God-sized Dreams

Where Dreams Set Sail

Harvest, Praising In Advance, And Knowing There Is More To Come & The #DreamTogether Linkup

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"You know what I learned about fig trees? The roots are tenacious, even invasive. They do not give up. There's a testimony there."

“You know what I learned about fig trees? The roots are tenacious, even invasive. They do not give up. There’s a testimony there.”

Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.
Habakkuk 3:17-18 (NIV)

It’s been nearly 10 years. When I walked away (involuntarily) from the job I believed was my dream, I hadn’t any idea what my “next” would be. Often, we Christians tell ourselves quoting Philippians 4:13 that we “can do all things through Christ…” You’re certainly familiar with this scripture. Research tells us that it is among the most popularly quoted scriptures in modern religion. According to at least one writer, “It has been used as a motivating rallying cry for those who want to believe that God will help them do whatever they want.” That’s not exactly the point. Once again, it’s not about what we want. That’s part of what it took me 10 years to learn. Stay tuned, I promise this is the story of a dream realized.

According to Rev. Bill Sullivan, pastor of Tulsa Christian Fellowship, “We often live our lives thinking “If Only,” and this attitude foils the contentment God wants us to live in daily.” I think we’re on serious Disney overload. Rather than wishing upon stars, the lesson in Philippians is about praising Him in advance. Instead of musing about what’s next…

With Christ as the secret to our serenity, we are already triumphant.

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We are already arrived.

Hold on, because we’re going back to go forward, as in 700 years earlier to the prophet Habakkuk’s teaching of the very same lesson. Despite his current reality, Habakkuk encouraged his people then and us today to rejoice in the Lord and be joyful. When we praise Him through all of our circumstances, we’ve mastered the most difficult challenges life can put before us, not because we’re smart or resilient, but because our strength is not our own. We are triumphant because the battles are not ours. Take my advice, and Habakkuk’s and Paul’s….get out of the way.

A consistent practice of surrender and praise puts you out of God’s way.

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So that’s what I spent 10 years doing. I was resigned to give up on the career I’d built that seemed DOA anyway. During endless days with time on my hands and the habit, borne of years at work, to be busy rather than idle, I began writing. I wrote as therapy. I wrote seeking answers to questions about life, faith, routinely writing myself through the scariest and most uncertain places of my own life, lighting candles in my darkness. Like Dory in “Finding Nemo,” with little else to do, I just kept swimming.

I mostly wrote to keep busy, not thinking about or being capable of seeing God’s Plan. He was refining me, stripping away all that was non-essential, in order to usher me into my dream. I wrote to write. I received positive feedback and a steady stream of encouragement from friends and family; that’s what they’re supposed to do. I started receiving invitations to write and then speak from people who didn’t necessarily owe me kind words and opportunities. Doors kept opening. I grew increasingly prolific and brave.

I was the fig tree that did not bud. I grew anyway. There were no grapes, at least none I could see, on my vines and no oil being pressed from my olives. I didn’t care. I couldn’t help myself. I only knew how to continue, putting one word beside the next, keeping busy, creating, even if no one saw, read, or cared, because by continuing to push myself forward, I was praising God in advance. I was doing the thing, through Christ. Doing.

The scripture in Philippians is not a key to success, but rather a key to sustainability. Do through Christ.

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Though there was no harvest, at least that I could see, despite any yield, no sheep in the pen, no cattle, no job, no check, I persevered. I rejoiced. I was joyful.

I now get paid to write. When my job went away, I craved validation. I made my first declaration filing taxes the first year I didn’t have a job, completing the form by indicating my profession as writer. I wanted to mean it, but honestly, I simply could not see writing that all I was was “unemployed.”

Even today, in writing this testimony, I am praising God in advance. I am awaiting a possible offer for full-time employment AS A WRITER, and am interviewing furiously because employers actively seek out the words I have to offer. I had a speaking engagement last week, and look forward to encouraging other women to share their words and offer up their stories. There’s one more thing. I just submitted a piece for consideration to the New York Times Opinion section on life and career re-invention, faith and gratitude. It is the single biggest leap of faith I have ever taken as a writer. It will be awesome, marvelous, and glorious if it gets published. It is awesome, marvelous, and all Glory and Honor-attributable to God that I did it at all. It’s harvest time.

According to one biblical commentary, Habakkuk teaches us that those “who, when full, enjoyed God in all, when emptied and poor, can enjoy all in God. They can sit down upon the heap of the ruins of their creature-comforts, and even then praise the Lord, as the God of their salvation (from www.christianity.com).

I wish I could honestly say that I was always joyful in my praise, and that I was always content in my state, but that would be untrue. My praise was often grudging, petulant, false and half-hearted. Thank God for Grace. According to Pastor and author John Piper, “Grace is the pleasure of God to magnify the worth of God by giving sinners the right and power to delight in God without obscuring the glory of God.” Over the last 10 years, I’ve benefited from more than my fair share. You know what I learned about fig trees? The roots are tenacious, even invasive. They do not give up. There’s a testimony there.

I can’t know where you are in your dreaming journey now, but I can testify to you from a little way down the road. I know what it is to feel defeated. I remember the sting of discouragement. I can still taste the bitterness of another failed attempt and another closed door. That is when we are closest to God, and closest to our own harvests.

God calls us far beyond our comfort zones, whispering that we have always had within us the seeds of Great Harvest.

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He is always waiting for us to be completely broken, yielded, surrendered, and available to grow in the ways He always intended. We are already triumphant, even though our victories may look nothing like the happy endings or dreams we imagined.

Surrender and trust Him, because His plans are better, and I am grateful. I’m learning to stay out of the way, praising Him in advance, knowing while this dream has been achieved, there is so much more in God’s Plan for me, for us all.

What’s your dream? I’d love to hear it.

Shared by: Chelle Wilson

 

                                                                       

dreamtogether-linkup


I joined @Godsizedreams for their #DreamTogether Linkup!

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What Happens To A Dream Deferred

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Be Gentle StoryPeople by Brian Andreas

For this child I prayed; and the Lord hath given me my petition which I asked of him:
1 Samuel 27-28 (KJV)

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
by Langston Hughes

Emmett Till is ancient history, right? Surely they don’t lynch black boys in America anymore, at least not like they used to. In post-racial America, in the final year of the Obama Presidency, they let them believe they are proud, worthy, beautiful, and free. And then they kill them.

In all the years since the senseless murder of Trayvon Martin, I continue to endure numerous painful conversations with people who love the Lord AND who love me, but insist upon believing that things are not the way they are. People with every good intention need to believe that #BlackLivesMatter is more charged and divisive than relevant, that racism is no longer dangerous, is no longer omnipresent in our lives, that everything in America is okay. Everything is certainly NOT okay.

One year ago writing at TheGuardian.com, Rebecca Carroll declared,

Walter Scott’s death – and Trayvon’s, Michael’s, Tamir’s and Eric’s, all of whom became so familiar to us in death that we refer to them by first name only – is the end of the promise of America. It’s the decay of whatever moral infrastructure we have left as a nation; it’s confirmation of the ugly truth that a nation, conceived in slavery and once dedicated to the proposition that not all men are created equal, will allow that divide to long endure.

Among my dear friends are Christian women, mothers to young and not-so-young Black men. In the wake of such madness, one lamented on social media, “#‎OurExterminationContinues.”

From another, this…

I don’t need a brutal video, picture, reporter or sympathizer to *finally* verify what I’ve known to be true my whole life. What I need – what WE need is far-reaching, purposeful systemic reforms and continuous, consistent JUSTICE. Where can I see *that* on video??? #‎TooManyNamesToHashtag #‎BlackLivesAlwaysMatteredToMe

#TooManyNamesToHashtag…she’s right, and I’m left wiping my tears and shaking my head. We thought that greater oversight would elevate the need for change. We thought that policemen with body cameras might add accountability, but just last week we watched Philando Castile die of a gunshot wound on Facebook Live.

Dear God, we need You. When will this madness end?

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I hear choked sobs and the bitter words of my friends, Black mothers of sons who like me love God and Justice, nurtured on the same American dream we were all sold like a Bill of Goods, or a Lot of Slaves (yeah, it hurts like that). Too many names to call out, as our ancestors taught us, keeping them alive as we remember them by name. We call out the names of those beloved and fallen, known and unknown to us, experiencing a searing new hurt representing a centuries-old pain.

I ask God daily, “How long, oh Lord, how long?”

I have NOT lost my faith but my spirit grows ever weary. It’s no longer safe to dream that education, access, affluence, or exposure will be enough to see African-American young men out of the toddler phase and into the grandfathering years and beyond…cradle to grave like we imagined.

Like Hannah in 1 Samuel, we prayed, and God granted our petitions in the form of sons to raise and love. We played by the rules, stumbling but ever intending to do our best and then this…it’s not safe to raise a Black Boy in America.

Harder still is struggling to make even Christian friends understand our pain; bridging chasms borne of privilege, guilt, and shame that tell them ignoring or denying race makes it better, or at least more comfortable. I inquire earnestly of those friends, “more comfortable for whom?” What needs erasing is Racism, not race. I do not diminish me so you can feel better; in making your peace you cause me greater pain.

Colorblind means you choose NOT to see me – Made in the unique and precise image of an All Wise and All Powerful God, I deserve to be seen.

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My whole life matters; all of it.

At three, our daughter announced the birth of her baby brother to our tribe and to the world. At sixteen she wept silently beside his bed watching him sleep in heavenly peace on the night the world heard the jury verdict in the murder of Trayvon Martin. It’s not just a mother’s grieving. These are the collected terrors and tears of multiple generations.

All Lives Matter, as they always have. HOWEVER, and I won’t let this go, I’m not regularly clutching my heart and my head because law enforcement officers (who are NOT a horrible, racist monolith and among whom I count dear family and friends) are killing All boys at an alarming rate. I live in a constant state of unease because Black men (and women, young and old) are beaten, assaulted, and murdered by policemen at an unprecedented rate. #HandsUpDontShoot is a catchphrase in our home for taking it down a notch, but it’s a real thing AND I don’t think it’s a real thing in white homes. Have you ever begun a sentence to a loved one with the words “If I die in police custody…”

I say to my son, “I am afraid for your life.” It is at those times when I cry out to God.

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In Black homes, regardless of region and socio-economics occur several iterations of “The Talk” (ask ANY black parent and they’ll knowingly smile and nod). To do anything less would be irresponsible parenting given the current state of affairs.

Saying something matters does not mean anything at all about anything else.

I do not believe in zero sum reckoning. Nothing is ever wasted in God’s economy, so it is never either/or. Some things, actually many things ARE NOT connected. If I say I’m good, I’m not saying anything at all about whether you or anyone else is good or not and therein lies part of our (Black folks, Black women’s) frustration. It’s not about you (meaning anyone except the Black Girls, or the Black Lives). It can become frustrating when it feels as though someone is consistently co-opting your position, like you can’t have a perspective without considering everyone else.

The deepest part of me immediately reacts by saying, “This ain’t about you, in fact this has nothing to do with you.” But that is incorrect. As Christians, brothers and sisters in Christ, it has everything to do with us all. Quoting Russell Moore, President of the Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission of the Southern Baptist Convention,

If we believe that every person will stand before a Judgment Seat, we cannot then stand silently when we see injustice.

Does that make any sense? For me, it’s kind of like everyone needing to get a trophy so no one’s feelings get hurt. Yes, All Lives Matter. But is that really what you want to say to Trayvon Martin’s parents, to Tamir Rice’s parents (he was 12), to Eric Garner’s wife and family, to the family of Michael Brown, of Walter Scott, of Freddie Gray, of Alton Sterling, and now to Philando Castile. If you’re choking me, guess what, everyone needs to breathe, but I’m the only one about to pass out.

Beyond outrage, what is to be done?

  • We must actively seek God, and one another.
  • We must undertake the hard conversations.
  • We need to listen, not to respond. Frankly, I have NO frame of reference for white privilege, but if my intention is to understand, and then to act, I must listen and learn, as must you, in order to move beyond our own anger and disappointment.
  • I must be patient and open to receive as I expect patient understanding from those with whom I dialogue.
  • My anger, both righteous and justified, is not enough. And praise God, I am not alone.

Writer, mother and friend Lori Harris recent gave voice to a collective frustration existing among members of the Body of Christ. In a Facebook post, she says in part,

Until the {white} Church in America chooses to acknowledge its hand in heaping judgment or prejudice on our black neighbors who already carry on their backs a thousand reasons why our country deems their plight in this life as justified or even deserved, we will continue to deny the very existence of Jesus who made us guiltless while we were yet guilty of every imaginable sin.
May Jesus have mercy on us.

It’s not safe to be a black boy in America. It’s not safe to be a Black Man. But if we want to change the world, and I do, it’s time. My dreams can no longer be deferred.

Shared by: Chelle Wilson

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My Mommy Wrote This Blog (or, sometimes someone else sees your dream before you do)

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Vigil, by Michael B, used under Flikr CC license

May your father and mother rejoice;
may she who gave you birth be joyful!
Proverbs 23:25 (NIV)

My mommy wrote this blog. She just doesn’t realize it yet…

I proudly declare my mom a fan of my blog. Recently, she reminded me that when I was little, I yammered on incessantly about becoming a writer; something I’d completely forgotten. I remembered it not at all until she spoke the words, and then, mommy bestowed upon me the blessing that called me home. That’s who she is in my life, the one who calls my blessings by name. Thanks, mom.

My mother is an extraordinary woman. I channel her unwavering calm, her unrelenting faith, and her limitless wisdom for my entire life; at least I try. I have always wanted to be like her. As an adult with my own husband and family, I still seek to please her.

My mother is every bit the “steel magnolia”…Austin, Texas’ finest

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Mommy offers feedback on my writing in the form of an email dialog we share. Despite being in different time zones, we also pray and talk daily. Her notes, although she is not a writer, speak directly to what I have put on the page. She knows the backstories, even when I do not share them with you, dear readers. She inspires me in ways you cannot imagine. Mommy wrote today’s blog…and she’s about to read about it.

I subscribed mom to my blog via email to make it easy for her to read them. She’s a bit of a latecomer to technology, but she gets it done. She is no critic; it’s all love and support from her corner, and while a part of me wishes she’d post her comments publicly, the wiser part of me knows that her comments are just for me…except maybe this one. In reply to a piece I sent her years ago, she gave me these words.

“Again, Wow. Baby…where does it all come from? Mom”

“Mom, this was all God. I was thinking about it after it happened, then came home to write. It just flowed. I’m asking God to let me be His vessel. I trust that when He finds me worthy to be used, I’ll be ready. Just keep praying. Love you.”

“In my opinion, you are ready. Love, Mom”

It is often impossible for you to see your own forward progress in this dreaming journey.

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We need the eyes, the ears, and certainly the prayers of the righteous to light our way, keep us going, and guide us through rough times and deep waters. My mom is editor, coach, confidant, prayer warrior and encourager, bar none. She inspires me to be better. She inspires me to be like her.

If mommy says I’m ready, she must be right. My mom is always right, even when it takes me awhile to catch up to things she sees so far beyond my sightline. A woman of God, my mom hears and sees.

Mom was my first gift from God, and among the best blessings. Find your encouragers. Listen to them. Be honest with them. Hear their harshest critiques. Honor their desires to make you letter. Let them tend to your garden, even when weeding is required.

Shared by: Chelle Wilson
Image Source: Flikr Commons

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Get Over Yourself, Already…

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The "Do What You Can" Plan

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.(Hebrews 12:1-3 (NIV))

Who knew where this dreaming journey would carry us. I look back on the three years that have elapsed since we set out together, and I marvel at God. As a group of dreamers, few of us are pursuing the dreams we thought God had for us. By the same token however, I believe every single one of us is pursuing a God-Sized Dream…and that is the way of the Kingdom. That takes me back to the beginning of this journey with my sisters, and inclines me to encourage you, again, never to give up.

You might want to give up on a dream, but don’t ever be tempted to give up on God.

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He’s never given up on you, and He never will.

This goes back about a couple of years. It hadn’t been a banner week. The flu virus moved into our house, contractors overtook our home for the week rebuilding and repairing the bathroom, and all of my usually boundless energy and motivation had evaporated. I found myself in the uncomfortable and unaccustomed position of feeling a little pathetic. It’s unfamiliar and I never like it.

At that moment, I was overwhelmed by the love, faith, and drive of the women chosen to walk this path with me-the women of God-sized Dreams. While I often spend my days writing, at other times I quiet my soul reading their stories here and elsewhere across the web. Just listening to God speak through these women and their dreams, I feel a stirring.

Never have I had a group of Christian women friends like these women. Not one to travel in a girl pack, I live my faith but I’m fairly private (I have a close circle of friends), and growing up PK (a pastor’s kid), I’ve seen so much in communities of faith that has disappointed me that I am disinclined to hang with church folk.

This is different. I have come to know and love women who amaze me daily. They are different from me, but we are joined in purpose and exist in a common state of Grace. When I start feeling all less than and out of sorts, Hebrews 12 calls out to me. Matthew Henry’s commentary describes this text as “An exhortation to be constant and persevere, the example of Christ is set forth, and the gracious design of God in all the sufferings believers endured.”

I receive the words as a reminder to get over myself. Surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, women whose lives and whose stories and whose faith lift me out of my mire (which I remind myself are merely a series of inconveniences) that it’s time to dust myself off, throw off all that might hinder me, and persevere. That’s a lesson I encourage you to remember when things get rough. They will (get rough, I mean).

I have a great tool for that. Or actually, Holley Gerth does. She and God created this great tool, to which I return often, called, The Do What You Can Plan.

The Do What You Can Plan. It’s an instructional manual for eating the elephant (a bite at a time).

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You see, I never pull myself out of the mire of my life in a moment’s notice, so that’s where the plan comes in.

Her approach to eating the elephant is to (you should write this down…)

Decide on the minimum you’d like to accomplish in a particular area of your life over the next twenty-one days. Then divide that by about half.

Even at our lowest, we can take baby steps.

I’ve learned to remind myself to start where I am, and do what I can. And, in the company of my powerful praying sisters, when I am weary, I come to them and drink from the fount. I needn’t even confess my struggles there-there is a word someone needs to say that I need to hear. That is how it is with God. That is how it is with my sisters.

I read the words of my sisters, and I am encouraged. I read from Holley’s book, and am reminded how to eat the elephant.

God can handle the big. When you start out, it’s okay for your part to simply be the small.

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And that is all you need to throw off everything that hinders, along with the sin (in the form of fear, anxiety, doubt) that so easily entangles. Do not grow weary and lose heart. You might be down, you might even be broken, but that very brokenness will be the key to your healing.

And I’ve got all my sisters with me-we are your sisters too, and among them here is what I’ve learned.

Nothing can stop us.

Shared by: Chelle Wilson

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Are We Listening, Or Leading?

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Paul Mason Quiet

Walk prudently when you go to the house of God; and draw near to hear rather than to give the sacrifice of fools, for they do not know that they do evil. Do not be rash with your mouth, And let not your heart utter anything hastily before God. For God is in heaven, and you on earth;
Therefore let your words be few. (Ecclesiastes 5:1-2 (NKJV))

Dear Dreamers,

Hear my confession. In my early years dreaming God-Sized Dreams, I took the joy I found in writing and supposed it to be the dream I was to build and dedicate to the Glory of God. I meant well , but I was entirely wrong.

Rather than listening in the quiet to hear God’s call, I was rash. I took things out of order.

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I forgot that He was God alone, supposing instead that I could partner with Him. I was not listening to be available to do His Will.

I was trying to lead and getting in His Way.

An innocent mistake, I see now that it took me journeying along in the wilderness much like the Children of Israel, who wandered 40 years out of the way on a 40-day trip. So desperate was I to make sense of my “exile,” I reasoned that God determined me to be an outsider.

I began to make peace with a life in the wild. It was dishonest, but it offered contentment.

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Or so I thought.

It usefully distracted me from my on-going misery about the fullness of joy lacking in my life. I was always mad, disappointed with God that the Joy and the Peace I knew so many experienced eluded me. What’d I do wrong?

The wrong was all in the doing…

My testimony is not so much that I was lost and now am found, but that I was dying spiritually, disconnected from The Vine, busying myself. I was longing for intimacy with God beyond anything I’d ever achieved previously. Or at least I thought so. I was reminded once again that God is always working in the background. Despite the appearance of wilderness, death, and dry bones, there was a Holy Ghost riot happening at the roots of my soul. Finally, it is good to return to the land of the living.

How did I return, you ask? I stopped fighting God. I stopped being angry, stopped filling my time, and quietly waited upon God. Oh, and there is one more thing. When God called, I simply said Yes.

What happened? Not the things I thought might. (and this is not a happily wrapped story ending, as God is not through with me yet). New things. New adventures. New perspectives on the world. New relationships, and yes, new calls from God.

I am more joyful than I’ve ever been, and while everything is not rosy, my perspective has changed (Perspective is key). I worry less and rely upon God more. And, when I get nervous, I remind myself, sometimes audibly, that He has Never Failed.

Here is the takeaway-let’s agree that dreaming is hard. Let’s concede that it takes a certain foolhardy bravery that is part faith and part stubborn tenacity. Anybody putting forth that much effort just to get to the starting line deserves a full serving of Grace.

And there is one other thing.

Do not be rash with your mouth, and let not your heart utter anything hastily before God. For God is in heaven, and you on earth; Listen more, and lead less, if at all.

(He doesn’t need your help.)

Shared by: Chelle Wilson

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Forget YOUR Dream…

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Chelle picture

“Yet you do not even know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”—James 4:14 (NRSV)

What if the last affirmative act of Faith is just to say yes? What if what God wants most from us is to hear His Call and respond with willingness WITHOUT planning or programming anything that follows after?

I don’t do coincidence. I believe that by Divine Design, God’s plan, more elegant and expansive than we could conceive, is on occasion revealed to us as connections we see, if our eyes are open. I imagine that those connections parallel those of the Master Plan, pared down for our understanding. In time, bringing perspective from recent experiences, along with the time to allow things to be revealed, I see differently.

Our lessons await our readiness. What you need exists right in front of you. However, until you listen without resistance or complaint, receive and the apply what you’ve discovered, the lessons’ proximity is of no value. It is only time when its time.

Having said that, back to the original question. What if the dream we should be chasing is God, and after that, chasing Him again and again, rather than our so-called dreams? I recently took a risk, committed to God, and let go what I thought my dream might be. I forgot my dream and chose to remember the Dream Maker.

Wow.

We spend so much time living in our own heads, hearing and experiencing life through our own filters that we need other people to keep us straight. Fortunately, I have a tribe that keeps me grounded.

I was recently angry (again) with God. Please, don’t be alarmed, He knows, and it’s not the first time; we have an open, honest relationship. The dreams I thought I was pursuing for my life were dashed. My career, long-stalled, might be ready for a restart, as I was on the short-list for not one but two compelling opportunities. Citing God’s sense of humor (and married to it, His Overwhelming Love for me), I received rejection emails from both companies on the same day. Doors Closed. FIRMLY. Because I am human, I pouted and railed at God, needing to be angry, to express my disappointment, and to be forthright. I committed to stop being dishonest with God years ago….He knows anyway. I gave myself 24 hours to be mad and hurt and then committed to GET OVER IT.

The next morning, following my daily routine, I sat down for a few minutes news after shuttling both son and husband to work and school. Offhandedly, I applied to the 16 to ’16 challenge.

“If you’re looking to get healthy, lose weight and improve your mentality on proper nutrition and fitness goals, we’ve got the solution for you. A few lucky viewers who are willing to come on the show and follow direction from our experts will have the opportunity to document their journey live on TODAY.”

As part of my getting over it, I offered a quick prayer…essentially, that if my faith was to be real, I had to let go of my notion of my dream and trust God. Within hours, He showed up. Not only did I hear from the TODAY SHOW team, seven days later I was preparing to be on the show.

Holley Gerth, dear friend and godmother to my God-Sized Dreams, acted as chief of the grounding squad for me in this case. Asking for prayer from friends as I was about to dive of the comfortable, cloistered cliff of my life, called me out, big time.

“WHATTTTTTTTTTTT!?!? You don’t even have your face on your (Facebook) profile pic and then Jesus puts you on national television.”

So much for my notions about what should be on Facebook, what I should be into the world, and what my little brain might determine would be God’s Will for me. I know not. I don’t know. But here’s what I know…I need to hush. I need to be quiet.

Since I have committed to just saying Yes to God, “Make me silent” has become my prayer. I whisper it often lately given the amount of much noise in my life. Much of that noise I make myself; television, music, self-talk (some good, some not so good), to-do-lists, advice and guidance to my children, admonishment, my fears, my concerns, my dreams. So much noise, that often “that still small voice” speaks and I cannot hear it. That’s not good, and it has got to stop.

Lord, I desire to hear You when You call, when You encourage, when You teach. So, this is my prayer, “make me be still.” It has never been my will, so I’m giving up. It was never my dream anyway…and as I have learned….His Plans are always better.

I read recently that “sometimes we need to step back and let God take control.” That’s wrong. We’ve never been in control. That’s why I am forgetting about My dream, and remembering the dream maker. That’s all I’ve ever needed.

What do you need to forget in order to remember God? (<====Click to Tweet)

Shared By: Chelle Wilson

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Social Justice IS Spiritual Warfare, but THAT wasn’t my Dream…

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Image of Activist Bree Newsome, Still by @Niall_JayDub used with full permission of the artist.

I am a Spiritual Gangster, hoping to be like “Jesus…one of the biggest agitators that ever lived.”

Be careful what you pray for. I heard a call to write everyday stories highlighting the intersection of Life and Faith. I thought I understood what such a call meant. Be careful what you pray for…

“God pricked my heart”

There is that insistent, gentle urging, a quiet pressing upon one’s spirit that could not be ignored. A beautiful image, I know and love several dear friends well suited to it. I lovingly describe them as my “white glove Christians.” They are soft, unfailingly polite, subtle, and I so desire to be one of them. I am NO such gentle girl. While capable of great gentleness, I am inclined toward big, bold, and brash. My heart and my words belong elsewhere. I desire quiet. I occasionally exude a mantle of peaceful joy, but alas, me and mine dance mostly to a different rhythm.

We are the Spiritual Gangsters

Originally the name of a yoga clothing line, this notion stunned me like a shot to the head. Captioning my faith calling and the way I felt God shaping my voice, so much so that I co-opted the phrase for my personal use. Reading the account of Jesus’ trial before Pontius Pilate where He was indicted for inciting riot, destabilizing the economy and attempting to overthrow the Roman government reminded me that Jesus was a Revolutionary. Christian Activist Bree Newsome who inspires me to braver action declared in a recent speech, “Jesus is one of the biggest agitators that ever lived…The only time Jesus was in the temple was when He’s flipping stuff over and stirring things up.”

So much for a gentle pricking of the heart.

It was time for me to be a little more like THAT Jesus. A rapidly changing world jeopardized both my Peace and the lives of people who were, or could be me and mine. God defied my notion of the lovely little dream I believed He’d set aside for me. It became clear that my Faith was wedded to Social Justice, and my pretty little God-Sized Dream threatened to become my waking nightmare.

God overtook my little writing dream.

I was trying to live out my God-Sized Dream, but only in part…like seeing through a glass darkly (1 Corinthians 13:12-13). In order to see more clearly, I prayed for Holy boldness to be brave, to risk offending, to bare my soul and my pain. My manageable, mostly inoffensive God-sized dream to write pretty stories stretched and cracked at the seams. I experienced that moment when your dream, as opposed to God’s for you, overtakes you and becomes something from which you cannot escape. I felt violated. I felt cheated. Sound familiar?

What about feeling like you have NO CHOICE?

I wanted to write about the Goodness of God. I got a little brave when someone I admired asked me to join a project in Christian love, about mothering African-American sons in the wake of Trayvon Martin’s senseless death. Hands folded, heart open, I wrote a requiem entitled Elegy for a Murdered Son. It was soft, and “white gloved.”

I thought it would be enough. It wasn’t.

I felt a sifting within me. My race, ethnicity, and culture shape and inform my perspective, not to the exclusion of other people, places, or things, but as a lens through which I experience the world. My comfortable lens was under siege, it hurt desperately, but it was only the beginning.

I could not hold my peace.

The world kept assaulting it. First it was a series of police-involved shootings of African-American men and boys, like my husband, my brother, my son. My world wasn’t quiet, and neither could I be. I no longer felt safe in my own country… and then there was the moment I couldn’t even feel safe in worship.

A preacher’s kid (PK), I grew up in a church like Mother Emmanuel AME in Charleston, South Carolina. I could easily have been a victim like the nine souls carried into the Arms of Grace by a madman, who entered a church “to shoot black people.”

I thought I’d had enough worrying about my husband, son, brother, nephews, cousins, etc., all the men I love desperately, bravely living while Black in America where it seems we are constantly reminded we do not belong, we are not worthy, we do not have a valid stake. Then I realized that Sandra Bland could have been me.

Be careful what you pray for…

There is too much happening in the world affecting me personally, affecting us all to remain silent and content to play small any longer. My pretty little voice isn’t all God planted within me. I’m a God-Sized Dreamer, but the good work He began in me has outgrown my safe place. (<====Click to Tweet)

…being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:6 (NIV)

I must simply trust God, since it has always been His Dream in me. It’s not a waking nightmare. It is what Jennie Allen in Restless calls…

A holy God given passion burning in my soul.

My voice, and my Faith (in order to be sufficiently brave) must grow. Why? Because God-Sized Dreams never belong to us. We don’t shape them. We certainly cannot control what they become. I wanted to be a “white glove” girl, but that’s not where He planted me to bloom. I can no longer hold my peace. I am a woman on fire for Christ, and for me,

Social Justice IS Spiritual Warfare.

I am a Spiritual Gangster. I’m getting in and staying in the fight, agitating like Jesus. Living out the dream He placed in me. His Dream, not mine. Because His Plans are always better.

Be careful what you dream for…you just might get it.

Shared By: Chelle Wilson

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Redemption as fallen cake… (why your dreams so desperately matter)

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fallen cake

I know Christians whose faith and testimonies are unassailable. They are bedrock; unshakable, steady, secure. In my life,  these are the people I humbly seek out when nothing less than serious intercession by praying warriors is required. I do not take them lightly. I do not petition them often. Their prayers are powerful. Lord, may it be that You will bless me to pray it forward to somebody else in need some day. By God’s Grace, may that be my testimony someday, when my faith is unwavering.

Today is not that day.

Unwavering? Unwavering faith? My faith wavers all the time, and that doesn’t mean that it’s not good enough.

I am struggling. Life has kicked me and those I love, battered us and at times it seems like life grinds us into dust. I tried enduring it in Grace. I tried remaining faithful and humble and patient, Lord knows I tried. At this point however, I’ve had enough.  I’m DONE. I’m OUT.

What does “DONE” look like?

I believe, I pray, that DONE represents a newer, deeper, more raw but more intimate level of faith. I am either too stubborn, too well indoctrinated, or too scared to do anything but believe. I am DONE with what used to work, because it doesn’t anymore. Lord, help me. #3WordPrayers

Right now, I confess that this wavering faith, my current rhythm, these pitiful prayers, are no longer enough. It’s not working, it doesn’t bring me joy, and I don’t want to be here anymore. I am asking God to change my heart, yet I understand that I should not ask Him to change my circumstances just yet. (No, I have not lost my mind.)

I am DONE. I want out. This mountain of pain, despair, disappointment and discouragement sits so heavy that some days I simply feel like I cannot breathe. It’s time to move this mountain off my chest, but I mustn’t forget to remember what it feels like. Why? Because the memory of this lingering pain will forever keep me humble, like fallen cake.

_________________________

Let me tell you a story about a fallen cake.

A thousand years ago or so, or at least 18 when I was carrying our firstborn, dear friends of ours were christening their first child. They were hosting a reception for friends and family at their home following the service, and I was asked to bring a cake. No regular cake, this is my Granny’s 2 lb cake, so named because if a traditional pound cake has a pound of ingredients, hers has two.

Anyway, pregnancy hormones must have clouded my brain. I am clearly not a scientist, so it never occurred to me that baking the cake in a cornbread pan instead of a Bundt pan would leave the center underdone and completely raw. It was a splendid specimen, golden brown, evenly baked, risen to perfection, until we cut into it. That’s where redemption creeps in.

Another friend and guest at the party offered to cut and plate my dessert. I was grateful for the offer, and besides, this friend is a New York Times food stylist. My cake was about to get the gold star treatment. She cuts into the cake to discover that the center is molten batter oozing on the knife. I’m third trimester, hungry, and on the verge of tears when  my girlfriend (mother of the newly christened babe) comes over laughing like a fiend. LAUGHING? Now I’m way past hurt to angry.

“What’s so funny?”

She explains to me that she’s never seen me deliver any food item less than flawlessly. She simply cannot believe this happened to me because, according to her, in my kitchen, nothing EVER goes wrong…and despite my being mortified, I begin to laugh. That fallen cake cemented our friendship.

It was the first time, without any intent or planning, that I was transparent enough to be human with her. I had no idea my hollow perfectionism bred resentment; I was only trying to be perfect. (<====Click to Tweet) We still laugh about that fallen cake. (epilogue-the food stylist salvaged what cake was edible, and it was good. She cut it into cubes, found fresh fruit and whipped cream and created a trifle. Voila!)

That fallen cake was my redemption.

What I perceived as an embarrassing disaster was the very moment I became a real person to my friend. My mask slipped. Under no other circumstances would I have been able to appreciate how my façade damaged us both. Thankfully, we moved on. I must not forget the pain I’m suffering right now, no matter how hard. Without it, my capacity for Grace may lack credibility. When and if I minister to someone during their season of suffering, I am able to say, “I know how that feels.”

My faith is wavering, but it’s becoming stronger, because more deep faith is crucial to survive the season I’m going through. I claim warrior faith because I have no choice. I claim a faith that declares, “I will do anyway.” I claim a new level of faith knowing that if I do one thing, He promised that He will meet me there.

Yeah, I’m DONE. I acknowledge my weakness, my frailties, all of my fears, that I am irreparably broken. I whisper…no I shout, unwavering faith? Yeah, so what?

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Psalms 73:26(NIV)

And that is why your dreams matter. If you don’t share how hard it is to show up every day, dreaming despite all reason and no matter what the circumstances…somebody watching you may never show up, at all. That’s redemption…like a fallen cake.

Shared by: Chelle Wilson

Photo Credit: whitneyinchicago 

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A Promise…You Will Dream Again

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Dream Chelle

 [pinit count=”horizontal”]

That is why the LORD says,

“Turn to me now, while there is time.  Give me your hearts.

Come with fasting, weeping, and mourning.

Who knows? Perhaps he will give you a reprieve,

sending you a blessing instead of this curse.

Perhaps you will be able to offer grain and wine

to the LORD your God as before.

The Lord says, “I will give you back what you lost

to the swarming locusts, the hopping locusts,

the stripping locusts, and the cutting locusts.

It was I who sent this great destroying army against you.

Once again you will have all the food you want,

and you will praise the LORD your God,

Never again will my people be disgraced.

“Then, after doing all those things,

I will pour out my Spirit upon all people.

Your sons and daughters will prophesy.

Your old men will dream dreams,

and your young men will see visions.”

Joel 2:12, 14, 25-26,28 (NLT)

“One step forward, two steps back.” An optimist calls that a cha-cha. A disillusioned dreamer might call that time to stop dancing. How do you see it? How do I? Well, I’m getting stronger.  When sadness, despair, and anxiety threaten to overtake me, I’m not nearly as afraid as I used to be, though I still don’t like it.  When I hear about friends’ misfortunes, my response is “Thank God it’s no worse than it is….” I’m getting stronger.

I no longer wonder from whence my strength comes. (<===Click to Tweet) At my lowest, I threaten to become a Philistine; that wouldn’t work. Gospel recording artist Ricky Dillard gives to the cry from deep within me,

“There is no way I can live without You. There is no way I can go on. Burdens are too much for me to bear. There is no way I can live without You. I have tried…”

That is when I am most grateful for the Truth in His The Word.  It never says in Joel 2 that all will be well.  In fact, it’s clear that circumstances are going to get pretty desperate.  The day of the Lord is coming, and the only way to survive it is to stay close, and to remember a promise. To remember a promise-the promise is that you will dream again. I’m getting stronger.

My strength is not my own.  It is rather the confidence I have developed in God’s Word that reminds me to “turn…while there is time.” I don’t need answers.  I don’t need solutions.  I rely upon a promise.

My strength is nothing more than the good sense to shelter under His Wing. (<===Click to Tweet) That’s easy.  That I can do.  I believe in a Promise, because He never lied.  And when sadness, despair, and anxiety try to assault me, to rob me of the dreams God cultivated before time began in order to plant them deep within me, I am reminded that while trouble may draw near, I am covered by many such promises.

You may not be ready to Cha-Cha. You may feel as though you cannot lift your head, cannot raise your voice, cannot reach out to the dreams you know God crafted within your heart. On those days, at those times, hear the words of God by way of the Prophet Joel, penned nine centuries before God sent His Son into the world…

“I will pour out my Spirit upon all people.

Your sons and daughters will prophesy.

Your old men will dream dreams,

and your young men will see visions.”

You will dream again. That’s a Promise.

Shared By: Chelle Wilson

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We are the warriors

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She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms.
Proverbs 31:17(KJV)

“I am made of strong stuff…”
Jill Scott, as Precious Ramotswe, in the #1 Ladies Detective Agency

I’m on my way back from a long, hard season of living, learning, seeking God and finding Him in places I could never have imagined. It feels good. I believe that God has answered my prayer and rewarded me for living my personal challenge to blossom, anyway. It has not been easy. I learned both that I am weak AND that there is strength within me.

I have always believed myself to be strong, but this journey has been about clarity. The strength upon which I relied, the reserves upon which I always drew were never about me. It wasn’t until I was broken, no, beyond broken, crushed to dust in my crucible season that I finally understood. Life was so hard that it threatened to choke my hopes, strangle my dreams right out of me. Please, if you do nothing else, hear my testimony. There is a beauty in brokenness. There is a beauty in arriving at right relationship with God.  (<====Click to Tweet)

Here and now, I am girding my loins with strength, and finally, I know from Whom my strength comes. The strong stuff of which I’m made is Almighty God. It is the God in me. Now I can dream again.

photo courtesy of Flikr Creative Commons. Image by Dideo

photo courtesy of Flikr Creative Commons. Image by Dideo

That’s what we’re supposed to do, to clearly see ourselves as reflections of God in the world-nothing more. Though sometimes, often, we get distracted by our own weariness, or weakness, or fear. No more. That is not who I am, not who you are, not who we ever were.

Now I can dream again. I’m dreaming and doing, beginning every day with a heart filled with gratitude, and expressing it actively. I am working on today’s thing AND prayerfully planning for tomorrow. Why? Because, as Jill Scott so powerfully declares as the character Precious Ramotswe, “I am made of strong stuff.” (We are, you know.) Our Father created us in His image, and that is the strongest stuff there is. (<====Click to Tweet)

So , this is a short post, because coming back from the brink of defeat is exhausting, and I need to improve my stamina. Then, tomorrow, I’m off…to run, to dream, to move mountains. God and me. God in me. Because I can. Because He created me powerfully, and wonderfully. And that’s a blessing. I am a warrior, and now I rightly acknowledge the source of my strength, the source of my joy. C’mon and join me, warrior woman. We’ve got dreaming to do.

Shared By: Chelle

Photo Credit: Dideo

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