Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

Her name was Fannie Lou Hamer, a fierce 60s Civil Rights activist in mean old Mississippi. She was sick and tired of being sick and tired and decided to do something about it, even to the extent of taking on the Democratic National Convention to question the seating of the Mississippi delegates at the convention.

Not too long ago, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I began to ask myself some hard questions. How could I, as a firm believer in the Lord, Jesus Christ, find myself in a place of worry and anxiety? Why was I still wrestling with the past rather than trusting God not only for my future, but also for my present? Why was I still putting my trust in mankind (who had already proven they should not be trusted) rather than in a God who had proven Himself to me over and over and over? "Why", as one woman asked me those many years ago, "was I made out to be the bad guy?" And why was I still pitching my tent in that miserable valley? I know I am wired for worry and I realized that I needed to submit that pre-disposition to the authority of God. But how?

I finally declared to myself, "Enough is enough," and determined to fast and pray on the matter. I entered into the fast with the thought that I would fast until God declared "the end." This time I also decided that each time a hunger pang hit I would think on the word of God and pray. In times past, when the hunger pangs hit, I only though about food. This time I turned my appetite to God to feast on His word and to hunger for His righteousness. This became my daily routine and the stronger the hunger pangs, the stronger my prayers.

It is not important how long I fasted, but when I came out of the fast, I came out with the calm assurance that through it all Jehovah Shammah is indeed with me. These days my worry switch is not so easily flipped, after all, if God is for me, who (or what) can be against me. I have that peace that confounds me. When I do feel the tickle of worry, I immediately turn to God (Phil 4:6-7).

No, I have not reached perfection. There are still days when the enemy points out the losses and what I do not have, days when I wonder "What the heck happened?" There are times when he pokes me in my spirit and asks, "So, where is the love?" But, when these moments show up, I remind myself that I am the apple of God's eye, that He has my name written on His hand and that He catches my tears in a bottle. He will be my vindicator long after I've forgotten the hurt and gotten over the heartache. He truly is my light and my salvation. He fills the voids in my life and I am (thank you, Marvin) stronger and wiser and so much better.

I get joy when I think about what He's done for me!

Just For Fun

SOMETIMES YOU GOTTA GET YOUR PRAISE ON!
Donna M. Williams
(Any resemblance to anyone living is Holy Spirit revelation)

Miz Ima Mae Wonderin is an older woman at my church. She is almost old enough to be my mother but in spite of the age difference she is my friend. I called Miz I. M. (the name her friends call her) the other day, but she couldn’t talk long. “Maisie’s visiting baby, and its time for her to get out of my guest bedroom.” Maisie is Miz I. M’s oldest friend and her very best friend.

She called me later to tell me about Maisie’s visit:

Maisie and I decided last year that we would have a girlfriend week-end every three months. We just wanted to make time to laugh and talk with each other without our husbands snoring in the background. It was my turn to go over to Maisie’s house a few months ago when she just suddenly showed up on my doorstep that Thursday evening.

Now, Maisie and her husband Archie have done well for themselves. They live in a nice four bedroom house. Actually, it’s Archie who has done well, even if he does tend to wear “high water” black pants, black shoes and white socks most of the time. So, Miss Maisie ain’t had to hit a lick at a snake since they been married. She has a closet full of those star spangled suits with all the matching accessories, purses, shoes, and even underwear. She wears those big hats with feathers chasing each other around her head, except when she‘s wearing those flower gardens of hers. Maisie and Archie are sitting pretty, that’s for sure. I keep telling her she’s going to fall off those high heels one day and break her neck. She quickly let me know that those shoes of hers were not high heels but stilettos. I told her I was surprised they still let her toes in ‘em.

Maisie never had any children, but she made up for it by trying to spoil my two. I finally had to tell her, “Listen here, Miss Maisie, I’m trying to raise these children to realize that in the real world nothing comes easy, that there is no such thing as a free lunch. Life is not about silver platter service, or to paraphrase Langston Hughes, ‘Life ain’t gone be no crystal stair’ for them. Then I had to remind her that she was my best friend, and I was not trying to hurt her feelings, but those were my children. Hmph! She kept spoiling them anyway.

Maisie is a good soul, but she does have one fault. She gets the blues, too easy and too often. It doesn’t take much for her to crawl into that overstuffed bed of hers in the Master bedroom, “my boudoir” she calls it, though I sure don‘t know why she thinks of it as a Master bedroom. There ain’t anything of Archie in it. Nothing but flowers and frills and fluff. She should call it the Mistress bedroom. Anyway, she will hide out in that room for days and weeks because she has the blues. I told Maisie a long time ago maybe she should see a doctor about her mood swings, maybe something was physically wrong, a chemical imbalance or something. She took my advice, reluctantly, and went to a doctor. They didn’t find anything wrong. Then I suggested that maybe she needed to see a psychologist. Well, that girl didn’t speak to me for a month, but when Archie threatened to have her institutionalized after one of her “spells” lasted for six weeks (he was just joking), she went to see one, who told her she was as well adjusted as could be expected for a woman of her age and experiences. She did have some issues, but doesn’t everyone? Anyway, they didn‘t find any emotional reasons for her blues, and her life issues ain’t that complex. That’s when I decided that Maisie‘s gets the blues by choice. She chooses to have the blues. Still, I didn‘t say anything, after all she is my best friend and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I don’t live with her, and when she gets the blues, Archie just goes fishing, that’s how he copes with Maisie‘s blues. If Archie likes it, then I love it!

Anyway, Maisie shows up on my doorstep that Thursday evening, and she brought her blues with her. She went into my guest bedroom, closed the door in my face, put on one of those fancy gowns of hers and crawled into my bed. I served her dinner in bed that Thursday night. I served her breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed on Friday. When I wanted to talk to her, I had to talk to her through the door because she said my being in the room made her migraine worse. Finally, I decided enough was enough. The blues at her house was one thing, but the blues in my guest room, well enough is enough and too much stinks. Maisie didn‘t come to visit me; she came to visit my guest bedroom. So I said, “Malsie, I believe you have a migraine, but its spelled m-y¬-g-r-a-i-n-e, not m-i-g-r-a-i-n-e.” Then I had to apologize because she is my best friend, and I was not trying to hurt her feelings.

That Saturday morning I knocked on my guest bedroom door and announced that if she wanted to eat she was going to have to get up and fix it herself because Saturday at my house is “catch as catch can.” Saturday is also my cleaning day, and she needed to come out and help me, get some energy flowing in that prostrate body of hers. I was playing a tape by Babbie Mason, and one of the songs I really like is called “Carry On.” That’s when it occurred to me just what Maisie needed. “Maisie,” I said, “What you need to do when your blues show up is to carry on.” Of course she didn’t understand, so I read Psalm 100 to her: “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord. That’s carrying on, Maisie.” I read Psalm 34 to her: “I will bless the Lord at all times. That’s carrying on Maisie. You need to learn to carry on in your blues so that you can carry on through your blues! Carrying on is praising God in spite of how you feel! A real loud carrying on could be just what you need. “

Of course I know that Maisie does not believe in this carrying on and loud noise business. She told me once that she praises God in the peaceful meditation of the quiet revelation of the spirit. Hmph! Sometimes I enjoy a peaceful meditation in the quiet revelation of the spirit, but most of the time, as Maisie has pointed out to me more than once, I am loud. The first time I visited Maisie‘s church my Amens and Hallelujahs were so loud I woke up half of the preachers in the pulpit, and all of the folks in the pews. Maisie had the nerve to tell me that I had embarrassed her. Well, I told her that my God is a big God, and I am going to give him big loud praise, I don’t care where I am or who I embarrass. Then I had to apologize because she is my best friend and I was not trying to hurt her feelings.

Maisie is still not convinced about this carrying on business, but I know that what she needs is one good shout! Sometimes, you just gotta get your praise on! Sometimes you just gotta shout it out! That’s what I’m talking about!

Miz I. M., in her own inimitable way, has again given me food for thought. Someone has said that attitude is 99% of all we do. After our conversation, I thought back to the times when I felt defeated emotionally and spiritually, times when I gave in to my own brand of blues. You know, sometimes my bluesy attitude foreshadows defeat before anything negative even happens. I just might need to learn to carry on a little myself. How about you? Do you feel like carrying on? I was just wondering.

Miz I.M. was given to me by the Lord for an inaugural Women’s Conference because I was concerned about the lack of laughter for the sake of laughter in most such conferences. She is a blend of the older women I knew as a small girl growing up in North Texas. I, through Miz I. M., provided comic relief with a spiritual message for the women at that first conference and she became a fixture at the women fellowships even if some ladies were a little chagrinned that their First Lady had the temerity to “become” Miz I.M. Strange enough, the ladies never remembered Miz I. M.’s name but they all knew Maisie!