Closing Arguments

Have you ever been in an argument with someone who had the best response to all of your insults? And it wasn't until after the argument is long gone before you come up with at least five better responses you could've used? You know that your confidence in being the best arguer/ yourself would dramatically increase if you had the capacity to come up with better rebuttals but, almost always, you're left alone to relive each horror after the next while mentally kicking yourself in the leg.

Take my day, for example. While I was at work, my ex-boss came in through the drive-thru and ordered two lattes. Immediately, thoughts of the way he, his wife and his staff mistreated me up until the point where, without warning, I was fired, arose. It's been nearly ten months since they let me go and I still don't understand why it all happened. But all of those feelings of confusion, anger and revenge resurfaced and I couldn't help but want to get back at him. Now it goes without saying that if you're a barista and you're forced to deal with psycho customers, you add decaf shots of espresso instead of the shots we generally use. So the moment I saw him at the window, my first instinct was to decaf both lattes. However, I knew he'd still recognize me so I passed on my plan to my co-workers who then made the drinks the way I wanted.

After he left, I checked back with my fellow baristas to see if they'd actually decaffed his drink. They did, but they also did something else. It turns out my ex-boss also wanted them made with skim milk and, unbeknownst to be, was instead made with whole milk. When I learned that my co-worker went above and beyond my expectations, I felt an even greater sense of satisfaction. Because before I was let go, my ex-boss's wife had just quit smoking and always complained about how much weight she gained and that she couldn't fit into any of her designer jeans anymore. And if there's one thing most women wish on their female adversaries, it's that they gain weight.

Once I got home, I told my mom that my old boss showed up. I explained to her what happened with the decaf espresso shots and the whole milk, and the further I got into my story, the shorter her grin became. She said it was the wrong thing to do and that no matter what they did to me when I was working for them, that I can't just go around exacting my revenge on them or anyone else who's wronged me.

"Stop trying to make this a teachable moment", I told her. Yet, she insisted that it was.

I became so upset with her. It seems like every time I have a legitimate complaint about how my jobs have conveniently misplaced my work schedules, overworked me or questioned my responsibilities outside of the office, she'd side with them.

'It's not their job to be concerned with you,' she'd say. Or, 'Just get through it the best you can.'

It always bothered me that she would not only side with them, but believe that an employer has the right to mistreat the people that help them. I didn't see my mom for the rest of the night and spent the rest of my time upstairs in my room. At that time I thought about why I felt it was a fair decision to sabotage their drinks and why I felt satisfied afterward.  It didn't take long to figure out my reasons. I spent ages 14 to 21 being depressed because of bullies, family problems and low-self-esteem. I thought everything would go away if I learned to live with it, but it never did. You see, even after hardships passed and everyone around me got back to their seemingly happy selves, I was still stuck in my mental mud. The girls at school who gave me a hard time never did leave me alone until I left for college. The last time my sister told me I was fat and that no guy would ever want me, was before I was admitted to the hospital. For those eight, long years I carried those problems and words in my psyche thinking that I was doing a good job of getting through it the 'best I could.'

While I was in the hospital I was so angry with myself for letting it get as far is it did and for never sticking up for myself. I took every insult and angry look, locked it away inside and allowed it to torment me during the prime of my adolescence. I always pretended not to hear or see all of the bad things that happened to me and it backfired. Like I spoke about in the beginning of this post, I thought of all the great comebacks I could've said after the arguments were long gone and ended up kicking myself for it. It still hurts to think of my younger self who walked those hallways with her head down or stayed in her room all day feeling more alone than ever. It's hard to think of how I felt or looked each time I was demeaned. Because the more I think about it, the more I feel I should've done something.

Now that I'm older, I don't take shit from anyone. I can't allow myself to go down in that way again. Today I equate sticking up for myself with self-worth. So when I saw my old boss through the window, it was a moment where I chose to finally stick up for myself. To make up for all of the other times that I let them walk all over me. But more importantly, my beef with him was enveloped with all of those other times I never stood up for myself and regretted it later on.

For the record, I know it was wrong to deliberately mess up his order; it was petty and immature. But in that moment, everything became a giant blur accompanied by a rush of emotions and I didn't think about anyone's feelings but my own. And I have to tell you, it felt good to finally experience that.

The Aftermath

The outcome of the Zimmerman/Martin trial is one that I’ll never forget. I can’t remember a time when a high-profile trial literally left me on the verge of tears. I’m speechless, stunned, angry and hurt. I honestly don’t know how to feel or what to think. Being in public for me is different now. The thought of my blackness in this “post-racial society” is more magnified than ever. Walking around in Target, I felt out of place as I slowly faced the reality of what that verdict means to me, blacks and whites. I never wanted to be the type of black person who had it out for the white man or was always angry about something racial. I tried my damnest to live with America’s history and the racial discrimination I still receive to this day, in hopes of building a more harmonious community. I want to believe that law enforcement and the courts care about me the way they do their own; I want to believe that race has been over since the end of slavery but I know that isn’t true.

At this moment, I’ve never received a more negative message in my life: that the values of my brothers are non-existent. It hurts to see those out there (especially the shameful Zimmerman family) strongly defend someone who admitted to murder while at the same time, condemning the victim. Despite Martin being a minor, unarmed and without a criminal record, this “post-racial society” went to work at smearing the name of Trayvon and his family. A lot of people think this case has nothing to do with race and that Zimmerman is justified in his self-defense claim So, let’s play devil’s advocate. Let’s say Zimmerman didn’t shoot Trayvon because he was black, but because he was actually up to no good. What exactly does that change? Does it make Zimmerman right? What justifies Zimmerman killing an unarmed minor? I assure you, taking race out of this equation will only make this problem harder to solve. So, instead of killing an unarmed black boy, Zimmerman kills an unarmed boy. Can people see what’s wrong with the picture now? Is it ok to kill minors because they’re up to no good?

‘Oh, well he was wearing a hoodie,’ they say. Or, ‘He was a thug who skipped school and had THC in his system,’ they’d argue.

Alright, so let’s say that’s true. Maybe he was a drug addict who disregarded authority. Does that justify killing someone? Apparently if you’re black. They crucified this kid and lied on his name about who he was at his own murder trial. They tried to arm him with anything after they found him with nothing. They teased his friend, the last one to hear from him, and made a mockery of her on national television. They’re unable to fathom the idea that people are wired to fight off an attacker when provoked as if that isn’t the logical thing to do. What about Trayvon defending himself? Who cares to think that Martin was fighting to live and not necessarily to kill? And you mean to tell me this isn’t about race?

Message boards around the internet are riddled with arguments from black and white people, each side trying to justify why they agree or disagree with the verdict. The arguments usually go something like this:

White person: Why does everything have to be about race? We have a black president now so America is past that. I don’t understand why blacks are so angry; they should just get over it, especially since they weren’t slaves.”

Black person: So because Obama’s president, racism doesn’t exist? (Then they list instances of discrimination and other reasons why racism exists and why their anger is justified.)

I feel sorry for those who respond to those white people who have the audacity to tell African-Americans to get over slavery. You think we’re upset about that? Of course we aren’t. What we are mad about, are those sporting rose-colored glasses and are unable to address an issue that won’t ever go away until we actually talk about. Besides, slavery, much less racism, is not something to get over, but to live with. We aren’t talking about the death of a cat, we’re talking about an entire race of people being unexpectedly taken from their homes to an unknown land where they are degraded, beaten and killed for no other reason than being black. This is about the efforts since slavery’s abolition and the civil rights movement and how even those have fallen short nearly 50 years later. I think what makes us so angry is the blatant disregard and willful ignorance of the race issue and how it affects us psychologically and emotionally.

A friend of mine got into a discussion about the case with a white woman who basically wrote that blacks need to get over slavery because it doesn’t exist anymore. Besides saying some other off the wall stuff, she fought tooth and nail to get black people to understand where she was coming from. She thought her argument was solid and logical but it wasn’t; she got eaten alive. What’s funny about this is that woman came into the Martin/Zimmerman discussion because she felt she had a solid viewpoint of racism in America. She used the same arguments we’ve all heard before and wasn’t backing down from anyone. What makes this situation sad is that she didn’t even try to learn. Here she is, talking to the source about racism. You could ask us anything you wanted and we’d be happy to tell you. (Side note: White people always seem afraid to talk about race with black people because they think we might get upset. Actually, that couldn’t be farther than the truth. As a community, blacks talk about racism all the time and we surely would’ve appreciated and respected any non-black individual who genuinely wants to understand the other side.)From her arguments, it’s clear that that woman sees racism for what it is: black vs. white. However, it’s so much more than that. It’s a science that goes from one subcategory to another subcategory to another. Each topic has several levels that, even if the white lady did want to learn it all, she still would never really know and understand racism; I can’t fault her for that. I just find it funny that she believed she could outtalk a black person on the issue. As said before, her stubbornness is what really angers us.

Online commenters also love to use the argument:

“Well how come blacks aren’t this upset when one of their own kills a member of their community? Why do they try to make us feel guilty about it? They should be more worried about those murders in Chicago or Detroit.”

I think this comment, more than anything, makes my blood boil. The same people who make these statements are the same ones blaming Trayvon Martin for his own death. How dare they tell us that even we don’t care about our people…they have no idea! When lesser-known people are murdered, we are sad and we are outraged, it just isn’t shown on CNN, MSNBC and FOX. When we lose someone to gang violence, there are city council meetings and marches, but apparently the post-racial media doesn’t seem to give damn about that. We don’t condone that foolishness either, but when one of our own is killed and the murderer gets off, why shouldn’t we be mad? At least if a black person does it, they go to jail. Zimmerman didn’t even get probation or house arrest.  How dare they falsely sympathize about the 40 people killed in Chicago  but can’t give a damn about an unarmed teen. We don’t need your sympathy or any emotion from you!

It hurts my soul that Martin’s name was smeared. It kills me that even a black minor doesn’t have rights. I often think about the media and how they report countless missing children’s stories featuring white kids. How their cameras are shoved in the faces of grieving parents and law enforcement officers. I imagine the dozens of trucks, cameras and crew camped out in the town where it all happened. I think about the laws passed since the majority of these kids have been found dead and the action that’s been taken after those unfortunate events. I think about the Newtown shooting where a bunch of kindergarteners and teachers were gunned down by a psychotic white man and how the nation collectively mourned the loss of their young. And then I say to myself,

“Is Trayvon really not any different? He was a kid just like they were.”

This situation is painfully hypocritical and something I’ll always be at a loss for words on. I suppose the only things that give me comfort are that Trayvon didn’t have to see any of this and that Zimmerman is a wanted man by millions of angry civilians. His life will never be the same, and for killing someone, that’s as fair a punishment as he’ll get.

As I enter into my final semester of college, I patiently wait for my graduation date to arrive. Some of it has to do with the economy, but a lot of it stems from fear. What should be a milestone in my young life has now turned into something I'll just have to accept instead of fully celebrate. I feel this way because I know the real world has much harder things for me to deal with than just working a 9 to 5 and paying off student loans. I’m afraid for my black male cousins and friends. I’m afraid for my future children and what this post-racial society will do to their psyche and I’m scared that I won’t be sufficient enough to handle it. I’m worried that things may never get better.

Nobody Wins

The Trayvon Martin murder case of 2012 brought to the forefront a conversation that many Americans grew fond of ignoring.

If you aren't aware (which you at least should be), Martin was a black, Florida teen who was gunned down by neighborhood watchman, George Zimmerman, after he suspected the the youngster of being an intruder near a gated apartment complex. Zimmerman called the cops who then instructed that he not follow Martin around the residence. George obviously ignored him. Minutes later, a scuffle ensued and Martin was dead.

A year later, the case is finally going to trial and you better believe that the country, for whatever reason, is divided over this one. Some would say that Martin shouldn't have ran from Zimmerman, that he was already a certified thug who often skipped class and smoked weed. They would say Zimmerman acted like that of a concerned watchman patrolling a neighborhood after a string of robberies orchestrated by black, male criminals. Others would say that George deliberately disobeyed the police dispatcher and acted outside of the authoritative boundaries given to neighborhood watchmen. Whether you stand on Martin or Zimmerman's side is irrelevant to the heart of the situation. Regardless of if Martin was already a thug or not or whether Zimmerman acted appropriately, is beside the point.

I'm sure we all know that some of the harshest, irrational critics like to surface on discussion boards all over the internet. These people, with their cheesy, over-thought usernames, pull every offensive scenario out of their asses over this case which ultimately returns to the real root of this situation: race.

On the second day of the trial, Rachel Jeantel, the 19-year-old who spoke to Martin in the moments leading up to his death, stated that Martin called Zimmerman a "creepy ass cracker."

Now hold up!

I immediately scroll down to the comments sections, which is a surefire way to get my blood pressure to skyrocket, and found exactly what I was looking for. One user commented, "Creepy ass cracker," hm? Looks like St. Skittles was a touch racist, no? Another user came to Martins's defense saying "cracker" is not a racist term. Then, another user (white, obviously) said, "cracker isn't a racist term" but in a sarcastic way. You know, in the time that I've been aware of this country we call America, I have never seen one ethnic group be so confused in their own country. White people love to tan, have fuller lips, plumper butts, enjoy twerking and wear jewelry common in the black community (ex: gold hoops with your name in the middle, grills) because they think it's cute or trendy. Nothing more, nothing less. But, when the time comes to combat discrimination or racism of any kind, that't when they retreat back to their outward appearances to help them get by.

 So what exactly am I getting at? Basically, I'm tired of white people wanting to hop on the African-American gravy train when they want and then jump ship when the seas get rough. I feel like even with all of the progress that's been made, white people always try to one up minorities. For example, Trayvon Martin calling Zimmerman a "creepy ass cracker" and every other white person screaming racism. How is cracker racist? That's like someone calling me ugly or a bitch. Those words can only undermine someone's outward appearance or attitude. Those type of insults don't insult people's intelligence, potential or family all in the same breath. Sort of like the word "cracker." That word means nothing more than the color of someone's skin. Nigger, on the other hand, virtually dismisses every fiber of who I am as woman AND a black woman.

So to be fair, if people are really going to be outraged over Martin calling Zimmerman a cracker, let's not be so quick to forget Zimmerman's initial racial profiling when he noticed a certain black teen wearing a hooded sweatshirt. Among the other prejudiced and discriminatory things Zimmerman was recorded saying on the 911 call about how black people "always get away." Regardless of if Trayvon was a thug, skipped school and was minutes away from being revealed as the Antichrist," it was this trigger-happy neighborhood "cop" that started all of this and brought race into the issue!

Confidence is Key

I recently started a new job at Starbucks...it is definitely more than I expected. Despite all of the warnings from my barista friends, I decided to take on the challenge. I think of myself as a relatively fast learner so I wasn't too stressed out. All of that changed my first week of training. The first day went great! I was happy to have a new, exciting job and even more anxious since I haven't worked in the food industry since I was in high school. The second day, however, was a whole different ball game. I don't drink coffee, much less visit Starbucks often so you can imagine how hard it was for me to learn the different cup sizes, coffee types and recipes. Every time I was put on the spot to name a drink, make a drink or describe a coffee, I choked and the frustration was written all over my face. I apologized to my trainer for my poor attitude and vowed to not let my ignorance get the best of me. By the third day, I was confident again. I made nearly-perfect lattes and cappuccinos and things started to look brighter. But by the fourth day, my confidence crashed once again and I started to doubt that I would ever remember how to do anything. Again, the frustration showed. By shifts end, I was glad to take off my apron and head back to my apartment. As I was driving 30 minutes back home, I started to realize something: I have ZERO confidence...about anything!

 It hit me like a ton of bricks. Whether it be at school, work or life in general, I somehow seem to have an uncertain outlook about everything, and it didn't help that I always let it get the best of me. At my other job, my supervisor always tells me to quit beating myself up and to build more confidence in myself. But in true prodigal angel fashion, I took it as a personal attack, often venting to my mom or anyone else who would listen. Needless to say, my supervisor was absolutely right. I need to believe in myself more. Whenever I make a mistake, take criticism or wear t-shirts in public, not a trace of confidence can be found. I'm 24-years old and I feel as if I should've learned this lesson already, so you can imagine how humbling, yet devastating it was to have this epiphany. I guess the old saying, "confidence is key" is not a cliche. It really IS key! Confidence gives people the courage to make or break relationships, accept compliments and failures or even be comfortable dressing as the frump girl on Monday morning. And then I thought,

'Gee, this is why people always assume something is wrong with me.'

 I used to think smiling was something I only did when I was happy or if someone told a joke but it's far more than that. I shouldn't need  a reason to smile, I simply need to be OK with myself. Just owning that characteristic alone could have a significant impact on my life.

I have a friend who recently lost her grandmother and best friend in just two months. By the end of my fourth day of training, all I wanted to do was go home and vent to her about how I still can't make a frappuccino and how much of a dunce I am behind the coffee bar. But just seeing her sitting in the same spot on the couch the entire day, stricken with grief, made me put things in an entirely new perspective. IT'S JUST COFFEE! And for someone who doesn't even drink it, that's all it's ever been to me. It all seems so trivial. So what if I don't know how to make a stinkin' latte? It's only been a week for me on the job. Realistically, how could I learn to make all of the drinks in 6 days? It's understandable that I can't...and I say that with confidence!

In the beginning, learning something new is never easy, and  I need to remind myself of that everyday. Confidence isn't a subjective feeling that I can turn on or off whenever I want, it's a way of living. No matter if I'm having a bad hair day, am on my period or decide to opt for flats instead of heels, none of it could or should affect how I feel about my plain 'ole self.  Regardless of what anyone says, confidence gives you everything even if you don't  actually get anything. It's the only thing you have left once the makeup's removed, the hair extensions come out and your beer gut is hanging over your underwear.

I've had plenty of jobs and other responsibilities in the past where, if I had to teach a novice any of what I know, they'd be as equally as stressed as I am. I know I'm smart, beautiful, considerate, genuinely kind and loved, and it's time for me to realize it and own it. It's not arrogance, it's confidence.

I can expect, that the moment this whole confidence lesson finally resonates, that life will get much easier to navigate. Until that day comes, I'll kick back, marinate and listen to Charlie Chaplin's "Smile."

Tug-of-War

I've definitely fallen off since I last posted. In a way I feel like so much has happened when it really hasn't. I am not the same person I was when I began this blog and to me that's a harder pill to swallow. Some time ago I convinced myself that I spent too much time trying to be perfect for God. Every time I tried to do the right thing, the wrong thought or action would follow close behind. The more I tried to be perfect for him in such a short amount of time, the more I became lazy and resented the process. After coming to that conclusion, I was convinced that my traits of awful road rage, my constant crave for a drink and impatience with prayer was who I really was. I was tired of trying to help myself so I instead chose to remain stagnant and settle.

But ever since I made that choice my life has changed drastically...and not for the better. I'm always finding myself wishing I could go back and at least be happy. I was really happy when I was walking with God, but now, I'm not sure what I am. Anyway, because I think so much of how great my life was when I knew Christ, I thought I'd make a small list of the things I loved about my relationship with God:

1. Always waking up happy and grateful.

2. My constant attempts to see Jesus in everybody that I came across.

3. My ability to control my thoughts and words.

4. My desire to give to God.

5. Always having someone to talk with.

6. Reading and learning from the Bible.

7. Looking forward to church.

8. My iPod/ car stereo blasting my favorite Christian artists.

9. Knowing that my life is not my own.

10. God's grace and patience with me.

11. Wanting to know more of God all the time.

12. Having a positive outlook on life.

13. Having an appealing attitude.

14. God's gift of perseverance to me (which helped my snag a 3.4 GPA in my first year at UNT)

15. Never wanting to worry about the future.

16. Learning to love myself.

17. Learning the difference between God's voice & Satan's

18. Being certain of my life after death.

19. Being fearless.

20. Being genuinely happy.

I'm sure there's more to add to the list but my life was obviously what and where it needed to be when I walked with Jesus. I think about that life all the time and wish daily to get back. I am absolutely positive that when I was with Christ, that it was real. Just like any relationship, when you're away from someone for a period of time and all you can think of is how happy you were with them, to me that means some type of impact was there. Even though I don't live the way I should, I can still hear constantly, yet faintly His Holy Spirit. Sometimes I wish I couldn't hear Him and that He would leave me alone, but I honestly don't know what I'd do without His spirit. I know I want God back and He knows I do.

With that being said, thank you Lord for not leaving me behind. Your patience with me confuses me so much that I can't stand it. But I think you know how much I love and miss you. Please help me to walk back to you and to fight the urges to do the opposite of what you want for me.

[K]

Song of the Post: Matt Hammit - Let Go

True Colors

Yesterday I broke down on my way home. It was dark outside and for some reason when there's nothing but a full moon and the Texas stars shining down in my car, I feel closer to God. The light was almost blinding and I was feeling as though God was guiding me down the dark country road. Clearly the infatuation stage has subsided and now I'm getting into the inner workings of the change process that many Christians go through. For a while I slowly quit trying. But I still decided to pray.

I asked God to help me because I'd exhausted myself completely out of wanting to live for Him. When I decided to follow Christ last year, I understood the basics and I knew that Jesus is merciful and kind and blah blah blah. But somewhere in the mix I started unfairly challenging myself and setting my expectations higher than the ones God had for me. I'd make up ridiculous goals of going a day without judging someone, or thinking bad thoughts or complaining. You can imagine that I failed all the time. Pretty soon I allowed my old, destructive way of thinking to creep back into my brain. I started believing that perhaps this Christian thing wasn't for me because God was making His standards too high and that I'm too weak. Once that thinking made its way back into my life, it became harder to accept anything positive. I didn't mean to blame God; I even realize that none of what I was going through was His fault. It just sounded good at the time because it matched my miserable feelings.

Still, even though I was gradually slipping away from my relationship with Jesus, I was never able to transition completely back to my old lifestyle. I may have said a few bad words or had two glasses of wine too many, but something instilled within me wouldn't allow me to go back. I told God that being with Him must be where I belong. I know this because in all of my past attempts to get my life right, I failed and ultimately had no problem with going back to my old ways. This time, it's different. I know so because last October I chose to see for myself what all the Jesus fuss was about.

I thank God for this test. I know I failed (and that's OK), but I still learned. I learned that God doesn't give us what we He know's we can't handle. I'm also aware of the human nature that I will trust Jesus to help me change. These past weeks I've noticed how impatient, judgmental, susceptible to negative change I am. I can be short, inconsiderate and unstable with my emotions. I have A LOT of issues. This is great! Now I don't have to pretend that following Christ is easy. Now it'll be much easier to understand why I instinctively try to find other ways around doing what God wants. Perhaps I'll be even more patient with understanding the Bible. I mean let's be honest, the Bible is hard to understand. Even with all of the versions available today, I still have to close it, walk away and then come back.

I'm not perfect. I don't completely understand that just yet, but I'm getting there. Another thing I'm not, is a failure.

Song of The Post: Shawn McDonald - Ramblings of A Beggar

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encouragement.

Around Valentine's Day my relationship with God was tested. A guy from my journalism class became the center of my focus and the first time we spent time alone together, it lasted for eight hours. The more I spent time with him, the further I pushed myself away from what God was trying to do in my life. Although he is considerate and knows how to make me laugh, there were definitely more cons than pros. I like that he's a hard worker and  a guy's guy, but I disliked his drug use, constant, unnecessary swearing, drinking and his stance on Jesus. Now the drinking and the drugs weren't a problem because I felt those could be changed. However his strong opinions against God were something I could not shake. Even after weeks of spending time with him, the Holy Spirit quietly and gradually revealed to me that this potential union would be a disaster. But I didn't listen to it.

I won't blame my failed test completely on him, but he did play a role. To make a long story short, I've been humbled through this ordeal and I'm working hard to keep a strong mind to stay away from these types of situations. 

I thought I could handle his atheism (although he never actually came out and told me he was an atheist) but it was surprisingly the one thing I had the most trouble trying to get over. I didn't even know that being with someone in love with God was that big of a deal for me. Needless to say, more time spent with him meant less time spent with God and His word. It's been a little while since we've gone out together. I've finally come to and realized for myself that trying to make this work wouldn't be worth it. I've apologized to God and I'm working on getting back in to our relationship. It most certainly has not been easy. It almost seems harder than before and sometimes discouragement takes over.

Well, one day at work I spent a while helping a woman with a thick Hispanic accent. She was so nice and really cute and just gave me enough energy to push on through my shift. As I'm checking her out at the register, we get on the topic of books and I tell her that reading has always been a familiar pastime of mine. She then suggests the Christian book store not too far from where I work and I instantly know what she's talking about. 

"LifeWay?," I said.

I then start telling her that I enjoy reading books by Joyce Meyer and Rick Warren. And then she smiles and through her thick accent, says to me the most encouraging, reassuring thing anyone has ever said to me:

"I know. I can tell you belong to Him."

I've never heard anything like that said before so imagine how I felt when, for the first time hearing it, it was being said to me! I guess I've always thought of myself as someone who's tolerable and pleasant to be around but it never occurred to me that my attitude or mannerisms could be an obvious result of what God has already done for me. I was at a loss for words and the only thing I could say back to her was thank you. I'll never forget Ms. Dora or what she said to me that day. Over the next few shifts, I made contact with other believers who also served as heaps of encouragement. I can't explain the warmth and sense of security I felt just being in the presence of believers who were willing to talk about Jesus so openly. All I knew was that I didn't want it to end.

I believe it was during those times that Jesus knew I needed to be reminded of his kindness. The unexpected words of encouragement from Ms. Dora and Ms. Arline were very much appreciated and I think it was Jesus's way of telling me that He still loved me and that I was still a part of His family. Whether or not those women realize it, they blessed me that day in more ways than they'll probably ever know. Then I realized that that's what a Christian is. That's what it means to be a believer. To bless others. They came at the right time, too. I was in a murky place where I was so confused about everything. God told me all along that I should follow Him. And I knew He was right because I honestly don't know what I want for myself. But it was those ladies that reinforced to me the benefit of letting God take control in my life.

Thank God for people like those women.

Song Of the Post: Evan Wickham - For So Long

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