Tag: Christian

Still searching for an identity… part 3

~ K ~ 2 Comments

Lack of consistency, discipline, and regularity.

My lack of discipline brings me full circle again though I’m not done venting. I look at others who have an incredible amount of discipline–eating, exercising, spending, sticking to routines–I envy them. People have told me I can do anything I put my mind to. That’s a lie. I’m never going to fly without sitting in an airplane and I’ll never be able to professionally fly an airplane.

I’ve tried time and time again to be disciplined and I’m simply not. I can only hope I have a child who is OCD about a schedule and can set Mama Kass straight. Otherwise, I’m doomed. I can hope I stick to a fitness schedule or a good diet but I haven’t been regular with much in 27 years. Well, perhaps brushing my teeth…

So when I desire consistency, especially with devotions, prayer, and reading God’s word, I feel defeated already because the last place that occurred was at a strict Christian college I attended–an artificial environment of sorts. I’ve never been able to maintain consistency of anything in the real world including church attendance. I’m not wired that way. (But we do pay our bills on time, thank God. Maybe inconsistent but not irresponsible.)

If God spoke to me before I was born and asked, “If you could have any talent or any gift, what would you choose?” I’d reply, “Music, Lord. I’d like to sing exceptionally well and play instruments remarkably well.” I probably would have been asking amiss (James 4:3) because I was born (overall) with the gift of writing well. Despite my many insecurities, I’ve accepted a general consensus that I can write a variety of prose fairly well.

When it comes to writing, I’m pretty certain that’s something I should do. In fact, I’m convinced it’s my calling. God gave me writing as my talent and I’m doing to do my best not to bury it. (Matthew 25:14-30) What kind of writing, though? Journalism? Novels? Copy writing? 140-character writing? I don’t know. But I know that I’m called to use the talents God gave me for His honor and His glory–not mine–in an effort to be a servant for Him.

Blogging.

I feel bad about not blogging regularly anymore. It was once a daily part of my life–now, I’ve given it up. What I blogged about daily, depression, is no longer something I dwell on daily. The journey began in an effort to discover whether I was more than my mental illness. I concluded that journey in about 2 years and discovered I am more than my mental illness. I am a Christian, a wife, a daughter, a writer, a Beatles fan, an avid Twitterer–so many more things than “depressed and bipolar.” It’s still a part of me but “in remission.” I’m a suicide survivor with several victories.

Yet here too, I suffer massive guilt because my cessation of regular blogging has also led to a cessation of regular blog reading. And remember my earlier rant about not being consistent or disciplined with anything? Well, that applies to blogging too…

Still searching for an identity… part 2

~ K ~ Leave a comment

Guilt.

I suffer from the guilt of existence. I’d feel guilty if I had a child before some of my friends I know who have desired children for years. Especially since I also know they desire children so much more than me.

And the ability to stay home and live primarily off my husband’s income so I can devote my time and attention to my novel (which I have no idea whether it will be any good or be able to earn any money). I have so many friends and family members who do not have this opportunity. I feel bad. Something tells me I must work full-time like them to make life fair even though I don’t have to.

It’s not fair that people who want to live must die when there’s someone like me who thinks so little of herself that she would trade places with someone who was dying.

I wait every night, you know, to die.

I’ve given up on suicide because I’ve tried numerous times and I can’t succeed. People tell me it’s because God says it’s not my time to go.

So every night, I wait for God. I wait for Him to take me. I anticipate “my time to go.” That final breath, that final gasp of air that God won’t let me recover from. I wait for it nightly.

But then I wake up each morning, somewhat stupefied as to why I’m still alive. What’s God’ s purpose for me? Am I meant to accomplish something monumentally great or simply exist to bring a smile to my husband’s face each day for the next 60 years?

And what’s wrong with that? Why can’t I be content simply to exist only to make other people happy?

“I tend to be of the mindset that in order to be pleasing to God, I have to do something big, something that leaves an evident footprint in the world. I think deep down I know this isn’t a true philosophy, but when I just live everyday life, I feel useless.” –Sizzledowski, “Sometimes I talk to myself… a lot“

No, I’m not content because I’ve been taught that “bigger is better.” (Well, except when it comes to weight.)

Servant leadership.

My father used to work in the maintenance department of a large ad agency and sometimes he’d get whatever leftovers were no longer wanted. One time, the agency developed (or recycled, I’m not sure) a slogan and printed up more T-shirts than they could use so my dad brought a bunch of them home. The slogan has stayed with me to this day:

“Good enough is not enough.”

So I’ll always feel like a failure. Because once I achieve that one “great” thing, I’ll always be looking for the next great thing. It’s a vicious cycle–always looking to outdo myself. This was also part of Michael Jackson’s downfall. As a perfectionist, he was always trying to “top” himself. The “Thriller” album sold 26 million copies worldwide back in the 80s, immediately becoming the best-selling album of all time. In fact, it is STILL the best-selling album of all time with more than 100 million copies sold worldwide. (The next album that comes even close is AC/DC’s “Back in Black” with 49 million copies.)

“Good enough is not enough.”

Jackson wanted to continue to break records and continue to top the charts even after “Thriller” but was never able to relieve that kind of success again in his lifetime.

So where does it stop? A person can’t always be number one.

Jesus said the first shall be last and the last shall be first. (Mk. 10:31, Matt. 20:16) As a Christian, what does this mean to me?

It means the only way to truly lead is by serving. That is what Jesus did. And not to minimize my Lord in any way but that is also the example all the great human heroes followed: Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Teresa. Not self-serving but serving others. Who will have had more of an impact 100 years from now: Madonna or Martin Luther King, Jr.? God bless Madonna if history textbooks mention her musical impact from the 1980s but MLK, Jr. has changed the lives of many people in this country. From the White House down to little ol’ me, he continues to have a lasting impact beyond his death. As a result of MLK, Jr.’s tireless work, I can write a blog post with fairly good grammar and spelling that reaches a multicultural audience because I had the opportunity to receive a stellar education from Kindergarten through college. (Let’s just conveniently ignore the fact that the last sentence was atrociously written, though.)

The world says to be number one and never settle for last place. My Lord says the first shall be last and the last shall be first. The world says take the lead; be a leader. Jesus says, “Follow me” (Matt 4:19); be a servant (Jn. 13:12-17).

With things like pride and self-sufficiency (really a subset of pride), being a true, consistent servant is difficult:

  • Never seeking glory for yourself.
  • Always doing things for the benefit of others.
  • Constantly knowing your limitation so you can ask for help for the sake of others.

Not easy.

My messed-up imagination

~ K ~ Leave a comment

Because I am doped up on cold and flu medicines, my equilibrium is off, and I’m feeling rather spacey, I’m going to use my blog here to just rant about nothing. Nothing that makes sense to anyone else anyway. And if it’s really bad, when I come to, I may take this down. I don’t know.

In any event, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve got a really messed-up imagination. By Christian and non-Christian standards, you wouldn’t believe some of the stuff that I’ve written. Some of it’s so far-fetched that it simply boggles the mind that I could have come up with it to begin with. Some of it’s incredulous. I need to go up to the loft, dig up some of the stuff I wrote (as in literally—wrote by hand) when I was a preteen, and type it all out. I’ve written 200-300 looseleaf pages of a novel. None of it will ever see the light of day because the stuff rivals L. Ron Hubbard’s books for believability. And they’re so embarrassingly bad. Want to blackmail me? Get your hands on some of that stuff. I’d turn darker than an a red delicious.

I have a storyline running through my mind. Different stories have been running through my mind at different times since I was 12. I may take every NaNoWriMo that comes along and actually put it on paper. Heaven knows I have the characters, plot, subplot, and conflict to keep it going to 50,000 words. Ending it may be the difficult part.

It’s October 22 and I’m not working steadily for the ad agency. Last year at this time I was so it’ll be interesting to see if I can crap out 50K words by November 15. (Although I doubt it.) Last year, I finished my novel just under 50K and had to keep writing nonsense to hit the 50K word mark. It’s a novel no one will probably ever see or read but it’s part of that running storyline I have in my head.

NaNoWriMo 2009 Participant BadgeSo I may just take some time off from revising my current novel to do NaNo. I’ll probably go it alone this year instead of attending write-ins like I’ve done in the past. But I’m rambling out of a head filled with DayQuil and Theraflu. Writing a chapter in my novel should prove to either be interesting or a challenge.

Now that I know what I want to write for NaNo, I can’t wait to get started. A coming-of-age story about a 14-year-old rich girl on Long Island. (Not autobiographical at all.)

November 1 can’t get here soon enough.

The Magic Eye of Christianity

~ K ~ 2 Comments

It’s pointless.

I’m worthless.

I’m useless.

Those are the things running through my head lately.

What’s pointless? Life.

Who’s worthless and useless? I am.

I’m very aware of my humanity and frailty. I’m aware that my beating heart could stop. At any time.

I’m conscious that my last breath could be. Any moment.

I am enduring a mild depression. Without medication. And it’s scary.

I have given up on suicide. I’ve failed at my multiple attempts. I obviously won’t succeed anytime soon.

I’m enduring a crisis of faith. I still believe in God but wonder about Christianity. Continue reading “The Magic Eye of Christianity” →

A eulogy delivered on December 17, 2001

~ K ~ 5 Comments

Me and Daddy

Family, friends, and beloved guests, I want to thank you for attending my father’s memorial service.  Not only was he a devoted brother, husband, and father, but above all, he was a born again child of God.

Even though I’ve lived for only 19 years, I praise God for the memories I shared with my father. I remember my father teaching me how to ride a bike at Eisenhower Park.  Although he did not have a son, I fulfilled that role when he taught me how to play football.  I look back memorably on the last Sunday of each January when my father and I would sit and watch the Super Bowl.  My father has taught me everything I need to kow to watch sports with my future husband.  He taught me that soccer is true football and that no one (but Americans) calls football soccer.  He raised me on cheering for the New York Yankees, but would take me to a Mets game when he had the opportunity.

All the areas of my father’s life seems to be all right but he felt an emptiness that he could not explain.  To fill this longing in his heart, he set out on his quest to find God.  Raised as a staunch Catholic, he realized he could not find what he needed in the traditions of man.  God led him to Bible Baptist Church where he accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior.  As a born again Christian, he began reading the Bible and learned that he could go directly to God for the forgiveness of his sins, not through a priest.  Because of my father’s earnest efforts to bring me to a Bible-believing church, in July of 1998, I also came to know Jesus Christ as my Savior.

As my father immersed himself in the Bible, God changed his heart and gave him a joy that he had never possessed.  A verse from his favorite Psalm reads, “The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.”  When trials headed his way, he turned to God for comfort and assistance.  Leaving New York for a Christian college in Florida was not the easiest thing for me to do, but my father was at peace with the decision, knowing that I was doing the will of God.

When people ask how they can help ease the pain of my father’s passing, there’s only one answer: To do what I know my father would want people to do, and that is to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ for the remission of their sins.  Everyone in this room is a sinner.  Romans 3:23 in the Bible says, “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” Romans 6:23 says, “For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”  The ultimate punishment of sin is death, but because my father believed upon Jesus Christ’s finished work on the cross, he is now living eternally in heaven with God.  People should be sad today because my father is no longer physically present.  But I know that my father is in a better place right now, not because he deserved to be, but because God made salvation available to my father as He is making it available to everyone here.  John 3:16 says, “For God so loved the world, that he gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  Do not focus on my father’s death; instead, I ask you to focus on your eternal destination.  It doesn’t matter whether you’re 19 or 90, each of us will die eventually.  Then where will you go?  There’s a heaven above, a hell below and nothing in between.  Had my father not trusted in Jesus Christ, he would have suffered from eternal torment.

Has there ever been a time in your life when you told God that you believed Jesus Christ died, was buried and resurrected for your sins so that you could have access to the gates of heaven? In John 14:6, Jesus states, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life: no man cometh unto the Father but by me.”

Philippians 4:13 emphasizes, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”  If anyone is without Christ, he can do nothing. But I praise God that when He calls me to my home in heaven, I can see my father again.  Can you say with definite assurance that you are on your way to heaven?  If my father’s death has not made you questions your eternal destination, then he will have died in vain.  But if someone here realizes that he is a sheep wandering without a shepherd, the Lord Jesus is beckoning you to come to Him.

August 22, 1942–December 9, 2001

In search of an identity… race.

~ K ~ 4 Comments

After Michael Jackson’s sudden death, BET announced that it would feature a Michael Jackson tribute on its annual awards show. Curious to see how this tribute would turn out, I asked my husband to flip the TV channel to BET the night of the awards show.

Jamie FoxxI watched hoping to see a well-done opening act only to find Jamie Foxx, butchering the Moonwalk and doing a poor imitation of Michael Jackson’s dance moves. I smiled, assuming Foxx was being comedic and doing the best he could. When Foxx was done, he went on a mini-rant about how Michael Jackson was a “black man” and “he belonged to us.” My husband immediately flipped the channel and said, “I am not watching anymore of this racist garbage.” He subsequently went on to ban BET from our home.

The BET Awards just shed another light on an issue that I’ve been struggling with recently—the issue of race and how it relates to my identity.

I’ve always had issues with my racial identity but the problem reared its ugly head continuously during the 2008 presidential election in which I publicly chose not to support Democratic candidate Barack Obama’s bid. Ever since, I’ve struggled with what it means to a Black Christian female and how race plays into who I am.

One question I grapple with: Does race matter? And I think, yes, for the most part, it does.

Race matters:

  • When I need to get my hair done. I need a hairdresser who can style ethnic hair. The hairdresser can be black or white but she needs to know how to wash, style, and properly treat black hair. In that sense, race matters.
  • When it comes to medical issues, there are some medications that have been proven to work better in one race than in another. Genetically, race matters.

But when it comes to my personality, does race matter? No, it does not.

In the black community, race is not just a color; it’s become a culture. Black or African American culture. (While the terms Black and African American have become interchangeable and most people seem to prefer African American, my immediate heritage is Caribbean so I’m more comfortable simply using Black.)

What comprises Black culture?

  • Music: Blues, rap, hip-hop, R&B.
  • Religion: Style of worship.
  • Race: Racial discrimination has been a part of Black history for so long that it cannot be ignored.
  • Art: There is a definitive African influence here.
  • Entertainment: Comedy and movies.
  • Food: Soul and Caribbean
  • Politics: You’re a Democrat.
  • Language

With the exception of music, race, food, and politics, I’ve never been exposed to much of Black culture. I’m an only child and grew up in a nice, suburban area of the New York metropolitan area. While the area around me was highly diverse, no one in particular influenced me; I gravitated toward whatever I thought was interesting.

I suppose in my parents’ attempt to assimilate into American culture, the culture they adopted was one influenced by whites. I went to Roman Catholic schools from K-12 and attended predominantly white parishes until I became a born again Christian at age 16. Even then, I had a white pastor.

I grew up around mostly white kids and played with the white Barbie dolls. Maybe I was reared to be who other black people call a “sellout.” Continue reading “In search of an identity… race.” →

In search of an identity… Christianity.

~ K ~ 2 Comments

CrossWho am I… as a Christian?

As a Bible-believing Christian, this topic could be endless.

Under the banner of Christianity,  I am a number of things:

  • a sinner (Romans 3:23)
  • lost without Christ (John 14:6)
  • redeemed and forgiven of all my sins (Colossians 1:13-14)
  • God’s child (John 1:12)
  • bought with a price (I Corinthians 6:19)
  • a citizen of heaven (Philippians 3:20)
  • God’s workmanship (Ephesians 2:10)

The list goes on. But what does that mean for me as an individual?

I read God’s Plans For You by J. I. Packer in the hopes that I’d get some kind of divine revelation as to who I’m supposed to be. Nothing of the sort happened. Although I did gain some further insight as to what kind of individual God wants me to be.

An erroneous thought circulating in Christian circles is that, above all things, God wants us all to be happy. Above all things, God wants Christians to be holy. Achieving that apart from the guidance of the Holy Spirit is no easy task. What does the pursuit of holiness mean? (Another good book for me to read.) It means going after the things that are pleasing to God and pursuing the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23).

Here’s where God has led me in my Christianity so far:

That’s about as individual as it gets right now. There’s nothing profound or earth-shattering in this post. It’s simply an attempt to get me to figure out who I am as a Christian.

In search of an identity…

~ K ~ 1 Comment
Who am I?
What is my purpose?

questionThose two questions run through my mind at least once a day. (I’m probably providing a conservative estimate on that front.) Well, here are the basic answers to each question:
1. Who am I?
First and foremost, a Christian female; an adopted child of God bought with a price and a joint-heir with Christ.

2. What is my purpose?
To glorify God, and to enjoy him for ever. (Westminster Shorter Catechism, Q1)

Those are the general things, applicable to a wide variety of Christian women. But specifically, who is the person that I’m supposed to be—the person no one else can be? What is God’s individual purpose for my life? Let’s start with a list of things that make up who I am:
Who I am
  • Christian
  • Female
  • Daughter
  • Wife
  • Cousin
  • Niece
  • Black
  • Writer
  • Friend
  • New Yorker
Really, is there much more to it than that?
Some of who I am is pretty straightforward in my opinion and does not need to be pursued much further, ie, female, daughter, wife, cousin, niece, friend. However (for me), it can get complicated when one of those things becomes a noun and the other becomes an adjective: What does it mean to be a Christian female? Or a Christian wife? Or a Black Christian? Or Black female? Here are the main topics I struggle with regarding my identity:

Christianity: What does it mean to be a Christian?

Race: What does it mean to be black in America, especially since I am first-generation American and am also married to a white American male?

Career: What kind of a writer am I? How do I pursue this, namely in a dying profession such as print journalism?

Location: My heart longs to be in no other place than New York but I’ve become content to live in Philadelphia. Am I still a New Yorker? Can I call myself a Philadelphian too now?

After exploring the main topics that plague my identity, I’ll try to address the issue of what my purpose in my life. I have the scary feeling, however, that the task will be much more difficult that trying to figure out who I am.

Painting Pictures of Egypt

~ K ~ 1 Comment

Lady LibertyA friend I have went to NYC recently and met up with a few friends. She explored the city, took lots of pictures, and seemed to have a blast.

Then I found myself thinking, “Why don’t I still live there, Lord? Why am I not there?”

Of all things, I wasn’t jealous because she was spending time with people she cared about nor was I jealous that she had a good time.

I was upset not because she was in New York but because I wasn’t.

How pathetic is that?

In recent months, I’ve been struggling with the issue of identity:

  • “Who am I?”
  • “Yes, I’m a Christian and need to find my identity in Jesus but what does that mean? It sounds so theoretical and abstract.”
  • “What does it mean to be Black in America?”
  • “Does race matter?”

I thought I’d let the New York thing go. It was a big struggle when I moved to Kentucky considering how much I hated Kentucky but I’ve been content in Philadelphia. So why do pictures of Manhattan and Brooklyn get me nostalgic for the days of going to NYU and attending my old church in the quaint section of Brooklyn Heights? Why? Would I trade what I have now (a husband who loves and cares for me) for what I had back then (single, depressed, no one)?

I’m a fool so I struggle with this.

I suppose what makes things harder is that the prospect of living in New York ever again is about as likely as the prospect of living in Kentucky again. Zero. I never loved Kentucky, I never grew up in Kentucky, Kentucky was never my home.

Sara Groves talks about “Painting Pictures of Egypt” and “leaving out what it lacked.” Perhaps I’m doing that with New York. When I think of living at NYU, I don’t think of the time I wandered dark alleyways at 2 or 3 am in the morning, hoping I’d get raped or murdered. I don’t think of how I frequently walked the Manhattan streets alone and lonely, eyeing couples and friends with jealousy because I possessed neither of those things. I simply think of the exhilarating feeling I’d get when I walked to class near Washington Square in the winter while flurries dropped just because I lived in New York.

  • I got high off of living in Manhattan. I love the city. Sure, it smells like pee but it’s a place I loved to call home.
  • I’m proud to tell people that I was born in Brooklyn and raised there for the first five years of my life.
  • I have a love for the Yankees that runs deep. No matter how bad they suck, they’re always World Champs in my heart. (On the contrary, I have a hatred for the Red Sox that runs deep.) 😉
  • My family, namely my mother and grandmother, live in New York and I miss them all so dearly.
  • I have friends from middle school that I talk to infrequently but still care about and miss spending time with.

If you asked me which city was the best in the world, I’d tell you New York. I just love that place.

However, I feel terrible because my friend was having a wonderful time visiting places and friends and the main emotion I could muster was jealousy. And like the fool I am, I had no words for her other than “I’m jealous.” Those words started out as a figure of speech but then evolved into actual jealousy. She didn’t warrant that. My sin and identity issues shouldn’t be her problem.

So it’s back to the drawing board yet again. For all my nostalgia, I’m putting my primary identity in the wrong thing. My primary identity is not native New Yorker. My primary identity is Christian. And whenever anything or anyone dethrones Christ; it’s wrong and it’s sin. And I need to repent.