TRUST and You won't be crushed....

Good morning or afternoon to you,

I received this story in the form of an email this morning and because it resonated so intensely with me, I wanted to share it with whomever needed a little encouragement this week.....



Trust and You Won't Be Crushed

By Lisa Crum
Scripture Of The Day: "But the Lord God keeps me from being disgraced. So I refuse to give up, because I know God will never let me down." - Isaiah 50:7 (CEV)

It was just at the edge of dusk, 6 months ago this evening, when I woke up to find that I was lying flat on my back on the cold pavement. I remembered seeing the dog run out in front of our motorcycle, and I remembered us bracing and hitting it, then it was like being tumbled in a dark clothes dryer.
There hadn't even been time to be scared, much less avoid the impact. How long had I been unconscious? Someone had already stood up our motorcycle, and a couple of men were looking through the tour pack for some ID. I could see out the corner of my eye that Dana was lying about 10 feet away from me, but I couldn't hear him speak and I couldn't see if he was moving. People standing over us were saying things that indicated to me that we were both bad off.
At first I couldn't even talk, and it was so hard to breathe--I suppose from having had the wind knocked out of me. My helmet was shattered. Later I would find that I had a basal skull fracture and a fractured bone in my neck. I vaguely remember a woman holding my helmet and talking about how messed up it was. Someone commented that my head was bleeding. I wanted to go to Dana but I couldn't get up, and they were trying to keep me still so they could put me on a backboard. My arm was twisted over my head and I thought it was dislocated, but was told later that the shoulder was broken in two places.

In the midst of the confusion and the excruciating pain, for a brief moment it was as if the noise was muffled enough to hear, quite clearly, the Lord whisper just one word to me..."COVENANT." And in that moment, I knew exactly what He meant. I began to cry and say, "Thank you, God, for rebuking the devourer for our sakes!" A peace I can't even begin to describe rested on me, one that would get me through the longest night of my life.

We were airlifted, one at a time, from Williamson Memorial to St. Mary's. My stepson Coby held my hand and coached me to breathe in sync with him while they repositioned my broken shoulder. Then as I lay on a gurney in the hallway, a doctor came up and with no expression whatsoever, told me, "Your husband is unconscious and has a brain bleed. His brain has begun to swell. We'll do what we can." With that, she turned and left. I had to make up my mind right then and there...am I going to trust God or am I going to collapse under a weight of fear? I chose to trust God, and that's what I said out loud to her back as she was walking away.


For just a little while, they wheeled me into a holding room with Dana. He was lying there, eyes closed, not moving. I reached my fingers through the bars on our gurneys, gripped his hand, and prayed for him. Looking back now, I wonder whether the doctors might have thought he was going to die, and they were giving me a chance to say goodbye. But I spoke to him this Scripture which came to my remembrance, before they wheeled us in two different directions, "(You) shall live and not die, to declare the works of the Lord." (Psalm 118:17)

There are those times when we have to choose to believe, or be crushed under the weight of despair. And there are times when we can't just think it or hope it...we have to hear ourselves say it.

Dana spent 82 days in 3 hospitals, couldn't even swallow an ice chip for the first 43 days. He lay in the ICU trauma ward for 17 days comatose and running an insanely high fever. He had multiple fractures and a brain injury, but when Satan tried to take him out, God drew the line and said, "No."

Though it's been a physically and emotionally exhausting 6 months for both Dana and me, we have not lost our joy and we have not lost our love for life and one another. God has been so good to us. I'm telling you, friends, you need Jesus. You need Him, your marriage needs Him, your family needs Him to carry you through times like this. Covenant relationship with God doesn't mean you'll never face difficulty. It can, however, mean the difference between you surviving or being mowed down by the enemy.

Sooner or later, we all have to face the most difficult time of our lives. Are you prepared? God can keep you from falling apart. I can say that because, six months later, Dana and I are still held together by the duct tape of God's wonderful, saving grace. Even these fractured pieces form something beautiful...like a prism of glass that scatters light in every direction, testifying that truly, love never fails.

God's Love

Hello beautiful people!

It's a beautiful April day and I'm sitting on the sun porch meditating on a few things. Two passages of scripture were dropped in spirit this morning just sitting here and I just wanted to offer a little encouragement. I rarely do this but I'm transitioning into a new season in my life and am finding that God's love, grace, and His voice are the only things that are consistent and "sturdy" enough for me to lean and depend on. Sounds a little cliche but be that as it may, it's my truth. I guess I'm growin' a little. lol!!! Anyway, the next eleven months are sure to be taxing with me moving out of my apartment in a month, preparing to relocate next spring, going back to school and start a new chapter in my life, I've allowed myself to slip into worry and stress mode. For the past four months, I've found myself asking God almost everyday, "How am I going to do this?" If you look closely you'll see the error in my question. Mainly because I won't be doing anything. My level of trust has increased greatly since I've turned off the cell phone and the radio and the television and just listened. And of course, when God chooses to be "quiet" he always puts something in your way to get your attention. Which brings me to what I wanted to share with you all this morning.

First, I was led to Phillipians 4:6-7 (New Living Translation) - Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God's peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus. And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.

So just in case there's a worry wart out there (like me) who tends to look mostly at the impossibility of a situation or the negative things that seem to obscure the beauty of God's goodness..... this simply stated, is giving you the command to put the negative things out of your mind and think on all things lovely and beautiful. And what's more beautiful than God's love? (John 3:16) And by the way, His specialty is the impossible! Just FYI.

Lastly, I often find myself getting a little wrapped up in the idea of, "None of the things that I wanted to happen to by now have happened! When are you gonna do it for ME, God?" His answer?

Phillipians 1:6 (New Living Transaltion) And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.

My Pastor always says, "If God made you a promise, that deems you immortal until He completes it." Basically, all my Pastor is saying is it's impossible for God to lie or make you a promise and allow you to parish before He makes good on what He promised you. There's no way that He can place something in you and have it not fulfilled. His Word will never return to Him void. (Isaiah 55:11) Therefore, if He said it, He's obligated to do it. His words not mine! :-)


So as the events of this weekend get closer, don't meditate on the light bill, tuition, car notes, overdraft fees, or hurt feelings. Think on the beauty of God's love. Love in its purest and most unadulterated display. The ultimate sacrifice.

I love you guys and hope this little post offered some encouragement or eased a little stress (at least for today).

Be blessed!

The Uncultured Culture

Last night I had the experience of a lifetime. It seems as if I’d been holding my breathe for 24 years and was finally afforded the opportunity to see The Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre up close and personal. My mother had seen them and one of my sisters had seen them (twice) and I’d resorted to immersing myself in the company via DVD and Youtube and if the heavens opened up they may appear on Oprah. However that hadn’t happened in almost six years. I spend about an hour a week looking over the tour schedule and this particular performance lined up with my pockets and I was finally able to go. It was to be held at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
For anyone that doesn’t know who Alvin Ailey was, he was a dancer and choreographer made infamous because of a production he produced entitled Revelations. A series of pieces that connect the struggle of humanity, the weight of living, and it illustrates the ritual of baptism in the African American community. This production opened during the heat of the Civil Rights Movement and the company became famous because it was a completely African American company of skilled modern dancers.
My sister accompanied me to the performance. We arrived a few minutes late (due to an accident) so we, among many other guests, were asked to watch the opening performance on the flat-screen televisions in the foyer. It was still just as moving. I leaned over to her and said, “Even though we have to watch this out here, just to be in the same building with them is such a privilege.” She nodded and kept watching.
I took a gander or two around the vestibule that seemed to be packed with late arrivals. It seemed like an even mix of cultures. More African American and Caucasian than any other culture. However, this was before we entered the theatre.
When the opening performances ended, we were allowed to take our seats. By the time we entered, the house lights were up and the audience was hardly mixed. There were a few of “us” but I was disheartened by the fact that “we” were still the minority at such a performance. I refuse to use the location as an excuse. I seriously could have taken my sisters and my hands and counted the number of African American patrons in the audience. It was bitter-sweet. I relished in the beauty of seeing a predominantly white audience appreciate a man who revolutionized dance during a period where African Americans were considered less than, mistreated, beaten, and excluded. It was amazing to me that his craft had transcended race and obliterated color. So much so that there were two Caucasian dancers in this performance. Remember this used to be a completely African American company.
Even with all of the standing ovations, the encore, and the cheering, I still couldn’t get past the idea that we don’t appreciate our own. I take that back, if the title reads “All the Good Men Are Gone”, “Hips and Lies”, “Mr. Chocolate”, or “Stripper Chronicles” we seem to always be on board. We seem to feed into stereotypes and the parts of us that are beautifully artistic we shy away from. This isn’t restricted to the arts. We had dinner first at a gorgeous Mediterranean restaurant in a very well mixed part of Durham, NC. We were the only people in the restaurant that looked like us. I remember hearing a conversation between Michael Baisden and George Wilborn about a year ago. Michael urged his listeners to stop reading only black authors, seeing only popular black movies. He went so far as to say, “Stop ordering Ranch dressing and chicken when you go out to eat.”
I could go on about this for paragraphs and pages but all I’m trying to say (as Black History Month comes to a close) is that we are such a gifted group people. It goes far beyond rapping and dribbling or hiking a ball. We’ve pioneered medicine, literature, philosophy, and started major universities. Surely we can dig deep enough to support the good in us and not just the stereotypical, token, and EXPECTED parts of ourselves. I’m just sayin’.

Dark and Lovely

Lately, I’m finding myself to be more receptive to the lessons around me. Here’s a tiny one I learned last night.

It’s Tuesday night and I went through the day thinking it would be just another ordinary Tuesday. Seeing as how, Tuesday nights are class nights for me, I spend a good hour and a half with my girls….. dancing.
Because my group of dancers is growing rapidly, we were moved back into our original dance room. A traditional dance room wide (length-wise) with wall-to-wall mirrors. All of these little details will make sense by the end of this post.

I stood facing the mirror, teaching our newest piece. I don’t face them so they don’t get confused and so that they can watch me if they need a quick point of reference. Anyway, one of my silliest and most energetic girls, eight years old, stood next to me. I was teaching a foot sequence that I had a feeling would be tough for them to pick immediately. I read frustration on her face almost instantaneously, so I took her hand and walked her through the steps and before long she picked it up like her older counterparts.

The song being so high and laced with energy, all of my girls were excited and bouncing around and getting really in to the routine but my silly girl was in another place. The mirrors told everything and I knew it wasn’t the choreography. While her teammates danced and giggled and jumped and played whenever we took a break, she sat on the floor with her head in her hands, legs crossed, staring blankly at her reflection.

Even though I was preoccupied teaching some of my younger ones the same sequence I’d just taught her, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. The hour started to dissolve and I took the opportunity. “Okay ladies, I’m pleased at how hard you all have worked tonight. I’m gonna play the song again and you guys can freestyle for the rest of class.” They jumped at the freedom that I rarely give them but just as suspected my silly girl, sat back on the floor. Head in hands, legs crossed, staring at her reflection.

I called her name. “Come here.” I sat on the floor with my legs crossed and she created a nook under my arm and close to my hip. “What’s the matter? Why are you so frustrated?” I asked her. She rested her head on my bosom and answered honestly (at least from what she’d been inspecting all evening). “Because I’m ugly.”

“Who told you you were ugly?” I asked.

“I told myself!” She fought back tears.

“But why?”

“Because I’m turning nine years old and I am.” It sounded simple but I could tell she was referring to her awkwardness and her bony body.

I gave her a good squeeze. “Are you kidding?” I made her face the mirror again, all the while my other kids were hopped up on Valentine’s candy so much so they didn’t notice our intimate moment. Rather than ask her what she saw, I said. “You must not see what I see. Those big brown eyes and long eyelashes. Look at that dark skin. You’re amazing. You might not think so now but you’re beautiful and I’m gonna tell you every time I see you until you believe it.” I looked at her (in the mirror) and asked, “Who do you see?”

She said her name.

“And what is she?”

“Beautiful!” She answered with a giggle.

Some people that come across this may think to themselves, “What a sad conversation to have with a little girl.”

I look at it differently. I felt privileged as a black woman, who at one point struggled with self-esteem, to be able to instill a sense of value in her. That was breathtaking to me. Value of her skin, her big eyes and long lashes, long gangly legs. Things that she may very well get picked on for now but when she grows into the amazing black woman she’s bound to be, it’s all going to fall into place. This isn’t to say my conversation with her tonight is going to obliterate her struggle with her appearance (she’s so adorable though) but at least it’s a tiny step in the right direction. Maybe this was appropriate for the both of us, it being February and all. I don’t know, I was moved and tickled to death to be able to help her see just a little of who she was and how gorgeous “black” really is.

Tiny Victories

So it’s 4:30 a.m. on Friday, February 11, 2011. Less than 24 hours before my next birthday and Thursday was rough. I spent most of the day in tears. What with being overwhelmed about major life altering decisions I’m having to make in order to make some dreams tangible by the end of this year.
As most of the country is making some of the same adjustments, I’ve been bogged down with the idea of having to downsize tremendously in order to save money, take graduate school exams, fill out applications, get writing samples together, work on my own writing (for major publishing), and looking for a full-time job to finance it all, I couldn’t take it anymore. The school of my choice will be kept on the hush until I’ve been officially accepted but I know I’ll be leaving North Carolina early next year to make a lot of what I just listed happen.
Anyway, I spent most of yesterday sorting through my thoughts, crying, praying, crying, worrying, and thinking some more. Yes, I know. Worry and prayer don’t mix but I’m working on that.
The hours began to lapse and as infomercials began to filter in to some of my favorite networks, I became more and more restless. Wide-awake and sprawled out on the couch watching NUMB3RS (I’m not a fan but it’s the only thing that’s ever on at this hour).
So I’m lying on the couch, thinking aloud about all of things I used to say I would’ve accomplished by this birthday. I began to wallow in self-pity a bit thinking I’d failed myself and kicking myself for having shared so many of my aspirations with so many people. I mean the questions like, “Is that book published yet?” ,“Well, what’s taking so long?”, “I thought you said you wanted to be a professional writer”, kind of get to you after you hear them enough. I felt like I’d lost.
So I lay there. Mumbling to myself and my eyes widened. I remembered one recent goal I’d made for myself almost two months ago that I’d completely forgotten about.
December 25, 2010 my mother gave me a sexy red dress as one of my Christmas gifts. With all of the holiday indulgence, stress, and such, I didn’t want to try it on in front of her. Especially since one of my family members always seems to comment on my weight on Christmas Day every year without fail. I remember after they said what they said to me, I got all of my parcels, loaded them in the car and left my parent’s house in tears. I don’t usually cry this much but the last eighteen months have been a doozey.
When I got home, still in tears, I took the red dress out of its box and yanked it on. The damn thing didn’t zip. Frustrated, I text my sister and told her my dilemma, pleaded with her not to tell my mother because by my birthday I was going to get in it. Up until 4:00 a.m. on February 11, I’d forgotten all about that cute little thing. Fire red, with black rhinestone detailing around the neckline, just above the knee. The perfect dress for flirty fishnets and the perfect peep-toe booties. Lol!!!

So there I lay on the couch, eyes wide, and I jump up and grab the gift box that I’d forgotten about. I never even hung the dress in the closet. I slipped into my cute little red dress and it zipped (with a little room left in the hips).

I’m not sure why I’m sharing this but I think with how heavy (not literally lol!) I’ve felt for the past few days (and months) and the constant thought race in my mind, I forgot how rewarding tiny victories can be. I think even in that moment of standing in front of my bathroom mirror, twirling and dancing with excitement, I reminded myself that I’m capable of doing anything. No nothing is going the way I planned it but in the end with a little stick-to-itiveness and some chutzpah, all of the things I find daunting and overwhelming can be overcome one tiny victory at a time.

I think in essence, I forgot the beauty of testimony. I just wanted one. I want a story to be able to tell. I take that back, I want an amazing story to tell. It momentarily slipped my mind that amazing stories aren’t born out of minimal trial. I’m not saying I won’t cry again, or get frustrated, or maybe even want to give up. What I am saying is, my little red dress gave me some perspective. I asked God where He was today, He let me know around 4:30 this morning.

Exes, Wine Analogies, Kite Metaphors, and other random thoughts

Hey ya’ll,

Happy New Year!!!! This is indeed my first post of the year. I don’t post as often as I did when I started this blog but I still love it just the same.
So here it comes. First things first, if you’ve read at least two of my posts (from over the last three years or so) you know I have a tendency to take two or more instances or occurrences and tie them together (hence the title of this post). Second things second, many of you know that I adore the HBO comedy/drama Sex and The City and have a few posts about particular episodes. However, I’ve never posted anything about the episode I’m about to analyze. Thirdly, just listen and pay attention! ☺
Okay, last week I was watching my usual Sex and the City episodes around lunch time and I’m pretty sure I was preoccupied and half listening. The episode was entitled Ex and the City. Anyone familiar with the series knows that Carrie Bradshaw and Mr. Big had an on again off again relationship for the duration of the series. So much so that he married twice during their off periods. And imposed lots of vexation on Carrie because he couldn’t make the seemingly simple decision to love and be loved. Anyway, this episode happened to be during an off period and Carrie unfortunately found out that Big was engaged. Now this was after she’d attempted to turn their romance into a friendship. He just sprung it on her (over a “friendly” lunch). Of course, she flipped out, stormed out of the restaurant, and had a pity party. But shortly thereafter in the episode she was having brunch with her girlfriends and they began chopping up the idea of exes. With her head in her hands and frustration smeared all over her face, she lowered her eyes and asked, “If you love someone and you break up, where does the love go?”
Although my mind was partially preoccupied, I froze and immediately became engrossed in the episode. In spite of the fact that I’d seen it several times. The episode took me back to a conversation I’d had with a close friend two weeks prior.
He and I were talking and somehow we got on the subject of relationships (as we always seem to do) and he asked me if I ever think about a particular person from my recent past. Of course, names won’t be mentioned but because he asked and I’d been keeping things to myself, I began to heave my thoughts about this person uncontrollably until I could find a way to control myself and listen to what my buddy had to say.

Before I stopped though, I said, “I just believe that our separating meant we needed to better ourselves for ourselves so that we can be wonderful for each other. It’s like wine. It gets better with time but only if it’s left alone to ferment.”
He said something that struck me as poignant. “That’s a pretty good analogy but keep in mind, when the grapes are stomped at the beginning of the process, it’s merely grape juice and nothing else. As time passes, seasons change, and fermentation begins to take hold, it’s no longer grape juice. If you want this to boomerang and come around again, expect for things to be different.” There was a pause. Then he said, “Different but better. No longer the immature version of wine or in this case, a relationship. You can’t rush it if you want it to be good.” He put great emphasis on me resisting the urge to make contact. I guess it would be like popping the cork too soon.
Lastly, he took me on a bit of an analytical rollercoaster and said, “It’s like a kite. Of course, a kite is on a string and the more you try to control it the more out of control it becomes and less beauty is seen. But when you gently release and let go, there’s beauty in what’s to follow your letting go. The wind takes over and you lose control of the thing you so desperately wanted to control.”
Sheesh, how in the world do all of these three metaphors align? Well, in Carries case she and Big ended up together. Albeit ten years and two failed marriages later but they ended up together nonetheless and with that separation came maturity and a sense of self-actualization. What they could take, what they could give, what they could tolerate, how to trust, and how to put the negative occurrences in their past behind them for the sake of a love that never went anywhere. It just got better with time. Even in their being apart.
The kite? Carrie and Big both let go and freed themselves so that the situation could mend itself while they mended themselves APART. They both stored their love in the cellars of their souls and waited to pop the cork when they were both at a place of being beneficial to each other.
This may not make any sense to anyone that reads this but if you think about it some relationships are meant to end for good and some end because you’re not the person you’re supposed to be for them RIGHT NOW. You’re simply the immature version of a fine wine. I’ve heard a lot of stories about couples that broke up and years later got back together. Maybe I’m encouraging myself and rambling to appease my thoughts and feelings.
So to answer Carrie’s question, If you love someone and you breakup, and it’s real love, the love is bottled up for safe keeping until it’s literally ready to be what it was meant to be. Not just for you but for the other person as well.
I think I answered my own question and just used Carrie as a scapegoat. ☺ Anyway, I just felt like sharing. I hope everyone has a fabulous week and when something else strikes me you all will be the first to know! Smooches!

Moving Forward... (2011)

I trust that we’re all enjoying the beauty of the holiday season….. I just wanted to post on last thing before 2010 was just a memory.

The title of this most consists of two words that are used mindlessly and all too frequently in corporate emails. No one really thinks about what they’re saying.

A couple Tuesday nights ago, I was in the process of conducting my last dance rehearsal of the year with my dance team of the most precious little girls in the world. Yes, I’m partial. They range from ages five to eleven and talk about being full of personality. Sheesh! I could be having the worst day and walk into our dance room and they have this way of turning it all around. I guess you can say I’m the play mama to eleven little girls. Hey, at least I can send them home.


Anyway, the purpose of this post is concerning the impending New Year. I’ve said this, as most of us have, every December 31. “This is about to be my year! Things are gonna change this year!” Yadda, yadda, yadda!

I won’t deny that we may mean it for the first few months but things happen, unfortunate relationships take place. We make some bad decisions and we wish we could redo a couple of things. We had poor judgment or used that perfect vision too late (hindsight is definitely 20/20). We can’t discount the wonderful days that found us this year either. We try our best to bottle those moments in hopes that the bad things will be obliterated by good memories.

So at the end of the year we find ourselves weighing the good and bad. What to leave behind and what lessons to carry with us into the next twelve months of promise.

I don’t know about you all but 2010 was a rough one for the kid. I mean rough but I believe it was rough for a reason. I’m hoping those reasons begin to reveal themselves shortly after midnight on January 1st. I’ve been asking God, “Why did you let them do that to me?” “Or Lawd, why don’t I have those testimonies about mysterious money falling into my mailbox.” I could go on and on and on and on……

Well, that’s where my babies come in.


In class two Tuesday’s ago, one of my youngest, five years old, raised her hand as I was giving instructions and asked, “Can I sing you a song.”

I mindlessly, almost flippantly, answered and said, “It’s not time for that right now. Remind me at the end of class.”

The end of class rolled around and of course her singing me a song had totally slipped my mind. The girls were spending the rest of class time preparing decorations for our Christmas party that weekend. She politely raised her hand and asked again, “Can I sing my song now?”

“Yes, sing your song now.” I sat in a chair close to her to better hear her tiny, little voice. She turned to me and I began to prepare myself to hear a song that Dora or The Wiggles or Hannah Montana might sing that I wouldn’t be able to get out of my head for the rest of the night. When she opened her mouth to sing to me, these are the words that fell from her lips.


Not going back I’m moving ahead
I’m here to declare to you my past is over in You
All things are made new surrendered my life to Christ
I’m moving, moving forward
(Moving Forward/Hezekiah Walker)

Yes, I was crying! I guess I gave that long story to illustrate how minimal the past really is. And how the innocence of children can make the most “complicated” adult things seem almost microscopic. The past can’t be undone but if we use the memory and the lesson effectively, it can shape our future in a positive way. I have a really old post entitle TODAY (just poke through the archives. It’s from April 2008.) but don’t waste this year thinking about time lost, what you didn’t do, who you let take advantage of you, who messed with your emotions, who lied, the job you lost, the friend that passed, the loved one that walked away without explanation. Go into this year carrying the lesson and the hope that eventually you’ll get it right and with the knowledge that, in spite of what you didn’t get…. When that clock strikes 12 on January 1, remember you got yet another chance.


I want to wish you all the most prosperous of New Years! I love you all to pieces and can’t wait to see you next year! Be good!