Coming to the Valley of Elah

The bible story of David and Goliath speaks of David's defeat of the great giant in the Valley of Elah. Often when we hear this story we hear about the size of David, who was short in stature compared to Goliath, who was a giant even among his own very large people. When I think of this story today I think not of the battle between two men, but the battle between David and his family.

David, who worked as a shepherd boy, lived separate from his family for most of his life. His days were spent taking care of his sheep, writing songs and talking to God. They developed a relationship of trust and understanding. They spent time together, shared thoughts and gifts, went on vacations and took time from their busy schedules to talk during the work week. God visited with David, David with God through songs, thoughts and love. David found a satisfaction in the separation from his family, a comfort that only he and God understood.

When I thought of the lost of my brother this morning, I thought of David. I thought of his separation from his brothers, his family, the many hours he spent without their comfort and their love. I thought of how easy it is to find oneself without the touch, the sound or smell of family and home. I thought of how we can develop the habit of separatism, much like vegetarianism or Catholicism over time and grow comfortable with it. So when I thought of my brother Lotell Davis this morning, I thought of David's trek to the Valley of Elah. I thought of how hard it must have been for David - not to face Goliath, but to face the family he'd lived separate from for many years. I imagine David, who did not fear the giant (after all he'd killed a bear and a lion), descending the mountain toward a reunion with his brothers and his father who awaited him in the Valley of Elah. I thought of his fear and apprehension, his concern and love for them becoming the giant.

Relationships are often like that, giants. Sometimes it feels as though the gap is so wide that it can no longer be breached. Sometimes we stumble on the right words and the right feelings towards each other. But like David, we have to head towards togetherness. We have to head towards the thing we fear most and tackle it softly and quietly with our own slingshot. Relationships are not easy. If we do not respect that about them we are bound for failure. We have practice at them. We have to call when we don't feel like calling. We have to visit when we don't feel like visiting. We have to love when we don't feel like loving.

We must enter our own Valley of Elah. We must battle the giants in our relationships. We must win.

Peace Unto You
Tina

Peace and Loving Yourself

Yesterday I attended a Peace and Love Yourself Rally for women. I left with the burden of knowing that as women we often do not find peace or love in our lives, especially towards ourselves. We women spend so much time beating ourselves up for the things we have done in the past, the things we still continue to do today, and we walk, crawl, run away with internal wounds that only we can see and carry.
What I've found over many years of searching is that loving ourselves is loving God. When we beat upon ourselves we are actually beating upon the Creator who knew we would do the crazy things that we did, and continue to do so. Loving ourselves, our mistakes, our failures, right and wrong things is loving God. We tend to forgive others quicker than we forgive ourselves, accepting their mistakes and their apologies while still struggling with our own.

One of the most frustrating things in my life is the recorder that runs endlessly throughout my mind replaying the moments of the previous day. There are times that it's insidious buzzing wakes me up the middle of the night demanding my attention, or follows me into the sunrise the new day, the volume of my words increasing with each waking moment. I replay over and over again what I said, what I did, what I wish I would have said, what I wish didn't do - until finally I yell STOP forcing the carousel in my mind to come to screeching halt. Sometimes I have to scream stop a few times before the hammer of self doubt falls only to rise again with the next day.

Peace and Loving myself just ain't easy, but every day when I force that stop out of my heart, my mind, my lips, I move closer to loving myself, loving God.

Peace unto you,
Tina

When Anger is Your Friend

Often, we think of anger as something bad in our life. As children we were taught not to display it, feel it, or talk about it. We were to simply swallow our feelings or throw them into the nearest bedroom wall and leave them there. Unfortunately, anger rarely stays where we want it to.

Anger comes in numerous shapes and forms. Sometimes it grows small, is buried deep like a seed, under cover of darkness and damp. At other times it violently explodes in colors of orange and red, spilling from your mouth and hands like humanoid lava, covering those whom you would choose to love and protect. It can turn inward, asking you to feed upon, or starve your own flesh, or turn outward and be fired out the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun. No matter what form anger takes, once it has been established in our lives, it never departs without an invitation to do so.

I've lived most of my life in anger. Anger was my friend, my protector, my shield against the hurtful things of the world. I used my anger like a blanket, comforting myself with self-righteousness and justification. It kept me warm at night, left me steamy and sweaty as it rested just below the surface of my skin. Yes, with my anger I could keep arguments going for days, excuse my rudeness towards family and friends, tell off anybody who got in my way and stop people in their tracks with a cold look and keep from really being honest with myself.

Yes anger was my friend. But like any relationship that is not based in love and respect, anger and I had an horrible break-up. My anger began to manifest in the form of panic attacks. I had a decision to make - give up the anger or die. Anger was not longer my friend. I needed as a kid, growing up in the projects, but the woman I became could not longer carry the weight of it.

After several years in therapy, I have finally replaced the anger with self-confidence, self-worth, self-love. The weight is lifted and I have be-friend-ed myself. Anger is no longer my friend, though he does come pass at times (like when Bernard is out past his curfew, or Christian doesn't clean his bathroom, again!, or Jerome refuses to take life wholly serious), but he doesn't stay for long.

Peace Unto You,
Tina

Working Towards Forgiveness

Recently, I made a long overdue phone call to my father. It was a call I had been putting off for over a year as I went through the painful process of identifying, naming, and accepting my feelings. We had ghosts, the two of us. Emotional wisps that existed just out of our reach, allowing us to function - go to work, school, raise our kids, love our partners, or not - but always drifted overhead just out of reach. Ghosts. Thin veils of white, almost see through skins, like those of a onion which peels off with concentrated rubbing, or boiling, or slices of steel.

At forty-seven, calling the man who raised me, then didn't, who left, then came back, who hurt my family, then apologized, was one of the most daunting things I've tackle. How do you tell the person that you love in spite of the ghosts, whispered secrets and hidden anger, that they are imperfect, slanted, a cracked rock with grey, aging slivers, where feelings, like water, still runs deep and cold?
He didn't answer and I hung up quickly hoping caller id wouldn't identify my call. I choked on a deep breath which reminded me that I hadn't been breathing. I had escaped once again, left the ghosts locked safely in the closet for yet another day.

But not an hour later my phone rung and that voice which has frightened me, comforted me, encouraged me for almost half a century gently called my name. "Tina, did you call?"

Of course I'd called, "Not wanting anything important", except to tell you some truths about myself that I haven't been about to share because they're a lot about you. I stopped breathing again. But I had worked towards this moment. I hadn't rushed it or pushed it, I had just made myself available for it happen.

Year after year, moment after moment, I had worked towards this forgiveness.

In my head I had thought about what I would say. I knew the words, memorized them, internally practiced them, thoughtfully planned them. But they stumbled out, awkward and childish. He listened patiently, answered gently, his voice full of sadness and fear, and I forgave because that is what I worked toward.

The ghosts were gone. Thin veils of white, almost see through skins layering our relationship with awkwardness and half lies. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but the most rewarding. For the first time in years I felt clean and honest, no longer the hypocrite asking women to confront their relationship with their father, yet fearfully refusing to do the same.

I would never advise another woman, or man, to make this phone call. Each of us have our own level of "work" that we have to do. But I would encourage you to work towards the one thing which can bring you closure, contentment and peace. Forgiveness towards yourself, your father, towards God, and begin to flower into the woman or man that you were born to be.

What forgiveness are you working towards?

Peace and Gratitude,
Tina