Anger



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The "He may not come when you want Him but He's always on time" Miracle

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  miracle - a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency; a highly improbable extraordinary event, development, or accomplishment that brings very welcome consequences. "For I know the thoughts I think toward you, says the Lord, thought of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope." (Jeremiah 29:11a) Knowledge.  Discernment.  Understanding, Wisdom.  These gifts come in stages or phases, although many of us may disagree on the definition of terms.  I use "stages" and "phases" synonymously to depict progression that leads to a "knowingness," or the acquisition of wisdom.  What do I mean, and how do these terms describe the  miracle of how God works in my life? Two seemingly disparate concepts account for illumination and growth. First and foremost, I am a teacher.  I cannot remember when I didn't know this.  An early memory derived ...
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What Now? You’ve survived the unthinkable, an act so devastating, so devious, and so far-reaching that you’d never entertained the thought or possibility that such a thing could happen to you. You’ve tried your best to shield yourself from the truth, to run from what is inescapable. You’ve closed the door on reality, and any path that may have taken you there. Yet, the truth is the truth and the truth is the light, as you’ve heard people say as long as you can remember. “The truth is the light, Baby,” your grandmother used to pronounce. You didn’t understand it then; you don’t understand it now, nor do you care. It happened, that you can’t deny. It happened. Now, what? Now you suffer! You can’t even refer to yourself in the first person, singular pronoun “I.” “ I” now identifies herself as “you,” whoever she is. That hurts too bad and you fear that level of pain is unsustainable. There’s no solace in the lyrics, “it hurts so bad.” Mostly, you’re mute. As days go by, with ...
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.Beware the Perils of Unpacking - 1

Unpacking a generation of stored stuff started innocently enough.  I approached the twentieth year of living in a three-bedroom, two-bath, up-and-down, filled with clutter, memorabilia, and a quaint kind of classiness that probably only I appreciated.  This home represented the third of three, the last two I'd purchased as a single mom.  Pride of ownership had been hammered into my six siblings and me by parents who'd survived The Great Depression.  Cloaked in solemnity, Daddy's proud, precious, and pure voice spoke volumes. Taylors were survivors! And homeowners!  Perhaps that's why my parents, bloodied but unbowed, gathered up their Mississippi Delta brood and relocated to Chicago at the tail end of The Great Migration.  They sought "something better." Instead, asphalt sidewalks, crowded with three-story buildings, cramped two apartments on each floor, greeted them.  Concrete. Sidewalks.  Until he died, Daddy blamed Chicago's streets for his cal...
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