much as I sometimes want to wish damnation on people I know that I can’t and shouldn’t. And he’s dead now. There’s nothing more that can be done about him. But the issue still exists. The church must step up to the plate and quit excusing hateful/sinful/immoral behavior. We live in a society that is rampant with rape culture. It’s obvious that those who internalize this culture will carry it will them into church thus it cannot go unaddressed. Instead of policing people in order to protect themselves, address the perpetrators instead.  It’s not a child’s job to dress and act a certain way so that they won’t be victimized.  It’s not a woman’s job to wear a floor length dress to keep men from sinning. It’s not a little boy’s job to be strong and “manly” in order to protect himself. That’s shifting responsibility. Call a spade a spade. If you touch that man/woman or act inappropriately with that child you are in the wrong. And it’s time for the church to let the guilty know that they won’t accept it.