Whom Must I Tell?

Daddy, Cheryl, and I missed our scheduled return flight home from D.C. one year. I don't know the proper name of the little transport vehicle that carried us from one terminal to the other, but I will never forget my experience on it. The car in which we were riding was full, so Cheryl and I had to stand along with a crowd of others. (Daddy was still trying to get past the metal detectors).

I should have gotten a clue to prepare myself when the automated voice warned that the car was about to be in motion. The first move of the car was a thrust. The second move was when I fell over my luggage and onto the floor. I got up, grabbed a rail, secured my luggage, and held on. That experience has taught me that when I even think things are going to be shakey, find something or someone to hold on to.

Have you ever had an abstract-shake knock you to the ground and leave you looking for a rail to grip or a shoulder to cry on? So many times like these, I have turned to others for words of comfort and for expressions that would lift my spirit out of the depths of depression. I have thought, if I tell Daddy, I'll feel better. If I tell Mama, Cheryl, Bruce, or...., I'll feel better. Although telling loved ones helps, telling no other person helps like telling Jesus. "Oh, what peace we often forfeit. Oh, what needless pains we bear. All because we do not carry, everything to God in prayer."

According to Matthew 14:12, after the execution of John the Baptist, his disciples buried his body, "and went and told Jesus." When life's challenges knock me to the floor, I roll onto my knees, and I go and tell Jesus. I may still tell my loved ones, but I always tell Jesus first. The more devastating the experience, the less loved ones can do about it no matter how much they may want to help me. If I want some help, I must tell Jesus. "Jesus can help me, Jesus alone." If I want to be comforted, whom must I tell? I must tell Jesus. I count it joy that when the world all around me feels like sinking sand, I can tell Jesus. Joy!

Ask

The twins, Nita and Rita (held in this photo by big brother, Bruce and big sister, Judy) created a language as toddlers that they used in private conversations between themselves. No doubt, the challenge was Rita's since she served as the bilingual interpreter. As twins, they were always together. Parents and babysitters alike presented the same provisions to both, even if only Rita spoke up and asked for what they wanted.

Rita began communicating noticibly quicker than Nita. After all, it was not necessary for Nita to speak English, for Rita could get Nita what she wanted. My parents have dozens of stories about the antics of Rita and Nita. "Hi...My name is Rita. She's Nita. We're twins. I'm the oldest, but she's the biggest." (Grammar correction: "older and bigger") ....Of course, with Rita being littler than Nita, Rita was probably asking for less food and snacks than Nita would have liked. I can only presume that Nita one day learned how much more beneficial speaking up for herself was. Boy did she learn to communicate what she wanted!

Jesus says in John 16:24, "...ask and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full." Like Nita, I learned to communicate my wants to my Heavenly Father. It is exciting to receive something you have asked for, whether you are asking the creditor to borrow money or the human resource director for a job. No experience compares to asking God for something and receiving it. Usually when we ask something from God, we either really want it or we really, really need it. Having God meet my wants, and more importantly, my needs, indeed makes my joy full.

I count the temporary light afflictions of voids and needs, joy. Experiencing voids and needs cause me to call on God. They cause me to ask Him for what I need. When I receive from Him, my joy is full. I wait on God to supply my needs, but while I am waiting I count my voids and needs, joy. Yeah, Nita....if you want to be full, ask for yourself. Joy!

When Love Is Not Enough

Does this look like the face of a rebellious teen? Over a hundred eighty days a year, I share my home with this rebellious teen. She was not always rebellious. For years, some of the happiest memories of our lives were about the good times we shared together. Now the memories we share are mainly about the conflicts we get into. She has not figured out that the best way not to hear me repeating myself is for her to do what I have asked after the fourth time, or third time, or second time, or first time. Keep in mind that the anger of her rebellious spirit fires upon the enemy (me), or source of repeated instructions without realizing that the enemy has an arsenal of anger that, without the "love" safety, would obliterate her rebellious spirit in its entirety.

So many times like these, I have thought about my relationship with God. I think about all the acts of rebellion I committed against His instructions. I acknowledge all the many more that I cannot recall. I usually ask His forgiveness afresh and thank Him again for His grace and mercy and for all of His patience. God sent Jesus to die for my rebellious spirit. God's love for me kept Him from obliterating me while I was in a state of rebellion against His will. His love lifted me out of the state I was in, and I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior. Remembering God's mercy helps me to count my experiences with enduring my rebellious teen, joy.

When my love for my rebellious teen, with its human limitations, appears not to be enough, I do what I am supposed to do, and I say what I am supposed to say to keep her on a path of righteousness. More importantly, I pray for her to the God who created her. I am counting on Him to deliver her from the evil that jeopardizes her body and soul. My faith is in Him. I trust that He will do all that I am unable to do even though I love her. When my love is not enough, I turn to my faith in God, who is love.

How frightening to think of those who reject the love of God through Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior! There is no other to turn to when the love of God is not enough. Hebrews 2:3 inquires, "How shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation...?" My experiences with my teen, reminds me of God's love and experiences with me. Therefore, I have learned to count them...Joy!

My stories are framed by "My Story." My African American parents had six children: five daughters and one son. I am daughter number four but child number five. My father was a leader in my community, and he believed in the American dream, and together, my parents taught their children to believe in the American dream. All men are created equal. We pledged allegiance to our nation "under God." God was interwoven throughout every aspect of our lives. He was in our home. He was in our schools. He was in our church. He was at the Girl Scout functions, the Boy Scout functions, and at the Y.M.C.A. God even went to the Heart of Texas Fair and Rodeo and the Genco Credit Union annual banquet. (God was everywhere we ate, every time we ate). God was everywhere we went: the homes of friends, the homes of relatives, and of course, the homes of other church members. After all, at church we were taught that God is everywhere. (I was too young to distinguish the difference between God's presence everywhere we went and the conception of God's omnipresence). Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the presence of God was not prevalent in some homes. He was an essential member of my family. How could He not be essential any and everywhere else? Are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness even possible without Him? My parents divorced when I was eight years old. I count it joy. God was present in both houses.

In chronological order:
My parents' (William, Delois) children....Judy, Bruce, Rita and Nita (twins), Francene, and Cheryl
My father and Nattie's (second wife) children....Andrea, William (Bill), and David
More joy:
Bruce and Brenda's children....Tiffany and Troy Haliburton
Rita and Wesley's children....Kathalyn, Wesley Jr. and Jonathan Nute
Nita's son....Steven Haliburton
Andrea and Eddy's children....Alexandra and Arrianna Rojas
Mama's goddaughter....Dorzelbra Kay Thompson