I Hate Thanksgiving

The day after Thanksgiving, I sat & cried with my husband about how much I hate Thanksgiving. This year, I find myself emotionally gutted over Drumpf's politics of course. Who isn't?  Even bigger than that my heart remained heavy at the treatment of the Standing Rock protesters. On Thanksgiving. With frigid water. In frigid temperatures. Why can't the United States keep it's treaties with Native Americans?  Why are we incapable of treating Native Americans fairly? Why God why? My heart hurts for them. They fight to protect sacred land & get nearly killed for doing so.So. There's that. Sigh.Without fail, every year I tend to dread Thanksgiving & Christmas. Has anyone else noticed this incredible expectation attached to these days? YOU AND YOUR BIG, BEAUTIFUL FAMILY MUST ALL BE HAPPY! THANKFUL! FULL! *Insert eye-roll emoji* This expectation was something I read loud & clear long before social media gave us clues about not only what we should feel on these holidays … [Read more...]

What Makes My Christmas Merry

Whose are you God?I am hers.She. The one who wants to be raped. Beaten. Pillaged. She does not want a man to make love to her. No. She wants to be screwed. It ain't pretty. It ain't romantic. It does not feel good. It does not need to. These are blurred lines. He knows she wants it.  Do it like hurt.I am hers.She. The one who does not want to be raped. But there she is. Raw. Red. Pulsing. Terrified.  It is finished.I am hers.She. The one who's husband left. He made her believe he loved her.  She thought she was somewhat worthy, somewhat loveable... Her reality is no longer. She's rocked.  Until hope comes, she's done.I am hers.She. She buried her Mama at 9.  She sat with her 13 siblings while they carried & laid her most treasure in the dirty ground.  Her existence sucked out from underneath her feet.I am hers.She. The whose husband beat, beat, beat her down. She got up but ultimately he won.I am hers.Whose are you God & for whom did … [Read more...]

Belong

I am overwhelmed by those who don't belong......especially the ones who "don't belong" with the ones like me...the ones whose clothes and holey shoes tell a story.You've felt it before too right?  Ever been to a neighborhood where everyone looks the same but you?  It may not even be the skin color that divides.  It's the way you walk.  It's the t-shirt that says G A P directly across your boobs.  It's the bright white jean shorts and the mint green watch that gives you away.  Here, you are not urban enough.  At least for today, you don't belong.I hate that feeling.  I dislike it for me, but I hate it much more for others who don't have the emotional or relational resources available to make it out of all the unbelonging into actual belonging.Last week, I painted the walls of my new office with a kid 45 days sober, out of rehab, a halfway house and freshly plunked down into society.  Someone else made a horrible, flippant comment about addicts and I felt his recovering he … [Read more...]