On this week’s episode of “I Didn’t Come Here for This,” I’m seriously considering firing my nail tech.
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“What kind of woman has a women’s ministry without a daughter?” I often asked God.
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Although the face and voice of the person was familiar, the spirit behind their behavior was not. So, this time, I noticed the deflection. I noticed the lack of accountability. I noticed the ignorance. I noticed the indifference. And I noticed the absence of an apology.
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I’ve been so shy about fully expressing what we experienced at The Well this month for fear of who it might offend, who might be triggered, who might envious, who might be jealous, or who might feel compelled to compete.
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I was fully tuned into the sermon until the Pastor said: “Some of us are too fragile for God’s glory…We think being “chosen” or “called” is equivalent to receiving special privileges.”
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I’ve been beating myself up over the last few weeks because I’m currently repeating a spiritual test that I’ve taken before.
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It felt like I’d won the war, but lost the battle. The only way I can describe how I felt is like the ending of the movie 300. Although the Spartans won, nothing was ever the same because they all died on the battlefield.
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This year, several experiences triggered memories and feelings held by the little girl in me that I thought the adult me had suppressed years ago.
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This month, I had to take the same test a few times. And one day, within a matter of hours, I had to take the same test twice.
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That day, the evolution of my ministry stopped being plans inside the Notepad app on my phone and became a reality.
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A piece of me died this month. And it's kind of ironic considering that September marked another year of life, health and strength for me.
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