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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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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There’s a difference between doing things for God, and doing things with God.
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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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For example, whenever there is a transition and/or shift happening in my life, it’s usually accompanied by other transitions and/or shifts.
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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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In April, I began to feel a shift in my ministry. I noticed that I had begun to attract a different segment of women than I would normally attract.
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No matter the instructions, the outcome remained the same: God spoke. I disobeyed. Satan won.
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As I discussed the situation with family and friends over the next few days, I discovered an open wound that I’ve unknowingly been carrying since 5th grade.
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It was a much needed reality check that the teenage boy I’d fallen in love with was a distant memory. It was time for me to acknowledge, even mourn, who my husband and I were, to appreciate who we are becoming.
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So, for the first few days of January, I started looking for a word. Every powerful thing I heard, watched or read, I tried to make it my word for the year.
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There were moments of tears, exhaustion, anxiety, sadness, pain, betrayal, sickness, and grief, but God is faithful. I survived it!
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There have even been at least three occasions I’ve told God, “I don’t care what you say. I’m sick of this, I’m saying something today. Enough is enough.”
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After some time, the members began to recognize me as Marcus’ wife. However, no one really knew me because I remained cordial, but not engaging.
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Whenever I’m in a downward spiral about the timeline of my life, the Spirit always confronts me with the question of who am I measuring my timeline against.
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It was as if I was having an outer body experience, watching a version of me enjoying a vacation.
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