I love seeing how God has worked things out for Jay, and the character with which he has carried himself through it all, especially since I know, at least in part, the road that he has traveled in recent years. Though I’ve known him for over 20 years, I only got to know him in the past 4 years when we were both at Jonestown Revisited. God has absolutely gifted him with more talents than most people could ever handle, and it’s a blessing to watch his natural use of those gifts. His incredible musical talent coupled with his bizarre sense of humor and comedic timing are only out-shined by his unashamed expressive love for Christ.

It is, however, something else about my friend that has inspired my writing today.  He, like myself and far too many others, was a casualty of the madness of Jonestown Revisited. His selfless ministry was usurped by his fellow ministry team members to satisfy one talented but dreadfully insecure woman’s desperate need for accolades and attention. His talents were misused and exploited at the expense of the people sincerely trying to learn how to worship. He was lied to and about by his peers until the Lord saw fit to lead him to an actual church where his ministry could continue and expand, and his future could begin. Despite the treatment he endured, he has managed, at least from all appearances, to have moved without any sense of bitterness to a personal space where no remnants of Jonestown exist. He has managed, somehow, not to become jaded by the unpleasantness of his past experiences but instead he continues to excel in the blessings that are provided him each day. Jay is one of my favorite people on earth, and I love seeing the pure joy in his face, the freedom in his worship, the peace in his heart. Still, I am convicted every time I see him at his church because there is a part of me that’s truly envious because I am, sad to say, quite jaded when it comes to church and all that the word connotes.

Webster’s Dictionary defines jaded  as “made dull or insensitive as by excess…” and “cynically callous”, and let me assure you, that’s an unfortunate space in which to live. I used to love going to church, serving weekly and seeing people who I considered to be my extended family and friends for life. Now, getting to church, even one I like, is quite a chore and personal struggle for me.  And make no mistake, I know in my heart that the only one suffering in this jaded state is yours truly. That’s the trouble with being jaded. It only hurts you.

I carry all the memories of the wrongs I’ve experienced at the hands of church folk, and given what I experienced, I think I’m justified.

–My closest friend in the church turned out to be a missionary in training who was sleeping with several married men in the church and was using my home as the rendezvous spot while I was at work. Why would I ever want to make friends again at church?

–The tithe money was used to fund iPhones and studio time to record personal R&B CDs and, of course, to pay  legal fees for the philandering pastor who was sleeping around and making passes at married women who came to him for counseling. Why would I ever write another tithe check to a church?

–A womanizing man who hit his girlfriend and impregnated several single women in the church was made the sole male ministry leader of a single women’s group after his violent behavior was reported. Why would I ever trust church leadership to appoint godly men and women over ministries?

–The broken, bruised, disgraced loyal parishioners and leaders were left to fend for themselves after being slandered for not supporting the rampant infidelity and mismanagement of funds and spiritual gifts. Why should I ever want to be a part of a church again?

This is what I know from church. My recent past has taught me that church is a dangerous place that rejects truth, blurs the lines, condemns values, encourages moral compromise, and disregards the word of God in favor of assimilation and popularity. Jonestown Revisited taught me that people were expendable and the godly leaders were unimportant, but the truth I’m learning through Jay is that what I think I know about church is not the end of the story. With faith and submission to God, old things pass away.

Jay didn’t carry what I carried away from that place, and God has shown much favor to him. Shortly after he relocated to his new church, he met the woman that he has since married. She is selfless and funny and kind and supportive and everything I would have ever hoped my friend would find, and none of it would have happened had he let himself become jaded. They recently had a beautiful baby (who, whether he likes it or not, now has a chocolate Auntie) and a ministry that is thriving and drawing people to God.

The lesson here, and forgive me for stating the painfully obvious, is that the only ones who lose are those who choose to be jaded. Those of us who choose to believe that the evil we have seen is all that’s available to be seen are missing a world of beautiful possibilities and opportunities. We limit our experiences, we stunt our growth, we reduce our opportunities to witness the truly awesome power of God and what He can do through circumstance.

I often hear about the idea of second chances, and it’s easy to digest the cliché as nothing more than just that, a trite expression that has lost originality, ingenuity, and impact by long overuse. But there is a need for second chances, and not necessarily just for the benefit of those who’ve wrong us, but also for the benefit of ourselves, which is equally as important.  The story does not have to end with what went wrong; it doesn’t have to end with the hurt and the pain; it doesn’t have to leave one jaded.

In truth, when I think about things, my time at Jonestown R brought me many wonderful things, including a great hat that makes me look clever, a virtually free trip to the most beautiful country on earth, 3 years with the most precious little boy I’ve ever known (and miss terribly) and a Hottie nickname to boot,  the opportunity to meet the man of the dreams I never even knew I could dream, and a handful of rich friendly relationships, none more supportive of my writing than Laura and none more entertained by my writing than Jay himself.  With all of these wonderful gifts, I have to question the advantage of allowing myself to be jaded at all.

Perhaps it’s time to open up to what a good church might actually be like. Perhaps it’s time for all of us who are jaded for whatever reasons, however valid, to take a chance, a second chance and let ourselves be surprised by the possibilities.

Tears come fairly easily to me, though I must admit tonight they were free-falling for more reasons than I expected. I love watching the creative process, and I love watching people pursue their dreams, and it breaks my heart when, despite their best efforts, their most sincere desires, their hard work, their emotional sacrifices, and their exhausted strength, they learn that they will have to wait even longer for their dreams to be realized, they learn that they are not good enough to continue even though they are still so much better than most. I am a kindred spirit.

I’m starting to realize that there are two kinds of people in the world — that’s right, just two –  those who are led by their hearts and those who are not, and without both kinds of people, life just wouldn’t work. Sure, everyone probably has elements of both “sides”, but one side is without a doubt more dominant. I am clearly and unashamedly, I might add, a person who is led by my heart. (And before anyone pulls out their WWJD card, I am a Christ follower, and I am guided by Him. He’s wired me with a sensitive heart.)  I am not making any judgments about people who are not led by their hearts, as I truly believe what they bring to a situation, relationship, etc. is necessary and beneficial.  I only mean to express my heart. But I digress…

I believe that the creative spirit functions most effectively, most purely in people who are led by their hearts. Whether it’s dance, music, writing, painting, sculpting, drawing, planning, or any other creative outlet a person might be drawn to, the heart must be open and exposed, or it should remain silent. One of my creative outlets is writing, though the months of silence on this blog belie that fact. I pour what is in my heart out on the screen, and I leave it there for all that it is worth, which to me is a lot. I do not lightly open my heart, I do not carelessly share my heart, even though I know that what I offer may not be received as I intend, may not be understood as I need, may not be accepted as I hope. Still, you know what you get from me, what you will always get from me.

I will always care more about people than I do about things or ideas or policies or whatever else might be thrown my way, and that’s not always a good thing because I get burned an awful lot. Still, it is one of the things I like most about myself. When I open up, the best of me surfaces and it’s like a fresh wind putting things in motion, and I go with whatever my heart commands. For so much of my life, I thought that was solely writing, but I have learned that it is my care and concern for the well-being of those around me that most often defines my heart, my true purpose.

So instead of putting fingers to the keyboard for the past several months, my heart has led me to pour out all that is in me to those around me, and even though that has been exhausting and overwhelming at times, I understand that to dismiss the heart’s direction would only detract from the beauty that has come from this creative flow. And make no mistake, some absolutely beautiful experiences have come to me and others in these past few months, and I don’t regret listening to my heart. I have pursued my dream with everything that is in me, I have put in the time learning the steps, I have used all of the strength I could muster, I have endured the voices of both the critics and the colleagues, and have managed to stand, knees wobbly, sweat dripping, eyes glistening with weighty tears, waiting, in fact, to see if the work, if my work will ever pay off, if my dreams will come true.

That, my friends, is my heart.

When my heart is heavy, as it’s been for a few days, it seems I move in slow motion. It seems that I exist in a bubble from which I can’t break free, a bubble in which I have been placed because of the unfortunate decision to allow vulnerability to surface beyond the wall that had come down, the wall I carefully constructed, the wall that was slowly torn apart, the wall that is now at a stage somewhere between complete destruction and potential reconstruction. I guess I’m not suited for vulnerability outside of wordpress, anyway.

The Psalms are good for times like these. I’m always struck by David’s vulnerability, whether he’s broken and feeling defeated or unashamedly praising his God or even angrily bemoaning his feelings about life’s challenges, he is authentic in his expression, pure in his emotion, passionate in his love and trust in his God. David had enemies, real and perceived, but he always knew that his God was present as his refuge. David loved his God, and he poured out his praise with such detail and such candor that his motives were clear, enviable, and emulated by those who have taken the time to read the Psalms.

I think of the idea that God is our refuge, my refuge, and I am so grateful that I can rest in Him. I know He hears without judgment my heart’s deepest thoughts, my soul’s deepest desires, and that He doesn’t label me because of my vulnerability. He knows my heart even though I have done almost nothing for Him, and what I have done, I’ve done so poorly at times. Still, He is my safe haven… He catches me when I fall, He holds me when I’m falling.

In Psalm 31, David writes

⁹ Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am in distress.
      Tears blur my eyes.
      My body and soul are withering away.
 ¹⁰ I am dying from grief;
      my years are shortened by sadness.
   Sin has drained my strength;
      I am wasting away from within.
 ¹¹ I am scorned by all my enemies
      and despised by my neighbors—
      even my friends are afraid to come near me.
   When they see me on the street,
      they run the other way.

It’s not often you see a man pour out his soul like this, admitting the intensity of his tears, the severity of his sadness, the perception of his surroundings.  We read his words, and assume that his perception is spot on, that he regularly had enemies against him, that his friends were fairweather at times, that he was understood by no one. Recently, though, I’ve been wondering if the weight that he carried — spiritually, emotionally, socially, etc. — clouded his perception, at times, leading him to feel things more deeply than others, than even he himself might ordinarily feel.

Regardless of the way he expressed his feelings, maybe, perhaps, in spite of it, he was always secure in his relationship with his God, he knew that he had the freedom to speak and that his God would love him the same. His vulnerability didn’t define him as weak, or unlovable, or as a problem child, or just not worth the effort. It seems to me that his vulnerability was a demonstration of his absolute faith that his God would hear him and love him anyway.

I, without an ounce of shame, envy David’s freedom to be vulnerable, and his God’s ability to care for the heart of his child. To this day, David is a cherished saint of the Father in the hearts and minds of Christians. Despite his infidelity, poor decisions, and his seemingly self-pitying rants, he is still known, accurately so, as a man after God’s own heart. 

I, too, have made some poor decisions. I have trusted the wrong people. I have given time, love, attention, cash, and energy to people of all ilks that took and took and enjoyed my spirit and generosity until the moment I let even a glimpse of my vulnerable side appear. I have believed the words “I love you” from friends, lovers, family members only to find that the words were temporary and conditional, when what they really meant was, “I love you until you show me you might need me even a little bit, that I might have to show you the care, concern and love that you have so often and so selflessly shown me.” And then I started construction on the wall.

When we are vulnerable, we expose our flaws, allow others to see that we are susceptible to emotional injury, and all we want to know is that we are loved in spite of because of even though we have flaws, and that the mere expression of vulnerability doesn’t negate all the good and strong and generous parts of us that are regularly present, and it doesn’t intend to isolate. Vulnerability cries out,

“I trust you with my heart, with my deepest fears, with my most intense desires. I trust you to protect me even when I’m wrong, even when I’m right. I trust you even though I’m still a little scared. I trust you because I know you want to know the entirity of me. I trust you to hold me up when I don’t think I can stand. I trust you to protect what is precious. I trust that you can see me, fully exposed, and choose not to condemn and walk away, but instead, choose to love me even more because it’s all part of who I am. I trust that you want me to be able to trust you, wholly and completely.  I trust  you because I love you, and I know I can.”

This week is nearing its end, thank God. Did I mention that it sucked?! I hope to spend at least part of it near the water, in the water even, where I can sit…  susceptible to the wild waves of the Chesapeake, with my arms outstretched and the breeze in my hair, secure in the knowledge that I do not need to rebuild the wall.

Elephants are the largest land mammals in the world. They are creatures of habit, who wear paths in the ground as they travel the same routes back and forth in the jungle for water. They love rolling in the mud for relief. Elephants are usually the most popular attractions at the circus and the zoo. Still, entertaining an elephant in a room is more than most would ever volunteer for, but we do all the time.  We allow these big creatures to take up residence in our personal and precious spaces, and we eventually become visitors in our own rooms, all the while wondering, how did this happen? How did I let a big yellow elephant get in?

I never really enjoyed the elephants at the zoo. To be fair, I never enjoyed the idea of the zoo. I loved getting a day off school to visit the zoo, but it always seemed strange to me that in the middle of the city, all these animals that we were taught could only be found in Africa or Asia, somehow were caged for our amusement in the nation’s capitol. What I learned about animals I learned in books or from documentaries, not the zoo, so I personally don’t see the educational value of the caged animal, but maybe some folks do learn about animals that way.  I’ll always believe that animals should be studied in their natural habitat, instead of forcing them to perform in cheap imitations of their natural habitat with the cheers and jeers of little children and teenagers and parents who just want to rest their feet. But I digress…

It’s so easy to think that the cute, lovable elephant will somehow fit in with the decor of our rooms, that we will somehow manage to maneuver, however delicately, around the room so as not to disturb the elephant or disrupt the room, but elephants aren’t made to be still — unless, of course, they’re sleeping; and they aren’t meant to be caged, unless they’re in the a major U.S. city. Elephants often roam for hours on end at a slow, methodical pace, covering more ground and destroying the terrain below their massive feet. And the destruction occurs by chance, you know, not deliberately, because of the weight atop their huge legs. Each time we let the elephants into the room, we invite confusion and destruction, and those are the reasons, by the way, that we allow the elephants in the rooms in the first place. Whether we want to admit it or not, there are certainly times when a part of all of us feels at least a little unsettled when confusion and/or possible destruction are missing.

I’ve always been good at noticing the elephant in the room, but I haven’t a clue how to remove it. Well, that’s not entirely true. Actually, I find that in most cases, I’m one of the few people who can see the elephant in the room, so when I acknowledge its existence, well, folks seem to think it’s just me.  Too often, the potential destruction of the elephant is underestimated, and sometimes, just sometimes, I get tired of dealing with the elephant, so I leave the elephant where it is, and I find another room… one without an elephant. I cannot coexist with the elephant for a host of reasons, not the least of which is my utter lack of desire.

At any rate, I liked the rooms better when the elephants were elsewhere. There’s a part of me that believes that removing the elephants from rooms, any rooms, is a necessary evil to build personal strength and to set personal and social boundaries. When I started writing this blog (days ago… harumph!!), I had one specific elephant in mind. But as the words have poured out of me, I’ve come to realize that there are several rooms with these annoying elephants that need tending to, and the time is rapidly approaching when I have to determine whether I’ll learn to live with the elephant, banish the elephant, or relinquish my claim to the room. It’s all a matter of worth, really. What are the rooms worth to me? What value do they currently (holla!) have in my life? Can I live with the elephant(s)?

I had the unexpected treat today to spend some quality time with a neighbor of mine. We talked about the elephants, and she gave the best advice… to no one’s surprise, I’m sure. She said to give it to God and remove my claws (my nails really have grown too long). She said to sit back and listen for His direction, so that’s where I stand — me, God, and the yellow elephants.

Pass the peanuts!

I followed him… okay, we happened to be heading in the same direction… and I wondered what would make him risk his life and mine like that.  I wondered if it was possible that he didn’t realize that the red light for the cars beside him was also meant for his vehicle. I scanned his vehicle for a “How’s my driving” number so that I could call and let someone know that this man’s driving was, in fact, careless and dangerous. Meanwhile, he continued driving like he hadn’t a care in the world. Was that possible, really, that he actually could appear not have a care at all in his mind about his blatant lawbreaking and Reese-annoying behavior? Well, he had no care, or at least not one I could figure out from all the way back in my lil’ honda hot rod. I, however, had way too much care, and that is the problem.

I have spent ungodly amounts of time wondering why people do crappy, silly, dangerous, hurtful and/or annoying  things. Seriously, my mind analyzes things to their most minute detail, and despite my best and terribly time-consuming efforts, nothing that I discover ends up making a bit of difference in the long run. Not much if anything changes, and I eventually figure out ways to acknowledge and move on. I would simply prefer that the moving on part come a bit faster than it has in the past.

I don’t know if I was the kind of child that constantly asked why, but I do know that I am wired to dig until I find a solution or resolution. In fact, that’s what I get paid to do — look at a situation or problem and analyze what’s going on, why it’s going on, and what to do to change it.  And the truth of the matter is that I’m good it. I’m good at figuring out the issues at the office and I’m good at figuring out things with people… of course, I’m much better and quicker at the office.  The key, really, is to look at each situation on its own, each person as an individual, and not rely solely, though certainly in part,  on the similarities of prior experiences with situations and people.  It’s also important not to inject my own beliefs on a situation when presented with conflicting facts, but instead to try to see things through the eyes of the other person no matter how challenging that might be.

Last week I had the opportunity to ask one of the Jonestown Revisited followers why she treated me in a brilliantly cruel manner after (what I thought) a very tight friendship had been cultivated. Sadly, my mind cannot seem to fully understand how things can change without any warning in such a drastic fashion with people who at one point claimed to value my presence in their lives and reaped more than a few benefits in the process.  It has never been acceptable for me to believe that a change has happened. Instead, my mind tells me the truth — that the other person was lying and using me from the start.  She told me, nay, texted me that she knew there was a problem but she didn’t care enough about the friendship to address it.  That may sound a little harsh, it certainly read harsh, but believe it or not, that’s exactly what I thought was the case. It’s not what I thought she’d say, nay text… whatever, but with the words finally out there, a couple of tears shed, a quick trip to the mall, and a heart to heart with my sweetheart, I can close the door on that situation completely.  It’s not lost on me, though, that I learned nothing new by asking the question 8 months later.

I asked my love when this sort of hurtful madness would stop happening to me, and he said “When you stop asking why.” Folks tend not to ask me why, likely because they know I’ll tell them the honest to God truth, have mercy. I think the answer can be helpful, cathartic even, but sometimes people don’t want to hear that. People want what I wanted from the former and not so lovely KW. They want something deeper, more intense, more sinister, more thoughtful, more… whatever! I recently tried to answer someone’s why question… harumph, and what was a simple though silly answer was interpreted as something so far from the truth that I’m convinced answering the why was the worst thing I could have done.  It made nothing better, believe me, and now, well, it is what it is.

The truth is, most of the time we already know the answer to the why question. Why are people cruel… because they can be. Why are people funny… because they can be. Why do people lie… because they can. Why do people cheat… because they can. Why do friendships die… because they can. Why do people make the decisions they make… because they can. Why do people ignore the words… because they can. Why do things get so far out of whack… because they can. Why do people risk a good thing… because they can. Why do people run red lights… because they can.

Eleanor Roosevelt is credited with saying, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”  I absolutely agree with that, and would add that you can’ t determine what other people will do or how they will act or react. I have seen a host of bad results, silly choices, sad endings, and as hard as it is to accept, the only one whose actions I can control are my own. The rest is up to absolutely not me.

Spring is the time for growing new things, new ideas. I’m still on the quest to becoming the best Reese I can be, the Reese I’m meant to be, and today I’m remembering to trust my instincts and to make the changes necessary to maintain peace and order to my life. I’m probably going to keep asking why… for some things, though far less frequently than I have in the past. But for most things, I am (finally!!!) content with what my heart has already told me. Why? Because I trust me, after all.

When I showered at the gym — my favorite part of the gym, actually — all I could think about was the Mocha Madness. In my mind, I wondered if my stomach could handle that terrible COW’s milk, but I needed some sort of protein within 45 minutes of my workout — they tell us this at the end of all the classes, you know — and by the time I finished my awesome shower — it really is a shame to enjoy showers away from home so much — I had only 10 minutes  before the 45 minutes so I had to drink my protein.

I get the Mocha Madness for 2 reasons: it tastes so amazingly good, and it has the fewest calories of any of the protein shakes and smoothies at the gym. I should have gotten… should haves are so useful right now as I enter the 2am hour… the Very Berry Blast, which has lots of different berries and orange juice, but alas, it was Mocha Madness that won my heart. I’m paying for right now, because I’m awake, despite laying my head on the pillow at 11pm, but I’ve been tossing and turning ever since. Whenever I toss like this, I end up writing. Maybe my muse is in the Mocha Madness.

Maybe I’m Mocha Madness, instead of my usual Sweet Caramel. I am absolutely not myself, I can assure you. My spirit has been quite unsettled for days, and it’s terribly uncomfortable. Saturday evening was the worse, really, most of Saturday, despite having a wonderful few hours with precious Matthew. I never get tired of hearing him tell me how much he loves me, or of his perfectly loving hugs. Hugs are really under-appreciated and under-utilized these days. I don’t really get them much and I don’t really have opportunity to give them much, and when I do give them, I feel myself hold on longer than I used to when hugs were in abundance.

I called one of my best friends on Saturday… Nikki… because I needed a hug, and I needed not to have to ask for it. She obliged, of course, because she knew from the first 5 seconds of the call that I was in dire need of a hug. That’s pretty amazing, really, that from 3000 miles and 3 time zones away, she could see my heart. She has known my heart and all of its incarnations for a long time, and she told me something about myself on Saturday, something about my heart, in general and in regards to a specific situation, and she’s is right. Maybe that’s what keeping me up, what she’s right about, what I only allude to in vague terms, what fills my mind, frightens me, even.

The truth is that I’m out on a limb, and I was comfortable on that limb once I actually got on the limb, and I had come to believe that the limb was strong enough to hold my weight (shut up!), but it seems like the weight or the limb is shifting almost without warning — why did I write “almost” — and it’s left me unsettled… unsettled, like I drank a Mocha Madness with caffeine and chocolate and COW’s milk, of all things.

I wish that I was just a little drowsy now, you know, but I’m not. I’m just unsettled. It started, now that I think about it, after I chose not to have a Mocha Madness on Friday. I’m more than a little confused, too, but I really can’t afford that right now. In 4 hours, I have to get up from a sleep that doesn’t seem to want to come, and bring donuts to the office for people who really don’t need them, and hope that the plan I wrote actually works out the way I planned it. Of course, planning isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There’s lots in my life that I didn’t plan, wouldn’t have planned or expected, but it happened anyway, good and bad stuff. I’m not planning for some things, anymore. I’ll put those things in God’s hands, where they belong, and maybe then I’ll be settled.

I have no shortage of subjects, or words, for that matter. Like SMK, I am drawn to writing out my spiritual journey, in all of its madness, for the eyes of anyone interested in following, walking in, or sneaking a peak at my existence. Sundays usually spark some inner thinking for me.

I continue to venture to a familiar church for a spiritual fix, and I see myself still struggling with the idea of church. I’m looking for something more than just a church experience. I’m still wandering, really, and while I do not enjoy being without a church, my heart, mind, spirit, and sensibilities cannot handle being a part of another farce. I’ve forgiven the people at that other place because 1) God told me to, and 2) expectations of decency have to be abandoned where character is shunned. Still, as much as I long to have that part of my past ripped from my mind, it unfortunately affects how I view the Christian community or what purports to be some faction of the Christian community.

What is most disappointing about the whole tragic experience is to see how little truth and honesty are valued among supposed Christ followers. I’ve come to understand and expect that the words that come from the mouths of most people are not to be trusted at all. This is not a pleasant way to live, to expect that pastors will be predators, friends will fail, and loves will lose their minds and morals. I have been surprised, in both good and terribly disappointing ways, but what I want is to believe again in “the Jesus in the people” that cross my spiritual path.

That idea, “the Jesus in people,” is one that my estranged LKW introduced me to. I believe with every fiber of my being that the Jesus in anyone can do incredible and surprising things. I cannot believe, however, that Jesus or the spirit of Jesus is in everyone that claims Him. Nor do I believe that the spirit of Jesus is always accessed by those of us who call Him “Lord.” I know in my own life, the spirit of Jesus is sometimes hard to find, depending on the day and the circumstance, so I don’t suppose I should be as unsettled as I am. After all, we are all fallible, we all fall short of the glory of God, we all suck sometimes. I guess I’m just looking to be around people that don’t enjoy sucking, who aren’t satisfied with always falling short, who have a clear understanding that the grace of God does not mean we (or He) turn a blind eye to our failures, but instead that we seek to love Him with our whole heart, mind and soul, and to love our neighbors as ourselves, and when we inevitably fail to do all of that, He loves us anyway.

I recently had an unpleasant experience with one of my “church” neighbors. I have to admit, I was shocked by what I termed caustic behavior,  and I was disappointed in her unneighborly way because it was not at all characteristic of my past experience with her.  I crave truth, and however disappointing an experience it was, I was grateful that the blinders have been removed from my eyes. But I have come to understand, by the grace of God, that it is not she who is being unneighborly at all. I am the one who was not loving my neighbor appropriately. It is my job, my obligation to see that, regardless of what is done to me,  I am to care for those around me with the same love I pray God showers on me. That’s what neighbors (in the Biblical sense) do. What’s more, that is what the Jesus in me expects.

This recent experience was necessary for me at just this time. Crappy behavior is everywhere, at every church, so if I’m looking for the crapless church with the crapless people (with the crapless commute?), my search will be long and arduous. What has to be different, this time and from now on, is how I react, how I understand, and how I deal with what is presented to me. So for now, I’ll keep venturing to the church, but I’ll carry with me the idea, the goal, of being a good neighbor, of loving what I think is unlovely, and of trying not to suck as much as I did yesterday.  That’s where I am…today.

I understand better now.
The shock, the storm, the fall, the pain.
I understand better now.
The heart so broken, but broken for a plan
A plan I didn’t know
A plan I didn’t want
A plan I ran from
A plan I didn’t understand
But I understand now.
You said I was precious
That You had plans for me
I said My soul cries out to You
I said Don’t let my suffering be in vain
You said I know the plans I have for you
They said There’s a purpose that you cannot see right now
I said It was all a waste of my time, of my life, of my love,
Of my heart
You said I know the plans I have for you
I said What now
You said I know the plans I have for you
You said
“I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for” (Jer. 29:11 MSG)

And now I understand completely.

1. Started your own blog*  (… a fabulous endeavor, it appears)
2. Slept under the stars*
3. Played in a band (…for the sake of the band)
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland* (…does Disneyworld count?)
8. Climbed a mountain*
9. Held a praying mantis*
10. Sang a solo*
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris* (…and nearly got hit by a bus)
13. Watched a lightning storm*
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France*
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight*
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill* (…um, is there another reason to??)
24. Built a snow fort*
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon (…walked a half marathon… well, 8 miles of it… nevermind)
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice* (…it was the only way to sit down)
29. Seen a total eclipse*
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset*
31. Hit a home run* (…batting rightie, no less)
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community*
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person*
39. Gone rock climbing*
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David*
41. Sung karaoke.* (…i will survive and anything by shania twain…no seriously, i am black)
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant*
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight*
46. Been transported in an ambulance*
47. Had your portrait painted*
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person*
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain*
53. Played in the mud*
54. Gone to a drive-in theater*
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class.*
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen*
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies*
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason* (…though not nearly enough)
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma*
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check*
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial*
71. Eaten caviar*
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square*
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job*(…just once when i was 14… stupid portrait studio)
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London*
77. Broken a bone*
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book (…not yet, but I absolutely will)
81. Visited the Vatican*
82. Bought a brand new car*
83. Walked in Jerusalem* (…i sure miss that place)
84. Had your picture in the newspaper* (…jmu school paper, after being “hit” by a car)
85. Read the entire Bible*
86. Visited the White House*
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating.
88. Had chickenpox*
89. Saved someone’s life.* (…at least that’s what i was told years later, but who really knows)
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous*
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one* (…too many, too often)
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a mobile phone*
99. Been stung by a bee*
100. Read an entire book in one day* (…W.E.B. Dubois for grad school — 487 pages, have mercy)

This was kind of fun. You should try it.

What can I say about 2008? Well, the beginning of it seemed to have sucked, but I understand now that what I would have termed sucky about the year was actually the beginning of something wonderfully cathartic and transforming that has made me reacquaint myself with the essence of Reese, the Reese I thought was long gone, the Reese I had exiled for reasons still unknown to me. (Forgive the 3rd person voice, but it seems oddly appropriate in this context.) You really can’t appreciate the light until you’ve been submerged in darkness for a makeshift eternity.

My darkness has been detailed in several (if not all) of my previous posts, but I continue to be amazed at how many of life’s dark periods are self-imposed, are chosen out of fear or carelessness or denial. I recently watched the documentary Witness to Jonestown, that detailed the story of Jim Jones, the Peoples Temple, and the followers of this “interracial congregation [read: multicultural army] … through passionate … preaching and courageous calls for racial equality*.” Jim Jones is considered a nut, and those who followed him into death are considered fanatics, but the story of Jonestown is not unique, and the influence of too many contemporary churches and their characterless and selfish leaders on those who choose to succumb to the influence continues to bring sadness and destruction to far too many people, both in the faith and far beyond.

Needless to say, I made it out of my Jonestown without drinking the syringe full of potassium cyanide-laced Grape Flavor Aid, but with a clear understanding of the dangers of believing in an inherent goodness of spiritual organizations and, dare I say, churches who emphasize communal living far above Biblical truths. I no longer live under the weight of situation-specific morals and beliefs, but instead, I’m able to embrace the truth of God’s word, the truth of second and third chances, the truth of what is real, no matter how unpleasant or unreal that truth may seem in some cases. I’m sure I’ve said this before, but it begs repeating — I am so grateful for having my eyes opened to my surroundings, and for the strength to see life and purpose beyond the darkness.

One of the biggest highlights of 2008 for me was my trip to and time spent in Kripalu in June. I think that was the first time in a year that I was able to fully exhale, and I don’t think I realized until then the importance and necessity of breathing. Life without my comforts was so enlightening, and not in that weird mystical way, but in a simple and beautiful way. The uncluttered existence in which I lived for that brief period provided me an opportunity to see the goodness that was present in my life, and the hope for the future ahead of me. My wounds were treated with the only thing that cures the brokenness — the awareness and acceptance of the pure, unfailing and ever-present love of Christ, and I know that He led me to that beautifully simple campus with those beautifully simple people and that beautifully simple lifestyle to show me the beautifully simple pleasure of just breathing. I’m grateful for the simple things in life, because life’s complications don’t have to overwhelm.

A significant event of 2008 was the death of my cousin Nikki. She and I were 4 weeks apart, and in the latter part of her life, we rekindled a friendship that had been dormant for many years. I watched a wonderfully vibrant woman slowly and painfully leave this world and her family with the grace of a saint. I have buried far too many young people, but her death was profoundly life-changing for me. She was the most grateful person I’ve ever known, and the kindness she showered on those around her will not soon be forgotten. She taught me how short life is, and how powerfully destructive some things can be to our systems, so when I have the choice, a choice she didn’t have with regard to the disease that took her life, I need to be vigilant about extracting any and all diseases [read: harmful elements] that might be present in my world. It’s a lesson I’m still refining in my life, but I’m getting better at spotting and dismissing those harmful elements that have had a chance to present themselves in my life. I’m grateful for the absence of those things that were once oppressingly present, and even more grateful that the damage they caused was not more severe.

And finally, a most wonderfully surprising blessing of this year is getting to spend time with someone who sees me, loves me, and appreciates me, and shows me regularly a new way of experiencing life. He brings something to my life that is more special than anything I could have planned on my own. He is the epitome of character, kindness, strength and perseverance, and has demonstrated to me what so few other men in my life have even contemplated being. He was the voice that comforted me when my cousin died; when I lost my church, he shared God’s words and encouragement; he cheered me on at the gym when I thought I couldn’t climb one more step; he has been friend and teacher, the voice of reason and so much more than is appropriate for me to delineate on the World Wide Web, and I’m grateful for each moment we have been able to share with one another.

There have been a host of brilliant occurrences in 2008, including the election of a fresh presence to the White House, a reconnection with many voices from my past, the godly people who’ve graced me with their presence and counsel (Mrs. Waller most notably), closer connections with my family and my dearest friends and of course precious Matthew, so calling this year sucky would be terribly inaccurate. It’s been a year of growth and change, all for the best, and though I’m glad it’s nearing its end, the lessons, blessings, challenges and surprises have only made God’s presence and provisions more clear and more precious to me.

Bring on 2009. I can’t wait to see what God is going to show me.

[signing off at 7:47am, have mercy!!]