Five Minutes

I told myself that it wasn’t enough time to

Finish a competitive game with friends, to

Cook a Southern meal large enough to feed my family, to

Enjoy a nice hike on the Appalachian Trail, to

Sleep after a restless night, to

Complete a thorough medical examination, to

Thank all the influential people in my life, to

Attempt to change my mind when I’ve made a decision.

 

I told myself it was too much time to

Listen to my twin brag about how it gave her older Sustah status, to

Wait for the end of my work day sometimes, to

Watch a loved one suffer, to

Feel the heaviness of secrets, past hurts and regrets, to

Sit next to a stranger on a hot Georgia summer day, to

Experience debilitating physical pain, to

Dance freely & wildly in three-inch heels.

 

I told myself it was plenty of time to       

Celebrate my successes and life-lessons, to

Sing my favorite song with heart, to

Give a well-deserved & sincere apology when I have wronged another, to

Embrace a close friend moments before her wedding, to

Receive a comforting hug from my Mia Ma after bad news, to

Calm my shot & sensitive nerves with deep-breathing, to

Seize the opportunity to live every second as if it was 2099.

 

No matter what I told myself, I’m simply glad I had them.

Whose Lie Is It Anyway?

John 16:13
But when He, the Spirit of Truth (the Truth-giving Spirit) comes, He will guide you into all the Truth (the whole, full Truth). For He will not speak His own message [on His own authority]; but He will tell whatever He hears [from the Father; He will give the message that has been given to Him], and He will announce and declare to you the things that are to come [that will happen in the future].

Ever spent time with “that person” who’d rather risk death than admit that they were lying??? Ever met “that person” who’d lie when they had absolutely no reason to lie??? Do you know “that person” that gets tangled and caught up in a twisted web of their own lies??? Ever shake hands with “that person” who tells you one thing to your face, but mean something else entirely??? Ever hug “that person” who will tell you an hour-long story with three seconds worth of “grapevine” news??? Ever sat beside “that person” who’d criticize a liar without acknowledging their own “lie-history???”

Better question: Ever been “that person?”

WWWWAAAAAIIIIITTTTT!! Before we start justifying and articulating our philosophy regarding “The Different Degrees of Lies” (ranging from “little to no harm done” to “perjury”), let’s look at the definition of what a “lie” is. A lie is defined as “an untruth,” “a false statement intended to deceive,” “having a false and/or inaccurate impression.” In words my young cousins and nephew understand: a lie is anything that isn’t the truth.

I’ve been that person. I’m not proud of it and I’ve felt bad the times I did. Nevertheless, I’ve been a liar, probably lying more to myself than any particular person. It’s amazing how many lies we’d accept and defend just because the truth isn’t pretty or inviting. It’s also amazing how much energy we’d rather spend dressing up and dramatizing a lie than to be at peace with truth no matter how unflattering it may appear.

I’m discovering in my life this Sustah requires truth. Not subjective truth that can change like emotions on a hormone rollercoaster, but real, unwavering truth. I don’t know everything and I don’t have all the answers. What I do know is that out of all the ups and downs, mountaintops and valleys, people and places I’ve had in my life, God, Christ, the Spirit of Truth and the Word has not failed me yet.

I’m so glad God believes in unfair exchanges: my insecurity & imperfections for His perfection (maturity); my sins for His righteousness; my lies for His truth. =)

 

Aim & PaRtY LiKe iT’s . . . 2012!!!

Hello, All!!

It is with great joy that I say HAPPY NEW YEAR!! Please excuse me . . . just mention of the new year starts Prince’s “Party Like It’s 1999″ in my head. It may not be true literally, but it sure makes for a great “beginning of the year” celebration song.

We’re three days in already and I’m hopeful about what 2012 holds. The most interesting part about starting a new year is reading the “What I’ve Learned in [the previous year]” comments, tweets and posts of others. Some are actual personal reflections of a life in 2011, relevant and appear to be sincere while others simple minimize bad choices, blame others, dodge responsibility and is yet another attempt to say to a world that could care less “I’m right and you’re wrong.”

For those who wrote in the context of the former, thank you. You’re efforts have inspired a young soul to wake up at 4:30 a.m. and write a blog post. For those of the latter, save it for a Maury Povich show (DNA tests included, if needed) and check-up-from-the-neck-up. Jus saying . . . (*lip smack*)

God, the Holy Spirit and I have had many fire-side chats about 2011. It was a challenging year, yet very rewarding. I likened it to the feeling of “I survived” a poor swimmer would have who reached the pool’s edges after being thrown in the 10-feet end of the pool. After the initial spit and spatter cleared for those conversations, I heard something that I couldn’t let go of. Something that rang so true, it made my heart-strings vibrate. It was this: PEOPLE GET WHAT THEY’RE AIMING FOR. 2011 was a great introduction to the topic and I’m looking forward to “aiming” in 2012 and hitting the bullseye. Most important to me, I’m looking forward to remaining an accessible target for God so He can take aim at and make the impossible possible.

In closing, lemme tell you something from a true Sustah . . . this will be the best year physically, spiritually and financially for me!! All things will work together for my good (Rom 8:28)!! I will neglect the former things and reach forward to what is before me (Phil 3:12-14)!!!

What are you aiming for?

Where You Going?

I was in the busy city of Atlanta, GA early one morning. See, I was looking for this building to take an exam I had to take. I didn’t really know the area well and was using some directions that were given to me by a friend. I get down to the next to last step and I could not find the road sign. Instead of turning my car around in a vacant parking lot, I decide to keep going straight. Eventually, the business establishments started turning into housing projects, convenience stores and pool halls. I was lost and I was not in the business part of the town anymore. Long story short, I realized I was not going the right direction and turned around.

WOW! How many times do we make a simple task a gigantic one? It sounds simple enough- if you are going in the wrong direction, TURN AROUND AND GO THE RIGHT WAY! Sometimes I think most people aren’t satisfied until they make an easy task difficult. I know because I’ve wasted so much time and energy doing such. See, it’s easy to know when you’re lost . . . you’re not where you’re suppose to be. Okay . . . I can hear the cyber-thoughts and justifications being explained to computers as I made that last comment. The truth of the matter, despite taking “shortcuts,” a” longer, scenic route,” or whatever adjective(s) we want to use to make ourselves feel better, we know when we’re not where we’re suppose to be.

During my meditation time this week, it has become clearer to me that an authentic &  genuine relationship with God, Christ and the body of Christ leads me somewhere specific . . . not floating aimlessly on the road. And even when I find myself without direction, it’s finding the maturity and humility to put my feet on the ground and turning where & when I need to while still enjoying the journey of my life . . . and I’m so thankful for where I am in my life.

Sustah, let’s do it together . . . when we know we’re not going the right direction, instead of justifying it . . . lets just turn around.

Running Into Mirrors

When Ann and I were in elementary school, we took a field trip to the Coca-Cola museum in Atlanta, GA. At the moment, I’m not quite sure how old we were, but I do recall that we were young enough that Mama thought it would be cute to dress Ann and I alike, subjecting us to the literal definition of IDENTICAL twins. =) Once we got to the museum, they put Ann and I in different groups to tour the establishment. I think we were in different classrooms at the time, but I think it was just so they could call us by our correct names.

Ann and I have always spent a lot of time together. Some would say it’s because we’re twins and/or sisters. I’m sure those things are true, but really, we just enjoy one another’s company. Sometimes it’s easier not having to explain sarcasm or dry humor. Well, I’d gone the whole day without seeing Ann and my “twin purple power” was seeking her. One of the last rooms on the tour was a dark room with bright neon lights. I remember it like it was yesterday! The Coke would travel down a long, spiral tube high-lighted with pink neon lights into a highlighted green canister below. Then, it would shoot a high powered beam of soda from the canister into the soda dispenser machine, which was located approximately 15-20 feet away from it, and, with a push of a button on the dispenser, soda trickled down into the cup. IT WAS AMAZING!!! The amazement took me by surprise and I turned aside to gaze at other classmates and there she was . . . ANN!! I was so happy that I waved quickly and I took off like the little lightening bolt I was towards her.

BAM!!! When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on the floor. My head was spinning and there were people all around me asking if I was okay and helping me from the ground. See, the room had mirrors on the walls. I thought my own reflection was Ann and ran headfirst into a wall that did not give against my hard head. I would have felt embarrassed about it later if I hadn’t find out that Ann did the EXACT same thing. So, at the end of the day, not only did Ann and I have matching outfits . . . we also had matching “goose egg” knots on our foreheads and a great story to tell our Mama.

Lately, I can honestly say that I have learned the most running into mirrors. I don’t mean it literally, although I’m known to run into walls for no apparent reason. =) I mean that in the past few months, I’ve ran up against some difficult situations, circumstances and unpredictable stumps in my body and soul. Whether they are good, bad or ugly is not relevant to me at all . . . they’re there. Can I tell you that being stunned on the floor brings you back to reality from haughty pride? Can I tell you that once the goose egg appears on your head it confirms that we “wanna-be Wonder Women” are not invincible?

I’m not the person to say “stop running into mirrors” because I believe it is the act of examining ourselves, which is required of us (1 Cor 11:28, 1Cor 11:31, 2 Cor 13:5, Gal 6:4). Instead, I’d say to be grateful and thankful that God’s word, grace, might, mercy, joy, love and patience are greater than we are! Greater is he [Christ in us] that lives in us than he that is in/of this world (1 John 4:4)!!

I’m being challenged on a weekly basis to examine my own heart against the word of God, to align myself with the promises of His word, and to live according to the righteousness I have through Christ. If you are anything like me, I believe the true blessing is that we have the ability to run into that mirror as many times as we need to and God mercifully and faithfully helps us from the floor every time . . . and even has a cold pack waiting. =)

Lessons from Band Boot Camp…

Our Worship Experience (WE) team just finished our first Band Boot Camp with Mr. Lionel Nelson, the music director and worship leader for Spirit of Life ministries in Hallendale Beach, FL and a gifted musician with over 40 years of experience. This weekend will be a weekend I will talk about for the rest of my life!!

Although Nelson said a number of great things this weekend, here are ten that won’t stop ringing in a Sustah’s ears.

 

1. You gotta grow up! Developing and maturing may require pain and/or sacrifice, but it’s never in vain.

2. Take a willing heart above talent ANY day! Servitude and faithfulness always trump showmanship and man-made glory.

3. Know & remember the purpose of WHY you’re doing what you’re doing. Don’t be drawn or discouraged by mere “fluff.” As a worship leader, stay focused on His glory and not your own.

4. The nose has two jobs on your face: to smell and to breathe.You can complain about it not being able to hear sound…OR you can acknowledge & celebrate that it functions properly. Don’t dismiss treasures out of ignorance or selfishness.

5. There’s no need to gripe about things that won’t change. Did I mention the need to “grow up?”

6. Don’t be afraid to step outside the “box” or what’s comfortable for you. Contrary to what we think & feel, it doesn’t always lead over the edge of a cliff to a crash and burn ending. Trust God…and trust yourself.

7. Dominate & be confident! Passivity is not food for leaders.

8. There’s no need to be upset about much of anything. If you are, it’s a way of saying that “it” is too big for God…and we know that’s a lie. Change your attitude and what comes from your mouth.

9. Less is more. More often than not, you’re not required to play everything you know in one song. Make room for others…and make room to be led by the Spirit of God.

10. Be intentional about what you’re giving. Don’t let it come and go by chance…do it on purpose.

A Time to …Quit??

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

¹TO EVERYTHING there is a season, and a time for every matter or purpose under heaven:    ²A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted,^{(A)    3}A time to kill and a time to heal, a time to break down and a time to build up,    ⁴A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,    ⁵A time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,    ⁶A time to get and a time to lose, a time to keep and a time to cast away,    ⁷A time to rend and a time to sew, a time to keep silence and a time to speak,^{(B)    8}A time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.^(C)

I had an interesting phone conversation with one of my friends a few months back. I was completely empathetic about her situation. Lent was around the corner and she had purposed to go 40 days without the “one thing.”

You know, that “one thing?”  It’s the thing that seems impossible to stop for 40 days? The thought of going without the “one thing” (i.e. food, television, candy, computer, video games) that brings about anxiety-driven heart palpitations and a cold sweat??

Well, she went into Lent with her “one thing” and was determined to do it despite her anxiety. Towards the end of Lent, she gave me a call and told me that she had decided to quit early. My response?

“I’m sorry. I hear you, but I don’t understand.”

“Well, me either, Vickie. I don’t usually quit things. This is something new for me too.”

I nodded on the other end of the phone and couldn’t help but repeat myself. Since that time, I haven’t been able to get that conversation out of my head. I wasn’t trying to be difficult or judgmental. I just truly did not understand the concept of quitting something. The more I pondered, the more I realized that my view of quitting wasn’t what I cracked it up to be.

I can remember when I learned to ride my bike. Mama taught us on this dirt road in front of our house. The dirt road had ditches on both sides lined with layer after layer of briar bushes. Ann and Cat rode their bikes down the dirt road like they had been riding for ages. Me? I couldn’t seem to get three feet without kissing the briar bushes and ditches. After convincing myself that I was not going to donate anymore of my blood to the briar patches, I threw my bike down on the ground, ran into the house and into my room to waddle in defeat. Mama came after me and reminded me that quitting was not like me at all. She was right. She helped me clean my wounds and, after a few more falls into the briars, I was riding my bike like a pro.

My cousin, Al, took judo classes when he was about twelve. Since I was three years younger, guess who he solicited to help him practice his throws and martial arts moves? YOU GUESSED IT! =) He would throw me all around the room. We broke tables, toys, glass ornaments and everything. No matter how many times he threw me, I never relented! Each time, I came back slinging my tiny arms like I observed in the movie “Mortal Kombat” and struck him in his face.

One day, I’d had enough. Al threw me one last time and I laid there on the floor.

“Come on, Vickie.”

I shook my head and continued to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m tired. I don’t wanna fight anymore. I’m tired of getting thrown all over the place.”

He pulled me up by my arms and sat me in a nearby chair. Now, at the age of nine years old, I had began to see the world as it truly was and it was not the place of rainbows I’d thought it to be.

“You have to fight, Vickie. There’s plenty of people who want you to stop fighting. If you do, they win. Keep fighting. Okay?”

My answer? I slapped him upside his head . . . and he threw me across the room.

Quitting has never been something in my vocabulary. Honestly. . . somewhere down the line I equated quitting to being defeated. I equated quitting to being taken advantage of, being misused, being weak and being overshadowed. However, if I’m going to truly embrace the scriptures in Ecclesiastes, I must come to terms that quitting is as much apart of my life as starting. When I think about it, I can see how things that were meant to be temporary have drained me of passion and motivation simply because I refused to quit them. I can see how my relationships- with God and others- have taken a magnificent blow simply because I refused to express emotions in their moments, and instead, hoarded them and carried them like a heavy book bag throughout my life. I adapted  “never quitting” as a constant to protect myself.

Somebody said something like “Quitting doesn’t make one any weaker than not quitting  makes one stronger.” It sounds good. For me, it’s about taking time as it comes- whether permanent or temporary- and trusting God with the rest of it.

Don’t worry, peeps. I don’t think I’m having a “mid-of-a-mid life crisis” that will result in a spree of me quitting everything or everyone in my life. Absolutely not!! I’m still as hard-headed as I have ever been. I’m still a fighter at heart and will not quit just because opposition strikes. I’m simply saying my definition of “quitting” is being revamped . . . and it’s about time. Yep . . . it’s about time.

I Can Carry You…

Isaiah 46:3-4 (NIV)

³ “Listen to me, you descendants of Jacob,
   all the remnant of the people of Israel,
you whom I have upheld since your birth,
   and have carried since you were born.
⁴ Even to your old age and gray hairs
   I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
   I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

During the Oasis Tent services this past weekend, my friend, Sherrie, prayed for me.  She walked up behind me as I played on the drum set, placed her hands at the base of my neck and began brushing my shoulders as if to sweep something off of them. After a few strokes, she leaned down to my ear and spoke words that have been ringing in my ears for days.

“You don’t have to carry it all. YOU don’t have to carry it all, Vickie, because it wasn’t meant for YOU to carry. Allow God to carry it . . . and allow Him to carry you.”

The words alone reminded me of a time when I was 16 years old and having one of the worst back spasms I’d ever had.  This particular day, I’d assumed the fetal position on my bedroom floor and cried like a baby as pain rippled through my body. Mama finally made the executive decision to take me to the ER when the medicine she gave me was not easing the pain.

“How are we going to get her to the car?” I heard Ann whisper as she and Mama looked down to where I lay.

Before I knew it, my brother, Jamie, pushed his way through the standing crowd and knelt down beside me. He placed a gentle hand on my arm.

“Come on, Vick. I’ll carry you.” He said as he laid a comforting hand on my arm.

I wiped the tears from my face long enough to stare at him in disbelief.

“Carry me long enough to drop me, Jamie . . . which will be how many steps?” I thought to myself, shrugged off his suggestion and rolled away from him.

My brother, Jamie, was 10 years older than me. I knew him to be many things- a lover of all things Keith Sweat, a risk-taker who would glide down hills in Lavonia on roller blades, a frequent watcher of the Country Music Television cable channel, a kind-hearted friend, an awesome big brother and a beyond excellent cook. However, with his tall & thin frame and plague of scoliosis,  a weight-lifter he was not!

He smiled again and gently lowered his hand to my arm again.

“I won’t drop you. Come on, Vick. I can carry you.” And before I knew it, Jamie scooped me up into his arms and was walking down our hallway & out the front door. I’m sure it was only a short distance to the car, but it seemed like miles to me. Nevertheless, Jamie cradled me in his arms and didn’t let me down until he gently lowered me into the front passenger seat. He closed the car door as Mama cranked the car and stuck his head inside the car so that his face was inches from mine.

He smiled softly.

“And when you get back, I’ll wait right here to carry you again.”

I nodded my head and Mama pulled out of the driveway. I stared at Jamie as he stood in the yard with his hands perched on his hips. I continued to stare after him until Mama turned a corner and he was no longer visible.

I have no problem carrying things. We women are carriers by nature. We physically carry our young for a gestation period of 9 months. We carry the care of making sure our children and those we love are protected and nurtured. We carry the weight of our emotions, which we cannot always control, but, nevertheless, are very necessary. We carry the need to be secure and loved in our relationships.

It is so with me. When I love, I love with my whole heart and, in doing so, have chosen to carry many things- good, bad & ugly. I have went, and will go, to great lengths to ensure that ”My Fam” (those I truly love) are taken care of and protected, giving myself wholly (spirit, soul and body) for such a cause.  As we all know, to carry requires great strength, great boldness, great trust, great empathy and great love among other things.

But, the words I received were not to carry, but to be CARRIED. To allow ourselves to be carried requires a GREATER strength, a GREATER boldness, a GREATER trust, a GREATER empathy, a GREATER love and GREATER things cannot do or give. I’m talking about a WILLING and CONSCIOUS DECISION to submit ourselves to the grace of God, His comfort & joy, and allow His strength to carry you. Whew . . . it sure sounds easy, but it’s been a struggle for me! It isn’t easy to do when you’re the one in control, when you’re accustomed to doing the carrying, when you’re slow to trust others . . . or when you’re simply afraid of falling.

The memory of my last “carry’ was bittersweet. Jamie waited on the porch until Mama and I came from the hospital that night. As promised, he carried me from the car to my bed . . . and did not drop me!! Hahaha. . . to lift my spirits the next day while I was on bed rest, he sang Keith Sweat’s “Nobody” to me with the broom handle in hand. Two years later, he was killed in a tragic car accident and no one has carried me since. While it saddens me, Jamie’s need “to carry me” has lifted a smile to my face this week and quickened in me the need to allow God carry me.

Whether the challenge is overcoming pride, hurt, disappointment, emotions, fear, doubt and life in general . . . let’s allow Him to carry us because . . . well, we can’t carry ourselves. =)

The Ease of Hiding

I remember when I was around 8 years old and my family stayed on Hwy 17 in Lavonia, GA. Our cousins came from down the road and we decided to play this huge game of hide and seek. There were at least twelve of us playing and this was sure to be absolutely perfect.

When the two “it” peeps covered there eyes to count to ten, I ran off like the wind to find my “special” spot. It was special because only one other person knew about it.

“One, two, three . . .”

I ran to the front yard, galloped up the steps and ran for our playroom. I went to the closet, stared at the hundreds of stuffed animals and toys we piled into it and wedged myself through holes until I was at the back of the closet peering quietly through the toys.

I could hear footsteps running through the house and often covered my mouth when I thought a nervous and anxious giggle may escape. Well, five minutes passed and no one came. Ten minutes came and went. No one came. Finally, some time after, I arose from my dark and dense hole to find that my cousins had went home and my siblings were watching TV.

“No one was going to tell me we weren’t playing anymore?” I screamed at Ann, who reluctantly pulled her eyes away from a “Jem” episode.

“We can’t tell you stuff when you’re hiding, Vickie. It doesn’t matter what you want from us, you can’t get it when you’re hiding.” And she started singing one of the Jem and the Holograms jamz.

I was livid…but I knew she was right. People that truly know me can attest that it is true. When I’m uncomfortable, I hide. When I’m emotional, I pick a hole and I hide. When I need others most, I seek inwardly instead of outwardly . . . I hide.

Why? I could give a number of great psychological answers that would probably ring true, but I won’t. The reigning truth is simple: IT’S EASY. It’s less complicated, involves fewer people and I can do it on my own terms.

The only problem is that God has a sense of humor. There are key people in my life right now, whom I’m convinced were sent by God simply to harass me. They do this by simply showing AND telling me that to get what I need from them and God, I cannot befriend isolation. Despite my best efforts, I cannot hide from them- they will blow up this Sustah’s phone! I must be exposed for them to see. (Hence the reason I keep me posting on this blog!) LETS TALK ABOUT BEING UNCOMFORTABLE!! But as it is, I cannot detach myself from the vine of Christ and His body. To do so right now would be suicidal and self-destructive.

What am I saying? I really want to find a hole and hide . . . but I can’t.

Sustah, Come Sit With Me

Growing up, there was no higher compliment than being called “Sustah” by Grandma. Spoken in its proper form, “sister,” we would have just concurred that we had “one of those.” But the deep, Southern, “back-of-the-throat-drawl” pronunciation from Grandma’s lips coupled with the intent gaze of her eyes gave “Sustah” a whole new meaning. It expanded beyond a title. It melted ranks and birth order. It dissipated any and all mistakes. On the other end of Grandma’s stare was a woman loved in her entirety. We knew it well . . .

“Sustah, come and sit with me.”

Grandma had been living with us for a period of time at this point in Crest Circle. She’d had a stroke months earlier, paralyzing the left side of her body. Mama happily gave up her bedroom and let Grandma have it, choosing to sleep on our lumpy, old couch. We hummed joyful tunes as we cooked healthy, sugar-free meals for her to eat. We even made ourselves glorified “drill sergeants” and required her get up out of her bed and do her physical therapy exercises.

“Sustah, come and sit with me.”

Ann and I had just finished with track and field conditioning after school and came dragging into the house with our hearts thumping like bass drums in our chests. I think Ann collapsed in the living room. Me? I had to make it to our bedroom. In fear that I would wake Grandma, I held my labored breathing as I entered the hallway and picked up my sore legs to keep them from dragging along the tile floor.

Mission: Unsuccessful.

“Sustah, come and sit with me,” she beckoned from her bed, trying to sit up as I stood still within the frame of her bedroom door. I could feel her looking at me, her eyes boring a hole in the side of my head.

I dropped my bags in the hallway, drug my sore body into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed with her. We watched Bonanza and Matlock, talked about family tales and laughed often. I remember asking her how she restrained herself from whipping the lot of her family when we were the challenging and relentless group of people we were.

She looked me in my eyes so intently that my chest quivered. Her words still ring in my ears til this day.

“My job wasn’t to choose y’all, Sustah. God chose you for me. He gave all of us to one another for a reason. My job, no matter what y’all did, do or will do, is to remember that.”

I often call the treasured and valued ladies in my life “Sustah” on purpose. (I’d call the gentlemen, too, but I haven’t received positive feedback from such. Lol!) Like my grandmother, I believe the word alone addresses my decision to see them wholly (good, bad and ugly) and love them unconditionally. Ultimately . . . because that’s the way I want to be loved.

“Sustah, come and sit with me.”

God has to call me “Sustah” sometimes to get my attention. It reminds me of the tranquil moments of sitting and chatting with my grandmother and the treasured words that I’ll one day tell my children and grandchildren. It truly reminds me that He chose me and sincerely values me for who I am. At my best and worst, through successes and failures, whether good or bad, and during the happiest and saddest moments in my life, I am a Sustah loved in her entirety.

“Sustah, come and sit with me.”

And my job is to remember that . . .