Food for Thought: A Pretty Gift

We tend to see a pretty gift...

Wrapped all nice, pretty paper and bows.

We see it, we want it, we imagine in our thoughts all of what wonderful things are inside.

Gotta be something nice inside, right?

Because look how beautifully it's wrapped.

I GOTTA HAVE IT!!

Alas, we spend time opening it...

Carefully removing the expensive paper, removing the expertly applied tape and untying the bows.

We open the box and what we find inside is NOT what we were expecting.

We frantically try to close the gift.

But now it's too late.

Because we've seen it, smelled it, heard it, tasted it...

Felt it.

We hurry and try to close the box, but it is too late...

The damage is done.

It's on us. It's in us.

And the residue, it's hard to rub off. We rub so hard that we rub our skin raw.

The residue... the consequences are latched to us like a leach...

Taking us to unknown places, directions unseen...

And the regret, it settles in for the ride...

And the ride...

The ride is long.


Hmm... Interesting.

But I got that one day, maybe a week or two ago, after some of my ussal morning prayer. I am not particularly sure what was on my mind that day. But that came up.

I didn't understand it until I wrote it all down. Even now, it is still pregnant with revelation.

I can look back over my year, and well, really, my whole life and I can see how I went after things that were very appealing to me, but once I realized what was really going on, those things and people were not good for me at all. As a matter of fact, those people and things were a detriment to my life.

And once I realize this, it isn't so hard to walk away. I have made the decision to walk away.

But the residue of the interaction... it is long lasting. The thoughts, memories, regrets, decisions, etc... stays with me.

And this little parablish story goes a long way to explain something I've been trying to understand all week:

We can control what decisions we make, but we can't control the consequences of those decisions.

I was watching a program on TV, and the person said that we make around 200 decisions per day. Just on a daily basis. Decisions on what to do, what to say, where to go, who to interact with, etc.

That's a LOT of decisions.

But with those decisions come consequences.

Consequences are built into the decisions. They, these consequences, are the results of decisions. They come with the package.

They are what is inside the pretty gift box.

And as I get older, I am learning, in all my decision-making, to think about the consequences of the decisions. If I don't like the consequences, I most likely will squash the decision.

However, I have a long long way to go in that. Sometimes, I get it wrong. Sometimes I get it right.

I think for myself, the goal now, is to be sure to be brutally honest with myself. I am learning to examine the root of my decisions. It is at times, a painful process.

Because we want what we want, right?

We want that pretty gift.

But it is painful to realize that gift, although appealing, may not be the best for us. Too much mess can result from embracing it. And sometimes the sheer memory and thought of it... the residue left behind after we have gotten rid of what we thought was a great gift, is so hard to rid ourselves of.

Just a little something I've been thinking about concerning this "pretty gift".

Man, I could go on and on. I will be pondering it for awhile indeed.

And I will be sure to examine my pretty gifts more closely...

And what could possibly be inside.

Repost: Food for Thought: Public self ("The Representative") vs. Private self ("The Real You")

There are often times that I am in deep discussion with someone and I have trouble explaining myself and/or getting my point across to them.

So I will often think about a post I wrote, and send them the link.

"You talk about EVERYTHING on that blog," I've heard many say.

Yes I do. In over 6 years of blogging, I can always find a topic... and send the link.

In a recent convo, around 2 ro 3 weeks ago, I was discussing with a friend the difference between "The representative" and "The Real You."

My hypothesis was...

"When you meet people, you meet their representative."

That touched off a discussion. And I sent a link to a post detailing such.

I've thought about it since then. And I really thought about it after I read a scripture in Jeremiah, which I posted this past Sunday. Very much indirectly related, but related nevertheless.

It's 3 years old and worth a repost.

So enjoy...



I am reading the most interesting book right now.

The Church of Dead Girls by Stephen Dobyns, published in 1997. He has written numerous mysteries and thrillers, and he's also a poet, penning a fair amount of books of poetry.

Normally I wouldn't read anything with a title like this. There is nothing that would make me pick this book from a store bookshelf and buy it. I came across it while reading a writing craft book on plot and structure development. The book sited this book as one with a nicely written beginning. So I put it on my reading list. I 've had it for a couple of months, and decided to read it now.

This book starts out with a very detailed description of a terrible scene: three teenage girls found murdered in an attic, and their left hands are missing.

I was expecting this book to go on from there as a mystery, but it doesn't. Imagine the play Our Town gone astray. It goes back a few years and describes the thoughts and feelings of the inhabitants of the small rural sleepy town of Aurelius as one by one, these young girls turn up missing. The townspeople think that the killer is amongst them, and fear and suspicion spread like a virus. Everyone is suspiciuos of everyone else.

People look at each other in a new light.

The distinction between one's public personna and one's private life dissolves as a result.

This book is a very slow and psycological dissection and examination of that whole phenomena. I swear, this book is only 10% dialogue, yeat 90% exposition and thought. Normally that would drive me completely batty, but I find it all, I don't know the word... let's just say, deeply satisfying. Yeah, that's it.

Now, this isn't a book review, and I haven't finished reading the book. I only wanted to read the beginning, but I decied to read the whole book.

It reminds me much of my favorite book of all time, Tayari Jones' Leaving Atlanta, a fictional tale surrounding Atlanta's Missing and Murdered children in the late 70s/early 80s. It is, like, some long drawn out version of her book.

So, uh, you know I have to read it all the way through.

The story is narrated from the point of view of the local high school's biology teacher. I don't know why the author decided to do that, and I don't think much about him until some of the private details of his life start to unfold.

Then I read a passage at the title of Chapter 15, which stopped me cold, and is the subject of today's "Food for thought"

"Just as we are only aware of the surface parts of one another's minds, so are we only aware of the surface parts of one another's behavior. We see the polite part, the public part, and we can only speculate on what exists underneath. But usually if the surface part is conventional and well-mannered, we assume the rest to be also. Although what does that mean? How can we assume that a person's secret self is equally conventional and well-mannered? If the offensiveness of one's public self is created by fear, then it would seem possible that one's private self could be anything at all." (Church of the Dead Girls, Stephen Dobyns, Chapter 15, page 127)


It amazed me that such a paragraph would be found in a fiction book. It looks like something of nonfiction.

The narrator goes on to elaborate on the difference between one's public and private selves. He talks about the big boon of 1-900 sex lines of the 80s. People call the lines, but would they ever admit it? He also describes how he watches his next door neighbor's daughter, who is blind, and whose bedroom window faces his own. When she finishes her bath, she sits in a chair and pleasures herself. He watches this, but out of guilt, he moves into another bedroom. He marvels that when he talks to her, she appears to be nothing more than a smart and bright college girl...

You get what I'm saying.

Anyway, that had to be one of the most unforgettable chapters I've ever read.

And it made me think about our private self versus public selves. How we act differently when we are amongst people versus how we act when we are alone and/or amongst people who we are very close.

Me and my baby blog sistas were joshing around on our usual email thread, and the subject turned to the men we meet and how hard it is to figure them out.

They know I always screech, hoop, and holler the same ol' same ol'.

When you meet anyone, especially someone of the opposite sex, you meet their REPRESENTATIVE.

Now (from a woman's point of view), when you meet the Representative, you are attracted to him. He is snazzy. He has on a fly Armani suit, and a pair of gators so fresh that they still snapping (LOL!). His teeth are gleaming white, and his breath is minty clean.

He does allll the right things, says alllll the right things. He is Mr. Personality.

He is perfect.

He is the best thing since water and dirt.

As he should be, you know. Afterall, he is the Representative, the public personna.

But then, the plot thickens. The representative thinks he has done his job. The woman appears to be pleased with what she sees. She may even be a little emotionally caught up right about now.

Yep, he's done his job... and he's done it well.

He turns to the one he represents... that private part of himself.

"I've done my job," he says. "You take over from here."

Then he leaves the freakin' room. I mean, he walks straight out the door.

And you're left with... well, you're left with what's left.

The "Real" man.

One minute, you are there with the snazzy fella in the Armani suit. The next minute, you're there with a man dressed in a burlap sack. A length of dirty rope is tied around his waist to hold that sack together. His teeth are all jacked up. His breath is horrific. His knees are ashy. He got hammer toes.

On top of all that, his personality has totally changed. He has some jacked up idiosyncracies.

You don't even recognize him. You are looking around and past him, looking for that fella who had your nose wide open.

Then the questions arise...

Do you stick around and put up with this bullsh** or do you split?

Hmm...

I'll let you answer that question for yourself.

Not that easy of a question to answer as it appears to be. You would think that you would leave... but there is one thing you've not considered: leaving is dependent on the degree of emotional attachment you've allowed to take place. And let's not even get over into spiritual attachments... GOODNESS.

We get over into all of that on our email thread. I know my blog sistas want to yell "Shut up, LadyLee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!".

But everytime some mess go down, a heart gets broken or what not... I state my same hypothesis, much of which I've derived from examinations of my own personal experiences, and too many times of wailing out loud...

"Why this n**** acting all crazy? He wasn't like this before!!!! And why it hurt so bad when I try to leave? Why am I feeling this way?!!!? What's wrong with me? Why am I still with him??"

I think for myself, when answering the questions whether to stay or leave, well... at the age I am now, I would split. I am the worst skeptic, and I'm always thinking waaay in the future. I don't have the "ticking biological clock" isshas, and I far from lonely. That trumps my inate need, just like any other woman's needs, for a relationship. I can take it or leave it.

And on top of that, my own public self "Representative", is a little different from my private self.

My representative doesn't get emotionally attached at all. My private self may never even show up. It's a looooong time before you know me privately. Long time, babes.

Publicly, I am what I am. Most people don't know me privately, as I guard my emotions like they are Fort Knox. But I can say that I spend much time making sure that representative part of myself acts responsibly. I will leave it that.

But I leave you with a question...

Do you ever think about your public self (your "representative") versus your very private self ("the real you")? Are they vastly different, or are they similar?

And more importantly... are there any changes you need to make to either?

Hmm... this book is making me more cognizant of that.

I'll let you think about that.

Have a great weekend...

Thoughts on Purpose, Part IV

Weekend blogging! I love it.

It's doing much for me. It's giving me life.
It's making me GREAT today!
So I'll continue with my thoughts on

Purpose

This is the last post in this Purpose series.I like these types of posts, but can't say that I am in love with posting them, because it gets over into the type of spiritual things I'm pondering some 90% of the time.

At the same time, it's more for me than for you. I have an extensive archive of such pondering, and they have helped me much.

So...

I've learned much about purpose this year thusfar. And it's only the end of February. I think much of this has come about from things I've been praying about. I like to try to pray for a good half hour to an hour in the mornings a few days a week, and I look back at my prayers and I can see quite a few times when I've awaken MAD about having to go to work, but at the same time having to close the door on those emotions and ask God to use me in some way that day to help someone, to just let me be a cobblestone on someone's life path... something. Because I noticed, it always stirred up something in me, so measure of personal peace.

Needless to say, on a broader scale, I was praying about purpose.

And as usual (and I tend to take this for granted, gotta do better), lots of things jump off. Like hearing a couple of good sermons on purpose. Additionally, a workbook that Serenity and I just finished working on through a fabulous workbook that touched on the subject. And reinforce that with powerful examples of purpose in my midst, and I am pretty much equipped to with a fair amount of appreciation and understanding for this thing called purpose.

So, I was happy to post about it. I hope you've been able to receive something from it. Of course this ain't like the gossip sites, with their juicy nuggets of info on people, places and things, but this is a bit different, hopefully soemthing that will benefit your spirit.

And as with anything, it's like trays of hors d'oeurves that come around. Take what you like, what you need. The smoked oyster canapes may not be to your liking, but the tuna pate rounds may be what you like. Or you may like the crackers spread with cheese whiz. Whatever.

I just hope you found something to your liking, something that adds to your being.

That's the way it is with me.

With that said, I feel as though, after pondering all of this, that:

"Purpose is born out of our passions, dreams, goals, triumphs, tribulations, trials, frustrations, anger, and pain."

All of that goes into developing one's life purpose in life.

And I see all of us as trees. And we know a tree by the fruit it bears.

I can recognize an apple tree because it produces apples.

I can recognize a peach tree because it produces peaches.

And I can tell a person's purpose by the fruit they produce.

Yeah, that's a little convoluted, but work it out for your ownself. Just my way of thinking about it all.

Let's take an example. Look at all these runners all over blogland. Just some running broads, they are. I love love LOVE being a witness to their journeys, from running 1/2 a mile to running upwards of 15 miles now.

You know, I can see the fruit of their efforts. LOVE being a witness to that. That's a passion of theirs. But purpose can be born out of that passion.

They are now infused with the ability to aid others who want to get on that path, but didn't know how to get started. They have now become the effective example for others, and you can tell their deep burning passion for it, because they go all out to show others the way.

Or I know some of Serenity's clientele like to meander over here at the House of LadyLee. She's the official consultant for the House of LadyLee food-for-thought posts (she ges a little, uh, cantankerous if I don't post something on a regular basis to "help a sister" out). I am the official consultant for House of Serenity fodder (uh, not that hair and makeup and clothes and accessories stuff - I am a tomboy forever).

She gets a little antsy about posting about disappointments, failures, fears, angers at times. I try to tell her that all of this is as important as all the happy times.

Purpose is born out of that. You never know, she may have the key that unlocks someone from the mental prison in which they reside.

And the same with me. I don't really care for food for thought posts, as much as I do my smurfy posts.

So I hope you understand where I'm coming from.

This post is already long, and it's about to get longer.

I wanted to list 3 things in my life from which my life's purpose is born.

1. I am an Encourager. Man. NOTHING pleases me more than encouraging people. Just being an encourager. Oh, that just really lights a fire in my heart.

That part of me is born out of my personal pain. I grew up with a mother who didn't know how to encourage. In fact, you had to be careful not to say the wrong thing to her, because she WILL use it against you. As a result, I've always been a terribly quiet individual, and I only trust individuals who I can say what I have to say and not be frickin' punished for it. And that's hard. (My BFF LadyTee always sayd, Lee. I have to drag stuff out of you. You so private, gotta drag whatever it is that's wrong out of you!)

To me, there is nothing worse than people who, when you see them coming, you want to run the other way, because they mentally drain you, instead of building you up. I don't do well with people who, when they walk in the room, they cause havoc and choas in the life of others, leaving mental carnage in their path. That bothers me down deep. Waaaay down deep.

So, I am a direct opposite of such. I don't mind listening. I will literally stop what I do and listen, and find a way to encourage. I refuse to use what I learn against you. If I can have ANY part in you having the advantage, then I'm totally down with that. It just ain't in me to do so. 9 times out of 10, I will ask you a TON of questions, let you talk to and encourage your ownself. I love encouraging people. Just love it, love it, love it.

2. I am a Teacher. I love to teach. That's one of the few joys of my job: finding a way to train a person on their level. I just loooooove to teach. People that I like being around, they have very strong teaching spirits. I'm sooo drawn to such... The best part of grad school for me was the teaching component of it. I just love to teach.

3. I am a writer. Boy oh Boy, if you didn't know how much I like to write, well, now you know. I just loooooove to write. Not sure where that came from. I've always been a master journaller. Then I think our women's fellowship at church had a "Readers and Writers" group, and I got nosy and attended it. We talked about journalling and writing, and I'd actually gotten a chance to talk to other church memebers who like to write and had actually published books. I think a great seed was planted at that time, some 8 years ago. And it has grown.

What has been terribly interesting to me is a mini-explosion of people reading my work over the past month. And I'm talking about things I've had put up for a long time, you know, finish writing it, and throwing it in the closet. And it's been such a blessing talking to the readers and discussing what they liked, what they didn't like, what touched their hearts, etc. It's really stirred something up in me, and I am glad of that. Definitely a place from which my purpose is born. So my purpose is born from those three things... It's like a chord made of three strands, making it stronger. This is where my success is, where my peace is, where my abilities to be a blessing to others' lay. It's where my passion lay.When you look at the fruit I produce on my tree, it involves some aspect of those 3 things I listed above. It's my place called happy.

Well! That's the purpose series. You have reader Ginae to thank for it. She asked asimple question about purpose in my comment section.

I had to tie up my sneakers and holler "Whelp! Guess I better get into this!"

And I'm so very glad I did.

Yes indeed.