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.

 

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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.

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Lost

I heard a message in my dream that told me, it’s not about talent, it’s about dedication and passion and hard work.

I just got back from my Field work today. I’m competent. I truly am. And I’ve been studying to work this profession for 2 years at the University now.

But lately, I’ve been doing the same thing: starting the semester off right, and then falling off because the passion is gone. Something new has been ringing in me. This is not what I want to do. Maybe I don’t want to be a teacher anymore. OMG I’m falling off my rckers right now.

I’m changing. Maybe I’m going crazy. I’ve been moody, unstable, and I’ve been less than comfortable in this world. In my world. I want to change that.

To be real, I’m not excited because the government is cutting on education, which is making it harder on Teachers to teach; classes are getting bigger and harder to sustain and I fear that I will become frustrated with it all. On top of that they’re underpaid and disrespected–no credit given. It’s a no-win situation. Teachers work so hard. Teachers are so tired. It makes me think, why am I even here, spending close to 2 thousand dollars a per semester learning from intelligent fools speak all day long? Fuck this shit. 

Everyday I just end up staying home, watching stupid inspirational videos and stuffing my face with cheese and nachos. I feel like I’m hiding from myself by not getting quiet and praying and meditating more. I’m not listening to myself. Because if I was, I’d no longer be on this path. However, try as I might, I am awakening to who I am and what I truly want in my life and I am so screwed right now. What do I do?

To be honest I envisioned myself teaching but it seemed like I never really had plans to stop there. I was thinking of starting a movement within the education system to liberate teachers from the pressure of the letter grade and focus on actual learning.

My actual passions would be playing guitar and creative writing. I could go to school for that. I bet I would be sooo alive every single day. But Where is that going to get me? I know that the first person to say something is going to be my mom. ugh. I can already feel the years and of mom trying to change me and to “persuade” me to stay on the safe lane on the highway of life.

But why does a car have a steering wheel if we aren’t supposed to turn around? I dunno…it looks good on the dashboard?? Who does that?!

Drivers who are too afraid to make a left won’t get anywhere.

Why shouldn’t I?

May the sun kiss you after the rain hits you.

Ashe and Peace.

Peace Lillian

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.