My day was also my day most terrified, but yet day most determined.
2500 people on a hot summer night watching me pour out my soul on the stage of the Dogwood Dell. An outdoor venue. Hot and perfuming ironically with a bug spray aptly entitled “Off.”
5 minutes was all the stage time I got . 5 minutes of feeling all my 55 years and display and figuratively, naked.. An original piece that I prayed most will never understand. The musings of a sad little clown reclaiming her share of joy
. I made some laugh and made some cry. Some applauded. Some politely attentive wondering what the imagery in my word salad was all about. One in particular showed up to mock me and hope that I would fail. In a moment of fear, I tripped, but I did not fall in my moment of truth and freedom.
But I prevailed alone on that mic in a hot bubble of a spotlight. Speaking in veiled colors about differences, disabilities, challenges, hurt, loves lost, death but also reclaiming my right to be seen, heard, treated kindly, honored and never again to be defeated by my past.
A deafening round of applause at the final bow was nothing compared to the rhythm of a heart beat corrected to believe….. no, corrected to know that I am worthy
He changed lives while chasing butterflies. 59 minutes after he cried out 5 times to remind me to walk in grace, he returned to the playgrounds in heaven. He still reminds me to love fiercely and to rest when your mission is fulfilled. Happy Heavenly 10th Birthday to my forever young grandson “Manny Lang”
After my very good doctor’s appt today, my husband & I went to a restaurant a bit out of our way, but I insisted because I wanted to see my fav waitress, Theresa Ann Hatch . Long story short, a couple from Columbus, Ohio were also drawn to detour and find Satterwhites. After they left, Theresa tells us that the gentleman said God told him to pay for our meal. When I ran out to find them in the parking lot he says she wasn’t supposed to tell me but since I was there……..he read all the mail in my heart from all the letters I have ever written to God. Had me crying in the parking lot. Talked my hearts desires and my need for rest and that God doesn’t expect a minster like me to try to rescue the whole world but do my part. He also said I need to get in my head how much God loves me and not just in a generic sense.
He never gave me a chance to say a word, so everything he said was 100% from God. They held on to me, and it brought a peace that I can not describe. Oddly my eyes were still dilated from my retina appt so I couldn’t get a grasp of what they looked like, just that they had a glow about them that wasn’t hurting my eyes like the sun does when your eyes are dilated. I don’t know if God will allow me to see them again in this life as they were just passing through, but My God, My God, I believe I entertained angels.
When a situation births the twins of joy and pain, it makes me feel schizophrenic.
My go-to response is to clean the kitchen and bake something new. Mess up what I just fixed with goodies I will never eat. Provide delight to others while I’m screaming inside. Ministering sweets to others when I need a taste for myself.
My current loss is another’s gain. I feel quite selfish in wanting to hold on to someone who I am happy is finally free.
I know. I know. It is not the end of all things. We will meet again, at some junction, some highway, under some rainbow.
She liked to say I put my “foot in that!”. Naw gurl! It’s smiles and tears.
I will no longer take cuts with knives I sacrificed for and be hit with stones that I have the deed to. I must say so long to my “Job’s” friends (from the Bible, not work) who need to eclipse me in order to find shine. I will no longer fill voids and patch wounds while being left on battlefields alone. I can no longer be held hostage for my portion or my inheritance
I have never claimed to be perfect or to have all the answers. Life never gave me an easy button or a GPS. I never had the finer things but would give you the shirt off my back. Never had gold in my pocket but every penny you had access to. I did my best with the hand I was dealt. That’s all God requires of m, and in my matured year, I am learning that is a very good thing.
Lord, forgive me for hearing their voices over Yours. I return to the peace you purchased and the love you freely give. I am bruised but not broken. Cast down but not destroyed. Though I sometimes stumble, I will dance with the limp I got and to the song I write.
I had a discussion recently with someone about mental health in the church. We need to be okay not to be okay every single day and support each other. Pray. Get Counseling. Then, pray some more. Below is what poured from my heart:
Forgive Me. I lied to you.
I lied to you a lot.
A clever, cute, quip.. “blessed and highly flavored.”
Yes. I am blessed.
But the flavor of the month is salty.
Salty attitude
Salty sarcasm
Both to cover up the flavor of decade.
Salty tears.
See I am a child of the Most High God.
Above and Not beneath
Head and Not the tail.
World Class Devil Stomping Overcomer
Remember??
You ain’t supposed to know that my weeping endured for more than just a night.
Tell me, is it joy in the morning?
Or joy in the mourning?
Or joy for the mourning while I am mourning in the morning.?
Am I a sinner because my mourning dont feel blessed?
Or right now cause I ain’t comforted ?
Or I don’t wanna be a peacemaker this time?
Am I a sinner because I am still trying to forgive but can’t ever forget ?
Hands in places they should not be
Eyes on things they should not see
Tattooing my flesh & heart worthless but powerful words that should not be.
That won’t let me be
My poor in spirit just feels broke.
Even with all I have……worked for and given,
Isn’t it strange that I miss the home without the indoor plumbing where we were all together….living.
I was only meek because I was taught to be. Choked first by the annotate to never let them see me sweat.
Another time by a well armed versed.
And then again by my own brown skin.
I tried … even crowned my way thru it.
But chemo was persecution
Radiation was an insult
Diagnosis was an assault on my character .
I try to rejoice and be glad…..or at least appear that way.
Honestly I do know that there is greater in the Kingdom.
It was one of the oddest days of my life. Was sitting at my desk frozen when I got the call from my hometown, sherrif. My brain went into autopilot, and I kept trying to work with tears streaming down my face. My then boss had to force me to breathe and go home. The love my co-workers showed was unmatched. Could not have made it through the coming days and the funeral without them.
He was a complicated man that I did not get to know until he was an old man in need of redemption and forgiveness. In the beginning, I was an abandoned child, looking for answers, who only served him out of obedience to my God, and the Word said to honor thy father. In the end, I became the child thru whom he wanted to give answers and ask forgiveness from his other children thru.
We didn’t have time to become father/daughter in the traditional sense. What we did have was card games, sweet potato pies, road trips, old Navy stories, testaments of the grandparents I didn’t get to meet, and a soft spot for healing to begin. He became my Pop, and I became his church mother. LOL and inside joke between us.
I figure sometimes that I was the “Moses” baby. … shipped off with no knowledge of him…so I could return and become a path to his need for freedom. Though I đź’Ż validate it, I am blessed to never quite have known the anger my sisters and brothers felt for him. I suppose my heart was kept in reserve for the old man and young child of God he would become.
Still missing you, Pop. I thank you for the gift of the crazy brood of sisters and brothers I inherited 9 years ago.
I hope amongst the milk and honey that there is strong coffee and sweet potato pie!!
Edgar Jerome “Jerry” Franklin-Bradshaw March 1, 1944 – February 5, 2015
The last few months have been crazy busy with normal things and unusual situations. All resulting in a great rushing around town and telephones ringing incessantly while I wear my many hats as wife, mother, grandma, daughter, sister, employee, minister, caregiver, and advocate for the homeless.
In the midst of stress and exhaustion, there is one time I must pause every morning, typically at 4 a.m. During those wee hours, I don a compression garment that looks very much like a cross between the Micheline Tire Man and Robo Cop. I then connect it to a machine that forces a tight lymphatic massage from my feet up to my arms. Rotating in four zones.
Those one to two hours daily are not much fun. Confining and often sweaty. But nevertheless, a necessary evil to ward off any increasing lymphodema caused by the removal of 100s of lymph nodes during my cancer fight.
To make it less taxing, I typically light a scented candle, make a cup of herbal tea, pull up a sermon on YouTube and attempt to ignore phone calls from those who try to catch me while I am being held captive.
This particular morning was different. I had settled into my routine. Tired from a week of very little sleep, but content to have two hours of escape.
15 minutes in, I noticed that only one of the 4 compression zones was working. I kept changing positions, thinking I was laying on one of the 4 hoses. I shook my legs, hoping maybe kicking would jump start the machine. I am so glad no one could witness what a comical sight it must have been to see a robot dancing on a couch.
I looked at the machine’s monitor twice, and everything was cycling as it should, but I just wasn’t getting my prescribed treatment. I started to panic, wondering how I was going to replace a $5000 medical device. I then remembered I had a 10 year warranty on the thing, but nevertheless, I starting to fret over the process and expense it would take to pack about 10 lbs of equipment and mail back to the non-local service center.
However, as I reached over to the machine that I was expressing anger toward, I felt a puff of air and realized that in my haste and distraction, I had only plugged in one of the four hoses. My machine wasn’t broken, I just hadn’t connected to it.
Immediately, in my spirit, I heard “yeah, kinda like us.”
A painful wave came over me, realizing that my failure to connect had spread to my relationship with my all-encompassing healing Savior.
In my rush and haste to perform “the have to” things in life, my personal time with Him was suffering greatly. He promised to be with me always, but I hadn’t always been with Him. Prayer and praise had been replaced with to-do lists.
Far worse, I had been complaining and pondering over promises and prophetic words that didn’t seem like they were working in my favor. Tired, spent, and joy decreasing. Blaming everything on the “machine” life can be, instead of connecting to the “Power”
As I replugged in the natural, I could also feel the Holy Spirit nudging me get my 4 zones in order : alone time with Him in true worship, more time in the Word learning about Him, re-establishing Him as priority, and trusting in His promise warranties.
I stopped a moment to apologize to Flexitouch Plus for failing to connect to it and narcissisticly making “it” the problem. Once I reconnected, it fulfilled all I needed to get back on track, and I always look forward to the release of pressure at the end of every session.
And yes, of course, I apologized to Jesus, and that release after reconnecting and being forgiven is amazing .
defygravitywithoutwings.com 