Challenge Day 12: One Deep Sentence

One of my friend's Facebook status:

"It's me I'm trying to
protect myself from!"

Much said there.

Challenge Day 11: Why Iker Casillas Won MY Heart When He Kissed HIS Girlfriend

Because it looked like this ...



Absolutely spontaneous
Quickly passionate
Oh.so.romantic

What a good thing I studied Spanish in school!

Challenge Day 10: And So It Began ...

A post a day I promised. The challenge was going to be fierce.

One post for every day. Because my life was that interesting, and I had that much to say.

But then, not even half-way through, I realise the truth of that statement: my life is that interesting. So interesting that there's hardly time to take a breather much less post.

But I make time and perhaps cheat.
I grit my teeth.
I carry on...
Because I'm that committed.

Cheers, blogland.
Have a good one.

Challenge Day 9: Tony Deyal's Joke

I nipped this from Tony Deyal's column on Saturday in the Gleaner newspaper.

A polar beer walked into a bar, looked at the bartender and said, “I want a gin . . . and tonic.”

The bartender asked: “No problem, but why the big pause?”

The bear replied: “I don’t know. I’ve always had them.”

Challenge Day 8: Got Class?

I didn't know what that feeling was - the jelly in the pit of my stomach, the grief, the kind of shaky bewilderment that engulfed me as she spoke.

She explained that she was a woman of class, and that there were certain things that were not good enough for her family. Things she reserved for the 'little people', like her gardener, the little Rasta man who cuts the yard, and her dogs. She went on to let me know that in doing something she associated with these persons/animals, I had behaved like a 'little person', and it did not suit her class at all.

She sat there and told me - in clear, non-verbal tones and shades of attitude - that she does not value the gardener or the little man who cleans the yard, and thinks that she is better - much better - than them. By the end of our conversation, I understood that she also thought (and still thinks) that she is better - much better - than me.

My mother always tells me that man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart. Myles Munroe said that the easiest way to conflict in misunderstanding of intent. Intent defines purpose. Without it, we confuse actions and misinterpret deeds.

Let there be no doubt that this classless, tasteless, immature and foolish young lady has a heart that goes for God's greatest and most priceless gifts - none of which are material.

As she finished her lecture and brusquely told me to "get out of her sight", I thought:

Too bad I had to learn the look, feel and sound of condescension from a woman of class. God, hasten the day when MY TIME truly comes.

Challenge Day 7: Stolen Depth

Stole this from my friend Tuggy's Facebook status. It rings oh so true:

"I am always pesting my momz...when will i find the right girl...i would cry and moan and mope about it..so momz sat me down one day and said, "dont worry about finding the right person..concentrate on being the right man"

Challenge Day 6: A Praying Human

Psalm 132:1. Lord, remember David and all his afflictions.

Somebody prayed last night. Actually, several hundred thousand thousand somebodies prayed last night. And the night before, and the night before that. And even right now. Somebody's praying. All kinds of people - fat ones, skinny ones, brown ones, black ones, big ones, little ones ... they're all praying. And for nine out of ten of them, it's a prayer of desperation. It's an I-can't-see-a-way-out-of-this-mess prayer, and a God-if-you're-there-you-need-to-answer-quick prayer. For some, the prayer is summed up in one word: help.

What is it about trouble that makes us drop to our knees and mutter words into the air, hoping, believing that somebody somewhere up there is listening and ready to help us? How does faith suddenly rise in the human soul when we're at our last, like we've been programmed to never see the end as the end. We always hope there is a way out. And there usually is.

I prayed last night. I prayed with David as I read his seven profound words. I read them and wept. And then prayed 'em like my life depended on 'em. And maybe it did. Because I have so many afflictions. And they seem to grow more each day. I feel like I'm at the end of a very long season, a very hard season - a really trying time. And I've tried to look cute, and I've tried to smile. But I couldn't hide this one. I couldn't hide this one. I walked around for days as a brittle frame, praying and hoping that no one would touch me. Begging God to let people see me and suddenly be blind. I was brittle. Brittle. Just about as breakable as you can be. And if anyone touched me, if anyone so much as looked at me too hard, I might have fallen apart right there.

No one touched me. I made it home in one piece. But as I sat down, as I threw down my handbag and dropped my butt in the chair - a little too heavily, I'd forgotten how brittle I was - I fell apart. Butt cheeks didn't hit the seat before the first tear splatted on the floor. And then came the rains.

Why can't I cry like this before people?? Why, in this, my realest, least pretentious hour, do I feel the need to hide? Why do I feel guilty and ashamed? Like I'm not ever supposed to be like this?? Don't they know I'm supposed to be human? Don't they know I'm supposed to have faults and fears and make mistakes? Don't they know that since Adam bit into that apple and defied God, it's been part of my genetic makeup?? Don't they know I'm human too?

Don't I know I'm human too?