Lumpia, Ballet, 66 Geneva & Jewish Summer Camps - A Child Grows In Frisco

For the record, no true born and bred San Franciscan EVER refers to the city as Frisco. I was trying to come up with a catchy title and the above rolled of my tongue with ease. Please forgive me my fellow San Franciscans :-)

The seeds that have mutated into my insatiable cultural curiosity were firmly planted as a little girl growing up in San Francisco. I've shared with you that my brother and I were born as American children to foreign born parents. This by in large translated to our world view being shaped in a very holistic, anti-xenophobic, inclusive prism. As the only black family in the neighborhood we lived in from 1977 - 2004, (when my father moved), our family was the victim of hate crimes, false accusations and plentiful stereotypes. Given that my parents grew up in black countries, the black vs. white dynamic didn't factor into their psyche. For the record, my mother thought Alvin and I could be ANYTHING we wanted. Case in point, it was clear maybe three months into my life that I would not grow to have a ballerina's physique, HOWEVER, my mother enrolled me in ballet classes. For that matter, she enrolled me in sewing, gymnastics and swimming classes. My brother and I progressed so far in swimming that as elementary and middle school aged children we were proud members of the Daly City Dolphins Swim Team. Every summer Alvin and I attended a Jewish summer camp - Camp Akavah. We were the ONLY two chocolate drops in the bunch. In no time we were able to recite blessings in Hebrew and developed a deep respect for the traditions and history of Judaism. My parents never had the opportunity to explore anything extra-curricular in their younger years. Shoot, the curricular in and of itself was a gift. What they didn't have they were determined to provide for me and Alvin.

In the late 70's through the mid 80's San Francisco Junior Academy was comprised of children whose backgrounds were among others - Haitian, Samoan, Japanese, El Salvadorian, Russian, Filipino, German, Hawaiian, Mexican, Belizean, Panamanian and Chinese. At school we were encouraged to celebrate and indulge in other cultures. Lunchtime and potlucks were an international smorgasbord. To this day I crave lumpia, chilaquiles and eso fafao, right along with roti and curry chicken. While my early school years were rich with diversity, monkey-bars, and the obligatory awkward adolescent moments they also featured rushing waves of social activism with the birth of the gay agenda in the Castro, remnants of the summer of love movement in the Haight-Ashbury, the election of Harvey Milk, the murder of George Moscone, and the numbing disbelief with the mass suicide of 900+ members of Jim Jones San Francisco based People's Temple.

I was raised in a mono-theistic, Judeo-Christian faith. Weekly church attendance was de rigueur - and to be honest, I didn't mind it one bit. While my childhood wasn't perfect and at times I begged and pleaded for God to poof my parents away and give me Heathcliff and Claire Huxtable in their stead - looking back I realize my parents did an exceptional job raising me and my brother. My parents weren't easy. Scratch that - my MOTHER in particular wasn't easy. If she observed me or my brother being wasteful she would remind us that "we weren't workin' anywhere". The luxury of "having our say" was non-existent. My parents were immigrants to this country and their lense was keen on priorities, values and opportunity. Having the latest anything was a joke. Anything superficial was....superficial. What I didn't realize then, but am well aware of now, is that what my parents gave me was a gift. They wanted my brother and I to focus on character, on education, on confidence, on the things that would propel us in life. They realized that the physical, the superficial, the accoutrement would catch up later. Now, I won't say that I haven't put in some time on a therapist's couch, I have. But all in all I am grateful for the role my parents played in me becoming who I am today - a Jesus loving, compassionate, cultured, comical, passionate, family loving woman.

My mother passed away in August of 1999 - she is not privy to these words and this acknowledgement. However, my father, 73 years young, a retired educator and Facebook devotee is. Thank you, Daddy for ALL you've done! For your love, your prayers, your humility, your example, your sacrifice.

*Question for readers: If the adult you are today were able to advise you as a 10 year old - what would you tell him/her? Have you connected the pieces to your life's mosaic? What epiphanies/revelations have you had?

Pigs DO NOT Fly - Trust Me, I've Done The Research

Contrary to what the picture to the right depicts - pigs DO NOT fly. Now before I get letters from the anti-pig defamation league or the anti "is she calling men pigs via a metaphor?" league - hear me out.

First of all, the hyperbole of the aerial swine has been around for a good minute . The phrase is thought to come from a 16th century Scottish proverb. Is it because there are similarities between the pig and the bird? "Birds and Pigs do not possess sweat glands in their skin. Except for this there are no similarities. Pigs will never fly, or lay eggs. "When pigs fly" is an adynaton, a way of saying that something will never happen. The phrase is often used for humorous effect, to scoff at over-ambition". I wonder if the originator of the term understood the intricacies of the physical and physiological limitations on pigs. Or did they just see a fleshy, wallowing, grunting mess and conclude the likelihood of a pig "rising" above its predicament was beyond impossible. Pigs CANNOT and DO NOT fly. Why would you want them to anyway? Pigs do what they were born to do. To do otherwise would make a pig, not a pig. Pigs corpulent bodies were made for land. Pigs are born to be slaughtered. The agility, lightness and wings possessed by birds are not transferable to pigs. Thank goodness, the thought of that freaks me out. Domestic pigs range between 110-770 pounds. Can you imagine a 200 pound pig flying through the sky?

Now eagles are a different story altogether. They are not quite as large in number as the lowly pig, yet they are nowhere near extinction. There are plenty of eagles to be found.

The eagle shows four characteristics:

Vision - The eagle's eyes can see great distances. They can also directly into the sun without being blinded.
*Disapora Muse says: The person for you will see beyond the superficial, beyond what others see and will overlook that which is not important. They will see your value and will act accordingly.

Eagles Never Eat Dead Meat- You will never see an eagle eating meat that it did not kill. An eagle is not a scavenger. It hunts for and kills its own food. It hunts for the prey while it's warm and alive.
*Diaspora Muse says: The person for you will not mess over you. The person for you will not take advantage of your hurts for their benefit. They will treat you as the blessing that you are.

Looks For & Flies Into Storms - As storms approach, lesser birds head for cover, but the might eagle spreads its wings and with a great cry mounts upon the powerful updrafts, soaring to heights of glory. Eagles use the storm to lift him to these great heights.
*Diaspora Muse says: The person for you will be there in the good and bad times. They will be your shoulder to cry on. They will be your encourager and cheerleader. They will be the wind beneath your wings.

Very Gentle & Attentive To Their Young - The eagle is known for its ferocity, yet no member of the bird family is more gently and attentive to its young. At just the right time, the mother eagle begins to teach her eaglets how to fly. She gathers an eaglet onto her back, and spreading her wings, flies high. Suddenly she swoops out from under the eaglet and as it falls, it gradually learns what its wings are for until the mother catches it once again on her wings. The process is repeated. If the young is slow to learn or cowardly, she returns him to the nest, and begins to tear it apart, until there is nothing left for the eaglet to cling to. Then she nudges him off the cliff.
*Diaspora Muse says: While we are all capable of an intermittent trip, the person for you will know when to step up and when to fall back. Your welfare and well being will rank high on their list of priorities. They will be there for the gentle push or slight nudge you need - their care and later their love for you will temper their interaction.

In my opinion, aspiring to crack the flying pig code is part of the woman's nature. We specialize in making the impossible, possible. It is both the blessing and curse of being a woman. It is a blessing because we find a way to make things happen. Give a woman a can of beans, a handful of rice and an onion and we will prepare you a delectable meal. We figure out how to get things done in no win situations. We are resourceful. It is a curse because there are times when you simply need to walk away. We hang around thinking things will change. In my observation, women find it HARD to walk away. Especially when the foundation of the relationship is founded on sketchy ground..cue Effie singing "And I Am Telling You". Traditionalists will use the aforementioned as support of the argument that women are to be found and sought after, women are to be courted. Unfortunately, nowadays it is quite common for women to take on the man's role of the pursuer. On the flip-side, and in my humble opinion, quite often men make the mistake of entertaining women just because they are there and/or this particular woman may not require much. At times men entertain relationships because of convenience. The man becomes an eagle donning a pig suit. I don't know about y'all but I want to be wanted in totality. I don't want you to be with me just because nor do I want you with me hoping I will change. In my early 30's I came to a conclusion- for every piece of boom boom cheese there's a piece of moley bread. In other words there is someone for everyone. Because something doesn't work out doesn't mean there's something wrong with you OR the other person. It simply means you all aren't meant for each other. Let that person go and find/allow yourself to be discovered by the one who will make your heart soar!

It is virtually impossible to mistake a pig for an eagle. Stop trying to make pigs fly. Make it easy on yourselves - link up with an eagle. Trust me, I've done the research.

Tell The Truth And Shame The Devil

Lying to ourselves is more deeply ingrained than lying to others. Fyodor Dostoyevsky

About a year ago I saw "The Invention of Lying". Interesting concept, it was. Lying is such a charged, hurtful, convenient notion. The reality is people lie because they would rather NOT deal with the repercussions of being honest and telling the truth. Being honest and telling the truth takes courage. Might I add it takes courage to dish out honesty AND to receive it. As much as I hate being on the receiving end of lies, and would argue that lying/omitting information and embellishing are the exception and not the rule in my life - I find that when I make a concerted effort to be 100% honest, I am constantly coming up against the "perfect" opportunity to escape dealing with any number of things by just....lying.

Lying permeates every single nook, cranny, layer, sphere and prism of modern day culture. Some will tell you that truth is a very subjective thing. Existentialists will offer that "we all have our own truth". However, the fall out, the repercussions, aren't limited to the lie-teller. I am of the opinion that lying is nothing more than actualized selfishness. If you don't beleive me, I dare you to try to make it through the day without telling a single lie, embellishment or non-committal answer. In other words, tell the unmitigated, unadulterated truth. It is both terrifying and freeing. If we all lived responsibly and authentically there would be much less to apologize for, ask forgiveness for and LIE about. Knowing the truth is inevitable, that it will be known, has behavior modifying properties. We all know some people would rather you lie to them than tell them the truth. That STILL doesn't excuse you from your responsibility to live...responsibly. Just think about it - what if we couldn't count on ANYONE to be true to their word. What is we all walked around wielding our personal truths about without any concern for the world we live in? Just because you lie about something doesn't erase its existence or reality.

A few years back I was visting Uganda. While I was there I was the guest of a very successful, well-to -do leading attorney in the country. I wined and dined with the creme de la creme of Ugandan society. It was clear that my host lived well above the socioeconomic level of the average Ugandan. In spite of that fact, I noticed he would frequently stop and buy SIM cards for his cell phone. His house boy would be sent to pick up a SIM card. His secretary would go fetch a SIM card. I thought it was odd. Here in America most people receive a bill for their past usage. Those who don't typically pay by use is a result of bad credit, etc. This man clearly could afford to pay his bills - I asked why was he a man of means doing as the "commoners"? His response was that "Americans live in a different paradigm. You all are extended credit with the assumption that you will keep your word and pay what is owed. There is a level of faith, a level of trust extended to you by businesses in America. In Uganda if you want something, you have to pay for it first, even electricity". He later added that if credit were extended in Uganda, in no time at all the economy would come crashing down. Ironic, we see what happened to the USA as credit lines were extended to those who could and could not be trusted. American culture on a whole is built on the assumption of honesty. Even in our court system there is the presumption of innocence. We are expected to speak with integrity, live with integrity and make commitments with integrity. Our economic, social and moral foundation is based on the supposition of integrity.

The truth is incontrovertible, malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end; there it is. Winston Churchill

I have challenged myself to live responsibly, authentically and honestly. I can't see doing one or two of those three, it must be all. Our lives, our families, our communities and our world would be a better place if we all challenged ourselves to do the same. Tell the truth and shame the devil - who's in?

Are You In That Number?

It is said that there is strength in numbers. In North America, approximately 15% to 25% of women and 5% to 15% of men were sexually abused when they were children. In this case, I wonder to whom the strength is rendered - the victimizer or the victim?

I hesitated in writing this piece. As mentioned above, my counterparts are large in number...I am not alone, yet it is still a painful conversation to have - even with one's self. I was sexually abused as a child. I was young....very young. I couldn't have been more than four years old when it started and it went on for about three years. As is the case with most victims of sexual abuse, the perpetrator wasn't the boogie man, some weirdo down the street, or the man hanging out at the park - he was a trusted family friend. As a matter of fact, it's very likely that my victimizer is reading this, right now. He was never confronted, not because I didn't tell, but because I wasn't believed. Actually, I was treated as though it was something I brought on myself. There's a disturbing dynamic that takes place in many of our homes. Often times, things that don't fit the image that we seek to present simply land on the editing floor. These things are later unearthed in co-dependent relationships, victims becoming victimizers, shame, alcoholism, promiscuity, use of illicit drugs, low self-esteem, so on, and so on.

I was thirty years old when I had the "aha" moment that freed me from self- destructive behavior, shame and low self-esteem. I was thirty years old when I realized that what happened to me from the ages of four through seven wasn't my fault. I was thirty years old when I realized that the gift and responsibility of sexuality endowed to me by my creator was prematurely and irresponsibly awakened by a flawed, predatory young man who was likely abused himself. I was thirty years old when I realized that moving forward, I had a choice.

When a child is sexually abused - more often than not, the switch of sexual desire is flipped on. I'll take it a bit further. Not only is it flipped on, the switch is secured in the on position with a firmly nailed in plank of wood. This child's body will crave this connection. Their mind will tell them one thing, but their body another. Given their youth, they lack the maturity to manage and process these feelings. Often times, like me, the child is made to feel that their is something wrong with them for having these feelings, for craving and at times seeking out a means to meet that desire. The desire is collateral damage for the wrong that was done to that child. There is a lack of sensitivity about the reality that this child now faces. To heap guilt on top of a child who has been vicitimized is inexcusable. Think about when you crossed the 'fleshly" threshold in your life? For many who had a choice as to when to engage sexually - once that step was taken it was likely akin to holding back wild horses from indulging with reckless abandon. Sex, intimacy and physically connecting feels good.....REAL good. It's supposed to. God created it that way. Just because it is wrongly ignited doesn't take that away. A few months back Tyler Perry shared his story of abuse on Oprah. The thing that struck me about his retelling of the abuse was not only the bravery it took for a man and a man of his stature to share his experience. It was not only how in his telling of the story the emotion was so raw it was as though he was transported back to that time. What also struck me was the terminology he used. He said more than once that "his body betrayed him". Even though he KNEW he was being violated. Even though he KNEW what was happening was wrong. Even though - his body betrayed him. Those words resonated deeply with me.

The abused child's journey into adulthood and healthy expression of sexuality is rife with landmines. The foundation upon which their sexuality is based is DEEPLY flawed. Every step taken has the potential to swing to an extreme on the continuum of sexuality. For me, I always thought something was wrong with me. To this day, I still struggle with processing what is healthy and normal. So, you may ask what could have be done differently for me? What should a parent do if their child comes to them and alleges that they have been abused? In addition to confronting the alleged abuser and informing authorities:

1. Listen
2. Give your child the assurance that you will protect them from any further abuse.
3. Let them know it is NOT their fault.
4. f you haven't had that talk about the birds and the bees you will need to now. If you have had it, revisit it and explain what they might feel, think etc. as a result of this abuse. Yes, this may add another layer of discomfort to that already uncomfortable conversation, but you have to give your child the tools to combat the residuals of the abuse. Otherwise you are sending your child into battle with a butter knife.

Finally, remind yourself that your child may act out - the way to deal with it is in love and understanding. NEVER make your child feel it is their fault or that something is wrong with them. They have been dealt an unfortunate card - teach them how to manage it. If your child was born with diabetes and their body had difficulty regulating its blood glucose and blood sugar levels you would have a frank conversation with them. You would spell out the dangers in a candy bar, piece of cake or can of soda. You would tell them that their body reacts differently to certain things and that they had to be extra careful. Why hesitate to have that conversation with our children that have been sexually abused?

I am on the eve of my 40th year of life. I have learned much, experienced even more and through it all am grateful for all that makes me uniquely me. My pain, my mistakes and my missteps have the potential of freeing others, enlightening others, empowering others, changing others. What could have destroyed me has made me stronger. The victim blames, the victor learns. My name is Cynthia Chea and I am a survivor.

I WANT To Be Used!

Seest thou a man who is diligent in his work? He shall stand before kings and not mean men. Proverbs 22:29

Hands down, my favorite story in the Bible is the story of Joseph. This story speaks of his unrelenting obedience, self-denial and otherworldly forgiveness. I remember reading somewhere that what most of what you and I know and have been told about the story of Joseph does not BEGIN to tell what he actually encountered and overcame. Can you imagine being sold into slavery by your siblings? In modern times, that betrayal would have resulted in years of psychotherapy and a resolve to never speak to those siblings again. And let's talk about Potiphar's wife. Most of us grew up hearing the story of her proposals and at least for me I envisioned one or two occurrences where Potiphar's wife gave her darndest in enticing Joseph. Bible scholars tell us that Potiphar's wife's pursuit of Joseph was relentless. She teased, proposed, suggested and galavanted around Joseph every opportunity that she had. Given that she was the wife of a man of stature, we can go out on a limb in concluding that she was likely an extremely attractive woman. One can gather from the biblical timeline that Joseph was between the ages of 18 and 24 when he was head of Potiphar's affairs. Can you imagine what type of restraint it took for a virile, young man given charge over Potiphar's affairs to not give into impulse, whim and fancy? You and I can run off a list of modern day politicians, world leaders and titans of industry who have fallen behind a woman. Consequently legacies have been ruined, families have been brought to shame and I doubt any of them would say it was worth it. Potiphar was Pharaoh's chief official, Pharaoh was the King of Egypt, this young man was two degrees of separation from the ruler of that time period's pre-eminent kingdom. Again, this took place when Joseph was between 18-24 years of age. What were YOU doing at that time in your life? Could you or I have been trusted with that temptation?

Jacob was on to something with his affinity to Joseph. In hindsight, his affection and his deference towards Joseph was rightly placed. What if the awesome task that Joseph was destined to inherit had been dealt to any one of his 11 brothers? Likely an entire nation and the surrounding region would have been obliterated from the famine that was to come. Years later, when Joseph came face to face with those who sold him off he could have exacted his revenge. I mean really, who would have faulted him? Most of us relish the opportunity to check somebody, to give them a piece of our mind, to let them know we aren't stupid and we knew all along what was up.

For me, this story is both inspiring and sobering. Inspiring because Joseph's obedience and the subsequent blessings that came from it made him a vessel for blessings for countless people and generations. His obedience not only gave honor to God, nor did it only result in Egypt's residents and those in neighboring areas survival of the famine. Joseph's obedience ensured the progeny of you and I today. Joseph's obedience stands as a testimony of how the Lord CAN use you, if you heed His loving direction. Sobering because I shudder when I think of how my disobedience has hindered my life. The extrapolation of my disobedience means that the blessing I could have been for others has fallen on thorny ground. It means that where I SHOULD or COULD be is nobody's fault but mine. It means that others very well could have/could be suffering because of my disobedience.

2011 is fresh upon us and I have resolved to be like Joseph. In the past I have fallen short of the gifts, talents and responsibilities I have been given. In spite of this, I have been blessed by my own personal Joseph's. People whose obedience and discipline has afforded them the ability to step in the gap for me. It is my sincere desire to be an obedient blessing. I want to be used!

Good Hair

I’ve worn dreadlocs for the past 11 ½ years. Some see locs as a form of rebellion and an anti-establishment manifesto. For me, deciding to loc my hair was a major step in my journey to total self acceptance. See, I grew up in the age where being "light skinned with long hair and pretty eyes" was the standard by which the black community measured beauty. Debarge reigned supreme on the airways and those who weren't naturally blessed with "good hair" sought refuge in leisure curls, jheri curls, wave nouveaus and good old fashioned super strength relaxers. Nothing could be done for skin color or eye color, but hair? Absolutely. For those outside of the black community, the term "good hair" refers to hair that is curly, soft, wavy, straight. It is often times a byproduct of miscegenation. Take one look at my picture and you will surely conclude that the miscegenation in my blood line was kept to a minimum. Nevertheless, susceptible to the majority, I fell in line and like a good soldier received my war scars of scabbed scalps, over-processed hair, hot comb burns, nights of sleeping on my knuckles, and a rainbow's worth of hair coloring.

I am fortunate to be a first generation American of indigenous Liberian and Guyanese descent. I wear my heritage with unmitigated pride and aplomb. My father is a member of the Kru tribe - hence my nod and mention of his indigenous lineage. He's not part of the repatriated African American contingency - he is through and through, to the bone, uncut, motherland product. My mother was a melange of African, Caucasian and East Indian (Madras) blood. The result of this union produced two deeply chocolate kissed, ample bodied, slightly relaxed wool-like coifed haired children. Given the times, this mean that growing up I felt abnormal.

I moved to New York City in 1996 one week after completing graduate studies at Golden Gate University in my hometown of San Francisco. I could not WAIT to move to New York. I had begun a love affair with the city as a ten year old girl. Back in 1980 my Aunty Shirley ran food services for Macy's at 34th Street. My brother and I spent a Christmas break with her. Every day we'd take the train in from Montclair, New Jersey and would descend into the wintery wonder that was New York City. Can you imagine what Manhattan in all its splendor looked like to a little girl from the city by the bay? It was then that I KNEW I'd return one day. So now it's 1996 and I'm moving to NYC - Brooklyn's Crown Heights neighborhood in particular. I'm excited, yet totally clueless as to how this move will irrevocably change my life.

Ask anyone who has spent any time in NYC and they will tell you the city is overrun with amazingly attractive, stunningly gorgeous, disturbingly exotic men and women. The racial mixes and 100% pure varieties represented there are mind-blowing. While this next statement may seem unlikely given what I previously stated, one of the gifts NYC gave me was a sense of self-confidence and peace with who I was/am. See, I came to a realization that there will ALWAYS be someone who will one up your beauty, intelligence, etc. However, they can NEVER trump your ability to be you. The minute I decided to accept and celebrate my 95% cacao kissed skin, nod to the motherland mane and ample form, people started gravitating towards me. All of the things that made me unique and abnormal had now made me....unique and abnormal. Unique meaning: being the only one of its kind; without an equal or equivalent; unparalleled. Abnormal meaning: not normal; deviating from the usual or typical; extraordinary. New York City's gift to me was the realization that I was one of a kind and extraordinary. Aren't we all? The master creator took care in crafting each and every one of us. Who I am, why I am and what I am, was/is ALL part of HIS master plan. Who you are, why you are and what you are was/is ALL part of HIS master plan. Psalm 139:13-16 tells us so.

I have been unemployed for just over a year now. Quite a few times in the past year well meaning friends and acquaintances have asked “do you think you may be missing out on opportunities because of your hairstyle”? My answer has been “maybe – but having locs doesn’t make me any less qualified than having straight hair makes me qualified”. My hair, good, bad or indifferent is who I am - free, natural, qualified, enlightened, worldly and real! To me, that is good hair.

Divorced and Ignored

Dedicated to Trini.

A picture may paint a thousand words, but a thousand words does not necessarily paint the right picture.

I was talking to an old friend today about post-divorce single parenthood. I've known Trini for 21 years. We met at a Christian college in the deep south. You couple Christian college and the deep south and you get a feel for the fervor and commitment to traditionalism in which we were steeped. We were catching up on all that has transpired over the years since we last saw each other. Trini got married, gave birth to three children, a boy, two girls and....got divorced. As we were talking, she said that after her divorce she felt like she had a scarlet letter D across her chest. Where/when did this letterman effect happen - going to the grocery store? No, at church. It's something that I've heard all too often, she said " single divorced parents are the most ignored group in the church". As a single I have felt that way - I mean outside of the obligatory "singles ministry" which gets and A for effort but typically earns a C- in its execution. Married life is celebrated, supported and prayed for. Singles? You're on your own (pun intended). I know this both from being a single and from serving as a Single's Ministry leader. It is virtually impossible for one ministry to meet all the needs of those who fall under the single banner. Let's see, there are: divorced, never married, divorced single parents, 18 year old singles, widows/widowers, twice married and twice divorced, 40 year old and never marrieds, never married single parents, widowed single parents... I'm sure I've missed someone. All these different "titles" if you will, have differing needs, concerns, challenges, etc. It is naive and presumptuous to think that one size can and will fit all in our churches.

My brother spent 9 years as a divorcee and shared similar observations. I've heard that all of a sudden the invites you used to get to the married couple/family potlucks get lost in the email/snail mail/evite. When the newly divorced walks into church the still married cling to their spouse a little closer (as though they might catch whatever you "have" that caused you to get divorced). And don't you dare be half-way attractive. Men, you've now turned into some lothario, roaming to and fro from church house to church house, full of pent up sexuality waiting to pounce on any woman who will give you the time of day. Women, you are needy, seeking affirmation and attention. You are the single mother who is just waiting for an able bodied man to look in her direction. You're desperate and will do ANYTHING to get out of the situation that you have brought on yourself. Of course, that is what's going on. If it were anything less - that would mean that those who remain married are susceptible to this same fate. That reality, to those who stand in judgement, is far worse than their treatment of brothers and sisters in Christ. It IS unsettling - no , not the divorced, I'm speaking of the us vs. he/she that many Christian married couples adopt instead of reaching out to a brother or sister that is hurting.

I've been fortunate to have a front row seat to relationships and marriages at varying stages. I remember speaking to my brother and saying "I never realized how much of a DAILY chore it is to stay married. Every single day you have to choose to overlook, ignore and forgive". His response "many marriages are one incident away from all hell breaking loose". That is why my wise Aunt says, "you have to figure out if the juice is worth the squeeze". Some studies suggest that 50% percent of first marriages, 67% of second and 74% of third marriages end in divorce. Sure, that's the world you say. What do the statistics tell us about Christians and divorce? Surprisingly, some studies have found Christians have a higher divorce rate than atheists AND agnostics. WHAT??????????? Being a Christian doesn't insulate you to the challenges in life nor does it mean that you are less susceptible, it means that we put our faith and trust in something/someone beyond ourselves to carry us through whatever comes our way.

There is a puzzling phenomenon in our churches. There is this unspoken ether of shame that is often cast upon all that don't fit the traditional model of a bible thumping, tithe paying, picket fence having, 4 door sedan driving family.

I am very open about my struggles. I am at the precipice of 40 years of age, single, God fearing and am also 65% spirit led and 35% flesh led. And let me tell you, the 35% flesh is giving the 65% spirit a run for its money. Whenever I've had the courage to address the issues that I would understandably encounter I get these "looks". Why is reality so disconcerting in our churches? Our churches are to be hospitals not hospices. The result of our church's inability to address these needs results in the wounded, the struggling, the confused, the everyman/everywoman looking beyond the church doors and worse yet, diverts them from the doors altogether.

I would love to hear from you on your thoughts/observations/experiences with regard to church life post-divorce.

Oprah & Gayle - Gay or Nay?

With all due respect to alternative lifestyles, I feel compelled to address the murmurs of what many find as Oprah & Gayle's disconcertingly close relationship. For the record, I get it....I get them...I love them...I am JUST like them. Stacy Campbell Marshall is the apple of my eye. There is no one that understands my layers like she does. If I have $1.00 Stacy has $1.00. If we go on a trip and there's a twin bed to share, we'll figure it out. Stacy is my greatest confidant, cheerleader, advisor, blackhead wrangler and, wait for it - SOULMATE. Yep, I said it...soulmate. I've said this about her numerous times and every time I speak these words, tears come to my eyes. The amazing thing about Stacy is that her personality and radiance are so immense that despite the fact that countless people draw from her light, she still manages to light my life with joy, support, laughter and love! Stacy and I have discussed this preoccupation with Oprah and Gayle's sexual orientation. We both feel sad for any woman who has not experienced the warmth and the cradle of a friendship where you can be your vulnerable self, your ugly self, your confused self, where you can be you.

I am sad to say that I have let Stacy down, but she's forgiven and loved me in spite of my shortcomings. Stacy has forgiven me for things I've found hard to forgive myself for. Who wouldn't want that type of love and acceptance? Why must we label something unseemingly for that which we can't understand? Now, don't misinterpret what I'm saying - if Oprah and Gayle were/are gay that's their business. I'm not labeling alternative lifestyles as unseemingly, I'm saying how twisted are WE as a society that the beauty of an incredibly close friendship is looked at with skepticism? Why MUST it be sexual?

Stacy got married August of 2008 - it was a happy and sad day for me. Happy because I had the honor of standing as her Maid of Honor (if you knew the number of friends Stacy has you'd be impressed too), and happy that she'd found her Boaz. Sad, because my place in her life would understandably shift with priority given to her other soulmate - Dr. Dwight Marshall. Amazingly, not much changed - Dwight welcomed me into their circle, not threatened, but appreciative of our friendship. In August of 2010 Dane Alexander Marshall was born. Again, I braced for the change and again, amazingly not much has changed. I am now a proud Aunt to a brown sugar cake little boy. What a gift, what a blessing, what a treasure - i've got a soulmate and her name is Stacy Campbell Marshall!