Woman Camp

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Recently, my church held a camping weekend woman’s retreat, they called it “Woman Camp”.

Ten years ago, if you had told me I would be signing up for a camping trip for 500 women only – voluntarily – I would have thought you were crazy. Sure I had attended plenty of women-only events… out of sheer obligation, but not excitedly. And I didn’t really feel like I fit in when I was there, I just didn’t relate.

In case you don’t know me, I am exactly equal parts fashionista and tomboy; which means you’re just as likely to catch me barefoot as you are in AWESOME stilettos. My best friends had almost exclusively always been guys and that’s who I spent time with.
If you were a female, you had to be not “chick-like”, but love shoes as much as me, to be invited into my circle. Chicks were crazy, high-maintenance and drama, I said.

And then, after a few years of experiencing hurt and neglect and verbal abuse and rejection, I became one of the crazy chicks. I suddenly understood all their feelings and irrational behaviors for the first time. I found myself acting out, just as irrationally.
I experienced the “why” behind their “what”, the root behind their fruit (as Jennifer Beckham would say), firsthand.

And that’s when it happened: My heart broke for them. All of them. From the most meek and timid and insecure, to the most angry and bitter and malicious, because under the surface they were all dealing with the same root(s), and so was I. I got it.

My heart softened toward them. I started listening to them instead of talking about them. Many of their stories were so similar to mine.

And then, I got mad. I saw how easily the enemy manipulates and abuses this gender – my gender. And in my heart, an agape love for these people was cultivated.

And then a handful of beautiful girls stepped alongside me and showed me what a sisterhood looks like. They loved me relentlessly and graciously accepted all my parts – the good, the bad, the tomboy and the ugly. 😉 And I wanted to do the same for them.

It didn’t take long before all the pieces fit together, and a PASSION for leading women out of bondage and shame, fear and isolation and into freedom, healing, wholeness and restoration was born in my soul.

That’s what this Woman Camp weekend was about for me – getting to be a part of that movement in Cincinnati, inside my church community. I got a glimpse of what that passion looks like coming to fruition. I wanted a front row seat to watch God do incredible, miraculous things in and through women. And I was excited to be a part of or help facilitate lives changing in any way I could.

This weekend was also a time of refreshing and worship away with my Father. It was Him showing me his plans and visions for me, once again. Him reminding me that He is handling everything, from every angle, and I’m just along for the ride – Safe. Protected. Provisioned. Called. Chosen. Anointed. Unqualified, but made qualified for this task through Him.

Let the veils stay lifted away and burned for each of us, and a clear picture of who God says we are and is calling us to be be branded in our mind’s eye. Our God has so much more for us. We are free women. No longer slaves to fear. We are children of God.

The Year God Stopped Talking to Me

New year’s day 2016 I sat on my living room couch, face red-stained and eyes puffy from hours of crying, my voice half-strained from screaming – at God – in particularly colorful language at times.

Why?

Because it was New Year’s Day and as I sat down to reflect on the previous year and craft my plans and goals for the next, I realized 2015…..Well…..sucked.

Sure there were good things in 2015. In fact, on the outside it looked like a GREAT year:
We bought our first house.
Barry left his job where he was miserable and went into business with his Dad.
We took my my mom on an incredible trip to Hawaii for her 60th birthday.
I finished the last chapter of my book
Started a blog and author social media pages
Began my public speaking career…..

But behind the scenes:
The first two months in our new house Barry and I fought more than we had in the first five years of our relationship – combined.
Barry’s new arrangement with his dad happened a little prematurely than they planned and put a lot of pressure on both of them. Which caused Barry to be tense and irritable and led to us fighting more.
The second day of our incredible Hawaii trip, I got a call that my high school best friend overdosed on heroin and died and I spent most the trip bouncing back and forth between laughing and enjoying the present moment and crying after being blindsided by another memory of him.
I was told blogging and creating a social media following was necessary for building a platform for a book release. But once I started, they only added extra work and mental energy to my already overflowing plate. Which caused me to feel exhausted and (you guessed it) led to us fighting more.
My new speaking career was also happening earlier than I anticipated – it felt overwhelming and intimidating to me, like I was in over my head. I constantly questioned if I was ready or qualified for the task at hand, leaving me feeling insecure and vulnerable.

The fact that all of these things happened within a three month timespan caused so much stress, tension, and anxiety in my life – and my body- it literally almost broke my gallbladder.

I experienced excruciating pain that resulted getting 3-4 hours of sleep a night, for months. It was so bad I almost went to the emergency room on more than one occasion. I lived in fear of every meal I ate because I never knew what was going to hurt me and what wasn’t. For about a month, I ate nothing but rotisserie chicken and apples, since I knew those were two things that would not cause pain.

Sure, there were good things that came as a result of the bad things:
My alarming health challenge caused Barry and I to stop fighting. I had never felt his love as tangibly as I did in those months, as he cared for me, sat up with me, rubbed the soreness out of my back from being hunched over for hours, stayed up with me, and prayed for me.
He took over as the spiritual leader in our home, standing in the gap for me as I struggled with doubt, uncertainty and fear.
These things aroused a great respect and admiration in me for him, and caused me to fall more deeply in love with him than I ever had been.

Days leading up to New Year’s, I couldn’t stop reminding myself that the ONE thing I did want to get accomplished in 2015 – publishing my book – didn’t happen.

I literally had a single goal, a single dream, a single resolution for two-thousand-fifteen: to put my book on physical (and digital) bookshelves and into hands of people who so desperately need it.
And it. didn’t. happen.

I felt like a total failure. Like I had wasted an entire year of my life.

And, in the midst of aaaaallllll that, God was completely, and utterly, silent. He had been for months at that point.

For countless nights I sat up in hours of pain, I had been pleading with God to show Himself to me. To show me the purpose in any of this.

I had reasoned if the manifestation of my healing wasn’t happening physically immediately, then there must be something I was supposed to be learning in the meantime. Something God wanted to teach me in this place of waiting.

I began asking Him what that was and let Him know I was fully open and joyfully on-board with learning whatever the lesson. Honestly.

Awaiting a reply, I got: NOTHING.
Not a peep.
Nada.
Zilch.
Not a single word

And then, our basement flooded.

That’s when the crying started.

It was New Year’s Eve. As we sat at home, instead of out ringing in the new year with our friends, dismantling drywall and sucking water out with a carpet shampooer, the weight of everything just hit me. I reached my breaking point. And enough tears to fill our basement a second time came spilling out of me.

I began crying out to God again.

If you’re going to make me go through all of this, at least tell me what I’m supposed to be learning! What I’m supposed to be getting out of it!! I shouted at Him.

Still nothing.

I don’t deserve this! I am being so faithful. Do you not see me? Are you not paying attention? Look at me!! What more do you want from me?!

[I began to feel a little like the bi-polar David in Psalms: “I love you Lord, your eyes are always upon me, you have blessed me abundantly.” Very next verse, “God, why do you hate me? My enemies are about to destroy me, why aren’t you watching?!”]

More silence.

And that’s when I got angry.

By New Year’s day, I was yelling most of the same things – just use your imagination to insert expletives in the middle of every sentence. (I guess I had moved on to a little bit of Job at that point….)

Now, what would make this story really great is if this is the part where I tell you, “and then God’s voice boomed audibly into my living room and said, ‘Rachel, oh ye of little faith, I Am still right here.’”

But that’s not what happened.

In fact, I had to sit on this blog for several months because my prayers for a Word and an understanding remained unanswered.

This was the first time since becoming a Christian – really becoming a Christian, since God had pursued me and I met Him in a real and intimate way five years ago – that I wasn’t hearing from Him, that I couldn’t feel Him close to me.

I had relegated myself to the thought that I was just in spiritual dry/desert season and would have to wait it out. (You can read about the desert season here: http://racheldawnwrites.com/blog/deserts)

But Now…..The Rest of the Story

A couple months prior to my New Year’s Day meltdown, a friend reached out to me asking me if I could recommend any specific scripture to help her through a current rough season. I told her, “That’s not really the way my relationship with God works – I hear from Him in songs, and books about Him, or books about the Bible, or even from Him directly (in my mind).” I recommended some songs that really helped me when I was in the same place, and a couple books she could read. And went on about my day.

See, I had tried reading the Bible all the way through, more than once, without success. And anytime I was dealing with something specific, I tried flipping to the concordance to find verses that applied to my own situation, but I always turned up empty – the verses would feel disconnected from what I was going through, so I gave up on that.

Whenever I needed an answer about something, I picked up a Christian book on the topic or found a preacher teaching a message about it to get my answer.

In those weeks of silence while battling my gallbladder symptoms, I began reading a book a friend had recommended to me. It was a topical study Bible called, “The Complete Personalized Promise Bible for Women”. I planned on using it for reference to find healing scriptures to meditate on, but I started with page 1 of the introduction and I’m glad I did. It hooked me, and I started reading it as a daily devotional of sorts.

For each section/topic, there is a promise, a faith confession for that promise, then scriptures backing up the confession.

While studying there, I came across this verse in 2^nd Thessalonians: “So then, brothers, stand firm and hold on to the teachings passed on to you, whether by word of mouth OR BY LETTER.”

I started laughing as it occurred to me Paul was writing to the early church in Thessalonica; those people were getting their messages from God in written letters, via Paul.

And in that moment Paul’s letter was to me saying: “God has written a letter to you. Stand firm and hold on to the things He wrote down 2,000 years ago.”

The next day as I sat writing in my prayer journal, praising God for using that verse to speak to me, I started laughing again as another revelation came: The Bible is called “God’s Word” – literally God’s Words. The Words He spoke to the people He loved. He had already said plenty to me, and it was all written down and recorded, preserved in time, so I could revisit it anytime I wanted or needed.

I was humbled. How arrogant of me to expect Him to talk to me, when I want, in the manner I want?

All that time I was in the desert, He was talking to me right in those pages, but I wasn’t receiving it. I wasn’t even looking in the right place!

How many tears (and angry words), how much stress and heartache, would I have saved myself if I had only looked there earlier? How different could the year 2015 have been?

God – thanks for never leaving us, and never forsaking us. Thanks for loving us enough to send and leave Your Word for us. And thanks for your everlasting and unconditional grace that we can never ever use up, because we need it – big time.

God is in the Restoration Business

He breathes life into lifeless places.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a relationship, your health, your emotions, your dreams….

He brings dry bones out of the grave and wraps them in flesh once more.

He Restores the years you lost, the love you lost, the friends you lost, the faith you lost, the dreams you lost, the opportunities you lost. Over and above what we can even think of or imagine.

He makes all things new, again.

If you let Him.

If something in your life needs total restoration, read these promises below and be encouraged.

He CAN do it.
He HAS done it for others (including me).
He WANTS to do it for you.
“Behold, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh. Is anything too hard for me?” (Jeremiah 32:27, ESV)

“Be glad, O children of Zion, and rejoice in the Lord your God, for he has given the early rain for your vindication; he has poured down for you abundant rain, the early and the latter rain, as before.The threshing floors shall be full of grain; the vats shall overflow with wine and oil. I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the hopper, the destroyer, and the cutter, my great army, which I sent among you. You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, and praise the name of the Lord your God, who has dealt wondrously with you.” (Joel 2:23-26, ESV)

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” (Isaiah 43:19)

“Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin! Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being, and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart. Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have broken rejoice. Hide your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit.” (Psalm 51:1-2, 6-12, ESV)

“Return to your fortress, O prisoners of hope; even now I announce that I will restore twice as much to you.” (Zechariah 9:12, NIV)

GOD IS IN (2)

Deserts

Lately I’ve been feeling….dry.

And by “lately” I mean for like the last 6 months. And by “dry” I mean a little dead on the inside. Spiritually.

I have heard about spiritual desert seasons people go through. When they feel distant from God.

And I’ve seen the cheesy church signs that say things like:
“Feeling distant from God?
Who moved – you or Him?”

Thanks for that extra guilt and shame, church sign. In a time when I already feel lost and confused.

The fact of the matter is, I have been marching steadily toward the purpose and the mission to which God has called me. Not away from it or Him. So why do I feel so….blah?

At the beginning, when I started, when I was writing my book and right after I finished, when I started to tell people about it, and started telling my story, every day was exciting and new!! Filled with limitless potential! Every day was fulfilling. I had so much to get out and I watched people’s lives change right in front of me.

But now, I struggle with the feeling that maybe I’ve given all I had to give? Maybe now I’m all used up and empty. Dried out. Do I have anything left to offer people?

I feel guilty for not reading as much lately as I should be. I know my growth is directly related to how much I’m reading. But the hunger I had the Summer before I wrote my book – the Summer I devoured sixteen other books on marriage, divorce and remarriage in four months – has waned….no, disappeared. And I don’t know why.

I don’t even know what I would want to learn about next.
And I don’t want to only keep reading and studying marriage and relationships, I want to be able to offer more than that. Plus, I feel like I’ve said everything I have to say about that, in my book.

…..Which still isn’t published.

And that is what makes me feel the most drained and dry.

I’ve passed all three goals and deadlines I gave myself to get it out. I thought surely I’d be passing it on the shelf at Barnes & Noble by now. But I’m stiiiilllll editing. Which is not exciting, or new, or life-giving. It sucks every ounce of energy and enthusiasm I have for my book right out of me.

It took me 3 months to write my book, and I’ve been editing for 9. And I’m not even done with the first round.

And after I get finished with that, I’ve got to learn everything there is to learn about self-publishing. To make sure I do it right and make the best choices.

I assumed writing a book was the hardest part about writing a book. And I assumed someone else would be taking care of all this other stuff. I just want it out, and in people’s hands, so I can be moving on. Progressing to the next step in this journey, in my ministry.

But it’s not. And I’m not. I’m stuck.

I used to hear and see God leading me and moving other people and things into place. But now I feel like He’s being silent, and I don’t know why.

Recently, I heard about the “500 years of silence” the Israelites experienced between the time the Messiah was prophesied to them and the birth of Jesus. 500 years. He didn’t speak another word to them directly, or through his prophets at all.

500…five-HUNDRED…Years.

Entire generations died, just waiting.

This is the stretch of time between where the Old Testament ends and the New Testament begins. (Random fun fact: Alexander the Great lived in that 500 year time span, which is why, he is a real person but not recorded in the Bible.)

Were these years of silence their own fault? Disobedience?

Or, was there a greater purpose to it?

Did God just stop caring about them?

Did God stop caring about me? Did I do something wrong?

I wrote this in December 2015, but hadn’t published it yet because I didn’t have answers to these questions – I didn’t even know what all questions to ask – and it was scary and confusing. I have answers now. Lots of them. Not all of them, but lots of them.

And I’ll be sharing them with you soon.

Stay tuned.

In the meantime, have you ever felt like you were in a dry season? Are you in one now? How long did it last?

You Make Me Brave

brave

Jonathan Robert Willis *Photographer snapped this shot at the ‪#‎Unpolished2015‬ conference the moment he was asking me about my book, and i was telling him and his team about how i’m in the editing process now and how editing is WAY harder and more work than writing the book ever was! and then we laughed about it.

what i love is that this expression captures so much of what 2015 was for me – that’s an overwhelmed laugh. it’s laughter lined with a layer of uncertainty because i actually had no idea what i was doing. being an author, publishing, speaking publicly…. i know it’s what I’m being called to, but it’s all new territory for me.

so 2015 was a year of DOing, MOVING forward, of OBEYing, and figuring it out as i went – even when I felt completely unqualified.

When my picture played in the slideshow during worship at the end of the conference, it was timed perfectly with these lyrics, “you make me brave. you make me brave”.
i think it was a sweet reminder from my Father that I don’t have to have it all figured out, or feel completely certain or confident, He will give me EVERYTHING I need, including bravery, for this task He has called me.

Hosanna in the Highest

I’ve been spending quite a bit of time over the last month thinking about the upcoming holiday. Easter Sunday. Resurrection Day. I wanted to spend time really meditating on it, about the significance of it, and not just let it pass me by like any other Sunday, any other weekend, any other holiday.

Mostly, I’ve been thinking about the week leading up to that day – this week– what some people call Holy Week, and others have aptly named Passion Week.

I’ve been trying to imagine what would have been going through Jesus’ mind each day leading up to his betrayal, trial, and execution.

Today, the first day of Passion Week, is called Palm Sunday.

Let’s set the scene:

Sunday, April 2^nd, AD 30
Only six days before crowds cried for his blood, “Crucify him!” those same people cried, “Hosanna!” (which is the Jewish plea for deliverance; in Hebrew it’s literally translated, “Please save”) “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!” They shouted. They waved palm branches (hence the name Palm Sunday) and sang praises as Jesus triumphantly rode into Jerusalem for the week-long Passover festival.

For hundreds of years, Jews everywhere had longed for the coming of a Messiah. When that moment arrived, Rome would be defeated and their lives would be free of taxation and want. No longer would soldiers of Rome be able to corral Jews like cattle, then stab and beat them…. For these people, this hope is like a lifeline, giving them courage in the face of Rome’s unrelenting cruelty.[1]

By this time, word had spread through the whole region about Jesus’ ministry; the miracles He had performed and the powerful parables he taught. Many believed He was this Messiah. This King who would overthrow the government and set them free.

There was one group of Jews however, the religious leaders, The Pharisees, who were not celebrating Jesus’ arrival into town, but plotting how to arrest and eliminate him before he could incite a rebellion and topple their power.

Jesus knew ALL of this.

He knew the Pharisees were conspiring against Him.

He knew the same people praising Him would betray Him in just a few days.

He knew He would be beaten and mocked and murdered.

Yet His love for us was so great, He went through every hour of every day of that week anyway.

My devotion today beautifully describes this day:

“Have you ever found yourself traveling down the road on your way to something you know will be a significant moment in your life? Perhaps you were on your way to your first day of college or to interview for your dream job. Or maybe you were driving to your wedding or speeding to the hospital for the birth of your child. Undoubtedly, this ride is different from your usual trip to the grocery store! Your heart is racing as your mind plays out every possible scenario.

Imagine how Jesus must’ve felt as He traveled down the road to enter Jerusalem, knowing that this road would ultimately end in his death. Jesus knew that he’d be betrayed, imprisoned, tortured and killed, but he also knew that ‘the hour has come so that the Son of Man should be glorified’ (John 12:23). You see, Jesus was on a mission to tear down the great divide between God and man, render sin powerless, to defeat death, and to set us free. Nothing was going to stop him from fulfilling his mission to rescue mankind.”[2]

Hebrews 12:2 says, “for the joy that was set before Him [He] endured the cross.”

You and I, we are that joy. Being in an unhindered relationship with us is what Jesus was focused on when He was going through all of this. Yes, He loves us that much.

The word Hosanna has sort of been redefined after this moment in time as an expression of adoration, praise, or joy. Today, as I reflect on what Jesus willingly went through on this day for me I find myself in tears as I sing along to this song on repeat: “Hosanna”, Hillsong.

hosanna

[1] Excerpt from “Killing Jesus”, Bill O’Reilley and Martin Dugard

[2] “’It Is Finished’ Was Just the Beginning” devotional, Calvary Chapel Ft Lauderdale www.calvaryftl.org/itisfinished

And yet…..

My incredible friend Gaynelle helped me with a section in my book about combating the lies and falsehoods we hear in our own minds. She shared with me an incredible resource bible called, the “Complete Personalized Promise Bible for Women”. I snagged my own copy for my Kindle and am pretty much using it as my devotion this year. (It’s awesome)

Each section/topic has scripture, then a faith confession, then a list of all the verses from where that faith confession came. I’m having so much fun studying God’s love letters to His children – to me – that substantiate many of the faith claims and confessions that I repeat to myself on the regular already.

Listen to part of what I just read today, “I have His Word that His love will never be taken from me, He knows how I am formed.

He knows my shortcomings and my limitations. He knows everything about me,

(This is my favorite part)
and yet…..

His love for me remains.”

Isn’t that exactly what EVERY single one of us desires from our relationships in this life? To be loved for who we are, flaws and all, unconditionally?

There is Someone who can fulfill this longing we were born with raging inside us. There is a reason it’s there, and a reason you may have jumped from relationship to relationship disappointed each time you don’t find it.

#mondayfoodforthought #thebestromance #RedeemingLove #Helovesme

Nothing is Ever Hopeless

I have personally experienced the deep, agonizing pain of hopelessness in a marriage.

Riding the merry-go-round of blame and shame and anger and bitterness. Being too exhausted to even try anymore. Feeling like the only solution is out. That the ONLY possible way either one of you can be happy is to leave and start over.

But please trust me, even when it feels like it is…..

nothing is ever hopeless.jpg

I let the hopelessness swallow me whole once. And it cost me my first marriage.

I have caught momentary glimpses of this hopelessness at times in my marriage now, but I refuse to give up. My mentality is so different now. I stay hopeful. (And pray a lot!) And a solution ALWAYS comes. A new morning, a fresh start. And my strength is renewed to fight for it once again.

If you want your marriage to work, it really can.

It won’t be easy. And it might even get worse before it gets better. But I promise it can get better.

Do not give up.

Stay.

Try.

One more day.

And then another. And then another.

Do not lose hope.

The Best Days of Your Life

best days
Every year, I tape a quote to the front of my planner, something I am going to focus on for the year.

This is what I choose for 2013. March of that year would mark 2 years since my divorce, and 3 years since my husband left.

2010 and 2011 were a blur, as everything I believed in and the picture I held of my life shattered in front of me.

2012 was the year God chased after me relentlessly, as I was running full speed away, and invited me into a new, fresh relationship with Him unlike anything I had ever experienced. But I still struggled to see how my my dreams could ever look like they once did.

I chose this quote for 2013 because it was something I needed to believe. Something I needed to be reminded of as often as every day.

Little did I know that 2013 would be the year I would get engaged and remarried. (Not that getting married is the answer to all your problems and sorrows, by any means). But for me, my journey toward remarriage was the most intense learning and growing period of my life. My book and my calling were literally birthed out of those six months I threw myself into preparing for our marriage. God took me by the hand and led me to the place where I could see these words were absolutely true.
(and He wants to do the same for you)

Color-Blinded

This is the most uncomfortable topic I’ve written about.

Here’s the thing, I grew up in a small farm town in Kentucky, of the 1300 kids in my school, there were like 3 black kids, and I was friends with them.

I wasn’t naïve enough to ignore that there were some people in my town and in my school who were outwardly racist – white people who hated the black families for nothing other than the color of their skin. But it didn’t make sense to me.

I moved to the “big city” of Cincinnati two months after graduating high school and my black friend ratio went way up. It’s not like I intentionally sought out to make my friend pool more colorful, it’s just that there are a lot more black people in Cincinnati than small-town Kentucky, period.

Every one of my black friends and I have more in common than we do not. Our skin may fall on opposite sides of the shade spectrum, but our beliefs, our values, our passions, our missions are aligned. I surround myself with people who are like-minded – on purpose. There is nothing of substance that differentiates my black friends from any of my white friends. (I do naturally talk more soulfully around them – I don’t know if they’ve ever noticed – and I love it.)

A few years ago, some weird things started to happen in our country and for the first time in my life, I started thinking about the colors of our skin. Although we are a more racially diverse society than ever before – think of how many more biracial couples, families, children, there are than in the 1980s when I was growing up – America’s racial tensions have increased not subsided.

I am told how my black friends feel about me by the media. And they are told how to feel about me.

I catch myself wanting to filter what I say and topics I bring up around them. Will I offend them? I start thinking about all the ways we are different, instead of all those things we have in common. And I hate that those things cross my mind. ABSOLUTELY nothing between us has changed, we have not changed. I can still talk with them about whatever I want, because we are friends, and that’s all that matters.

Earlier this week, riots began in Ferguson, MO again. I flew to Atlanta on Tuesday for work. Atlanta is a predominantly black city, in a lot of areas. And a lot of those areas are predominantly in poverty. I’m a small white girl wearing “fancy” clothes and driving a nice-looking rental car.

As I got in my rental and began to pull out of the garage, I wondered if the black woman working the booth was going to be sour to me this week, with everything going on. I wondered if she was thinking that I was thinking that I was better than her. I felt the need to come right out and say, “I have lots of black friends”, to justify the color of my own skin.

She was just as nice as ever. And I was relieved.

Next, I went through the drive thru for lunch and I could tell the girl on the other end of the speaker was black. So I knew she could tell I was white. And I wondered if she secretly hated me because of that.

She was the most pleasant KFC window-worker I’ve ever met, and when she handed me my friend chicken and mashed potatoes, she wished me a “good day” so genuinely I actually felt it.

Since then, the girl that checked me into my room was black, and the pool worker who tipped me off to the fact I had secret admirers watching me through the glass, and the woman who brought me my dinner tonight…. They were all black. They were all wonderful people and delightfully friendly. And none of them hated me because I was white. It’s like they didn’t even know they were supposed to.

Here’s what I hate: the fact that those questions even go through my mind. The fact that skin color is something I think about so much more often now, than when I was walking the school halls with the only three black kids. I hate that I feel myself stereotyping, and making assumptions. Rather than being color-blind, I’m color-blinded.

Have you ever felt like this?

And it’s not because we, as a people, as a country, have changed in the last 10 years, it’s not like we suddenly got more racist. (You could reason we have gotten less-racist – we do have a black president.) But because the media has told us we are more racially divided than ever. Because there are people who entice that division and push the gap wider. And because, like Pastor Chuck Mingo said from stage at Crossroads’ “Night of Hope” two weeks ago (the day the DuBose case was finalized; and there was a palpable anxiety in the city wondering if Cincinnati would erupt into riots), “we have an enemy who’s behind all of that who loves nothing more than to see people divided.” And isolated. And self-conscious. And alone.

People aren’t rioting and looting and attacking each other because of something the media said (I get that), but because they’re angry and confused. And those seeds of anger and confusion were planted, and nurtured and grown to full-stature by that enemy.

I love that I go to this church that is leading the charge to racial reconciliation, first, in our city then our country. I love that they get it. I love that they talk about the only color that matters is the color red, the color of Jesus’s blood that was shed to save and to reconcile each and every one of us – white, black, Hispanic, Asian – ALL of us. I love that there is literally a rainbow of an army of people in that church who are locking arms and working together to break down these stigmas and barriers. Who are re-writing that message that’s being sent out by the media. And I love that I get to be a part of that.

I am ready to see through people’s skin again, like when I was younger and less tainted by the lies of the enemy of this world. I’m through with those creeping thoughts and questions in the back of my mind.

But, this isn’t a clean-cut entry with a nice little “finished” bow on it. This is something that’s still very real and present in my life and something I’m still working on and working through. But, it’s something I needed to get out. To say it out loud. To face it head-on. So, with the help of ALL my friends, I can move past it.

Thanks for working through this with me.