How to Respond to the Call of God

First of all, while obedience is the correct response to God’s command, the reality is we are his children. And sometimes our response will be childish.

Leaving Texas, approaching Albuquerque

The first time God told me I would be teaching his word, I was already doing something crazy that he told me to do.
A few months earlier, he told me to pack up everything and drive from North Carolina to California where I would stay. I wasn’t ecstatic about the idea of driving cross country alone, with no preparation but I did what he said. As I approached another endless mile of flatlands near Texas, God dropped the nugget about how I would be teaching his Word to new generations of believers. My response ranged from, “I don’t think I heard you right,” to “No. Get somebody else.”

I struggled with how so many people claim God called them to the pulpit. Becoming one of those fame seeking preachers was not attractive to me. The fame I sought after was in the entertainment industry. God had also made promises about my acting career which is what I thought was the whole purpose of this big move. If he wanted me to preach, teach or whatever, couldn’t I do that at home? Why did I have to move all the way across the country to a place where I didn’t know a soul?

Fast Forward

I’ve been teaching at my church in Los Angeles for about ten years. Now, God has shown me a new vision. This one is much bigger than I imagined and I have no idea how it’s going to happen. I thought about when Daniel received a vision from God. What he saw actually made him pass out! (Daniel 8:13-18)

And when he had spoken to me, I fell into a deep sleep with my face to the ground. But he touched me and made me stand up.

~Daniel 8:18 ESV

Our humanity struggles with God’s creativity. He may tell us to do something so far beyond what is conceivable to us. It would be great if we always obeyed immediately without question. But that would be perfection. And we are purposefully, not perfect. When God reveals a seemingly impossible plan, our obedience requires total dependence on him. Remember, God specialized in the impossible.

So when his call knocks you off your feet, it’s ok. Stay there until Holy Spirit helps you up. Then, just listen. Feel what you feel: anxiety, fear, awe. But allow God’s trust in you with his plan to lead your trust in him with your obedience.

Take a look at more of my testimony on how I answered God’s call.

The Fear of Prayer

What!!??? How can you be afraid of prayer? Is that possible? Yes, it is. I know, because I’ve been afraid of it for a very long time.

When I was 17 years old, I asked God to make things better. The summer before my senior year, I was painfully shoved into adulthood by a car accident. Before I knew it, I was a caregiver for a brain-damaged mother who barely remembered who I was and a bitter grandfather who was struggling with cancer and wounded pride. Days were filled with nurses, needles, housekeeping and a teenager trying to manage it all. Needless to say I was overwhelmed. So I went to God.

I begged him to fix my situation. I pleaded with him to make things normal again. But literally, minutes after I got up off my knees, another crisis blew up in the house. This one nearly cost me my life at the hands of my own mother. Had God heard me? Was he ignoring me? Did he care about all those tears I had shed only minutes before? Now, I was broken. That moment planted the seed of doubt in the power of prayer.

It was enough to make me believe a lie that says when you pray, things only get worse.

A good lie is always founded in some truth. There’s only one word that turned what I believed into a lie. The word is only. The truth is, sometimes when you pray, things do get worse. What noone ever taught me was when things get worse, it is a strategy. Satan hears our prayers too. His strategy is to make us believe that talking to God does not work. And, on some level, I bought it. From that point on, I was deeply afraid to ask God for anything significant. I was afraid of how bad, things could get. The truth is, no matter how bad things get, God will always get good out of it. The challenge is to believe past the fear…to believe the truth.

This video captures this principle through a powerful song that has encouraged me and scriptures throughout, that I encourage you to write down and meditate on.

How I Started 2023

I joined the Daniel Fast with my church this week. By the third day, I realized the practice was almost mechanical for me. My preparations begin every January with meal planning and grocery shopping for the 21-day ritual. (Honestly, this is my favorite part. I love organizing and planning because it gives me a sense of control over some part of my life.) Then, I dust off my Daniel Fast book and journal. At some point I have a little conversation with God about what he wants me to focus on and how I want to grow during the next three weeks. Consecration was the priority several years ago. Today, I fear that concept has been lost in the annual repetition of it all.

I also released the third season of my podcast this week. Listeners will “Meet My God” in the book of Daniel. It just made sense to read about the guy responsible for taking my cookies away for a month. The premier week’s episodes take us through most of chapter one. While I am touched by Daniel’s faithfulness and excellence, there are a couple of issues worth noting beginning in verse two.

And the Lord handed Jehoiakim, King of Judah, over to him, along with some of the vessels of the house of God…

Daniel 1:2a NASB

The ‘him’ in this verse is Nebuchadnezzar, the notorious king of Babylon.
Really?! So God just gave the people he love to a foreign empire.

Feelings vs The Truth

I struggle with God’s sovereignty. It is the most contentious part of our relationship. The fact that he can do whatever he wants to do, for whatever reason he chooses, is sometimes unsettling. It makes me feel like my life is completely out of my control. His decisions could determine my fate and it feels like I am not a factor in his divine plan. Of course, this could not be farther from the truth. Our feelings tend to tell the best lies.

The truth is God’s people repeatedly rebelled against him before the Babylonian siege. He loved them so much but they constantly threw his love back in his face with disobedience. The truth is I am a huge factor in God’s plan. In fact, he has one specifically for me.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Jeremiah 29:11 NIV

His plan for my life is proof of his love for me. Daniel was faithful because he remembered God’s love. His love is worth my obedience and faithfulness. It’s worth putting more effort into the next few weeks of this fast. And though it may not feel good, his love is worth me trusting his sovereignty.

You can listen to my podcast here.

Letting Friends Go

Around this time 20 years ago, God gave me a huge warning. He told me it was time to let go of my two closest friends. Wait…What!

These friends had done nothing bad to me. In fact, they helped me through one of the toughest seasons of my life. In the midst of the enormous amount of adult responsibility thrust upon me at 16 years of age, my friends were reminders that I was still a teenager. They were my escape from the turmoil at home. For two years, they had invited me into their home when I needed a break. They listened to my problems at all hours of the night. They ensured I had typical teenage experiences like going to basketball games, hanging out and of course, talking about boys. I welcomed those conversations for two years but what I wanted to talk about was beginning to change.

God’s warning was very loud as he spoke through two dramatic events that should have ended the friendship. I didn’t listen. I was afraid to do life without people who I had come to lean on for support. I was fooled by fear. So when the phone rang, I picked up.

It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man. Psalm 118:8 KJV

A year later, circumstances led to me spending less time with them though I continued communication. I noticed, as time passed, that my relationship with God had begun to grow exponentially during the increased time I was not spending with them. He also began to send people in my life that were just as supportive as my friends were during those tough times. God sent new friends who fed my spirit and helped me grow. Then, God was clear. The season had ended for the old friendships. The rest of my life journey was not to include them and it was time for them to get off this ride. The bus stopped here.

It took some time for me to let them off. Through the years, one of them has shown up at stops along the way. I hate to admit that I have opened the door and let the person back on the bus a couple of times, if only for a little bit. Each time resulted in my regret. Recently, I almost opened the door once again. Then I realized that I had no obligation to open the door to that friendship. My obligation is to obedience to God…first and always. So I decided to keep the door closed. I kept moving. Finally, I can say with confidence that I will not open that door again.

Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly…But his delight is in the law of the LORD…And he shall be like a tree…that bringeth forth his fruit in his season… -Psalm 1:1-3

We don’t like to admit it but obedience is a choice. Obeying God is a difficult choice sometimes, but that difficulty is always founded in fear. We must remember that God loves us. He will never tell us to do something to hurt us. He only wants the absolute best for us. There is no need to be afraid of letting someone go because God always has something better. We must release what he tells us to release to make room for what he has in store.

Are You Worth the Risk?

I often find myself caught up in other people’s vision. They tell me an idea and I become excited about its possibilities. I am a doer, so I offer my own ideas on how to make their ideas come to life. Then, I become a little worker bee, getting things done to make others’ ideas work. While this may seem like such a good deed, I have discovered the true reason behind my actions are not so selfless. In fact, it is a bit self-destructive.

God has given each of us talents and abilities to use for his glory. They are part of his purpose for us. Our individual skill sets are designed to help others but also to help ourselves. In a few cases, those skill sets are meant to make His name great, by making our name great. Sometimes, however, the risks of greatness frightens us off the path to our destiny. We find ourselves on someone else’s path to a destination that is not our own. Initially, these helpful acts are comforting. You say things like “I’m a part of something great,” or “I’m just happy to be along for the ride.” But if God has called you to something else, something greater, then the ride you’re on, will leave you empty and unfulfilled. This can also lead to a bitterness and resentment towards the person you helped, when the real culprit is yourself.

My fear of the unknown has helped many people accomplish wonderful things. While there is satisfaction in helping others, I am disappointed in how I used those tasks to procrastinate in my own success. I have delayed God’s plan for my life with fear disguised as a helpful spirit. I have taken risks on others, but it is now time to take a risk on myself. I’m worth it. If God believes in me…shouldn’t I?

A Motherless Mother’s Day

There is a gaping hole in the heart of a woman who, not only, does not have children but also does not have her mother. It is an emotional limbo of unanswered questions about womanhood and the broken dreams of a child. Debating the worst time to lose a mother or the arguments about childlessness vs losing a child are pointless discussions, as the underlying conclusion is still the same. The experiences are different but the hole is still there.

Mother’s Day is a paradox for me. I may call or send cards to maternal figures in my life. I tell my friends who are Moms, to enjoy their day. However, when that Sunday rolls around each year, I try to simply dismiss it as a holiday I am excluded from celebrating, like Veterans Day or St. Patrick’s Day. I acknowledge what is being honored but cannot fully participate because I am not a member of that community. While this may get me through the day, it does not fill the hole.

“Sing, O barren, thou that didst not bear; break forth into singing, and cry aloud, thou that didst not travail with child…” Isaiah 54:1

I came across Isaiah 54 as a senior in high school. I had lost my Mama and had no idea where my life was headed. Then, one night while flipping through Bible pages, God led me to this chapter. He revealed that this would be the story of my life. It was easy for me to accept that general message because verses 8 and 9 were already occurring at the time. However, I saw verse 1 to be a metaphor. Scripturally,  it is often interpreted as a metaphor pertaining to Jerusalem and its people. I have come to understand that I was not wrong in my interpretation of verse 1. But, I am beginning to believe I was wrong in my application. When God said this was the story of my life, he was dead serious.

Digging the Hole

It never occurred to me that I would not bear children until a few years ago. I saw my life like many women. I saw the husbands and the kids. I saw the big house with lots of love and laughter. I went throughout my 20’s thinking I had plenty of time. Then I began to hear the clock everyone talks about in your 30’s. Finally, at age 34, removing an ovarian cyst also removed much of my hope of ever having children. My vision of a family began to fade into the realities of my life. Today, the chances of bearing children myself, are pretty much slim to none.

Though I flirt with varying levels of disappointment, I have grown to accept this possibility with the passing of time. Acceptance has become a practice for me in the area of motherhood as I also accepted that there are many things I will never know from or about my mother. I had no idea how many questions I would have about getting older. I need answers about things that are happening; answers that only she could give. I want to know what biological changes she experienced. I want to know how she would have handled those changes. I want to know what I can expect. I think the unanswered questions is one of the most difficult aspects of not having my mother.

Filling the Hole

A church friend once said to me, after losing her father, she was feeling like an orphan. I remember that feeling after losing my Mama at 16. There was no one to assume the position of provider. There was no one that would look at me with nurturing eyes and say unconditionally, “I love you.” I was thrust into adulthood and learned how to provide for myself. I discovered the hand of God that provides because of his heart for me. I read the words I longed to hear in the way I needed to hear them.

“…I have loved you with an everlasting love.” Jeremiah 31:3

Thankfully, I have never allowed the hole built from ‘motherlessness’ to break me, though it has come close. More accurately, God has filled the hole with his love through mentors, aunts and adopted godparents. They cannot answer many of my questions but they provide something very important. I know that I am loved.

The hole is also filled with the many children I have worked with through ministry and my childcare business.

“…for more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married wife, saith the LORD.” Isaiah 54:1

God was right, as always. I have been honored to be a part of dozens of children’s lives and their upbringing. I beam with pride as a I see my nieces and nephews grow out of circumstances meant to break their spirit. I get a sense of fulfillment when I see a child I worked with, walk across a graduation stage. My heart is so full when a little girl or little boy charges towards me just to get a hug. I love every child I have had the privilege of knowing. I would protect them with my life, without hesitation. They have left imprints on my heart and I hope I have done the same.

I may not bare children in my lifetime but I am blessed with offspring of God’s hand and wisdom. Being motherless is a gift to which I have surrendered. And, according to the rest of Isaiah 54, it is a gift that will keep on giving.

Our Relationship with Food

I am an emotional eater. I eat when I’m bored. I eat when I’m upset. I eat when I’m scared. I eat to fill holes that are created by hurt, loneliness, depression, etc. I eat with the expectation of the impossible; that somehow, this food will do what only God can do. Sound familiar?

I recently completed a devotion about overcoming food struggles. I had to look at my relationship with food in a very different way. I was forced to look at it through the eyes of God. Understanding the struggle required going back to the beginning and God’s original intent.

Then God said, “I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food.

Genesis 1:29 NIV

The first fact to acknowledge is food was given to us as a gift. Then the gift was used to manipulate us into questioning God’s love. Eve did not eat the fruit because she was hungry for food. She ate it because she somehow believed it would make her wise. She forgot or ignored the gifts around her which were given to her from the Father’s heart. And, the complicated relationship between women and food began.

What are you hungry for?

I am amazed at how often I think I’m hungry. The mind is able to make the body believe it needs something when it doesn’t. This includes believing you need one thing when the true longing is for something else. Immediate satisfaction rarely fulfills the longing of your soul. This is why food, as well as things like sex, drugs and money, tend to be a temporary fix. After five days of studying this complicated relationship, I learned the source of true fulfillment.

Listen and learn too.

Voting and Generations

“Who’d you vote for, Mama?”
“Dukakis,” Mama replied with big eyes and a wide smile. She almost sang the name.

I was a young girl during the 1988 Presidential Election. Much of Dukakis’ loss was blamed on the independent candidate, Ross Perot. It didn’t matter. Within two years, the winner, George H.W. Bush had sent thousands of U.S. troops to war in Kuwait, including my best friend’s brother. Not long after, the country fell into a deep recession. It was the first election where the ramifications of voting, or not voting, began to sink into my young mind.

Today, I see voting as much more than a right. It is a responsibility. It is a responsibility some deem as the highest of citizenship, while others disregard it altogether. In a country that is supposed to be run by the people, voting should be a priority for every eligible citizen. Its importance should be taught in school curriculums nationwide. Its value should be emphasized every year as teenagers approach eligibility. Its privilege should be celebrated as a rite of passage with the same fanfare as getting a driver’s license. Educating a generation to become responsible drivers should not be more important than educating them to become responsible citizens.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick;
but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.”

Proverbs 13:12 NIV

As a South Carolina native, I have watched the Senate race closely. I’ve thought about my family and spoken with friends who still reside in Charleston county. Some are excited about the possibility of change. Others are skeptical. Black residents, of my mother’s generation, have seen their hope deferred for so long that some are doubtful change will come. They fought for rights that are continuously challenged. They have seen the dignity and humanity of their children and grandchildren be denied in the same manner they saw 50 years ago. It is no wonder they are doubtful. My prayer is they still have enough hope to take them to the polls.

I am hopeful that my vote encourages my mother’s generation. I hope they see the activism of today as a step towards completing the job they started yesterday. It is also my hope that today’s generation does not forget or devalue the foundation laid by those who came before us. It is our job to build upon that foundation. We are able to build with new tools provided with technology. But the most powerful tools we have, remains the same. Our voice and our vote.

Voting is powerful… and personal. Take a listen.

When Your Hometown Becomes a Headline

“Auntie. Did you see what happened in Charleston?”

It was June 17, 2015. My nephew rarely texted me about news. When I received this text about our hometown, I knew something big must have happened. As I turned on the television, I prepared myself for a hurricane warning or maybe an unexpected earthquake. I sank to my sofa, in horror, as I read the bottom of the screen. A lone, white gunman had murdered 9 people at Emanuel AME Church. He sat through Bible Study with them, shook their hands, listened to the closing prayer and then sprayed the room with bullets. Pictures of the slain came across the screen with their names:

Rev. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton
Cynthia Graham Hurd
Susie J. Jackson
Ethel Lee Lance
Rev. DePayne Vontrease Middleton
Rev. Clementa C. Pinckney
Tywanza Kibwe Diop Sanders
Rev. Daniel Lee Simmons, Sr.
Myra Singleton Quarles Thompson

Familiar names. Faces I recognized.

My hometown had, once again, become a headline. It had only been two months since Walter Scott had been gunned down by a police officer in a North Charleston field, not far from the house where I grew up. Now, racism and domestic terrorism had hit Mother Emanuel. National news networks descended on my city. It felt strange to hear the Gullah rhythm of the city’s natives; my family, my friends, speaking to journalists. I watched the news with a defense radar. I did not want the Black residents of Charleston to be misrepresented by outsiders seeking click bait. I also did not want Charleston to become another Ferguson. And it didn’t.

A few days after we lost the Emanuel Nine, my hometown became a beacon of light. Thousands packed the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge across the Cooper River. Hands of all races joined in unity against racism and hate. There were no riots. There was no looting. There was…peace. But there is more to be done.

It has been five years. In previous posts, I have challenged readers to do something. I submit another opportunity to rise to this challenge. A memorial will be built on the site of Emanuel AME Church to honor the nine lives lost with a huge mission.

…teaching new attitudes and behaviors to reverse racism.

-EmanuelNine.org

You can help accomplish this mission. Please consider giving to the 17 on the 17th Initiative. By donating $17 on the 17th (the date of the Mother Emanuel massacre,) you become a part of the solution. It is a small contribution to building the memorial for the Emanuel Nine and their legacy. My hometown proved that love can triumph over hate, but it takes all of us. For more information, go to www.emanuelnine.org.

Listen to a family member’s account of this tragedy and how they triumph over it.

March in Protest, March In Prayer

I was not surprised by the results of the grand jury in Breonna Taylor’s case. I have become quite numb to the events exhibiting the systemic racism in this country’s criminal justice system. This scared me. I do not want my numbness to become apathy. I had to do something.

A few hours after the news broke about Breonna Taylor’s case (yes, I said her name again) I decided to write a letter to local clergy in the predominately white city I live in. My goal was to bring a few clergy together, around city hall, to pray for peace and justice for all citizens, specifically my Black brothers and sisters. On Saturday, September 26, a national prayer march was planned at the nation’s capital and many others were planning marches around their own state capital and city hall buildings. I had recently participated in a march for justice only a few months earlier. I figured if I could march in protest, I could march in prayer.

I sent the letter to several predominately white churches, including one I have volunteered with over the years. I received only one response but I was encouraged. Though this pastor could not attend, he wanted to plan a meeting after Saturday. I went to my city hall early. 30 minutes after the scheduled time, only 3 people joined me. They were my neighbors who I had mentioned the event to in passing. We marched around the civic center and prayed for government, the end of police brutality and unity of our city’s citizens. It was a beautiful morning.

As the days have passed, I have begun to identify with Breonna Taylor in more ways besides our skin color. It has become clear how easily she could have been me. I thought about my brother’s past drug offenses. I remembered times when he hid cocaine in our home without my mother’s knowledge. Did our house ever come up as a possible place to raid? Had God protected me and my mother from the same fate? Why were we so lucky?

I have also thought about the white woman in Minnesota, killed by a Black police officer. That police officer was charged and convicted of manslaughter. I am forced to ask the difference between this woman and Breonna Taylor. I am forced to ask, “Does my life, as a Black woman…does it matter?”

I think my numbness is an attempt to protect me from the reality of the answer. But, I will not allow it to turn into apathy. I made the time to make a statement in prayer. We all can do something. Pray, protest, vote. Step out of your comfort zone and have the uncomfortable conversation; with your family, with your friends, with yourself. Just do something.