Write a post about your one word for 2013 OR\/AND write a post about your NEW word for 2014.<\/em><\/h5>\n![\"untoldstory\"](\"https:\/\/oshetablogs.files.wordpress.com\/2013\/12\/untoldstory.jpg?w=640\")
<\/a><\/p>\n\n<\/p>
Almost two years ago, I was in a funk.\u00a0 Life was bland and monotonous. The same actions over and over and over again filled my days: wash dishes then dirty dishes, make dinner then plan tomorrow\u2019s lunches, correct wayward child extend grace to an angry child, pray hard, fervently, hopefully then watch those words bounce off the ceiling and fall back on me.<\/p>\n
There were no exciting \u201cbreakthroughs\u201d or living out a \u201cvibrant prayer life\u201d\u2014none of that.\u00a0 I was in a funk.\u00a0 A Funky funkalicious life. \u00a0Poor funky funkacalious me.<\/p>\n
Then my husband, tired of watching me mope around the house, tired of my drawn face and so over the permanent whine attached to my voice, said, \u201cBabe, you\u2019ve got to start a blog.\u00a0 You\u2019re in a funk because you have something to say but you\u2019re not sharing it with anyone.\u00a0 You\u2019re gifted with words so you need to write.\u00a0 I think you\u2019ll be happier when you write.\u201d\u00a0 I just gave him a dirty, funky incredulous look and said, \u201cWhatevers, babe.\u201d<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t angry with him!\u00a0 No, I was angry at my words, the words that bounced back at me when I offered them to God and the words I repeated every, single day.\u00a0 I was angry at \u201cno!\u201d,\u00a0 \u201cstop that\u201d, \u201ccome here\u201d, and \u201cuse your words!\u201d. \u00a0This irony is not lost on me; I wanted to empower my children to use their<\/i> words when I was bridling the words within me.\u00a0 In my funkified state, words were just words\u2014 letter strung together to create a chain of utilitarian communication.\u00a0 They were efficient and a means to an end.\u00a0 They were not<\/i> energy, life, strength, and power.\u00a0 They were obstinate and never did what I wanted them to do.\u00a0 They stayed burning within me when I kept offering them to God.<\/p>\n
So I stayed in a funk.<\/p>\n
My husband on the other hand was a constant stream of words.\u00a0 Words about Jesus.\u00a0 Words about life.\u00a0 Words about fatherhood.\u00a0 Words about the character of God.\u00a0 And they all lived on his blog.\u00a0 He created friendships with other writers and deep thinkers.\u00a0 Talking late into the night about this Internet firestorm or that interesting idea and connected him to his tribe. He was alive and so not in a funk!<\/p>\n
Months after his first encouragement, I sat next to him on our couch and unleashed my words to him- if God didn\u2019t want them then they needed to go somewhere<\/i>.\u00a0 I told him I was lonely and this season of life in between churches was draining, we were planting our own, yet I wanting to stay connected to our friends.\u00a0 I wanted to belong to someone and champion something.\u00a0 I told him that motherhood was making question my sanity and general goodwill towards little people, and that if I didn\u2019t get a break soon I would break something\u2026or someone.<\/p>\n
He turned from the blog post he was working on and regarded me for a moment. \u2018Stupid self-indulgent bloggly blogger\u2019, I thought.\u00a0 \u201c Babes, you need to write.<\/i>\u00a0 At least just write that.\u00a0 All that you just said\u2014you need to write it out.\u00a0 I think you\u2019ll feel better.<\/p>\n
So I did.<\/p>\n
I sat with my words and asked them, \u2018do you want to be written or spoken? Hopefully prayed or gently offered in keystrokes and pixels?\u2019<\/i><\/p>\n
I started to write them, partly afraid of the hailstorm of hopes from previous prayers when those words came back at me, partly hopeful that Jesus was reading over my shoulder and those words would finally find their way to their intended destination.<\/p>\n
Amazingly, almost magically those words broke though the glass ceiling and showered me with shards of identity and purpose.\u00a0 It was unfair of me to expect words that were designed for the page and sharing to stay hidden, contained, and quiet in the four corners of my prayer closets.\u00a0 I needed to see them, remember them, acknowledge them, and yes, share them.<\/p>\n
And from over my shoulder I sensed Jesus and I realized he\u2019d been there all the time, I just needed my words to gleam back at me from the screen to illuminate his beautiful face that\u2019s always, always closer and more real than I could imagine.<\/p>\n
This is the first brush with Shalom that I remember, my broken funkified funkiness made whole in Jesus\u2019 presence.\u00a0 I was a Shalom practitioner;\u00a0 took what I knew of heaven and applied to this world all with my words.<\/p>\n
For the rest of the year I kept at it with the clickety-clack of my keyboard and tasting new phrases on my tongue before entering them into a Word doc.<\/p>\n
So if I could narrow my reflection of last year down to one word, it would be \u201cShalom\u201d, god\u2019s wholeness and harmony entering in our brokenness and cacophonous world.\u00a0 \u00a0Last year, Shalom took hold of life and I learned how to invite God to create wholeness within me and my little corner of the Internet with my words.<\/p>\n
Last year:<\/p>\n
Jesus used the word \u201cagain\u201d, to help me find him in the monotony of my funkified life. Wholeness of life for the listlessness of motherhood and relief for the journey of motherhood, this was my Shalom of 2013<\/a>.<\/p>\nHe taught me the power of forgiveness and washing the feet of my enemies. Whole love for broken people, this was my Shalom of 2013.<\/a><\/p>\nHe reminded me that I am the mocha girl in the white tutu and to him my unique name, \u201cOsheta\u201d, I will always me \u201cthe girl who dances.\u201d Brokenness of shameful wandering met with His identity and purpose., this was my Shalom in 2013.<\/a><\/p>\nAnd so many more moments of practicing \u201cShalom\u201d.<\/p>\n
The awkward conversation with a tattoo artist <\/a>and my new tattoo during Lent <\/a>that reminds me to be a peacemaker who champions the poor and loves diversity.<\/p>\nThe Oreo Eucharist<\/a> that redeemed my identity as a black woman and healed me from traumatic bullying.<\/p>\nThe reminder that I do have a tribe and \u201cWe Are Pierced Women\u201d <\/a>when I pierced my skin with my daughter on her seventh birthday.<\/p>\nThe reminder that Jesus thinks women are people too <\/a>and that I have no right to call impure what God has called clean, even if the word, \u201cfeminism\u201d reminded me of baggage and rubbed me the wrong way.<\/p>\nThe letter to my Sisters in the Suburbs<\/a> validating them and inviting them into a whole and life-giving relationships with us \u201curban\u201d missionaries.<\/p>\n2013 was the year I learned the power of Shalom.\u00a0 So much so that I changed the name of the blog from \u201cCarried Away\u201d to \u201cShalom in the City\u201d.<\/p>\n
![\"cropped-osheta_wordpress_blog_banner3-24.jpg\"](\"http:\/\/oshetablogs.files.wordpress.com\/2013\/04\/cropped-osheta_wordpress_blog_banner3-24.jpg?w=640\")
<\/a>![\"cropped-shalom_in_the_city1.jpg\"](\"https:\/\/oshetablogs.files.wordpress.com\/2013\/07\/cropped-shalom_in_the_city1.jpg?w=640\")
<\/a><\/p>\nShalom will always be a part of my life\u2014it\u2019s etched into my very skin and the desire of my heart.\u00a0 So finding a new word of 2014 seemed nearly impossible, but after reading, \u201cBread and Wine\u201d<\/a> over the summer, I desired that rich connection between food and community and the very heart of God.<\/p>\n
<\/a><\/p>\n\n<\/p>
Almost two years ago, I was in a funk.\u00a0 Life was bland and monotonous. The same actions over and over and over again filled my days: wash dishes then dirty dishes, make dinner then plan tomorrow\u2019s lunches, correct wayward child extend grace to an angry child, pray hard, fervently, hopefully then watch those words bounce off the ceiling and fall back on me.<\/p>\n
There were no exciting \u201cbreakthroughs\u201d or living out a \u201cvibrant prayer life\u201d\u2014none of that.\u00a0 I was in a funk.\u00a0 A Funky funkalicious life. \u00a0Poor funky funkacalious me.<\/p>\n
Then my husband, tired of watching me mope around the house, tired of my drawn face and so over the permanent whine attached to my voice, said, \u201cBabe, you\u2019ve got to start a blog.\u00a0 You\u2019re in a funk because you have something to say but you\u2019re not sharing it with anyone.\u00a0 You\u2019re gifted with words so you need to write.\u00a0 I think you\u2019ll be happier when you write.\u201d\u00a0 I just gave him a dirty, funky incredulous look and said, \u201cWhatevers, babe.\u201d<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t angry with him!\u00a0 No, I was angry at my words, the words that bounced back at me when I offered them to God and the words I repeated every, single day.\u00a0 I was angry at \u201cno!\u201d,\u00a0 \u201cstop that\u201d, \u201ccome here\u201d, and \u201cuse your words!\u201d. \u00a0This irony is not lost on me; I wanted to empower my children to use their<\/i> words when I was bridling the words within me.\u00a0 In my funkified state, words were just words\u2014 letter strung together to create a chain of utilitarian communication.\u00a0 They were efficient and a means to an end.\u00a0 They were not<\/i> energy, life, strength, and power.\u00a0 They were obstinate and never did what I wanted them to do.\u00a0 They stayed burning within me when I kept offering them to God.<\/p>\n
So I stayed in a funk.<\/p>\n
My husband on the other hand was a constant stream of words.\u00a0 Words about Jesus.\u00a0 Words about life.\u00a0 Words about fatherhood.\u00a0 Words about the character of God.\u00a0 And they all lived on his blog.\u00a0 He created friendships with other writers and deep thinkers.\u00a0 Talking late into the night about this Internet firestorm or that interesting idea and connected him to his tribe. He was alive and so not in a funk!<\/p>\n
Months after his first encouragement, I sat next to him on our couch and unleashed my words to him- if God didn\u2019t want them then they needed to go somewhere<\/i>.\u00a0 I told him I was lonely and this season of life in between churches was draining, we were planting our own, yet I wanting to stay connected to our friends.\u00a0 I wanted to belong to someone and champion something.\u00a0 I told him that motherhood was making question my sanity and general goodwill towards little people, and that if I didn\u2019t get a break soon I would break something\u2026or someone.<\/p>\n
He turned from the blog post he was working on and regarded me for a moment. \u2018Stupid self-indulgent bloggly blogger\u2019, I thought.\u00a0 \u201c Babes, you need to write.<\/i>\u00a0 At least just write that.\u00a0 All that you just said\u2014you need to write it out.\u00a0 I think you\u2019ll feel better.<\/p>\n
So I did.<\/p>\n
I sat with my words and asked them, \u2018do you want to be written or spoken? Hopefully prayed or gently offered in keystrokes and pixels?\u2019<\/i><\/p>\n
I started to write them, partly afraid of the hailstorm of hopes from previous prayers when those words came back at me, partly hopeful that Jesus was reading over my shoulder and those words would finally find their way to their intended destination.<\/p>\n
Amazingly, almost magically those words broke though the glass ceiling and showered me with shards of identity and purpose.\u00a0 It was unfair of me to expect words that were designed for the page and sharing to stay hidden, contained, and quiet in the four corners of my prayer closets.\u00a0 I needed to see them, remember them, acknowledge them, and yes, share them.<\/p>\n
And from over my shoulder I sensed Jesus and I realized he\u2019d been there all the time, I just needed my words to gleam back at me from the screen to illuminate his beautiful face that\u2019s always, always closer and more real than I could imagine.<\/p>\n
This is the first brush with Shalom that I remember, my broken funkified funkiness made whole in Jesus\u2019 presence.\u00a0 I was a Shalom practitioner;\u00a0 took what I knew of heaven and applied to this world all with my words.<\/p>\n
For the rest of the year I kept at it with the clickety-clack of my keyboard and tasting new phrases on my tongue before entering them into a Word doc.<\/p>\n
So if I could narrow my reflection of last year down to one word, it would be \u201cShalom\u201d, god\u2019s wholeness and harmony entering in our brokenness and cacophonous world.\u00a0 \u00a0Last year, Shalom took hold of life and I learned how to invite God to create wholeness within me and my little corner of the Internet with my words.<\/p>\n
Last year:<\/p>\n
Jesus used the word \u201cagain\u201d, to help me find him in the monotony of my funkified life. Wholeness of life for the listlessness of motherhood and relief for the journey of motherhood, this was my Shalom of 2013<\/a>.<\/p>\n He taught me the power of forgiveness and washing the feet of my enemies. Whole love for broken people, this was my Shalom of 2013.<\/a><\/p>\n He reminded me that I am the mocha girl in the white tutu and to him my unique name, \u201cOsheta\u201d, I will always me \u201cthe girl who dances.\u201d Brokenness of shameful wandering met with His identity and purpose., this was my Shalom in 2013.<\/a><\/p>\n And so many more moments of practicing \u201cShalom\u201d.<\/p>\n The awkward conversation with a tattoo artist <\/a>and my new tattoo during Lent <\/a>that reminds me to be a peacemaker who champions the poor and loves diversity.<\/p>\n The Oreo Eucharist<\/a> that redeemed my identity as a black woman and healed me from traumatic bullying.<\/p>\n The reminder that I do have a tribe and \u201cWe Are Pierced Women\u201d <\/a>when I pierced my skin with my daughter on her seventh birthday.<\/p>\n The reminder that Jesus thinks women are people too <\/a>and that I have no right to call impure what God has called clean, even if the word, \u201cfeminism\u201d reminded me of baggage and rubbed me the wrong way.<\/p>\n The letter to my Sisters in the Suburbs<\/a> validating them and inviting them into a whole and life-giving relationships with us \u201curban\u201d missionaries.<\/p>\n 2013 was the year I learned the power of Shalom.\u00a0 So much so that I changed the name of the blog from \u201cCarried Away\u201d to \u201cShalom in the City\u201d.<\/p>\n Shalom will always be a part of my life\u2014it\u2019s etched into my very skin and the desire of my heart.\u00a0 So finding a new word of 2014 seemed nearly impossible, but after reading, \u201cBread and Wine\u201d<\/a> over the summer, I desired that rich connection between food and community and the very heart of God.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/p>\n
![\"tasteandseewords\"](\"https:\/\/oshetablogs.files.wordpress.com\/2013\/12\/tasteandseewords.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n![\"signature\"](\"https:\/\/oshetablogs.files.wordpress.com\/2013\/08\/signature1.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"