EYE ROLLS

While discussing the miracle of my newest grandson’s birth, someone commented on how they can’t believe how any woman could abort a baby.

As I pondered, my tears told me that no one wants to kill a child, they are actually trying to kill OTHER PEOPLE’S OPINIONS.

It made me remember hiding the fact that I had a child during high school to keep the school system from putting me out and condemning me to the Park School for Girls where you were taught that your life was over. There was never a mention of this torture for boys.

My son was 3 when he took ill during my senior year and I missed a lot of days while still maintaining honor roll. My guidance counselor tried his best to cover me (God Bless You Mr Kitt) but when the Honor Society found about my “indiscretions and extracurricular activities” they stripped my credentials. Though I ranked in the top 10% of my class, I was not given the honor stoll or pin when graduating. Nevertheless, my favorite picture from that time was me in my cap and gown with baby Josiah on my hip.

Process for college took longer. Worked two jobs. One to live and one for daycare and all to avoid welfare and the stares of people outside the office of welfare lines. Young, black, female, poor and presumed worthless.

I remember ugly comments. Some from family. Lost friends. Sat in the back of church. Smelled like fast food grease. Fell asleep in books.

It was hard. I stayed tired. But MY Choice was worth it. But I would not have made it without the support of an army of aunties, uncles, babysitters, my mom and grandma, a pastor who loved ” the little king” and Mr.Kitt who saw nothing but potential and allowed me space in his office to cry regularly.

If you truly want to end this, then let’s create JUDGEMENT FREE ZONES where women don’t carry stigma in society, shame in religion, loss of opportunity in the workplace, prevention of education, and degragation of income. Men don’t suffer with this to the point that they worry about choice.

So instead, let there be supportive measures in each segment, home, church,, work AND government, that facilitate healthy family rights options or expedient, less costly adoptions.

Don’t be the type that condemns birth control or “giving away a baby” while at the same complaining about every program to feed, shelter and educate that child once it’s born.

Let each of our opinions be replaced with SANCTUARY HEARTS where children survive because their mother’s feel safe to live.

So before you pick up another picket sign calling these women murders ask yourself:
Why men in these situations can ” get away with murder” and nobody points a finger?

And the big one:

Did your MOUTH PIECE or eye roll provide the motive?

#sanctuaryheart #ministryofthemisfit #Marysbaby

ESCAPED – February 12, 2021

They call it domestic
But the concept is still foreign to me.
How does someone claim to love you then proceed to love you to death?

To the woman of whom the reporters described as “Henrico , East End, House a bloody crime scene, neighbors called police on a regular ” .

I shall mourn for you and your life cut short. I will not allow you to be victimized or blamed for the sins of an eager lover.

In my mind, you fought back but just were not strong enough. You were a warrior weary on the battle. Backed into a corner, you escaped your bruised soul and murdered body.

If his love is called domestic then your exit can be called an escape.

I regret not knowing you before the stories. I would have shared mine so we could have walked out together.

BECAUSE

I don’t give because I am rich. I give because I have to trust God for every dime.

I don’t sing because I am happy all the time. I sing because I know He is with me even when I can’t trace the process.

I don’t write because I am gifted. I write because I need to always hear His word speaking to me.

I don’t cry because I am weak. I cry because I know He has plans for me.

I don’t lay hands because I think I am a miracle worker. I lay hands because He worked a miracle in me.

I don’t love hard because I am needy. I love hard because He loves hard.

I don’t believe but I am so super in faith. I believe because He has never lost a battle.

I don’t walk this life because I chose it. I walk this life because He chose me

No need to remind me that I am not perfect.
I know already.
God knows already.
His definition of perfect is His alone to use.

-From the Ministry of The Misfit – Michelle Gillison-Robinson

When Jesus Wept

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning knowing full well that being a member of the over 40 (actually over 50) crowd that sleep was not going to return.

I tried my usual search for something good to add to my spirit. However, my usual comfort of “Christian” television was still replaced by election commentaries. Something I sorely needed a break from. Disappointed, I tried channel after channel, carefully trying to avoid politics and the food shows…..didn’t need to add that stress habit either.

I stumbled across a sweet but simply acted movie called “A Heart That Forgives.” Cliche story about two brothers, one a preacher and the other a drug dealer. Both in need of peace and forgiveness and the road God took them and others down the path to the altar.

I was struck by the bible being used as a weapon to keep one person out of the faith and the bible literally saving another by catching a bullet intended for his heart.

I began to weep. Mourn actually. I had to stifle my sobs to avoid waking my family. But the pain in my spiritual heart was being felt in my physical body. It took all in me not to scream “God forgive us.”

I pause here to say that this is no political statement. I have tried hard to not make any since I have witnessed first hand over the last decade or so how the blessings of democracy has demonized relationships.

Marriages, families, co-workers, friends and now congregations, fractured at the heart. Can’t sit at dinner with this uncle. Can’t go there with this aunt. Can’t be in a meeting with that boss. Can’t go to church because….

Ugh. It hurts just to say it so I won’t.

God put a desire on my heart to have our congregation to take communion every Sunday which is not our custom. I didn’t necessarily say leading up to the election but it fell that way. Communion is a time to reflect on the sacrifice of Christ. How our health, peace and salvation rested on a God that so loved this world…the world of “us”.

In doing so we had to examine ourselves before we could partake. Reflect, release, revise and revive is what I like to call it. A time to focus and honor the goodness of God by getting our hearts right with God and each other.

Here with tears in my eyes, I so pray that the entire Body Of Christ what stop for a moment and take communion. Specifically with a brother or sister of whom your political ideals do not line up with. Reflect, release, revise and revive.

Yes, I know the scripture says “how can two men walk unless the agree.” But no matter who you voted for…can we not agree that the Creator of this universe is capable of fulfilling His Word. Can we agree the He still occupies heaven no matter who occupies the White House?

Why instead are we on social media condemning each other to hell over a manmade desk that suddenly became sacred? Are we not supposed to be winning souls for the Throne of Grace instead?

Why instead are we arguing and threatening civil war over what government should or should not do? Are we not the ones who should seek to help the sick, feed the poor, provide relief for the stranger, protect our brother no matter the color, and provide a way of escape to the mother who thinks there is only one option? Can’t we protect the child in the womb and the child at the border without hating each other?

Is this pain, I imagine I am feeling what Samuel was feeling when the Children of Israel begged for a king like the heathen nations when God Himself wanted to be their Guide?

The worst of it is….the world is watching! They are mocking us as “so called christians”. Lower case c and in quotation marks because they don’t think we follow Christ. They call us “Trumpafiles” and “Bidenites”

How do we win them when they see us this way?

The more I reflected on this, the more my face was soaked in tears. Then I could hear in my mind my young grandson proclaiming the one scripture he knows verbatim “Jesus Wept.”

I remember answering his obvious question in terms he could understand. Jesus cried because he had lost a good friend. His friend was not sick anymore in heaven. But Jesus had to bring him back so that people could believe in God. Jesus cried because he wanted so much for people just to believe God was a good God no matter what happens and that things don’t always have to go your way for Him to still be good.

I wonder even now how many people that day really believed God or just what they saw? How many ran out to do the will of God or just benefited from a good show? How many believed that God can do all things with whatever He needs to…..even if it perceived as dead or stinking?

As I close and attempt to dry my eyes, I remind you that the weapons of our warfare are not carnal. I do not use my words to condemn how you voted. I just condemn how we use the bible as a weapon to keep people out of the kingdom instead of helping them dodge bullets.

If you feel otherwise, I invite you to take communion with me and let’s focus on the cause of Christ.

But whatever we do, let’s not make Jesus weep …..again

With All My Love and Hope For Better – Michelle

Caught Between

Caught between

What my heart feels, what my eyes behold, and what my soul can’t rest on.

Leaning not on my own understanding while crying out for an answer.

Empathy and sympathy while being confused.

Praying while angry.

Respecting opinions while finding out some friends are closet racists.

Wanting my babies to be fierce but fearing what that means in a world that fears them.

Wanting to shield them with my heart and my body while knowing crying out for mama won’t help you survive.

Caught in the divide between what I’ve been taught and what I have learned.

Wanting to be colorblind while being POC.

On my knees. Taking a knee. Death by knee.

Wanting to shut out the images but feeling irresponsible for hiding.

To be young, black and gifted. To be old, black, and tired.

To Be Black. To Be Black. To Be Black.

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It’s a fight

Trying to stay quiet cause my soul hurts. But I see the division amongst friends, family and houses of worship on the best way to handle all of this and to make sure it does not continue to plague our people.

The truth of the matter, we have a common goal for peace, for liberty, for justice and health both physical and mental. Our minds, our experiences and our faith dictate to us the push or the pull methods to get it done.

Honestly though, my biggest pains are not knowing exactly what has the impact and what will have the quickest but lasting results.

Is it fight in prayer? Is it fight with fist? Is it fight in separation? Is it fight for equality or for equity? Is it fight with my money? Is it not fight at all?

But, while we fight against a common enemy of oppression, let us not fight each other….at least not with disrespect. None of us are entirely right. Nor are any of us entirely wrong.

Some where in the middle is leadership and a plan. Be heard. Be silent. Be whatever you are called to be. But please let us not be against each other.

Many roads will lead to a common place. Let’s get there together.

Caught Between

Caught between

What my heart feels, what my eyes behold, and what my soul can’t rest on.

Leaning not on my own understanding while crying out for an answer.

Empathy and sympathy while being confused.

Praying while angry.

Respecting opinions while finding out some friends are closet racists.

Wanting my babies to be fierce but fearing what that means in a world that fears them.

Wanting to shield them with my heart and my body while knowing crying out for mama won’t help you survive.

Caught in the divide between what I’ve been taught and what I have learned.

Wanting to be colorblind while being POC.

On my knees. Taking a knee. Death by knee.

Wanting to shut out the images but feeling irresponsible for hiding.

To be young, black and gifted. To be old, black, and tired.

To Be Black. To Be Black. To Be Black.