Except for the purr of my furnace off and on, silence. Every now and then, I hear the rumbling of a car passing or is it a bus? School children waiting on the corner. Wonder if you are waiting on the corner? It’s times like this that you ask yourself if heaven is real. I know I’ve been taught about heaven—pearly gates, streets paved with gold—but is that really what it’s like to die? Or are the pearly gates a metaphor.


What was it like for you? What was it like to be sitting and laughing then to walk into the kitchen to simply get a glass of water? Was there a stabbing in your chest or did it happen so fast that you exited your body before you knew it? Did you gasp for breath with eyes bulging in horror and try to crawl or did you see your mother or your father beckoning for you to join them? How did you exit this life, this world, this earthly realm?

Did you feel alone? Oh, I so hope you didn’t feel alone. I know people say you face death alone but it’s different when there’s no one seeing you to the door, I think. There’s a difference in starring into loving faces or feeling a warm hand. Some peoples’ accounts of near-death experiences is that everything turned dark. Others say they saw a bright light. One preacher lady said her spirit hovered in anticipation as she watched doctors try to bring her back. She said she didn’t want to come back into a pain-filled body, but God told her it wasn’t her time.

Did you want to leave, Lawrence? I know that congestive heart failure leaves you with a lot of problems; but did you want to leave? Were you tired of fighting? I know you’d been sick and was having multiple issues with your body; but Oveda said you were looking forward to going to Hawaii in March. Doesn’t sound like you wanted to die to me.

All I know is that I feel lonely without you. We didn’t talk everyday, I know that. But I knew you were there. There was a security in knowing you were on this planet. You were the closest thing to having a brother that I had ever had. When we were little we use to practice kissing. Remember? Too funny. Oftentimes, our mom’s would put us in front of the black and white TV and we’d watch people kiss. You were so willing to participate….lol. Remember that time I took out my Christmas leftovers and made a meal. We had so much fun eating, talking and laughing. Or the time we went to Copelands and sat at the bar. I think that girl liked you. And you kept ordering different wines—determined to find one that I’d like. You knew how to celebrate. You didn’t even seem bothered when we couldn’t find one. I didn’t like ‘em and you drank ‘em…lol. I think you planned it that way.

We were twin souls, Lawrence. We were adventurous and made each other laugh til our sides hurt. We talked about stuff that meant a lot to us. Sometimes it’d be hours! I didn’t get a chance to tell you that your advice paid off. I met a wonderful man and I soooo wanted you to meet him. Oveda said you were so proud of me and Derrien. She said you’d talk about us all the time. I’m glad. I loved you so much and I wanted you to feel it. She said you did.

Well, let me get up. I feel so heavy, Lawrence. I feel like a weight is on my heart. One minute I think of you and laugh; then turn around and think of you and cry. I know that you felt misunderstood sometimes. I understood you. I knew your heart. Here’s to another day of functioning…just functioning.

I Had No Choice

I’m cannot even conceive in my natural mind how the lady in Minnesota could forgive the young man who took her son’s life. Even more, how she could forge a relationship with him. Nevertheless, when interviewed about the unimaginable, she explains that she had no choice. If she was going to move on with her life, she had to forgive him.


When people use to tell me “you need to forgive,” I thought it meant to dismiss what they did and resume the relationship as if nothing had ever happened. Time, experience and exposing myself to reinjury has taught me different.

Since a family member shared his struggle with forgiving what he deemed unforgiveable, forgiveness has been on my mind a lot. Just yesterday, I texted him this message:

You’ve got to forgive him. Every time the anger and hurt is left unchecked, the stronger it gets and more it eats away at your soul. He didn’t do what he did because he doesn’t love you. (I don’t doubt that if were in a burning building, he’d give his life to save us.) He did it because of what he believes about himself and what gives him worth. That’s what happens when anger and pain goes unchecked. So yes, hate what he did…but forgive him. That’s the only way you will grow into a better you rather than a better him. You don’t want that and what he did is not worth the hardness required to compensate emotionally.

This was hard to write to him because I truly understood the gravity of the injury. I walked with him through it and had to wrestle with my own feelings about the hurt he was enduring at someone else’s selfishness.

I wasn’t writing to him what someone else told me, but what I had discovered from the anals of my own wrestlings. You think you are making the other person pay. And to some extent, if they really care for you, you are hurting them. But more than that, every time the bitterness comes up in your mouth and you swallow it back down and justify doing it, it takes over more and more. Sadly, we don’t even see how it has affected us until we look back in retrospect.

When reading the story of the woman from Minnesota, Mary Johnson, I saw that she was engulfed in pain and hatred for her son’s murderer for over a decade. To me this is the sentence we serve when we allow our hurt and pain to take residence. Honestly, I don’t know how it can’t. Grief takes on many forms, one being anger. Sometimes anger is the only thing that gives us any kind of energy to keep moving. Sometimes it is a gift. When I have felt offended, it’s been the anger that’s enabled me to get out of bed and to seek justice or, in some cases, answers.

So, how do you do it? How do you forgive when your trust has been eroded and the pain is so hard to bear that you cannot function unless you do something with it? I think that if you were to bring everyone who has forgiven someone into a room and ask them how they forgave, they made some common discoveries. 


You can’t stay in a state of anger – not destructive anger. At some point, something bigger than yourself kicks in. This, I think, is the first discovery. There has to be an awakening from some wise part of yourself that knows that you can’t go on like this. Maybe you start seeing the toll anger is taking on your relationships, your family, your job, your experience of life. Maybe you start seeing what you are losing. Maybe you start realizing that anger is not going to bring the person back or make your life okay again. Maybe you realize that if you are going to have a life, you gotta do something to reclaim it. I believe this is what led Ms. Johnson to go to the prison to see Oshea. I think it was in many ways an intervention – not for Oshea, but for herself.

To some and possibly even to me, going to visit him and forgiving him would have been more than enough. So what would motivate this woman to continue to go to the prison to visit Oshea? I dunno what her reasons were; but I believe that forgiveness has to be protected. When you first forgive, your heart is open and vulnerable.  You have to stand guard over it and not put it in harm's way.  And too, you have to replace the anger and hatred with something positive. Perhaps, her visits with Oshea filled her with truth about the path her son took that put him in harm’s way. Clearly, her son was on the path to become an Oshea. So perhaps the second, or another discovery on the path to forgiveness is finding meaning.

I’ve not experienced loss to the extent that Ms. Johnson has. I don’t know what it’s like to look a murderer in the eye and say, “I forgive you.” What I have come to recognize is that bitterness is like having a hole in your heart. As a result, you can’t hold anything. You can’t hold love. You can’t hold kindness. You can’t hold goodness. No matter who gives it to you, it is met with fear or suspicion. And if anyone does anything nice, the satisfaction it brings is short-lived. You have to patch that hole. That’s what forgiveness is. It’s finding the patch for that hole inside of you and no longer requiring someone to do it for you.
Plugging the leak is what allows your heart to hold what comes its way. You receive love and you hold it. You receive kindness and you retain it. You start seeing the you that has been held captive and offer him clemency. You take the other person off the hook and you take yourself off the hook for what happened.

Now some may find that love by getting filled with the Holy Spirit in a charismatic church meeting. Others may experience the infilling of love as they bring home their newborn baby from the hospital. Still others may find their soul’s rescue while in service or volunteering to help others. Regardless of how it presents itself, the desire to be better and to live more honorably will bring you the help you need. I’ve never prayed for help and God didn’t hear me. And as long as I know He hears, then I know that His grace is sufficient to take me through all the peaks and valleys and get me to my ultimate recovery.

How long does it take?  Forgiveness can take place in an instant or it can take most of your life.  I believe it's completely up to you.  Right now, if you open your heart, you can be free.

WEIGHT LOSS: The Truth About Skinny

Why is it that every January, you can’t turn on the TV, log onto your computer or stand in line at the grocery store without seeing weight loss, weight loss, WEIGHT LOSS.  It’s everywhere!  Granted, I’ve never struggled with my weight.  I can eat whatever time of day or night that I want to and not gain a pound.  Some might say, “lucky you,” but not necessarily. 

Today, I watched several back-to-back episodes of the new series on OWN called “Supersize versus Super Skinny.”  A doctor by the name of Christian Jessen oversees two people – one obese and one painfully skinny – as they live each other’s lives and adopt one another’s eating habits for five days.  I’m not quite sure why they’ve decided to do this as a weight change jumpstarter but on the episodes I saw today, it seemed to be effective.   During the cohabitation, the participants expose and shed many of their biases about the other as each participant discovers something more human about the other.  For example, one of the ladies on the show was overweight and admitted that food was like a warm hug from the inside.  She needed this as she felt so cold and alone after her baby died. 

Despite the caution that weight loss is something that can’t be just a goal but a lifestyle, every January we are bombarded with new diets, new exercise equipment and low-cost gym memberships.  And though talk show hosts, doctors and advice columns encourage folks to get to the root of their overeating, the same folks come back years later almost more obese than before. 

I don’t know what the secret is to permanent weight loss.  I don’t have a silver bullet or a foolproof action plan.  Nobody does though everyone tries to convince you otherwise.   I don’t want to sound like a skinny *itch but I get really concerned.  I get really concerned that some people claim they are doing this for their health when in the deepest part of their belief system, they feel that they aren’t okay if they don’t look like the celebrated images that are plastered across most magazines.  They believe that being one of the pretty people will somehow fix what’s not fixed or lacking. 

Despite my being skinny all my life – pregnancy doesn’t count – I have not felt lucky to be skinny.  Being a skinny, nappy-headed dark-skinned gurl in the South, I got some pretty nasty and condescending remarks too.  When I was little, I remember my older sisters’ friends ranting and raving over my fairer-skinned baby sister and reaching all past me to hold her as if my 2-year-old mind could not tell the difference.  I know what it’s like to be called broomstick or pole or clothesline because I was so slender.  I remember other girls’ bodies maturing faster than mine and the guys drooling over them and looking all past me.  And when I did start to develop, my top half grew much faster than my bottom half leaving me with the shape of a straight pin.  There was nothing modelesk about any of that. 

Watching the series today brought up another concern for those on a quest to be skinny.  The doctor told the skinny participant that she was at risk for joint problems and osteoporosis due to her poor diet.  She wasn’t getting enough nutrients to keep her body strong and she was in dyer need of calcium.  He told her that if she didn’t change her eating, her health would decline just as significantly as her obese counterpart.   The stress on her body even caused the puffiness around her young 19 year old eyes.  Wow!  I was amazed at that.  What was significant to me was the fact that my report at my annual physical was great in every area but one.  They told me I had osteopenia, a precursor to osteoporosis.  It’s not from being skinny but rather the fact that I’m perimenopausal.  Nevertheless, the point was made.  Skinny is not necessarily more healthy if you don’t continue to make healthy choices.   

You cannot yo-yo diet and stay healthy.  Certainly, dieting can help you lose weight but what else are you losing in the process?  Few people read up on all this.  Our bodies are too smart.  They know if they are being starved.  They know how to compensate for what is lacking.  Furthermore, for those who have fantasies of somehow being more acceptable when you drop the pounds, let me give you a news flash.  No matter how slender I am, I’ve noticed that most single guys still gravitate towards the girls with the straight long hair, the fairer skin and the voluptuous frame than us skinny *itches. 

Am I saying don’t make weight loss a goal?  No.  Besides, it’s not my call.  What you choose to do to your body is up to you.  What I do say is that there is too much competition out there if how you look is your primary goal.  Attractive and sexy ain’t original.  Those types of women are a dime a dozen.  But what is most eye-catching – at least to guys who are about something – is the strength of who you are.  You don’t believe me?  Then I dare you to sit down in a crowd and just observe the people around you.  It isn’t the prettiest gurls or the most-cut men who have thriving relationships.  Plain ole ordinary folks are the ones falling in love and getting engaged and spending their lives together.   Have you ever wondered why?  I guarantee you that it’s not because they are skinny or “pretty.”

Maybe just maybe it's that they put emphasis on the inside.  Or perhaps that other person sees what they long for the most and connect with it.  I dunno what that is but I know it's gotta be deeper than skin.  We are more than our skin.  I believe that shedding the pounds around your heart is just as important as your body.  I also believe that a reclaimed soul should be just as important as a healthy body.  My point is this.  Many of us put so much emphasis on the external that we don’t attend to our deeper need.  Regardless of your size, if you have armour around your heart and are holding yourself or the opposite sex at bay because of one reason or another, that needs your attention just as much.  How about losing the weight of mistrust that keeps sabotaging every hopeful relationship in your life?  How about taking a look in the mirror and confronting your nasty attitude that treats others like objects that are suppose to be better, do better, make amends for all the BS you’ve gotten from others?  Your pain does not entitle you to anything from anyone.  It's just the byproduct of being human. 

Most of the single women I see are very attractive.  So working on looks isn’t where the effort needs to be.  Saying “there are no good single men out there” is a cop out when you aren’t putting just as much effort into becoming a willing and open spirit.  Sure, shed those pounds and gain those pounds.  Do all that.  But don’t leave out your heart.  Cause no matter how skinny you are on the outside; if you are jacked up inside, your happiness and satisfaction won't last.

My name is Suzette Hinton.  And that's my truth.

Year 2012: I Am Responsible For My Energy and What Energy I Allow You To Bring Into My Space

The Year 2012 didn’t prompt me to make any resolutions. I even tuned inward to see if I could detect something resonating from my soul as to what it needed in this new year. Nothing. Unexpectedly though, with the 3rd day of January of the new year came a heightened awareness of one thing - energy. The energy that I share and the energy I allow in my space. I think it was Oprah that said that you determine what energy you will allow in your life. Maybe it’s a over-50 thing, but now that I’m 52, something inside is requiring that I raise the bar.


I have to own my own energy. I can no longer hold other people responsible for how I feel or choose to feel. They might evoke feelings but they aren’t the origin of them. It is true that as a human being – and a woman – life evokes many types of feelings. Feelings of delight. And conversely, feelings of displeasure. I can tolerate some things only to a point and many times I am not aware that I am tolerating them. But my insides always know: when I reach my saturation point, the alarm goes off.

We are the managers of our energy. Naw, this ain’t some psychobabble or an Oprahism. It’s real talk. If what I was saying wasn’t so then you wouldn’t be affected by the energy around you. Take what happened to me over the weekend, for example. A fellow employee did something that left me feeling indescribably put upon. Behind closed doors, I relayed my displeasure about it. The aha moment for me, however, came as I was walking to my boss’ office and as I was leaving. No one would have known that I was as pissed as I was. It wasn’t because I was suppressing it. I just wasn’t filled with it. Wow! Before I went to a relationship coach, hunny, e’erbody in that office would have known that something was wrong with Suzette. But I was more poised and I became aware of it in that moment. At some level, I respected those around me and decided I wasn’t going to soil them. It would have been as unfair to them.

That was an aha moment for me. Cause my upset was big. The employee had crossed a line that I am very protective of. Nothing harassing or anything like that, but a boundary nonetheless. 

Proves my point: people are the executors of their energy. You know Newton’s Law that says energy is neither lost nor destroyed, it is just passed from one person to another. Yep, I’m paraphrasing it a bit but the truth of that law is still very much in tact. We pass our energy all the time. When I’m filled with love and joy and optimism, those around me feel it. Some might reject it cause they don’t want to feel any differently than they do. Others however receive it and it fills them. That’s when people say to you, “Man, I feel so much better.”

The converse is also true. I have friends and associates that, at times, are filled with so much negative energy that I have to put limits on their time in my space. Shoot, I have to refuel! This is the perfect segway into my second point: I decide the energy that I allow into my space. That’s not anybody else’s call but mine.

In the case of my fellow employee, he was upset about a matter and even in his text, I could feel the distress and the panic. Not the kind of energy I wanted at that time. Had it been while I was at work, I think I would have allowed it; but he decided to get my cell number --from where, I have no idea --and text me at 11 something at night--New Year's Eve--and again at 1-something in the morning. And not just any morning, mind you; but New Year’s Day! Did I say New Year’s Day?! To say I was PISSED is an understatement.

Of course, he calmed down and I found an apologetic email upon my return to work; but in that moment, I made the decision that I couldn’t accept his apology as-is. He had crossed the line on this wayyyyyy beyond what was the normal culture of our job. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would have done what he did unless the house was burning and I was laying asleep inside, okay?!  So, not okay.

Now, this is where I saw maturity in me and a whole lot of grace. Just because I was upset about what he did, didn’t mean he meant me any ill-will. He was obviously distressed and panicked. Before I started seeing a relationship coach, I would have ratched this up to a personal affront—him being the enemy-- which meant annihilate him! But to do that would be very arrogant on my part. We have all lost it at some time or another and the last thing we need is to be verbally thrashed. My, li’l Suzette has grown!

Notwithstanding, I had to honor my feelings too. There are times when you have to let someone know that what they did wasn’t okay and you should be able to tell them why. Sure he was apologizing but his apology was based in his own psyche. Not necessarily the same as mine.  My internal barometer required that I use this as a teachable moment.

I believe I handled him with respect and appreciation for how he was feeling. I started by telling him that I hope this gets resolved and that I and our employer would help if it didn’t. I also let him know that I understand how frustrating it is to do what you’re asked to do but things get worse instead of better. I truly appreciated that he was upset and rightly so. Now the teachable moment: next time wait until I’m back in the office.

Trust, I wanted to light into him like nobody’s business. I had to rewrite my email to him and tweak it quite a few times before sending it, in fact. But again, it comes down to being responsible for my energy.  What purpose would it have served had I told him off? I said what I needed to say. I honored me without dishonoring him.  That’s that. Keep it movin!

Changing My Experience of It

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“Who do you want to be during this season?” my relationship coach asked me, after I gave her a blow-by-blow of the end-of-year stresses of bookkeeping, having not finished my Christmas shopping, the resurgence of hot flashes and fatigue, and yet another holiday season where I hadn’t taken advantage of the many activities going on in the community. Boy, that’s a mouthful. And trust me when I say, that’s just the cliff-note version.


Somehow my answer to her question is summed up in the words of the song, “I gotta be me. I gotta be me,” though I am being me.  Okay, wrong song.  I'm me, just me under a lot of stress. As I was eating my dinner last night, I became aware that the feeling in the pit of my stomach was the same panic I felt while married. Though I looked calm on the outside, inside was like a hamster running on that wheel thingy. You know, that thing that looks like a ferris wheel kinda. I can’t think of the name of it. It’s that feeling that makes you wanna throw a jar when you can’t quite get the lid off of it. Any difficulty makes you snap. (Note to self: do not attempt to fold a fitted sheet during this time, you might take the scissors and cut the dang thing up!)

Well, back to my session. I pondered what my coach asked. "I am responding more consciously," I reported. "That has not been sabotaged at all. It’s just taking sooooooo much effort to be professional and mature." When you’re overwhelmed or tired, it just becomes so hard. Though she applauded my strength under fire, she offered some very sound feedback. Truth is, I am at the end of my ability to cope. I needed to decompress...immediately.  That’s what I love about seeing my coach. She says back to me what I already know, but there is power in the hearing of it.

In that moment, I remembered that I am the only person responsible for me. Nobody else is going to do that.  People are all too consumed with themselves.  Not a criticism, just a fact. True, I am in a whirlwind mentally and emotionally right now. I feel like I'm being pulled apart, actually. But I have to find a way to decompress else the very thing I don’t want will happen—my experience of Christmas will be sabotaged. I refuse to allow that to happen.

Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year and I ain’t tryin to say the lyrics to a popular Christmas song. It truly is for me. Always has been. Though there were dysfunctions and legalisms and I-don’t-fit-in-this-family feelings growing up, one thing was ALWAYS joyful—Christmas. Christmas was magical in my home. Mom would decorate the house with such abandonment. I especially loved the ceramic Christmas trees that were almost in every room. The smell of hot cinnamon buns cooking in the oven would make my mouth water. The aroma of our live Christmas pine.  There was so much excitement in the air. Dad wasn’t as critical. Mom wasn’t as stressed. It was a beautiful time. My sister, Fran, would be the first one to wake up and wake us up. So much joy at Christmas. And I’ll be darned (I wanna use a stronger descriptor but a euphemism will do) if like every year since I started working as a bookkeeper, my Christmas will be held hostage to the end-of-year craziness!

After my visit with my coach, I did what every self-respecting lover of Christmas would do.  I went shopping. Yes, I did. I decided to make a stand. I drew my line in the sand and dared anything to cross it.  The whole point of working from home was to have flexibility.  I had already worked 3 ½ hours before I went on errands. So, all I needed to complete my 6-hour day was 2 ½. more. Soooooo, I took some me-time. 

While returning an item at Target, I decided to schedule a hair appointment. Fortunately, my bestie hair designer in the whole wide world was able to work me in. She touched up my gray and added a shiny glaze to my overall hair color. LOVED IT! Just what I needed to lift my mood.

I awakened with this new-found resolve. Kinda reminds me of Ebeneezer Scrooge after his visit with the three spirit...lol.  Yes, I’m going to enjoy Christmas. And I ain’t waitin to be off work to do it. I’m going to get off this laptop and fix me a hearty breakfast. Then I’m going to get on my clothes and go on into work. I’m gonna log on to  Pandora radio station and play Christmas songs to my heart’s content. I’m going to smile and sing while I work. I'm going to leave on time for a change.  Tonight, I’m going to watch the X-Factor Finale and wrap gifts. And I’m going to take my time. I’m going to stop running on the wheel of life, like that hamster, and have some fun. 

I might can’t change what’s going on around me, but I can change my experience of it. There are times in our lives when we can't wait to put ourselves first.  We simply have to.  I refuse to allow someone else's agenda to rule my life.  Not now.  Not today.  Not this season.  It starts with me and trust me when I say, it’ll end with me too!

Take Me To That Higher Place

It didn’t just start. Most things that we write about, talk about, complain about didn’t just start. It’s built up over time. Me? I just didn’t say that much. I’d have rough patches but would opt to look on the bright side. What once was a big enough bright side to get me up and going on a Monday morning just isn’t enough to motivate me today. Help!!


To some folks, it would be a surprise because I rarely complain. I’m usually up beat. Underneath this dread I’m feeling right now is the same Suzette. This is only one thing in my life that I see as off-beat. But even one off beat in one’s life can throw off the normal rhythm of their life. And this off beat is trippin a sistah up to the point that I am having trouble getting my stride.

I don’t like to whine. I really don’t. I abhor it. So when my complaining starts sounding like whining, I have to find a way to deal. I just have to. I use to ignore it, but I’ve found that ignoring your soul’s cry only makes it cry louder or start showing up in other areas of your life. So, I’ve learned to stop, look and listen. Part of that, for me, has been to acknowledge what’s bothering me. No holds barred. Without censorship of how it sounds or apologizing for it, I offer it up from my mouth to God’s ears. I truly believe what Dr. Phil often tells guests on his talk show. “You can’t change what you won’t acknowledge.” So I acknowledge it. At first, it’s a rush. Sometimes the rush is one of absolute relief and other times it’s a rush of emotion. Sometimes anger, sometimes tears that spill out. I’m no longer shocked by this because I’ve discovered that it’s nothing more than a build up. Once you’ve had your rant or uncontrollable cry, you feel lighter. Our souls need that release. Without it, we cannot find the freedom that is ours.

Freedom. How do I get from a momentary freedom to unstuck? For me, it’s been refusing to swallow it back down. If you throw up in your mouth, you must spit it out else you’ll swallow all that mess back down. Spitting stuff out takes on different forms for different people. For me, part of refusing to swallow it back down is to not try to find the bright side. It’s to not talk myself out of it. It’s to call it what it is. Acknowledging it as something that will not go away.

It’s not just Mondayitis. It’s Fridayitis, Saturdayitis and Sundayitis. Whenever you are stuck in a dead-end situation or something is off-beat in your life, it affects EVERYTHING. Sure, I’ve kept it at bay. I’ve used my words. I’ve found ways to cope. I’ve done all I know to do. I’m running out. I have nothing left.

Someone asked me this weekend what inspires what I write. “Nothing special,” I told her. “I just write what I’m thinking or feeling or experiencing at the time.” It can be tempting to write what you think will get you the most traffic, inspire folks to follow you or to get comments that make you feel good. It really is. But as I sit at my laptop writing this morning, I’m reminded that I write for me. It’s my lifeline. It enables me to stay present. It enables me to say what I need to say. It’s my gift. I’m so glad that it helps others. That’s where the meaning and fulfillment comes into play. I do it for me; but I share it because I believe that someone out there can be helped, encouraged or at least not feel alone in whatever they are dealing with.

When I read, Love Is A Choice, I no longer felt like an alien. I began to understand that what I was suffering had a name and there were others out there like me and there was help. I began to pray out of that awareness and my life has never been the same. It helped me reclaim my voice. If I can give that to someone else, then what I write has value and my existence has meaning.

And that is where my wholeness comes from – my authentic voice. Sometimes, especially when you are going through a difficulty, it’s harder to silence all the other voices so that your truest voice can speak. I needed to write so I could hear beyond the voice of anxiety, the voice of desperation, the voice of doubt.

It’s not that my current job is bad. Not at all. I work with wonderful people and I’ve been favored with being able to determine my own hours and work from home two days out of the week. I have a knack for bookkeeping and details. Yes, I am grateful. I realize that some folks would kill to have what I have. It has nothing to do with gratitude and for so long I’ve wrestled with not wanting to seem ungrateful. To acknowledge something honestly is not being ungrateful.  It’s not home. Pure and simple. And to say that it isn’t home doesn’t mean you aren’t grateful for the hospitality you’ve been shown. I just want to go home. Bookkeeping is not home!!

It’s nothing against my boss, my coworkers , the favor that I’ve been granted, or the job itself. It’s not a complaint or the whine of my ego. It’s the cry of the truest part of me that will not allow me to believe that this job is home. I refuse to settle back down into justifying staying here and trying to find the bright side. There is no bright side when you’re out of place. There simply isn’t. There is no way to dress it up anymore so it feels homey. You can add family photos but it simply isn’t home. It was a life-line that was thrown to pull me out of financial distress but it was never meant to be fulfilling. I guess in life you have to recognize things for what they are. My job was my life line. It was my bridge. But it was never meant to be my end-point.

In this morning’s pray, or shall I say crying session, desperate plea, whatever you’d like to call it, I prayed for grace. “God, if I’m suppose to stay in this job, I need grace. I don’t have the ability to keep doing this. I just don’t,” was my prayer. And that is the truest prayer I think I’ve prayed since I started praying about this. I’ve come to the end of it. I can no longer sustain this. Grace is what I need. Either grace to stay or grace to leave. Grace. Grace is what allowed Nelson Mandela to stay in prison even when he was offered an out because he couldn’t accept it while his comrades remained in chains. That was grace personified, in my opinion. Though my situation pales in comparison, if God chooses to give me the grace to stay in this job, it'll have to be from a greater understanding.  I’ll be okay. There will be no complaint. All I need is grace. If God chooses to give me grace to leave, again, I’ll be okay. It’s the grace that I need. I’ll leave the end result to Him. But today. This very minute. In order for me to get out of this bed, slip my feet into my house shoes and put one foot in front of the other, I need a grace bigger than me.

Call it what you will: the indomitable human spirit, a will to survive, an awakened state or a greater consciousness. I call it all God’s Amazing Grace, the Holy Spirit. I need to be filled with the Wisdom and the Wherewithal to live consciously through this. When you are wrestling with what’s wrong in your life, you can’t truly see. It takes being able to step back from it so you can recognize the doorway to freedom. You begin to take stock of things. You began to notice things. It’s like a transcendence. You see things through Wiser eyes and see the bigger picture. That’s what I need. I need to come up higher so I can see the bigger picture. God, please take me there. Take me to that higher place and I’ll know how to respond. i won't feel desperate or intimidated or anxious any more. Thank you God, like always you’ve given me the answer as I type. I need that place of peace. Take me to that higher place.

Greater Than The Struggle

It’s been a trying day. If I didn’t know any better, I'd think I was bipolar. Extreme highs and extreme lows. Just last night, we had our company Christmas Dinner. It was soooooo much fun! I was high on life and reveling in the energy and synergy of the people and the experience. Today, it’s been a different story. It’s as if my high has been cut off at the knees and I’m limping along. Hot flashes and fatigue have been the order of the day. Anxiety over getting my financials done before the holidays has loomed in the background making it hard for me to regain my footing. Yet in the midst of knotted nerves, God gave me a chance to do something to help someone else. You see, a friend told me how it gets hard sometimes to hold on to her dream. Car problems and other challenges can make it hard to stay the course. She told me how my blogs and articles inspire her to hold on.

Little did this friend know that I understood oh too well her struggle. Sometimes when I write, the desire to do it full time becomes so overwhelming that I can hardly take it. Everyday I go to a job that is a blessing, most definitely, but is not structured to make room for my truest gift and truest calling, it's h-a-r-d.  I feel anxiety wanting to overtake me. It is all I can do to get out of bed and get motivated. My mind tells me that I need to get up and my heart aches for something more.

It’s not that I need the encouragement to write. I have to write. It is a necessity for my own sanity and sense of well-being to express myself on paper. I don’t struggle with that. The struggle is the desire to use my voice to help humanity. The struggle is wishing I could afford to do this all the time.  I think I’ve released pigeon-holing it. I’ve said yes to whatever venue or platform puts a demand on my gift. Whether it’s writing, coaching, motivational speaking or group facilitation, I'm open. Who knows, there may be something out there that has my name all over it that I haven't even fathomed.  I just want it to be suitable for me. I just want the fulfillment that comes from doing what you were born to do.

One things for sure, I know this isn't just a passing phase.  When I feel the most feeble or the most vulnerable or my faith gets weak, I can start to write and before I know it, my fingers type the very thing I need to hear. Something takes over that is greater than the struggle.

I have absolutely no idea of what to do besides what I’m doing – writing and sharing it with the cyber world. In my mind’s eye, I imagine a word, a phrase, a thought that travels at lightning speed across cyber space. Right now, someone in Indonesia or in Europe or in Italy or maybe in my own neighborhood is asleep while I’m typing. And while I’m sleeping, they will be reading something that I wrote. They’ll email it or share it or tweet it. Someone will take their past off life support. Someone else will read that true love doesn’t hurt and will leave an abusive partner. Someone will stop living a fictitious life and make a courageous step into authenticity.

To some, that might sound like wishful thinking. And there'll be others who think I'm wasting my time.  But same as the person who says they want a job but won’t leave their home or send out a resume, if I stop now, I'll never ever get what I desire.   

Maybe that’s what makes the impossible possible: the action, the energy. It’s the doing what your heart loves that creates the tangible. It’s what builds a bridge from where you are to where you are going. It’s what produces the substantiveness called faith. So despite how hard it gets or how thankless my efforts seem at times, I press on. I press on when I get published.  I press on when I get rejected.  I press on when I'm understood.  I press on when I'm misunderstood.   I press when it's easy to write.  I press when I feel like I gotta fight for every single word.  Through thrills, through spills, through see-nothing days, I press.  There's something inside that's greater than the struggle.