Precious Predilections

Tag: Reconciliation

  • Fresh out of Explanations

    Fresh out of Explanations

    “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”  – James Baldwin

    What an emotionally exhausting few weeks.  A time to lament the grave injustice of our “just-us” system in America.  It seems that justice is illusive for some and not others.

    Since hearing that officer Jeronimo Yanez was found not guilty and officer Ray Tensing’s trial resulted in another hung jury, my mind has not stopped racing with the myriad of thoughts about what’s continually communicated to people of color, in particular, Black men in America.

    Before I lament, I want to outline a few interesting facts about Philando Castile should give us pause as to whether or not he was being racially profiled.  #JustFacts. #Receipts.

    • Philando had been stopped by the police more time than the number of years he was alive.  He was pulled over 46 times prior to the last stop of his life at the age of 32.
    • Of the 47 times Philando was pulled over by police, only 6 of those stops were things that were observable from a police car – broken muffler or speeding.

    Here’s a little history of how much Philando had experienced being pulled over by the police prior to July 6, 2016: The Driving Life and Death of Philando Castile on NPR.

    The following excerpt from the NPR article gives an account of officer Yanez’s exchange with dispatch…

    Castile’s girlfriend, who was in the car, said it was because of a broken taillight. But in scanner traffic audio obtained this week by Minnesota Public Radio, a nonchalant officer, yet to be confirmed as Jeronimo Yanez, told dispatchers a different story.

    “Two occupants just look like people who were involved in a robbery,” he said. “The driver looks more like one of our suspects, just because of the wide-set nose.”

    Gloria Hatchett, an attorney for the Castile family, said that’s racial profiling.

    “How do you say, ‘There’s a robbery suspect with a broad nose, African-American?’ ” she said. “That’s equivalent to saying there’s a white woman with blond hair.”

    What happened next is unclear. Was Castile just reaching for his ID, or was he reaching for his gun?

    What we know is that Yanez fired his weapon.

    What we know is that throughout his life, Castile was stopped by police at least 46 times before that moment.

    If there was anyone familiar with the routine and perils of a traffic stop, it was Philando Castile.

    The July 6 stop was his last.

    Most know how this story ends; it’s practically predictable.  Police Officer shoots un-armed black male.  Police Officer is acquitted.  I needed space to lament and articulate the emotional distress I am feeling.  To name the ache in my heart.

    I lament that the life of a black male in America still hinges upon a white male’s determination of value.

    I lament that the humanity of black men is repeatedly stripped away when the “cause for shooting them” is because they are seen as violent, aggressive threats by default.

    I lament that I have friends who don’t see the err of today’s criminal justice system.

    I lament that black men can comply with police officers and still die.

    I lament that the trauma both Diamond and her daughter faced is deeply etched into their memories.  No 4 year old should have to console her mother for fear that she too will be shot by police.

    I lament that I am often asked to explain why an officer’s perceived fear does not make a black male worthy of death.

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    We use a subjective law (Stand Your Ground) to determine substantive matters (life and death).

    If you desire more explanations to ascribe value to the life of black men who are as much an image bearer of God as the men who shot them; miss me with that conversation.  I’m not having that convo today.  Probably not tomorrow. Probably not for a minute.  We have to change the starting line of this conversation.  Here me clearly.  I am fresh out of explanations if imago dei is not your starting point.

    In fact, it may be time for someone to explain to me why police officers are using body cameras if they seem to be of little benefit for the citizens?  Maybe, someone should explain to me why no one’s discussing the correlation of implicit bias and police shootings.   It’s a thing.  A very real thing.

    Isn’t it time to stop demanding an explanation and start acknowledging that the undercurrent of implicit bias has turned into a tidal wave?  This slow and silent killer is destroying families, disrupting communities, and traumatizing people of color daily.

    Isaiah 58

  • Unveiling Hidden Figures

    Unveiling Hidden Figures

    The movie “Hidden Figures” took me on a roller coaster of emotions that I am not sure I’ve come down from.  Many [many] years ago, I was a budding engineer interning at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, FL who later turned down an offer to work as a long term engineer there.   At that time I had no idea of the premise of being a “hidden figure” in my career.  I was naive. Hopeful.  Trusting and hanging on to every word of those in authority; predominantly  the older, white men who were my managers.

    This derivation of mixed emotions comes from the simple, yet complex idea that things which are hidden are searched for intentionally, or remain hidden for a long time; only discovered by happenstance.  I honestly celebrate the healthy exposure that this movie has brought African American women in the science fields, yet my heart and life experience wrestle with the reality that any leader who chooses to unveil hidden figures in any industry must pay some cost.  It may cost some a bruised ego.   Others some of their influence.  Still others the very position that they may have aspired to or felt entitled to for years.  Truthfully, this is a cost that some are unwilling to pay.

    ***SPOILER ALERT***

    Choosing to Unveil

    When I re-imagine the bathroom scene where her manager tears down the “Colored Only” bathroom sign with every exertion of strength in his body, I am deeply moved.  Viscerally moved to tears.  I am moved because he had a choice.  He had a choice to leave things the way they were (which was perfectly legal) or to ensure equity for all on his staff at the expense of his social capital and the dissenting opinions of others. I won’t divulge details, but as a women of color who has experienced working on teams and with management who choose to unveil and those who don’t, I will say that I believe this act was far more courageous than depicted.  Now, before we toot too many horns, the most glaring paradox in this movie to me was that these women WERE ONLY unveiled because there was a DIRECT BENEFIT to those who had allowed them to remain hidden for so long.  In fact, the cost became too great for them not to be unveiled.  I mean, we’ve got to get John Glenn to space, right?  By the end of the movie, I joined everyone in celebrating the greater victory for America, but I could only think, the managers cowered because they had to; because they wanted victory so badly.  They DID NOT do the right thing simply because it was the right thing to do.

    I want to honor Martin Luther King, Jr. as we near the end of another #BlackHistoryMonth and highlight the response of Dorothy Vaughan, Octavia Spencer’s character,  who in fact did the right thing because it was the right thing to do. 

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    Leaders who Do the Right Thing (as reflected in Octavia’s charachter) are marked by:

    1. Recognition (of others) – She actively worked to recognize the gifts and talents of those on her team even if it warranted a promotion for them and practical obscurity for her.
    2. Innovation – She  developed a new way for those on her team to experience growth so that they were prepared to be unveiled when the time was right.  She risked the very promotion she had longed for so that the entire team rose to another level when she rose to another level.  Great innovation is often accompanied by great risk.
    3. Golden Rule Gratitude – With outward expressions of gratitude, she never delineated from treating others the way that she wanted to be treated.
    4. Hopefulness – She hung on to hope.  Her hopeful vision for the future propelled her and others forward.
    5. Tenacity – She displayed a dogged tenacity to lead and develop others with the influence given.

    There are hidden figures in classrooms, colleges, and places of employment everywhere.  Many systems in society have given visibility to some and not others.

    Today, I am less of a hidden figure.  Still being unveiled and grateful for it.

    One day, I hope it is said of me that I “did the right thing” as a leader; a person of influence.  I understand that I have a beautiful choice.  I will choose to unveil hidden figures when presented with the opportunity. Who will you help unveil today?

    “He must become greater; I must become less.” – John 3: 30, NIV

  • Brothers Forgive Me

    Brothers Forgive Me

    This unsolicited request for forgiveness is long overdue.

    This cry for forgiveness is birthed out of a new revelation of the deep and damaging impact of mass incarceration on men of color; men of color like my brothers.  The brothers that I grew apart from long before we grew up because in their youth they experienced the dehumanization and desensitizing that happens upon incarceration.  I have been writhing with grief after watching “13TH” on Netflix.  This sense of sadness and shame that has come at the realization, that, I, your sister, have not advocated for you, my brothers.  My blood.  I’m sorry bros.  I love you bros.  I just didn’t know bros.

    This documentary on Netflix speaks of the loop hole in the 13th amendment which essentially provides a clause for criminals to continue to be subject to slavery or involuntary servitude.  The mythology of black criminology is pervasive in media and culture today, but it began long ago.  It is startling and disheartening how the narrative of slavery lives on in present policies and systems, cloaked under the guise of “criminal justice.”

    “We now have more African Americans currently under criminal supervision than all the slaves back in the 1850’s.”  – Senator Cory Booker

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    In the past, I shied away from watching TV series such as “Lockup” because these shows brought me incredibly close to some of the realities of those I love.  The brutality.  The identification by number not name.  The memories of visitations as a college student and beyond.  Remembering how unsettling it was to be frisked and undergo stringent visitation requirements.  Remembering the joy on your face and your warm embrace when I arrived for a visit.  Remembering the fear that came over me prior to every visit.  Fearing that I would be denied the opportunity to visit you.  Fearing that you were no longer allowed to see me.  Fearing something would always sabotage our brief connection.  And brief it always was.

    As we fast forward to the present, I am ashamed to state that I’ve had the same expectation of many who have no real context of what it means to be incarcerated and that expectation is to simply “move on after release.”  I remember the joy I had upon your release and I also felt quite lost because I didn’t know what to say or do.  At times that feeling remains.  You are an adult now.  And so am I.  You’ve experienced trauma for which I have no context, and sadly, I’ve expected you to simply bear that weight alone.  I’ve also expected you to easily navigate broken systems in our culture that express that although free, you are still not deemed a citizen.  Systems which prevent you from voting, exacerbate the cost of health care, increase barriers to employment, and multiply the cost of higher education.

    Forgive me for not acknowledging your pain.

    Forgive me for not acknowledging your victories.

    Forgive me for not using my voice and influence to not only advocate for proactive efforts that work to prevent young people from experiencing this trauma, but also advocate for young people who have been left to recover on their own after this trauma.

    Forgive me for not asking you how you were doing after release.

    Forgive me for moving on with life and expecting you to do the same.

    I am DEEPLY sorry.

    The physical chains remain in the transport of men and women into incarceration, but the mental chains are just as significant.

    On the eve of my 37th birthday, I am so grateful for lessons that my thirties continue to teach me.  The current lesson is to “keep learning.”  I am learning that my story, our family story is even more beautiful as I see the impression of your collective strength throughout it.   Your journeys have been incredibly difficult.  You guys have all continued to fight to be better men and good fathers.  Perfection is an illusion made for TV; I’ve yet to meet a perfect person.  You all could have thrown in the towel after each rejection post interview.  You didn’t.  You could have complained repeatedly.  You haven’t.  I know that your sons and daughters see you as heroes and so do I.  Thank you for displaying what it means to persevere.

    I am one who advocates for the marginalized; the outsiders, but I have been unknowingly callous to the implications of mass incarceration on our black men (brothers), our communities, our families.  I am still uncertain of how to advocate well.  I don’t know what I don’t know.  I am hoping that you all will become my new instructors.   I have so much more to learn.   So much more to learn from you.

    I love you guys.  Thank you for being gentle and patient with me in my ignorance.  It has taught me to do the same with others.

    Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Ephesians 4:2 [NIV]

  • Silence Doesn’t Feel Like Solidarity

    Silence Doesn’t Feel Like Solidarity

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    Those that know me well know that I love truth more than I love comfort.  This past week, the ugly truths of police brutality, implicit racial bias, and systemic oppression of black and brown people made many uncomfortable.  In fact, many are still uncomfortable; particularly in the christian community.  This past week has pushed the christian community to take a serious look in the mirror and introspectively determine if diversity is something that is only espoused in word or actually lived.  And when I say actually lived, I ask… Are we brave enough to listen, empathize, and act courageously when it is counter cultural to do so?  When we might be afraid to do so?  When it is uncomfortable to do so.

    I have pondered why the #AltonSterling and #PhilandoCastile killings (by police officers) have caused me to grieve so deeply; more deeply than previous incidents of police abusing power.  More than #FreddieGray.  More than #SandraBland.  More than #MikeBrown.  More than #TamirRice.  More than #SamDubose.  More than…

    And then it hit me – this list does not seem to end.  Data from http://mappingpoliceviolence.org/ shows us that this brutality by police officers upon black lives is a systemic problem.  And…many of my non-minority christian friends have become mute.  I liken it to an ethnically mixed group of high school kids who are friends discovering that one of the black guys has chosen to go to the teacher after class and speak up for another black student who is repeatedly being poorly treated by someone in authority.  Most in this ethnically diverse group vow to show up  to help defend this black friend because they all believe this student is worthy of defense.  You may be able to finish this hypothetical story for me.  The friend arrives at the class room and sees that primarily his black friends kept their word to stand with him.

    Welcome to the #BlackLivesMatter movement. The silence of a segment of the christian community has been deafening because it feels like fear has rewritten the justice narrative and it has been more comfortable to remain silent, just give money or hide behind the cloak of one’s ethnic identity.  None of these positions equate to solidarity.  And none of them will bring reconciliation.

    Don’t be silent – your silence speaks loudly.  All week this “silence” has been ringing in my ears to the tune of “How can we say that we are the church when there doesn’t appear to be a willingness to bear one another’s burden?”  I’ve said it before and I will say it again; lament with us first. No solutions, just solidarity for justice.  A few days ago, a White, Christian friend of mine found courage to speak  even among fear. As I read her account, I could see how she beautifully wrestled with the fear of speaking publicly regarding Black Lives Matter and how the comfort of this fear was no longer greater than the cost of her silence.  Truthfully, her voice on this issue will speak more loudly than mine and this is why silence and/or apathy is not an option for the white christian.  Your silence may be communicating the wrong message. PLEASE READ HER PERSPECTIVE.

    Don’t JUST give your money – because settlements don’t settle it.   Now is the time to leave our paternalism at home.  This god-complex which causes us to want to “fix” the problems in the lives of those they are serving through money is crippling.  When we take a look at 11 recent high profile cases of men and women who had died at the hands of police, several of them received settlements between $5 million and $6.5 million dollars.  Settlement after settlement injustice remains. Giving money is a necessary part of the solution, but it is not the solution.  It takes courage to speak.  To attach YOUR NAME to cause in which you advocate for equitable treatment.  There is such anonymity in “only giving money,” but, when there’s person associated with a cause,  there is a different cost.

    Don’t forsake your eternal identity for your ethnic identity – I am a follower of Christ first and then I am a black woman.  #Realtalk – I am unapologetically black, but our eternal identity as Christians is what unites us. This means that as sisters and brothers in Christ, the higher call for all of us is to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly (Micah 6:8).  When I rise each day, I have to remember not to lead with my #blackness and that it is not the primary narrative that shapes my life.  The banner over my life is one of redemption from sin.  We have seen what sin can produce individually and on a larger scale systemically.  To my White brothers and sisters, I encourage you as well to lead with your identity as a follower of Jesus.  To seek justice for the marginalized.  To see the #imagodei (image of God) in others.  The practical steps to make this occur may be scary, but this is what I want to do.  I want to talk with you.  To share in and learn of your fears.  To seek God together for our nation.  To serve God together in our nation.

    I have decided to follow Jesus.  No turning back.  No turning back.  Jesus didn’t simply advocate for the marginalized when it was easy and comfortable.  He lived in the difficult places; had difficult, yet honest conversation to reveal and then reconcile hearts.  I too will live in that place if that is the first step towards reconciliation.

    Here is a sermon preached a few days ago on #Justice by Pastor Léonce Crump Jr. of Renovation Church. This sermon will make many uncomfortable before it encourages.  He is speaking the truth in love, so I’m comfortable with that.

    Learn to do good; Seek justice, Reprove the ruthless, Defend the orphan, Plead for the widow. – Isaiah 1:17

     

  • Am I Black?

    Am I Black?

    20150611_123830“Am I Black?”  This question has echoed in my mind since it was so loudly projected from the mouth of a little boy (approximately 5 years old) to his parents as he sat with them and watched a portion of a video about the middle passage at The Griot Museum of Black Historyin St. Louis, MO.  The innocence and complexity of his question is what wrenches my heart.  In this beautiful world, it would be great if slavery never existed and if African American parents and those of other ethnicities never had to share with their kids the atrocity of their nation’s past.  In particular, their decision to treat certain people inhumanely.  This little boy could not understand why, in his own words, “only black people were treated this way…”  He actually asked his parents, “where are the white people?”  His mind could not process the reasoning behind the variation in treatment.  They spoke honestly and with lots of grace; not with malice or slander, but with love for their son and his tender, impressionable mind.  I am not a parent, but I commend these parents for walking gingerly with their son to help him understand his history and the importance of valuing all human life.  This indeed was one of the most precious moments I’ve experienced recently in our racially charged society that wants to dismiss the impact of years of oppression on people groups.

    For the past few days I have juxtaposed this little boy’s simple question with the recent events in Orlando, from the #PulseShooting to the shooting of #ChristinaGrimmie.  I love the city of #Orlando and I’ve been grieving with those in my hometown.  My community and people that I love and know are hurting deeply. We cannot understand the senseless act of these shootings.

     The beauty I beheld as this little boy asked this question was profound. You see, he didn’t “know” he was black because his experience as a little black boy was just as it should be.  He has not yet known what it is to be treated differently because of his skin color.  I am not sure that I want to wake him up from this dream.

    As a follower of Christ, I believe the church is called to make this child’s “ideal perspective” more of a reality, but we have to first deal with the sin in our own heart.  The reality that we just may be treating people differently because of their skin color.  Sunday is still a very segregated day in our nation.  The reality that we, the church, may be choosing not to get to know people because their lifestyle(s) don’t align with our beliefs.

    People are more than their ethnicity.  They are more than their sexual identity.  Oh that we would learn to live and love one another as people.  Not as pretentious, external, superficial, descriptors such as race, gender, and economic status.  This week in the wake of the Orlando tragedies I believe I was granted a gift from God to spend time in Colorado with a couple who co-founded a non-profit, which is making a difference in the lives of children who are aging out of foster care.  The gift for me was that although I “knew I was Black” in Colorado, I didn’t “feel” Black when spending time with their family.  I held tightly to this feeling because it was refreshing.  Typically, “feeling Black” when I am the minority means that I am treated as inferior and presumed weak.  To be in a community where I am clearly an ethnic minority (Colorado isn’t particularly racially diverse) and to be welcomed and loved as a person first, is a gift I treasure.  There might have been second glances from others as I sat around the table with this couple, their daughters, and a friend, at a local eatery, but at that table we laughed together and enjoyed each other’s company in earnest.  And although I am not their daughter, I felt protected by this couple in an incredibly beautiful way.  This was a dose of authentic love.

    If there was a gift that I could give to those who’ve experienced marginalization, it would be the gift of authentic love. To authentically love allows us to accept people as a part of God’s beautiful creation.  There is no doubt today that I am proud to be black.  But if I am honest, I have had to fight for this freedom of pride in my ethnicity, namely the darkness of my skin and kinkiness of my hair and all that I’ve been told that this represents in our western society.  What I have recognized recently is that fighting for freedom of an insecurity can be costly.  It can mean rejection from those that love you.  It can mean career assassination.   It can mean depression and sleepless nights.  I do not presume to understand the fight of those who are in the LGBTQ community.  What I do know is that I would like for #America and at times, those in the church, to stop making presumptions about their character and worth because of their sexual identity alone.  This is nonsensical.  Seriously.  We are people first.  Let’s treat each other as such.

    I grieve with all of the families whose loved ones lost their life during this tragedy.  I grieve with those in the LGBTQ community who feel the palatable weight of being targeted because of their sexuality.  I grieve with the family members of the shooter who may now be treated differently because of what he did.  I grieve for the christian church who has yet to learn that we all share a mutual brokenness as people; we are all in need of a Savior (Jesus Christ). Those who are black are in need. Those who are white.  Those who are heterosexual.  Those who are homosexual.  Those who are wealthy.  Those who are poor.  Those who are human are in need.  As we have a greater understanding of this need, we will lower our personal pedestals and stand together as people.

    “Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep.”  Romans 12:15

  • Just Cry – Tears for Charleston and the Black Community

    Just Cry – Tears for Charleston and the Black Community

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    When a dear friend loses a loved one or when you have personally experienced  loss of someone near to you, there is significant wisdom and solace in having friends who are just able to be present with you.  Some of them rest in the place of empathy, having experienced the same loss, and others are just present and grieve because you grieve.  They ache because you ache.  They find little time to offer solutions or wax poetic about the meaning of life because in that moment you simply ache.  In that moment as a person who has lost someone you love, you simply want and need the space to cry.  To grieve.  To lament.  This in fact, is a healthy part of the process.

    During the past hours, many of us have heard the media accounts of the #Charlestonshooting at a church in South Carolina.  Mother Emanuel A.M.E. Church is a church that represents so much rich history for African Americans in South Carolina and it was a key part of the Civil Rights Movement.  It was at this church, that a young man of caucasian ethnicity, came into the church, was welcomed and sat among the congregation throughout an hour long bible study and then he shot them.  When I heard this, all my heart could do was ache.   And all my heart could do was grieve.  As a young woman who is a member of a diverse church and has attended many mid-week bible studies, who has deeply benefited from friendships of people who do not look like me; I could only ache.  His intent was clearly to harm people in this group because of their black skin.  Yes this is 2015.  Yes, we are here again.  Have we ever really left this place?

    It is quite difficult to change a mindset that has been embedded in our nation for generations, but it is not impossible. It will take time and grief.  So, as I think about where we are today in America, I ask those that are friends of mine, those that love me, those that have a heart for justice, those that have a heart to see the gap closed regarding present day inequalities in many social and economic strata of our society…I just ask you, this time, to be silent.  Sit with me. Grieve with me. Pray with me.  Cry with me because innocent people who gathered in a space that has been deemed safe and sacred to worship and to pray, maybe even for the souls of those like  #DylannRoof, were shot in cold blood.  And when I see the reports, I understand that it could have been me sitting in a pew at a bible study in a place that I deem sacred.    This.is.not.just.some.other.story.  This.can’t.just.be.another.story.

    At this point, I don’t need data to show me how things have improved racially in our country.  At this point, I don’t need comments about this being an isolated incident..  At this point all I ask is that you just cry with me.  That you allow the space for me to grieve the loss of people.  Of lives.  All lives matter and many people in the past have been targeted because of what they look like.  But in this moment, I simply grieve because in a place where a young man received the very opposite treatment from those he was among; treatment of love, of acceptance, of caring, of common humanity, he chose to kill because of a superficial difference.

    To grieve is human.  So, please, don’t try to fix this one.  Don’t offer me any solutions.  Just let me cry a little or a lot. Grief is necessary in order to continue to stand for justice.  It is the road oft traveled by those in advocacy work.  Our passion for justice must be deeply rooted in our passion for humanity.  If you love people, how can you not love justice?  So today, I fall to my knees in prayer and in grief so that I can continue to stand and be a voice for those who have experienced and continue to experience injustice.

    The very last lines of a poem I heard today written by #BrittiniGray sums up my sentiment.  “…Just cry for my people when they die.  Cry for my people when they die.  Just cry. Just cry when they die.  Cry for my people, if you can just cry.  That would be enough.  Until you are ready to get into the rough stuff, save your words and your rationale because I have no space for it.”  – Brittini Gray,   Brittini was one of the artists performing at The Summit 2015 (summitforchange.com).

    For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.  A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance. Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

  • Still Dripping

    Still Dripping

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    I loathe moments where I am dripping wet and “partially dry.”  Moments when I’ve had to run to my car in the rain without an umbrella.  Or moments when I’ve finished a fantastic work out (like Insanity) and have yet to dry.  These moments are a bit frustrating.  My body is screaming for relief because it knows and longs for the mediocrity of comfort.  Nothing less, nothing more, than dry garments.

    As Easter draws near, many around the world have given Jesus Christ the center stage once again.  Millions will gather in churches and hear accounts of the resurrection.  How Christ overcame death on a cross and rose from the dead in 3 days! This truth should be sobering and exhilarating at the same time for the one who has decided to trust in Christ.  Sobering because the death of Christ was not short and sweet, but deliberate and cruel.  Exhilarating because Christ ACTUALLY OVERCAME DEATH.  Death – the thing that grips our hearts so tightly because of our deep longing for the continued physical presence of those we love.  Death – the thing that looms in the future, but none of us can ever prepare our hearts for.  Death – the thing that also brought us life.

    I recall a Pastor communicating that biblical principles are not intuitive; in fact He said that they are just plain ‘ole backwards.  As in, you would not normally behave this way…ever!  For instance, “…love your enemies and do good to those who hate you.”(Luke 6:27).  Or how about, “Whoever tries to make his life secure will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it.” (Luke 17:33).  The counter intuitive nature of biblical principles remind me that I am powerless to consistently obey them without Christ.  And this is where our understanding of His very natural death and its production of an opportunity for a supernatural life (Him dwelling within us) is critical.   Christ died so that we could have life – eternal life.  He also died so that we could live life that has been reconciled back to Him. (Ephesians 2:13).  But repentance (turning away from sin and trusting in Jesus) is not a one-time event and Lordship (allowing Christ to be master of your life) is not just another trendy idea.  There is a real cost and freedom that comes with salvation for the believer.

    I wonder what Christ felt like as He carried His own cross to His death.  He dripped with blood that would redeem our sins and grant us the opportunity to have a relationship with Him.  Drip. Drip. Drip.  All the way to Golgotha.  He became comfortable with being uncomfortable because reconciliation to the ones He loves (you and me) was closer than ever before.  Thinking about Christ and how He dripped blood (for me), not sweat, makes me want to live life mindful of His sacrifice.  I want to live out lent (LOL) all year long; not simply dedicate 40 days of the year to remember this unparalleled event.  In order to do this, I must continue to drip with the blood of the lamb.

    Dripping is visible.  And the evidence of a changed life must visibly drip from us just as His blood did. Fellow believers and followers of Christ –  It is visible that we love Jesus when we obey His commands.  It is visible that the power of His blood exudes from us when we are loving, extending mercy to others, praying for our enemies, and allowing interruptions in our “busy schedule” for people and problems.  Let’s be sure not to count ourselves so busy that we walk out the door forgetting Christ’s agenda because we are holding too tightly to our own.  Christ wants us to be in the business of reconciliation.

    Are you dripping?  Or are you dry?  Do people see you or do they see Christ?

    “…Son of Man, I remember Your kindness
    Son of Man, I remember Your love

    Your mercy will be remembered forever
    Your mercy will be remembered forever
    Your mercy will be remembered forever

    I still drip with the blood of the Lamb

    We are trophies of Your mercy”

    – excerpt of lyrics from Trophies of Mercy by Davy Flowers