One of my favorite forms of poetry is the haiku, a 3 line Japanese poetic form with a total of seventeen syllables, (follows a 5-7-5 syllable pattern). I write Haikus when I’m feeling stressed and need to pour out an intense emotion using metaphorical nature imagery.
Haikus By Leah
Monday Mourning
Monday Mornings rise
up to reluctant commutes
to a dull duty
New Soil
A stagnant seedling
sits unwatered, neglected.
Time for a new soil
One part I appreciate about living in New York City is the libraries. NYPL hosts diverse programming for dozens of interests. Today I attended a poetry workshop hosted by a poet and editor from Argentina. The facilitator introduced the attendees to two poets; Marosa di Giorgio and Susana Thenon. The poem I came up with is based on the theme of remembrance which id Giorgio heavily incorporates into her poems.
Title: 14 Years Later
I remember when you told me I was your best friend but you could never love me,
I remember your heated voice scalding
my ears for hours because another “she”
rejected your declarations of love misplaced
on a pretty face and empty intimacy
I remember the time I spent twenty dollars at Hot Topic for your Christmas present
It was a T-shirt with your favorite band AC/DC
I remember your half smile when you opened your gift and your eyes
expressing gratitude that you reserved
for me
I remember you in the words, ink and x-ed out declarations of admiration
between the lines of the diaries of my teen years that
I knew I’d never share out loud but baby
these long ago words managed to leap off the pages and sneak into your
half closed consciousness
So now here we sit at adjacent tables at a coffee shop
Fourteen years later
and you ask me “If I remember”
baby
I always remembered
Good evening readers! Hmm, it’s dusty up in this blog! Please forgive me if I’m rusty(did ya catch that in rhyme? ). Happy National Poetry Month! I originally committed to writing and posting a poem every day in April, but of course procrastinated until the last week of April. For this week, I’ll be posting 1-2 poems a day to celebrate a writing form that fascinates and frustrates me as a writer. Most of the poems will be free form with a sprinkles of haikus, cinquains, villanelles and a Sestina (no sonnets, iambic pentameter and I are not friends). I hope you enjoy!
Title: “Where Are You Sis?”
“Where are you sis?”
In the crevices of half-hearted hugs and obligatory smiles
The “HI SIS!’s” that hang hollow off the so called sisterhood
“Where are you sis?”
Standing aside as I watch a family I barely know and I am not sure that’s meant for me
embrace , bellow and belly laugh
Because they’re fully braided within the bushel of coils, never questioning
If their strand belongs
“Where are you sis?”
Back and forth, scouting for empty seats for visitors and “family”
Desperately trying to be a steadfast servant, reporting for my duty
Diligently serving in God’s Kingdom and
Just maybe
Just maybe prove that I fit into an
Infinitely impossible standard of prime faithfulness
“Where are you sis?”
On the 1 train, eyes closed , lulled by the rock a’ by
Of the train. I can finally fling off the mask thats been a suffocating
Compliance and end expectation for the last four hours of this show.
Free from claustrophobia of fruitless “amens”.
“Where are you sis”?
This time last year, I wasn’t looking forward to my birthday. The “birthday blues” were at an all-time high and I wanted the day to be over as fast as the day come.
This year, I spent half my birthday locked up in my apartment; I almost went to work, but the thought of interacting with 95-plus hyperactive 9th graders wasn’t appealing (and Mondays are professional development which extends the day to an excruciating hour and a half).
32 came like a blur. I was in the middle of an intense spiritual battle, desperately trying to hear God’s voice to my numerous questions: Which church congregation should I move on to? Should I resign from my job? Did I make a mistake in leaving my current church? Should I go back? Should I stay? God, what do I do?
Turns out 33 yields similar questions. I am grateful that God has gently persuaded me to “be still and know that I am God” as far as the church situation goes. Too often I let my own insecurities and doubts creep into my relationship with God instead of trusting His process and plan. Right now He’s refining me in ways that I never fathomed.
32 was the year I lost my grandmother. At 93, she saw 5 generations and was ready to transition. I foolishly thought she’d live forever; when someone is a part of your life for so long, their inevitable passing is jarring in surreal. There are moments I still expect to see her number pop up on my phone; when the family traveled to Florida after she passed, I still expected her to be fluttering around in the kitchen or sitting on her bed while the news blared in the background. I miss her.
32 was the year I went to 3 different countries. Grenada, Canada, and France. I learned that travel can be both invigorating and frustrating, magical and disappointing. There was a zest I experienced scurrying around my apartment looking for travel-sized toiletries, checking my phone for flight updates, and zipping/unzipping my backpack a dozen times to make sure I had my passport.
32 was the year I inched closer to the realization that I desire to be a storyteller. That God gifted me with a fire to share words of encouragement and wonder. Unfortunately, the aforementioned doubt is a present enemy, ready to snuff out the flame of creativity and faith that God writes through me.
32 was the year that my resilience and faith were tested. In these last few weeks, I’m facing seemingly insurmountable decisions. Decisions that I have to count the cost of the choices being made. Yet I know that my current position is triggering unprecedented anxiety and weariness. I spend most of my days dreading the next; waiting with restrained tension for the day to be over and I can breathe easy.
33 is the year I need to let go. Let go of the hesitation when sharing about the Lord. Letting go of a career that sparks adulations from family and strangers, but drains all facets of my being. Letting go of the stories, both fictional and factual, that I bound because I didn’t think I had anything of value to say. Letting go of the fear of starting over and taking unseen steps toward a future where I wake each day eager to see what God has in store.
33 is the year I embrace the words said in Luke 1:37 “With God nothing is Impossible”.
33. The year of Impossible.
I think I like the sound of that.
God is able to do far more than we could ever ask for or imagine. He does everything by his power that is working in us. Ephesians 3:20-21.
A Prayer for Year 6 of Teaching
“ Now may the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, 21 equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen. -Hebrews 13:21
I begin my 6th year of teaching in less than 4 hours
In between these hours, I wonder if I should have left teaching along with the 300,000 teachers who have left the profession since May 2020*.
Between these hours nagging, insidious thoughts creep into my mind “You’re not ready”. “You should have resigned in June”. “Five years in and you still don’t know what you’re doing.
To be blunt, I’m terrified. Terrified of my alarm going off. Terrified of stepping outside onto a city bus and entering the school building. Terrified of those pounding steps up the stairwell and waiting with bated breath for the arrival of the class of 2026.
What was I thinking? These last two days before students arrive leave me wondering what am I going to do. I may have been overly ambitious in overhauling the curriculum I’ve used for the past three years. The yearn to try something new, but the procrastination of planning this “new” has cost me peace of mind.
I’m afraid of looking unprepared or underqualified in front of my new co-teachers. Both possess a vivaciousness and preparedness that I am nowhere near matching. They ask questions about strategy, classroom expectations, norms, and class routines that cause my mind to draw a blank.
How do I admit that I have no idea how I’m going to get through this school year?
The same way I preserved through the past 5 years. Through God’s grace. With the Mind of Christ. With the Armor of God. With faith that He has equipped me to do good works. Trust in the plans that He has for me. Humbly asking for Him to order my steps. Understanding the work of teaching is not about me, but glorifying Him.
A Prayer for Year 6 (and all teachers and students)
Dear Heavenly Father. Praise be to you the Great teacher. Thank you for the Word of the Lord which is breathed out by You. Thank you for your word which teaches, corrects, reproofs and trains us in righteousness (2 Timothy 3:16-17). Thank you for calling me to be a teacher to today’s youth. May your light shine Lord. May I work as if I work for You and you alone. I thank you Lord that you use me to show Your love to my students. May I be used to encourage the 9th graders to do their best, to teach them the reading and writing skills they need to be successful citizens. I come against any spirits of discouragement, learning disability, emotional trauma, and behavorial issues. May I imitate your grace and love so that my students are in an environment where they feel safe to express their ideas, struggles and goals.
Lord I lift up my colleagues. I pray for a positive start to the school year for our school community. Whatever burdens they are carrying outside of their classroom, I pray they are comforted, supported and at peace. Thank you Lord for open and honest communication between co-teachers, teachers and administrators, teachers and students, and teachers and parents. I thank you for a spirit of unity between all stakeholders in our students education.
Finally Lord, thank you for trusting me with this task of teaching. Forgive me for my sinful attitudes, laziness, apathy, and lack of effort in the past. Forgive for not doing my best work and neglecting responsibilities. Create in me a strong work ethic, a sound mind and a loving heart. Thank you for your heart Lord.
In Jesus name I pray. Amen.
Notes:
Scripture comes from the following sources
2 Timothy 3: 16-17 English Standard Version: https://www.openbible.info/topics/teaching
Hebrews 13:21: New International Verson. Bible Gateway. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Hebrews+13&version=NIV
Statistic come from: Grider, W. (2022, June 20). School’s Out for summer and many teachers are calling it quits. The Wall Street Journal. Retrieved September 8, 2022, from https://www.wsj.com/articles/schools-out-for-summer-and-many-teachers-are-calling-it-quits-11655732689
“The heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps”-Proverbs 16:9
Take 5 Travel: Paris
Greetings fellow travelers. As I do my best to bask in the last days of summer, God granted me a unique idea for a mini-blog series called “Take 5 Travel”. Over the next 4 days, I will highlight 3 vacation spots from my summer travels. Each post will contain my top 5 excursions and experiences from each destination, along with travel tips, do’s, and don’ts.
Overview of Paris
Bonjour! I’m not sure I’ll be able to do City of lights justice in one blog post (I may have to write a series of blogs about Paris!). The city is like stepping into a 1950s Hollywood movie set. From cobblestone streets to metro lines with cast iron gate entrances to quaint cafes decorated with flower pots; Paris is a living breathing art museum. I shared Paris with my mother and we both agreed that we wanted to go back to Paris in the future (and my mom is not easily impressed!). We were treated to an up-close view of the famous Iron lady herself, the Eiffel Tower, on a cab ride from the Charles De Gaulle airport. As soon as we stepped out of the cab, I declared “Ok, I’m moving here”. Here’s my Take 5 of why I am probably moving to Paris for at least a year.
On our second night in Paris I scheduled a dinner cruise along the Seine River. We were blessed with a hotel right next to the Eiffel Tower and 5 minutes walk to the Seine (huge shoutout to the Pullman Eiffel Tower!). I booked our cruise with Bateaux Parisiens and although the reviews about the company were mixed, mom and I thoroughly enjoyed our experience. We were seated in the middle section of the boat and almost every seat was taken. The ride along the Seine is fluid and relaxing; highlights included the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Musee D’Orsay, and the ornate bridges which we passed under. We feasted on wine, cheese, Duck confit, flounder, and chocolate cake. There’s entertainment in the form of a jazz singer with a sultry voice (with whom I shared a dance!). Our server was incredibly patient and kind in answering our questions about the menu. The highlight was engaging in a conversation with two lovely young women from England who gave us great advice about what to see in Paris.
“You know, I like this museum a lot better than the Lourve” my mom commented as we made our way to the 2nd floor of the “Musee D’Orsay”. I can see why she held that sentiment. Even though the Lourve is a must-see in Paris, the museum is OVERWHELMING AND OVERWHELMINGLY CROWDED. Musee D’Orsay by contrast is housed in a converted train station. The layout is much more accessible and the art is just as fascinating. Each level is organized by the artist. We saw Monets, Cezzanes, Van Goughs, Cabanals, and other Impressionist art. Plus the giant gold clock is pretty impressive and gives off Grand Central vibes.
If you lived in New York City without at least one train delay per day, I would have to give you some serious side-eye. In contrast, the metro as its called in France is highly efficient. The ticket machines allow you to choose from several different languages, English included, in order to complete your transaction. During the weekday the trains run every 4 minutes on the dot. Mom and I didn’t experience any delays. The buses not only have designated seating areas for the elderly, pregnant and differently-abled, there’s also a section without seats designated for parents with strollers. New York City transit can definitely take some pointers from Paris Metro.
Paris is renowned for its fashion culture. Christian Dior. Louis Vuitton. Coco Chanel. With these major names in fashion comes a heavy price tag. Mom and I tried shopping at the “Galeries Lafayette” and found that ninety percent of the clothing and accessories were out of our price range. Rue Di Rivoli in contrast offers chic boutiques without extravagant price tags. Mom and I were able to buy authentic Parisien souvenirs along with a trip to Angelina’s known for their rich and creamy hot chocolate. A short walk away is the Jardin des Champs-Élysées where you can stroll in and take in incredible sculptures along with an excellent view of the Arch De Triomphe.
On our 3rd day in Paris, Mom and I went on a food tour of Paris. Although the type of food was more like samplings of tiny chocolates and macarons, the highlight was exploring the hilly streets of the neighborhood Montmartre. Partly known as Paris’s “Red light district” (avoid the area near the Moulin Rogue, sex shops, and strip clubs galore), the neighborhood has a local feel. You’ll encounter quaint shops for cheese, wine, meats, pastries and produce. Mom and I ate at a restaurant Moulin de la Galette where I ate the famous Beef bourguignon. We also took a picture in front of the “I love you” wall and walked to the highest point in Paris. Though parts of Montmartre are raunchy, seeing locals go about their day-to-day was a refreshing change from the touristy area of the Eiffel Tower.
Other Tips
Over-Rated
I left Paris with the feeling of unfinished business. There’s so much I didn’t get to see and neighborhoods I want to see. Am I going back to Paris? Oui!
Avec Amour!
Leah
July 10th, 2022
How could I be so stupid?
I stared, dumbfounded, at my phone. A hacker locked me out of my Instagram account and was currently spamming my friend’s inbox messages. With my password changed, I lost access to my Instagram account.
All because I fell for a silly scam.
I’ve been doing a lot of silly things lately.
Initially, I thought I was talking to a relative about a Bitcoin investment they were supposedly involved with (turns out their Instagram account was hacked as well). They asked me to make a video to support their business and I was happy to help. The part where I messed up is where I allowed them access to my Instagram account. Suddenly I was receiving a flurry of phone calls, Facebook messages, and texts from friends telling me I had been hacked. Turns out the hacker used my video that was supposed to support my cousin to trick friends into investing in Bitcoin.
Praise God I was at least wise enough to give out any debit card or banking information. After imploring my friends to report, unfollow and block my account, I kept thinking “How could I be so stupid? So gullible? Why didn’t I question if this was really my relative? What happened to being wise and discerning? How could I have fallen for this?
Embarrassed, I spent this weekend mulling over my lost Instagram account. An account which was gaining traction and being used to encourage followers with the Word of God.
Turns out a pesky little devil wanted to stop that traction and derail the goal of my Instagram page. Further, I was so discouraged by what happened and the large part I played in this situation, I didn’t complete my writing goal for this weekend. The desire, thrill, and invigoration for my writing projects dissipated in a cloud of condemnation. Praise God that He pulled me to write this blog post!
When we make a mistake or fall into a scam, it’s easy to fall into self-pity and shame. Our enemy does whatever he can to put the brakes on our goals, especially when we are trying to spread the Gospel of Jesus. Around every corner, he lurks, with his foot stuck out to trip us and guffaws as we face plant on the concrete of life’s challenges, setbacks, and humiliating moments.
And if we stay face planted in our shame, we can never rise up, dust off our pants, and let God tend to our wounds.
The Bible always is the antidote to shame. Scriptures I’m going to hold on to for this week are Proverbs 24:16, “The godly may trip seven times, but they will get up again. But one disaster is enough to overthrow the wicked” . Another is Romans 8:1, “So there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus”.
The Instagram Incident reminds me of a time I made another mistake, this one back in March. A friend and their daughter were staying with me due to a sensitive situation. I happily jumped at the opportunity to serve a friend in need. I enjoyed their company and saw this as a chance to bond with someone from the church. Things were going well for three weeks. Then, on a particularly stressful day at work, I came home exhausted and emotionally spent. Fresh off the grief of losing my grandmother, student needs at an all-time high, and general insomnia, I plopped down on my bed and closed my eyes for what I thought was for fifteen minutes.
When I woke up, groggy and bleary-eyed, I saw a bunch (15 if I remember correctly) of missed calls and a text that read I’m really worried, I am calling the police. I shot up out of the sleepy stupor. Police?? Was someone trying to break into the apartment?? After scrolling through the text, I realized that it was close to 10: 30 PM. Turns out I accidentally locked my friend and their daughter out of the house and they tried to get in contact with me. I immediately called them back only for another woman from the church to answer. She explained that my friend and her daughter were now at her place. She asked me how did this happen, had I been on medication?
I felt the condemnation creep up. The following day, when I was about to text my friend to apologize profusely for what happened, they read my mind. They ended up leaving that morning, saying that the incident from the previous night was the reason they couldn’t stay with me anymore.
Those memories flashbacked this weekend. How similar thoughts of “How could I be so careless? Why didn’t I set the alarm?? What would the other members think if my friend told them about the incident?
We each have our weaknesses; shame is a huge one for me. And that’s where the devil strikes.
I have to remember I am human. I make mistakes. Some small. Some large. What I do after is what matters. Paul in Philippians 3:13 to forget what’s in the past and try to reach the goals in front of us . Similarly in Isaiah 43:18 “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past”. That means “if I just” or “This wouldn’t ofs”.
Going forward, I now know to be more discerning when presented with an offer too good to be true. To ask questions. To investigate.
We learn when we make mistakes. We become smarter and wiser. We can help others avoid the same mistakes we made.
Speaking of helping others avoid being scammed.
1. If ANYONE messages you with an offer for Bitcoin or other too good to be true opportunities. Ask a ton of questions. Hackers will start to become agitated and pressure you for an immediate answer to their “offer”. Reply “No thank you” and block on whichever social media site they messaged you through.
2. If a relative or friend messages you, call them immediately to ask if they really sent the message. If not, their social media account has been compromised, and let them know right away.
3. Common sites where hackers try their scams: Instagram, Facebook, and Whatsapp.
4. Sometimes you’ll get a message on Whatsapp from someone claiming they meant to message someone else. They’ll try and sweet talk you into forming a relationship (this also happened to me. I tell ya, I’m going through some surreal situations). Do not respond and again, block that account.
God uses our experiences so that we can be a support to others.
Maybe Silly isn’t so bad after all. Lesson Learned.
With Love,
Leah
Helpful Youtube Video about Social Media Scams
Hello, my name is Leah and I am Pro-Life.
“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them” Psalms 139: 13-16 (ESV)
There are moments that seem so surreal that you’re not really sure if you’re living within time and space. One of these moments was on June 24th, 2022. I was browsing my Facebook feed and saw a particular post that read “Great Job Supreme Court”. I immediately opened up a second tab, typed in CNN.com and saw “Breaking News: SUPREME COURT OVERTURNS ROE V WADE”.
I should have been elated.
Then why did I have such a sinking in the pit of my stomach.
I thought a lot about what I wanted this post to be about. Would I passionately defend my pro-life position? Would I go on a tirade about how sinful abortion was in the eyes of God?
Truth is, I have little idea how to address my feelings about what has transpired this past week.
All I know is my conviction. That I believe life begins at conception. How I hope that some unborn lives will be saved. How my prayers include pleas for God to change the hearts of people so they can see the humanity and value of human life.
How I’m terrified to express my satisfaction at the court ruling. If I said my piece, my point of view, the backlash I might face from colleagues, friends and even some family members.
Yet, I must stand in the truth of the Scripture. Jesus already prepped us to face opposition to our beliefs. Through Him, we can stand firm in our convictions despite what others say about us.
I recall the story of many disciples deserting Jesus in John 6:66. Much of Jesus’s teachings required His followers to deny themselves, walk on a narrow path and preach the gospel which had many detractors.
Jesus gives us the courage to stand up for our beliefs. A scripture that helps me is Romans 1:16 “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes”.
Well, I believe in life. A right to make your mark on this world. That life matters no matter what life form.
With Love,
Leah
Links to pro life organizations:
Human Life International: https://www.hli.org/
Phase 1: Anticipation and Denial
**If anyone has a prayer request or is grieving and could use an outlet to share their healing process you can email me at godlyandgaptoothed@gmail.com . Peace and blessings!
“She won’t take her medicine, eat and she’s been fighting the hospital staff” I said in an exasperated tone to my therapist on a chilly, gray January afternoon.
My therapist paused and said, “What does that suggest to you, Leah?”
“I’m not sure”. I said quietly, even though I knew exactly where my therapist was headed and I was determined to try to stop the freight train sized words that were to come next.
“It suggests that she’s done. If she’s not fighting to live, then she’s fighting for the right to die, to move on”. My therapist continued, “ You have to make sure you do everything you can to make peace with your grandmother’s transition. Think about what you need to have closure”.
Let’s rewind.
My grandmother, Montie Neblett, passed away February 7th of this year. Rewind further; on December 29th, 2021, my grandmother called my mother’s house number; lately she refused to get out of bed, wouldn’t eat or drink, and weighed 82 pounds. I happened to answer the phone and was glad to hear her voice. Looking back, she sounded weak and fragile; I asked her how she was doing; the conversation was brief and the last thing she said to me was : “I’m going to get up because I have to poop”. I told her to be careful going to the bathroom. I’m not sure if I told her I loved her.
Part of me wonders if I should have called my aunt Emma, whom my grandmother was living with before she passed, to make sure grandma was ok going to the bathroom.
Later that evening, around 9 PM, Aunt Emma called. “Grandma had a fall, we’re at the hospital right now”.
The 6 and half weeks between grandma’s fall and her passing were the cliche blur everyone talks about after a traumatic, life changing experience. Grandma ended up breaking her hip, requiring surgery, survived the surgery, but declined shortly after she started physical therapy at the nursing home.
After the conversation with my therapist (the first Monday in January), I retreated into the “denial” phase of letting go of a loved one. I didn’t call to check in about grandma. I didn’t pick up the phone when my mom called because I anticipated the news that wasn’t too far off. I thought to myself, “Mom would text me to call her immediately if something was wrong”.
Perhaps I unconsciously let go of my grandmother during that period between December 29th, 2021 until February 7th. Maybe I was upset with her for letting herself decline so quickly, refusing to eat, or fight for her life. I expected her to be around forever or at least to 100. Then I’d be ready to let her go.
Phase 2 : Grieving and Guilt
The day after Grandma passed, I went to work. The whole day I waded through reality and an awkward dream-like state. I taught, smiled and laughed with students, and went to staff meetings. The first day of the grieving process is numb; you understand the person is gone, but not all of you has processed the implications, the loss, the void in your life.
The second day was the hardest. The night before I sent an email to my co-teachers, principal and other support staff explaining the situation. The email was matter of fact, to the point. Next day, I received multiple condolences from the colleagues that knew. I cried a few times in the back of my classroom, but immediately painted on a huge smile once students started filing into the room. I didn’t tell them my grandmother died and as far as they knew, the day was a regular instructional day.
Another blurry sequence of events followed before, during and after the funeral. The flight to Greensboro, North Carolina (God blessed me with a cheap price. 183.00 round trip to NC!). Seeing my grandma’s sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles and of course my mother. I hate the idea of funerals and witnessing grief up close. Crying and emotion triggers major discomfort for a multitude of reasons, which is why I avoided funerals in the past.
The most tense moment happened during the funeral procession. Last time I saw grandma, she appeared chipper and eager to visit her house in Florida. My chest constricted the closer I approached her casket. She looked like one of those wax figures from Madame Tussaud’s. Artificial. In some ways seeing her so unlike how she looked made her transition easier. That wasn’t grandma Montie. I pictured her lounging in one of her long, silky, nightgowns watching the news.
I said a few words in honor of her. Listened to the sobs of my mother and my grandmother’s sisters. My cousin, who is a pastor, delivered the eulogy. We had the repasse. Went back to my Aunt Emma’s house to reminisce. I stayed in grandma’s room, the same room where she made her transition. There was a rose scented candle that had been burning for 3 straight days. I remember mom whispering “Is that you mommy?” The superbowl was that Sunday and while my cousin watched the game, I excused myself, went to the guest room and let out a series of sobs. I think I cried more that weekend of the funeral than I cried in years.
After I returned to New York the onslaught of guilt rushed at me like a stampede. What if I called her more? Why didn’t I visit her during her final days? I thought of every missed call from her and all the time I thought “I’ll call her back” and never did. All the times I was annoyed with her. All the times I said things out of anger. The times I forgot to send her a birthday or Christmas gift. All the times I forgot to say “I love you”.
Then there were random moments of grief. One afternoon in March, I went to get a slice of pizza. Instead of ordering the rectangular slice, I asked the cashier about the square slice with basil. He said “Oh, that’s our grandma’s slice”. Cue the tears. On the subway I saw an advertisement about a new food delivery app. The slogan: “Delivering soup as good a grandma’s”. During Mother’s Day season, I walked into Target and immediately saw a journal titled “Grandma tell me your story”. A commercial with a grandmother and her granddaughter solving a mystery. All blatant reminders of the permanent hole in my life.
Then there’s the fact I moved up the ladder in my family. Grandma was my last living grandparent and now it’s mom, then me. Seeing mom grieve, settle grandma’s estate, close out her bank accounts, cancel her cell phone service, make arrangements to bring grandma’s body to be buried in Florida became a grim preview of what I’ll have to experience in the future.
Phase 3: How I’m coping and what helps me cope.
My therapist stressed to grieve in a way that’s healthy. One point she made stuck with me; “Leah, your grandma passed with dignity. She decided she was ready to transition and did so on her own terms”.
Grandma left this life at 93. Saw 5 generations of grandchildren. Transitioned in a warm bed Peacefully.
People are right when they say grief comes in waves. Some days I am smiling, blissful and then something random will remind me of grandma and I’ll start to tear up.
Only this time I let the tears come. I lean on the Lord. Prayer and journaling have been a tremendous support. Scriptures such as Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” and Matthew 5:6 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” solidify that God is carrying me through this grief journey.
I watch old sitcoms my grandma used to watch. When we went to her house in Florida, I grabbed some of her nightgowns she wore most often, a picture nestled in a gold heart shaped frame of her and grandpa, and her pink slippers. Having reminders of her helps me feel her essence, a piece of her still here.
Then I enjoy my life. I reach out to family and friends more often. Plan picnics on sunny days. Travel. Take walks in parks. Sit by a body of water and breathe in the fresh air. Celebrate every birthday, every milestone and every achievement.
James 4: 14 tells us unabashedly (gotta love the pragamicity of the book of James) “yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are but a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes” (English Standard Version).
Somber as this sounds, I’m inspired to live the abundant life God has given me. Whether I live for another sixty years of if my time is up tomorrow, I want to know that I honored and embraced life. Loved others like Jesus loved. Gave. Supported. Comforted.
If anyone is grieving a loss of a loved one, I am definitely praying for you! Everyone will experience loss and grieve. And there’s comfort knowing we all go through a shared experience. I’m grateful for grief; it’s a little reminder that we know how to love. One of the most profound lines about grief came from a Marvel TV series called Wandavision (Disney, 2021). One of the characters says “What is grief, but love persevering” (now I dare anyone to tell me Marvel has no substance after that brilliant line). The love I have for Grandma Montie remains. The memories. The laughs. The legacy.
I am grateful for everything she taught me. Grateful I had her for almost 33 years of my life. Grateful she’s earned her rest. And grateful I get to continue to live to make her proud.
I’ll always be grandma’s girl.
With Love,
Leah
Every Sunday the church I attend participates in communion. Prior to the symbolic breaking of bread, there’s a sermonette segment of the service dubbed “What the Cross Means to Me”. The purpose of the time is for each member to reflect on the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus. A member comes up in front of the congregation and shares about how the sacrifice of Jesus has changed them in a certain way.
In Luke 9:23, Jesus discusses that His followers must pick up their “crosses” everyday and follow Him. For Jesus, the cross was bearing the sins of the world, past, present and future. For us, God gave me a revelation that we will have various crosses to bear in our lifetime. I see each day as a new cross to carry.
When I think about what the cross means to me, there’s victory. While I was on hiatus from the current church I attend, I worshiped with a bilingual Spanish church. One of the Sermon’s was titled “The Victorious One is Here”. The sermon examined Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem a week prior to His crucifixion (I think this was the palm Sunday service). The pastor passionately asserted that Jesus was crucified so that we could have victory in our walk.
Most of my life, I lived in a constant state of defeat. . I brushed off life, expecting to fail at my goals, dreams and desires. I developed a defeatist attitude in all areas of my life; ministry, jobs, friendships, leadership roles at my school, and different degree programs. Mentally and emotionally, I gave up on ever truly belonging or finding that solid forever friend group. One little setback and I’m saying “nothing ever works out”. I gave up on marriage. Having children. Writing. Feeling peace. My anxieties, fears, depression, insecurities and doubts were waging war in my mind and at times defeat felt imminent.
Jesus is victorious. He didn’t suffer for hours, almost naked, lungs bubbling with blood, flesh hanging off and bearing the crushing weight of my sins for me to dwell in defeat. He conquered death, a victorious eternal king. Paul directly states in 1 Corinthians 15:57 “Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ”. Whenever I’m tempted to walk with the weight failure, I cling to God’s truth. That because of Jesus I can overcome, persevere, dream, and try.
The next steps are to put on the victorious casing in my daily walk with God. A practical way to walk victoriously is to celebrate and thank God for the victories I experience each day; a lesson plan that my students enjoyed, making a colleague smile or uplifting the spirits of someone who was having a crummy day. I can look forward to and believe in future victories; a family member or close friend saying yes to Jesus, my students graduating from High school, a finished manuscript of my first novel. SOmetimes I will fail or take a misstep. Yet I remember who I belong to, the one who overcame the world, death and sin.
Side by side with Jesus, I’ll always strut in victory.
With Love,
Leah
*Scriptures related to victory*
Each Sunday I wake up with the same tightness in my chest; the thought of going to church is supposed to encourage and uplift my spirit. The church I currently attend laudes itself as “the fellowship of believers” or the “God’s family”. The culture thrives on intimate connection through Christ, which is 100% biblical. The church leaders expect us to be immersed in each other’s lives, no boundaries and with complete trust. Almost every Sunday service there’s a member tearfully expressing how much they are grateful for the body of believers. The scripture often quoted comes from Matthew 13:44 “The Kingdom of Heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought the field( NIV Version)”.
I sit in silence as church goers weave right past me. This is the part of the service called “The Fellowship break” where eager congregation members huddle, all smiles and hugs. I watch as women in flowery dresses squeal in delight as they approach another sister (in Christ). I watch brothers (in Christ) fist bump and bro hug. The cacophony of conversations swirls all around me and one part of my brain begs “Get up, go say hi to someone. This is why you’re lonely and don’t feel connected. You’re not trying”. Then the dominant, insecure part of my brain retorts “I told you we don’t belong here. No matter how hard she tries, she’s never going to feel connected. We’ll always be on the outside”.
A close friend of mine point blank asked me “I wonder if you really value the Kingdom” (the members of the congregation). The more I ponder that question (and she asked me this almost a year ago), the more I find myself wrestling with the requirement of being bonded with a single fellowship. Naturally, I’m an introvert and coupled with social anxiety creates a cocktail of overwhelming feelings when I go to church for various “meetings of the body”.
Instead of experiencing encouragement and love, I am ready to leave as soon as I get to the 3rd floor of the building where the service is held. Sweaty palms, fuzzy head and blurry vision I take my seat. Instead of clapping and bouncing along to the sounds of worship, all I experience is a hollow heartache. I wonder why I decided to come back after leaving the Church in May of 2021. It seems the more I try to connect with members, the more the emptiness and disconnect increases.
My therapist attributes my social anxiety to the fact that I purposely made myself a wallflower to protect myself from being hurt by others. She said “You’re not used to putting yourself out there and initiating conversations. Oftentimes you’re going to have to make the first move”.
There are times when I make an effort to connect with the women of the church. I smile, make small talk, but then the conversation stalls or feels too forced, inauthentic. In fact, I often feel like I have to put on a facade, conform to the person the people in the fellowship want me to be ; gregarious, talkative, peppy. Sometimes I feel like I have to be someone else to be accepted, to be chosen to participate in service or just plain seen.
There’s a quote from one of my favorite movies “The Breakfast Club” (John Hughes, 1985). Andrew, the jock, says to John Bender, the trouble maker, “You know, Bender, you don’t even count. I mean if you disappeared forever it wouldn’t make a difference. You may as well not even exist in this school”.
That sums up how I can view myself in the context of the church I attend. Invisible. Overlooked. There’s a desperation and longing to experience the same fellowship that is so praised by the church leaders and members. But I don’t. And there are many times I don’t think I ever will.
Then I think of Jesus, how I belong to Him once I said “Jesus is Lord”. John 1:12 “Yet to all who received Him, to those who believed in His name, he became the right to become children of God”. I may be one of God’s shier sheep, but I have to remember “The Lord is God. It is He who made us, and we are His; we are His people, the sheep of His pasture”(Psalm 100:3).
Another important point is to know that I am not the only person who struggles with social anxiety, loneliness or feeling invisible. It can be hard to admit these struggles in an environment where instant bonding is celebrated. I’m reminded to pray and seek out those who are overlooked.
One challenge I literally just gave myself as I conclude this post is for next Sunday; find someone who is sitting alone, who isn’t engaging in conversation and just say hello. We have a God who sees us even when people look right past us. I am 1000% guilty of staying in my bubble, too afraid to move when someone is feeling the exact way I am. Sometimes my I get so caught up in my owns thoughts, I need to have eyes like Jesus, able to see the Zacchaeuses longing to be seen from the treetops (Luke 19:1-2)
I’m grateful to be able to write about this topic. Social anxiety, loneliness and the persistent feeling of being left out may not be the most comfortable topic within a church. It requires examination internally and externally. My prayer is that all those who feel like I do know how much God loves and cares for each of us. As much as I would like to at times , we are not meant to live life alone. God created Eve for Adam because He knew it wasn’t good for anyone to be alone. Perhaps one day the connections will come. For now, I’ll fix my eyes on Jesus, because I know He calls me friend.
And with a friend like Jesus, who can ever be lonely?
With Love,
Leah
Frustrated Fingers
Fruitlessly Forcing a Farce
of a Fallen Dream
The Bashful Butterfly 