Good enough (The irony of existence)

Friday early morning God touched my heart, while I was still on my bed and made me remember some verses spoken to me in psalm 139…Saying that He knew me in the womb while I was being made.

Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.

For thou hast possessed my reins: thou hast covered me in my mother’s womb.

I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.

My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.

Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.

Psalms 139:12‭-‬16 KJV

When I described my existence I’d believed that I was conceived in dishonour and brought in shame. I’m sure people all around did not support my mom’s pregnancy, being 16 yr old and still in High school. I probably was not wanted…my existence was, to me, a threat to her future in everyone’s eyes, a shame, a dishonour and reproach. Hence the spirit of rejection and fear assigned to me. I had grown up and walked as one who had been rejected and unloved. I had so much fear that I was nothing. I resented that I was even here because I thought that if my mom waited to have me, She would be better off financially, meaning we would not have struggled. I was angry at the world and I blamed her, for I did not ask to be here in this God-forsaken world. Little did I realise that it was the enemy sowing seeds of fear, anger, rejection and pain to destroy me from the beginning.

Here’s a revelation of the Holy Spirit: God chose me. Despite the negativity and lack of support around her, He told my mom to keep me (whether she was aware of Him speaking or not), and to name me. He said I thought it would be a good idea to have you in my kingdom. I wanted you.

If God wanted me all along then that means me being is okay. It is good that I am.

Jesus also had a very humble beginning. He was born in a manger…like where the animals lounge around and poop. Joseph did not understand. As far as he knew, Jesus was a bastard child– in the natural that is what one could see; yet in the spiritual it was no less than a miraculous virginal conception. He was told to marry her anyway. Clearly when things are happening in the spirit realm it is often mistaken for another thing. It often looks like the opposite thing. Which is why we must speak out those things that be as though they were(Romans 4:17).

In the Spirit realm the Angels were singing because the firstborn of all creation chose to come down from his most holy station in God’s care and walk with us in utmost humility and submission and obedience to the law and God’s spirit. He lived with us on earth and taught us what God our Father had taught him. He’d then become that acceptable sacrifice to die as Adam and rise in victory as Christ Emmanuel. He died for a nation who hated Him. But he prayed for them and loved them anyway.

[Notes: The irony of God works in mysterious ways in that the Son of the Most high had come down and live a lowly life. He was poor but not poor in spirit. He died as an felon/criminal but he was innocent. He was to the pharisees a heretic and an apostate of sorts but He knew the law and He understood the heartbeat of God and his will. They were one.] God is full of ironies; you’ll see that in the bible a lot. People call them contradictions…but we need God’s wisdom to understand (and He will share if we ask) the irony of His love though we never earned it, nor do we deserve it.

The irony of my existence is that because of God’s wise sacrifice, I am not a victim but a now victor. I am good enough. My calling is glorious and honourable. Though I have been small, God will use me to do great and many things. Faith as little as a mustard seed (tiny thing–the size of this–> o ) can allow you to reach greater heights, as it is our spiritual blood and currency.

The Lord is the portion of mine inheritance and of my cup: thou maintainest my lot.

The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.
Psalms 16:5‭-‬6 KJV

God is my portion. He is of my cup (always full, never lacking any thing). He maintains my lot and makes it secure, meaning He makes even what I have/ what I’ve done (even my mistakes) good enough.

What is the irony of your existence? What does this all mean to you?  Think about it. OR Leave a comment below, if you like.

 

May the sun kiss you after the rain hits you,

Ashe,

Peace Lillian.

 

*********************

P.S. If God puts it on your heart to make a donation I would really appreciate it as I’ve been struggling financially, still looking for a job but also walking by faith and trusting in God’s provision. You can do that here.

Thanks so much.

Advertisements

The true friend

Long ago, I grew up in an environment that did not embrace who I truly was. I was scorned, rejected, and made fun of.

The friends I had turned out not to be true friends. And, I made unintentional mistakes that hurt people, that I wish I could apologise for.

I used to think that no one liked me. I know what it’s like to be really lonely.

A few days ago, I was reading and meditating on a passage from the bible about Yah’s love.

1 John 4:16

16 And we have known and believed the love that God hath to us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.

18 There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.

One of the errors I make is that I live and socialize as though I am rejected. I have felt rejected and marginalized in the past, so now I reject myself before anybody gets a chance to by isolating myself, rejecting them before they reject me. I truly do belong where I choose to and it doesn’t matter what people think, say or do to me. I’m going to be my own best friend.

For the new year I made a decision that I wanted to learn to love others, take another step in loving God, and in loving who I was created to be, as well as embracing my gifts.

I put my hair in locks this year. I began to realise that I had been vain with my looks and the beauty of my thick, luscious natural hair, and how it requires so much time and so much maintenance and care; I don’t have time for that anymore. My identity was entirely wrapped up in the coils of my hair. I then began the process of liberating myself from defining myself by my hair and by the way I look. It’s a hard thing to do as a woman in a society that grades the value of a woman based on her looks, but I took the leap anyway.

Everyday requires you to leap once more. You don’t know when you’re landing, or if you will land at all.

The way I define my beauty is entirely different. I don’t see myself as “beautiful” or even “ugly”. I don’t look in the mirror as much and don’t need to. I’m just focusing on cultivating beauty from within. As within, so without.

I look the way I choose to. This is pleasing to my God. Some people may not like my locks but I guess what? My hair+my rules= don’t care. Some people exercise great nerve in telling people how to live their lives. Isn’t it that whatever is esteemed in the eyes of man is despised by God? I’m not doing anything wrong. Let me express myself. I chose to be free so let me be. If that’s what you want, liberate yourself. But don’t you dare try to squeeze me into a box of what your mind can conceive.

These verses made me realise that where love is, God is. I can be one with God in Love, true love for the people. No more hatred, no more anger, and much forgiveness. But also in truly loving and embracing myself-balance is key. If there is love within, God will prosper in me as a vessel. If my cup is overflowing I’ll be sure to give.

No one is perfect. I don’t read scripture every day. I pray when the feeling strikes.I try to follow the Law, and also do right by others. God would want me to Love my enemies. All we can ever do in the midst of this spiritual battle is pray for them. An act of love. Entrust them to God. Everything just works itself out. 

I don’t want anything. I don’t need anything. I am just thankful for everything I have. Even though I have nothing. But I have love; so I do have everything. I found the true friend from within-I found God.

Uncertainty in love

God, what am I doing? 

I miss him, but I am pushing him away. I love but I don’t want him. Even though he’s perfect. Even though he is good for me.

What do I do?

I’m not ready to put those pieces back together. Not now. Not right now.

What if I can’t love him like I should? What if there’s no more room in my heart for there to be broken pieces?

On my own, I feel complete. I feel great. I feel perfect. Of course I wonder if a relationship is what I truly want.

Today my friend Cati and I spoke about relationships and what it meant to be a parent. She has been married for years, but had chosen not to have children. Recently, she had discovered that she could no longer conceive due to some condition in her womb. She told me that having a baby changes the relationship. Sometimes for better or for worse. She gave me a scenario about a friend who just went through a divorce. The child was having difficulty adjusting to the change of not having her daddy around. It was hard for the mother, too, for she still loved this man very much; sometimes relationships don’t work out, but it’s hard when you have to see them so often for the child’s sake. She cannot forget him if he is always before her.

Babies change relationships. You roll the dice and see what you get. Am I willing to risk my body, risk investing 9 months into someone and their offspring only to find out that nothing has come out of it? No. I don’t think so.

I don’t know why, but I seem to see myself as a single mother. Maybe because my mother raised me as one. I could get married, though. But I’m very independent. Oh, What’s the point of love if it doesn’t matter? If it only lasts so long?

Why should I waste my time? Why do I feel the pain when I think of hurting him? I know that no man is perfect. Why do I keep asking him to wait? Why won’t he leave me? I’ve done him wrong before. And I was sorry. So sorry.

I just can’t understand the reasoning of my heart.

I had a dream about a man. It was a sensual dream. I walked into the house and he was there. I lay down. He lay down with me. Our legs intertwined, caressing and whispering sweet words of forever. No more. No less. 

I can’t lie, I miss the intimacy of loving a man, of holding his brokenness with delicacy– with which only a woman could be trusted– touching the wounds only a woman can heal.

But what about my wounds? Why should I look after another when I am still here, waiting for love of self? I cannot give if I do not have.

Self-love 2: Being courageous

Spirit, help us to know our essence. Help us heal ourselves, then we can heal each other. 

Since I have become celibate, I feel a sense of freedom. I am free to move my body and have it to myself. On this night of the waning moon, I took a sacred sea salt bath. Waning moon is when the moon’s likeness is reducing; energies of banishing forces and certain energies from your life. I am cleansing from my past. Everything of the past must go. This choice to be celibate is mine and mine alone. No one shall do it for me.

I went to the park across the street from my home. Turns out it’s Friday, movie night, and the neighborhood is having some movie camp out fest. Meaning to say that there is a giant screen in the park and everyone decided to leave the comforts of their homes. I’m like, whooo that’s a lot of people. I was tempted to get a little nervous. I didn’t. I wasn’t nervous. I’ve been trying to heal my mind, body and soul and I realise that I need to let go a lot more and that I need to have a little patience and love for myself.

I am proud of myself, that I am working past the social anxiety instead of holding myself captive in my room.

I had brought my incense sticks, My phone, for time reference. Okay, I smoked just a tiny bit. But that’s nothing. I began my meditation all vibed up and spiritually pumped. after a few minutes I heard moving voices, or the sound of their voices shifting position in relation to me. Their voices were directed at me and I turned my head and it seems like I was too quick in that I caught all 3 women as they turned their heads in unison away from me. lol. like oh shit she heard us. I giggled on the inside. Why am I the weird one meditating on the grass outside, when there are people on the other side of the park watching “tell-a-lie-vision”? Who’s really the crazy one here? I don’t need to watch no freaking movies. I’ve got my own life. I can take care of myself.

It’s all a lie, anyway. What is so interesting? Hollywood is so overdone and I have already moved onto Korean dramas. They’re the shit. Nigerian(Nollywood), Indian (Bollywood), Japanese movies aren’t too bad either. Their plots are less typical. That’s probably because it’s a window into a culture I do not know. They’re still the shit. Maybe I’m just over and done with North American culture as a whole.

I’m Canadian. Here we are engrossed in media and what we think we’re supposed to think seems to be imposed on the people. Canada and America are one and the same. Here we deny it because deep down, Canadians think they’re better and smarter than America even though America thinks the same thing about Canada. But the culture is all the same. Everyone shuns what is not like them. I’m going to stop saying “we”. I am not like these people around me.Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong. I am super sensitive to all of this negativity in the news and the newspaper about Trump running for President and about race and stuff. Their news is our too apparently. I quit the news and newspapers. I quit the radio. All media that I though wasn’t serving me, gone. I use facebook solely for the purpose of “quick email”/”msn”. I use the internet for youtube to watch inspirational videos and I look up articles every now and again. Instagram, but not too much. I just like beautiful visuals. and that’s about it.

Another tangent over here: The radio station plays really bad music over and over and over and over. Virgin Radio MTL. eh? Virgin? Never been touched, have you? lol They keep playing music like “work from home” by fifth harmony. And if you don’t know them, I suggest you check it out. I’m not doing propaganda for useless banter, my message is that their message is inappropriate. If you haven’t noticed while watching Youtube videos, every now and then you an ad about a man who started from the bottom, and now he’s a millionaire. That’s a thing. He says he works from home. Doing what? I once knew people who sold weed and stuff for a living. They work from home. I had met and known girls who sold themselves for a living at home might I add. My point is what are they saying to these young girls? My young sisters are walking around looking like they’re too hot for everything but the next man. It’s teaching them to be doormats, to be nothing but objects of pleasure for men. And young are learning to stay macho chauvinist pigs; taking, never asking, and ever so entitled and egocentric. Not all of you. I am not blaming YOU, it is not your fault you grew up the way you did. But now that you’re aware, you (yes you!) can make a change. 

Fifth harmony is like the present-day spice girls. I felt that the spice girls had more spice and sweetness. The latter is diabetes. Too much sexy. Don’t they know my young sisters and brothers are watching?  Mothers, teach your daughters and sons, Fathers support the mothers and fight for change.

But anyway, I realize that I don’t need to belong. I don’t want to belong to a society that is sleeping. they don’t want truth. They are allergic to wisdom. None of this make any sense. Anyway, I’m changing.

I game myself a tight hug because at lest I made it. Two random girls I didn’t know walked past me calling me a slut for no apparent reason, but I made it.

I can’t believe you would make those kind of assumptions just by looking at me. Open your eyes, you people are cowards. You don’t want to see what is there. Or let go of what is not.

I release and let go of every pain and pang of anger and fear. I now live in peace with myself (at least for now). I am learning to be patient with myself, especially when I understand how hard it is and how far I have come. I say I am proud of myself for taking a step further than last time.

 

Self love: relearning to write

I’ve declared myself celibate for a few days now. I left my boyfriend. Sometimes I feel like I’m scared that I am making a mistake. My goal is really to date myself, get to know myself and love myself. So here I am, on this journey. Now I am outside of town in the middle of nowhere. The deep, dark forest that seemed so far away is now before me.

I have forsaken everything I have ever known, owned and touched. Everyone I thought I knew is gone. I left them all to venture out and fulfill the lust of my adventurous heart. I am alone but not lonely. I am scared. But most of all, I am willing to learn.

The forest is a symbol that I use to represent my shadow self. I am leaving the town of everything I knew and now entering into unknown territory; I am discovering myself.

I learned one thing about myself just recently: the reason I don’t write as much as I could, or as much as I should is because I have been afraid that others would judge my writing to be bad. And in turn, I would deem myself a bad writer. As a teen I wrote a lot and I prided myself on the poetry and short stories that I had written and that have gotten a lot of votes from my teachers and my mom. But now I feel like I’ve lost my juice. I feel like life is trying to squeeze the juice out of me like a lemon. I put off writing a lot even though I enjoy writing. In the past my writing was the one thing I identified myself with and that kept me afloat in the deep waters of high school, where I didn’t belong anywhere. So criticism of my expression hurt me deeply. Maybe this is where this has come from. I’ve had trouble ever since.

Now at this new job, I am experiencing some difficulties. You see, I’m a diversity trainer. My job is to do diversity workshops based on historical figures of African-Canadian history. It’s a new program. We have to come up with new activities and ways of teaching the material in a fun way, and I have to put together a report for someone who may begin to animate an after-school program, based off of what is called the ABCs of Canadian black history. I’ve taught teens, elementary aged kids and preschoolers and it’s been a challenge for me especially since I’m meek in nature and I am especially prone to anxiety when faced with social situations. Now what’s worse, I am teaching. I’m In front of everybody. I’m telling them what to do. I know this is what I’m in University for. I’m in a specialised program for Early childhood and elementary education and so far so good, but being around a whole lot of people tends to make me plain nervous. I think it’s a good thing that the universe/Spirit/God(whatever you want to call it) has pushed me in this direction because it’s the estage before my estage that I’ve been avoiding for a few semesters.

Now when It came time to write my report this week, my boss looked over my work and she said that the syntactical order of the words in my sentences were formed as if I was speaking french. Now, I know we are in a French province, and it is possible that I’ve picked up some french ways of speaking and doing things, even the spelling of certain English words, (vice versa for the francophone residents here) but I wasn’t even trying to do that. I just wasn’t sure of the tone that the report should take. Should I write in first person? First person plural? I just wasn’t sure. Of course I knew she wasn’t trying to insult me, but in retrospect I can’t help but be a little hurt by it. She wrote history books. It’s a rough copy, for crying out loud. She’s so educated with her Phd and I’ve only just finished my freshman year at University, and about to go into my sophomore year. I’m not there yet. Yes, I’m a writer. But what I don’t understand is why do I have no problems writing down streams of paragraphs on blogger or on wordpress, but when it comes to work or school essays when I really need it, why can’t I write? Am I too right-brained to function?

How can I do this? it’s not fair. I know people who can vomit an essay. I used to be able to do that but now I’m…what happened to me? I feel like I’ve lost my linguistic touch. My coworker can vomit ideas while I end up feeling like I’ve got nothing up my sleeve and I’m afraid of looking like I don’t know shit. Right now I should be working, not blogging.

I’m not a bad writer. A good write puts in work. first drafts always suck. It’s about the work I put in.

http://goinswriter.com/the-difference-between-good-writers-and-bad-writers/ :

A good writer is humble. Regardless of skill, she is committed to seeing the writing process through to completion. No matter how grueling or hard, she will write. And she will get better.

 

 

I am so thankful and grateful for you, traveler, who stumbled onto my page. 😉 please tune in. I’ll be back on this site for more on my new self-love series in which I will record and share what I have learned about myself.