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As my shoddy, old gray sedan veered along the curve at 94th street near Laguardia Airport on the Grand Central Parkway, the burning building came into plain view. Five minutes prior, a radio caller meagerly reported “an incident” that occurred downtown, as very limited information was available.

Then, there, at the lower anchor of the New York City skyline it stood tall but injured; a fiery gap near its apex, World Trade Center Tower One struggled to maintain its concrete footing. A passenger plane commandeered by a terrorist network slammed into the first of the double obelisks at 8:46 a.m. on September 11, 2001. A second hijacked airliner followed suit at 9:03 a.m., ravaging the southern Tower.

The reports early on were perfunctory at best. I was detoured to the Bronx, listening intently to 1010 WINS radio news. I vividly recall the panic, the eery silence at the then Triborough Bridge, the traffic overload, the gut-wrenching catastrophic feeling when the structures collapsed, my exact location. New Yorkers distinctly remember where they were when their lives and hearts were forever interrupted. Many lost colleagues, friends, relatives or know someone who was directly impacted. The victims were globally mourned and memorialized.

A week ago, at approximately 2:00 a.m. on June 13, 2016, a mass murderer ended the lives of 49 individuals and interminably damaged 53 others at the Pulse night club in Orlando, Florida during the worst shooting in American History. Occupants of LGBT affiliation were targeted at the patio and dance floor and cornered in the restrooms where their lives were snuffed out one by one. Hours of terror endured before law enforcement blasted their way in, silencing the killer with a fatal shot. Many around the world mourned and the gay community received great support. Although, some instead questioned and even disparaged the life choices of those who perished.

Striking is the contrast between support for 911 victims and those at Pulse. Certainly, varying opinions abound on political, religious or relational alignments. However, victimization, terror, and hate all equate in both scenarios. What is unbalanced are the number of faceless decedents, perhaps unclaimed, unknown, disowned or even outed for the first time at the time of their deaths on that unlucky day, at a surveilled venue in Orlando that early morning. Many were young souls departed, on their journey, without full reverence.

At it’s most rudimentary stratum, the discord in beliefs falls within the battle of judgments. Biblical legalists shun on the basis of interpretation of Scripture rather than appeal to the current culture to reveal and spread the message of love sanctioned by Christ Himself. As a result, families, churches and support networks are needlessly divided and self worth and belongingness wane for the unaccepted. Yet, the same Book affirms us all; as such, “…we are God’s masterpiece…” (‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2:10‬). Our position is to honor, empathize and strive to comprehend what is unconventional to us in order to gain common ground. (“Love each other with genuine affection, and take delight in honoring each other.”
‭‭Romans‬ ‭12:10‬ ). Let this be a time to grieve together and pay respects to the affected, mourning together as a collective.

1 Timothy 4:4: “For everything God created is good…for it is sanctified by God’s word and prayer”.

Special thanks to Jackie and Lou for your insights and fellowship.

Glamorous is a word I would use to describe her. Long, flowy Raven-like hair and a stylish, Bohemian crocheted pashmina added depth to her stature. The railroad car was brimming, which was typical …

Source: Raven’s Prayer

Glamorous is a word I would use to describe her. Long, flowy Raven-like hair and a stylish, Bohemian crocheted pashmina added depth to her stature. The railroad car was brimming, which was typical for a Thursday evening’s congestion and my husband and I reluctantly sat separately. As I scrolled through my phone and perused online, I glanced ahead and noticed that my husband’s work was periodically interrupted by the Raven who sat beside him. Brief but friendly at first, his warm, casual smile transformed into a look of concern. Nearing the end of our commute, their conversation became even more engaging and they could easily be mistaken as old friends. Soon after, the electronic announcer blurted our stop as the red digital letters flashed above. My husband hurriedly ushered me forward and introduced me as his wife.

From close examination, she appeared frail. Her luminous skin as per my prior vantage point was now sunken and spotted from up close. Her clay cosmetics appeared streaky, the remnants of dried up tears. And the hair that I silently complimented from afar deserved better treatment. Yet, her lovely, vulnerable soul shone.

As we made our way to our vehicle, my husband expounded on his fortuitous encounter: Clearly struggling with a personal diagnosis, Raven asked whether my husband would inform his wife and close family members of the misfortune of a cancer result. He affirmed. She pressed, “what if you had young children, what if the doctors didn’t confirm yet?” When he asservated, he realized that the “person” she referred to was herself. Anticipating my husband’s optimism, she went on to divulge that there was a 90% certainty that she would be impacted by the disease. Feeling ineffective in his attempt to soothe her, my husband suggested to her that he and I transposition to allow me to provide emotional succor and mollification. Though visibly distraught, she sheepishly declined. Instead, she flipped through photograph after photograph of her 9 and 7 year olds on her smart phone. Upon our departure from our seats, my husband promised that his wife would pray for her. I offered an amiable smile until my husband could fill me in regarding this next assignment in our ministry of encouragement. I never caught this beautiful stranger’s name and I suspect neither did he.

Knowing intimately the spiritual notions of his wife, my husband assumed to delegate the prayer counseling to me. It is my belief that if God had authorized my personal sympathy and reassurance to the beautiful Raven that fateful evening, I naturally would have found my way directly to her. Through God, my husband was enough. I implored him that being one, as a married couple, puts us on double-duty. As a family, it is a blessing and God’s will for us to both use the power and anointment of the Holy Spirit to offer love, peace, joy and spiritual truth to those divinely sent to us. During our daily devotion that evening, I asked God to strengthen our family ministry and prayed for Raven and her family.

Certainly, this is part of the ministry of marriage; however, it is also our duty as a community of believers. Intercession does not simply belong in the church setting. We should regularly offer supplication for our friends, family members and even strangers who cross our paths. The Lord even calls for our support to our enemies, those we don’t agree with, nonbelievers, and the unkind; they need us the most. Let us do our part to encourage the sick, the melancholy, and those needing inspiration.

Romans 8:26: “And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don’t know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words.”

Continue reading Unexpected Truths

The weather report was leery, if not informative. We had been through this drill before: pack up and evacuate; expect massive flooding and power failures. Irene was somewhat clement by some estimation but lent to a fun, bonding weekend bunking with relatives on the north side. This time, the precursors to Hurricane Sandy rang of similar warnings but experience proved deceptive; many planned to stay, us included.

The evening before one of the worst storms to ever hit the U.S. seaboard charged ashore, a twinkling in my gut forced me to second guess our decision. My husband, a city hospital director, was set to go into the office the next morning irrespective of transportation shut-downs, leaving me with an infant and elderly parent. As the night edged, the tiny inner voice appealed even louder. Reflexively, as if by an unseen force, I assembled our important documents and retrieved our luggage. Addressing his inquisitive glance, I pressed my husband that out of an abundance of caution, we should all travel together in the morning and stay in the boroughs.

By 6:00 a.m., a northerly current ebbed through overflowed streets accumbent to our block. Houses and cars along the banks were already partially submerged. Semi-panicked, we trekked furniture upstairs and hiked up anything soluble before trudging passed, narrowly escaping harbor waters. Including almost universal property damage, many in the community lost homes to flooding or electrical fires and some remained displaced for some time.

How often do we ignore that internal wooing that translates our instincts? Do we flout the natural impulse that informs us to “go the other direction”, “don’t take that job”, “stay away from her”? Often it is a lack of conviction, undue influences, or even the busyness of life that impedes our discernment. It must be understood that such communication is the gateway between our soul and Spirit. Thankfully, through His grace, God is ever present to develop clarity of thought and assist in the intertwining of our own essence with His through the power of prayer, meditation and the word of God. In this place, His peace is unchallenged and surpasses all earthly perception. (Philippians 4:7: “Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand”.). Therefore, do good to not allow the elements of distractions, ego, tension, and confusion thwart your determinations but, rather; pray for wisdom and comprehension proving that the soul is the loudest messenger.

Hebrews 4:12: “For the word of God is alive and powerful. It is sharper than the sharpest two-edged sword, cutting between soul and spirit, between joint and marrow. It exposes our innermost thoughts and desires”.

Staring into two sets of virtuous, big brown eyes, I delve into a sea of hope. There is an unspoken awareness of the place from where my progeny originated and inspiration for where they are going. Seemingly here to guide me more than I will ultimately foster them, our souls intertwine in song. Both move as if having been here before, comfortable in their beings, with no hesitant or surprising maneuvers. Imagine my astonishment when, during “story-time”, my precocious toddler decisively apprised that he and his younger sibling found each other and then “chose” me. His childish inflection then returned while his infant sister babbled with glee. The whirling, enchanting thought dove me into a kowtow as I permeated with gratitude.

Certainly, appreciation for children is commonplace. As a parent, this acclamation strikes the innermost part, the intangible yet perceptive center. Here, my soul is stoked and moved by little giggles and whimpers. Children fit the bill of muse quite readily. However, know that there are infinite matters in creation that bring us to such presence.

Where is your center? What brings you unending joy? From this exuberance, the gateway of eternal grace is refined. Sources of this grace can be internal or external; there are no limits. Nature, melodies, laughter, friendship can all render delightful benediction. In fact, Scripture urges a starting point of thankfulness: “Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.” ‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5:16-18‬.

Thus, in prayer today, tap into what engenders affirmation. And in them, meditate and allow God to transform you into the embodiment of grace, the kind that seeps out onto others.

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4:8‬: “And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.”
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Having heard so much about his hometown, I welcomed the business trip to Jackson, Mississippi, not far from my husband’s old stomping grounds. Candidly, I also looked forward to a bit of a retreat, being somewhat of an introvert. I breezily checked in at the majestic lobby desk and sauntered toward the hotel elevators. Once in my room, I kicked off my exhausted heals, retired my stuffy suit jacket and pulled the curtains open. Basking in the southern light that poured in, I nearly missed the image that stared back at me. A staunch, draping flag enshrined the steeple of the state capital building. The hairs on the back of my neck went congruent with the alarm sounding in my mind. Instant fear, panic even. I looked around, suddenly uncomfortable in my surroundings. I forced the curtains closed and sat puzzled. “Is that really a confederate flag?!?”, I thought to myself flabbergasted. Besides old “Dukes of Hazards” episodes, I had never really seen the symbol so boldly placed. I suddenly had a nagging suspicion that I was the only person in the vicinity dismayed. I immediately phoned my husband.

“Babe, you won’t believe what I saw outside my hotel window! A confederate flag! And it’s on top of a government building!” With calm resolve, I heard my husband’s resistant acquiescence as he recited what was undoubtedly imbued in the indigene of Mississippi. “Yes, they have that there, although I did not really experienced racism growing up. The flag is just a part of the State’s heritage.” He went on to explain that people have largely accepted or ignored the implication in order to avoid civil discord.

Keeping the peace was understandable. Still, the coalescence of my background and training, being both a native New Yorker and an attorney, only allowed for moral rejection of a notion so vile and so inflammatory. I thought, despite First Amendment rights, there were too many countervailing issues, chiefly the “fighting words” doctrine, that would thwart protection of this emblem.

Well, as I carried on that evening, I noticed citizens strolling by with no hint of recognition of this artifact of hate. They too were inculcated with the veil of inaction. Sadly, this occurred in 2009, over a century after the end of slavery. In fact, the relic originated around 1860, shortly after Abraham Lincoln was elected president and the Civil War ensued.

Even though our nation has slowly changed in make-up, ideology and dictates, obdurate sects have held on to this fabric, some hoping to redefine its meaning to something more palatable. Unfortunately, the flag has such deeply-rooted attachment to segregation and the xenophobic that both time and reframing have failed to cleanse its redolence. Now, catapulted by the recent shooting deaths of nine congregants of the Emanuel AME church in Charleston, South Carolina by a self-confessed white supremacist, unending calls for the abrogation of the confederate designation have been met with swift action by major corporations and open debate among political figures.

From a practical standpoint, are we shielding ourselves from open and apparent ideas, circumstances or people who champion division, intolerance or violence? Are we standing on the right side of history? Are we moving in acceptance and love? The family members of the deceased nine could have easily fallen into the race war intended by the shooter. Rather, they claimed their forgiveness, thrusting the nation’s support behind them. Only in God’s Kingdom is that remotely possible. Such evil was combated with even greater grace.

So, even in our daily living, our moral caliber will be tested. There, our true character is revealed. Stand for what is right and see God’s blessings effectuate change.

Romans 12:2 “Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.”

My heart momentarily stopped. Mouth dry and breath quickened, I stared at the digital text that popped onto my screen. Brain aneurysm? But she was so young, close to my age in fact, with a little one to raise. We worked closely together at one point and, while expecting around the same time, we exchanged pregnancy tips, fashion trends and commiserated on the work-life balance of female attorneys. I came to really adore her, her perspective on life, her joie de vivre. Although only colleagues, we shared a connection. Notwithstanding, life and our careers eventually lead us both in different directions. Indeed, after several years, we settled into the ephemeral, ever-prosaic cyber relationship on Facebook. Tapered down to the occasional “likes” of our toddlers’ adorable images, I yet found myself distraught with this new reality. I should have reached out, checked in from time to time. How can my friend be gone?

I thought back to the recent news of Vice President Joe Biden’s son. Similarly, Beau Biden was only 46 years old when he succumbed to brain cancer after an illustrious career as a war veteran and attorney general in Delaware. Interestingly, the Vice President had suffered extraordinary loss before with the near death of Beau when he was just 3 years old. A car accident took the lives of the leader’s first wife and young daughter leaving Beau and his brother as survivors. Forty-three years later, Beau has passed.

Both families, one well-known, the other lesser so, are now made to endure. Both souls leaving at their prime, at what we deem as unacceptable ages. The same hurt, the same desolation, the same pangs of “too young, too soon”.

In times of condolences, we search for answers, meaning. But in His great wisdom, the Lord’s plans for us are largely unknown. As a mother of two and a wife, I feel very blessed for the health of my family and humbly pray and trust God’s Hand as we go about our days. But why trust?

Trust comes when we credit the Almighty with our ability to take 30,000 breaths each and every day. There is unspoken certainty that our blood will continue to circulate throughout our entire bodies once every single minute. As we enumerate these feats, we can only feel reverence toward the Lord and be thankful for His grace.

Therefore, we may not have the vocation of sages to comprehend why we find ourselves affected in our circumstances. However, some situations afford us the stillness to contemplate the heavenly purpose. Breathing fresh air and life in us, only His anointing can make sense of it, lightening our burdens, pacing our exhalations. Only in His presence do we feel safety, compassion, understanding, and peace that surpasses all reasoning. That peace is what gets us from this moment to the next until the emptiness is filled again. This renewal brings us to revelation, be it reaching out to ones in strife or finally completing a task we were called to do. Accordingly, let us endeavor to never waste another breath.

Job 33:4 “For the Spirit of God has made me, and the breath of the Almighty gives me life”.

In Loving Memory of Jolie

I could not escape the subway car fast enough. From the corner of my eye, I spotted the guesstimated 8-month pregnant figure making its way toward my section. The modestly dressed young woman claimed to need food and shelter. Her erratic gestures and matted long hair triggered apprehension around her. “Please open” I begged the double steel doors as the brakes screeched. I skirted out passed the rush hour crowd and meandered up the concrete stairs.

Safely in my office building, my conscience relentlessly nagged me. I attempted to placate her with assertions like “it’s understandable, I was low on cash, I did not want to be late.” Unconvinced, my higher self overtook the internal discourse. Surely, I could have offered a positive word or simply an acknowledgement.

What does it mean to give encouragement? We see it en masse at ball games when an entire assembly is routing for its team. Then there is the clichéd vignette that many can relate to of the mother wiping away her child’s tears. Less overtly, I believe God cleverly orchestrates opportunities for us to provide hope to others in our daily lives. A smile and greeting to a stranger entering an elevator may have a strong impact on someone who is feeling depressed and insignificant. A compliment to a frail and sickly co-worker undoubtedly energizes the spirit. And a frightened and destitute expectant mother could have been comforted by a nod and gleaming look.

Such offers of encouragement fulfill us as well. The character of the giver is strengthened as we emulate the One who provided the ultimate consolation on the Cross. In this season of Pentecost, receive the Spirit of the Lord and be empowered to give support. As witnesses of Christ, we will be lead down the rode of everlasting.

Acts 1:8 “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you. And you will be my witnesses, telling people about me everywhere – in Jerusalem, throughout Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”