Elections of Hope; Elections of Fear

No matter your political affiliation, it is hard to argue that President Barack Obama ran his campaigns on a platform of hope. For 8 years, he painted the image of a brighter, more unified America that was capable of overcoming our social ails and reminding the rest of the world why we're the greatest Nation. Whether you agree or disagree with his politics, and no matter on which side of the aisle your support falls, can we agree for a minute that millions of Americans went to the polls is 2 subsequent elections driven by 'hope'?

I had the sobering thought today that the 2016 election is not based on hope, but on fear, from both sides.

On one side, there is fear of established government and more of the same. There's fear that America will never be "great again." This segment of the voting populous is concerned that we've escaped traditional American values and that we must do everything we can to get them back. Sadly, this group also likely fears the idea of a female President. Afterall, until quite recently, the American President has always been a White male. They experienced the change with the rest of us, and they didn't like it.

On the other side, the fear is based on hate-filled language, perceived incompetence, and promises for sweeping changes to a system they've come to know, understand and trust. There is fear of walls erected and liberties trampled and rhetoric rather than action. There are likely other fears that I'm not even beginning to cover.

My fear is the result of fear on our democracy. What happens when we go to polls, or worse - avoid the polls - because we are driven by fear? What happens to our level of excitement, or worse - our level of apathy - when we know we haven't provided our best hope for the country?

It's been my experience that decisions based on fear rarely end well. We may make what seems like the best decision in the moment. We choose between the lesser of two evils. We select the option that hurts less. But in the end, we still suffer.

It's too late to undo the process that lead us here. And while I certainly have a preferred outcome, my outcome is still based on what I fear. Perhaps something will happen between now and November that will spark some hope in me, but for now . . . I'm fearful.

How about you?

I Survived the First Year

It's probably not a good sign when you begin a sentence with "I survived." Then again, the alternative to survival is sometimes death, more often defeat. So when viewed through that lens, ' I survived' doesn't sound like such a terrible fate.

When the upside is survival, the implication is that some hurdles were crossed, possibly even some battles won.

This was my first year as a teacher of record in a public school classroom. I survived.

Not my classroom (Photo credit: Morguefile)

Those of you who are reading this and have spent more than a year in this profession can likely empathize. Chances are, you remember your first year in the classroom and perhaps you even have a fond memory.

Teachers exchange first year stories in the same way that mothers exchange childbirth stories. Each one has a tale more harrowing than the last, but in the end, the memory brings about laughter. Why? They survived.

I'm not quite far enough removed from the bumps and bruises of this year to laugh yet. Although I did laugh a lot in the midst of storm - mostly to keep from crying.

This year began quite harmlessly and with extreme optimism. Teaching, for me, was a career change that I embraced as something connected to my life's passion. In all that I do, I aim to educate and after many years serving in the non-profit sector, I welcomed this opportunity to contribute firsthand to the lives of young people other than the ones who share my DNA.

I'd done a couple of years of tutoring and while in summer training for my alternative certification program, a lady I'd worked with recognized me and introduced me to the Principal at an "inner city" school. For those of you new to this language, "inner city" is the term used to describe schools in broken, forgotten neighborhoods. I did not interview anywhere else. Frankly, I felt honored to be remembered and glad to be offered a job. I believed I could do a good job despite the hardships that faced the neighborhood and the children it sends to school.

I felt like the training I'd received over the summer along with the additional classes I attended voluntarily were adequate preparation for the classroom. The school staff and my fellow teachers were warm and receptive, always quick to offer me guidance and support. I realize that's not everyone's experience, so it's important to me to share how grateful I am for that.

Unfortunately, there was no amount of standard training, preparation, or support that could have set me up for success. What I needed was a crash course in poverty mindset and a boot camp for how to reach a child that has declared themselves unreachable.

In this world of education, there is no shortage of finger pointing. Teachers blame parents. Parents blame teachers. Children blame both. Everyone blames administrators. The system blames the community. The community blames the system. It's tiresome and disheartening, and yet, we cannot function in society without education or without educators.

I kept showing up. Kept giving it my best shot. Day after day, I was willfully disrespected. Day after day, I was willfully ignored. I was offered coaching and corrective action around classroom management. Certainly if I was better at classroom management I would not be encountering those problems. Right?

My fellow teachers continued to encourage me to "hang in there." They spoke encouraging words as often as they saw me. "Jae, you're good with those kids." "It's not your fault." "They're just bad."

Bad? Bad? The word is ringing in my head like a gunshot.

It got to the point, and I'm not proud of this, that I started to think of them as "bad," too. I taught 2nd grade this year. How do we live in a community that accepts "bad" as an appropriate description for a second grader?

While I sit here and type this, I feel my heart crumbling. They're babies. They're not bad. They're broken. They're broken because we (the collective we) broke them. We let them grow up in a food desert. We cut funding for medical services, especially behavioral health. We don't send someone to check on them when their caregivers go to jail. We let their learning, social and behavioral disorders go undiagnosed and we put miles of red tape between teachers and access to services.

I love children and I really wanted to be a great teacher. Instead, I resigned from the District that reared me and my children in a fit of frustration and emotion because I felt helpless. When the dust settled and my heart and mind were more clear, it was too late to rescind my resignation. So in order to continue in this profession, I'd have to reapply.

Although I survived, I'm wounded. The thought of giving it another shot excites me some days, and horrifies me others. And yet, this display of free speech may have sealed the deal altogether. Perhaps no one will be willing to take a chance on me having laid my full hand exposed on the table.

There's also the chance, though, that someone else - another survivor - will read this and know the perfect place for me to begin again. Perhaps there is some other role aligned with my gifts and talents that is begging to be filled. Who knows.

What I do know is that, for me, writing is cathartic and I needed to share this experience with you tonight.

~/~

I welcome your feedback and comments.

Goodnight.

There's Nothing Worse Than

I vow to use the phrase 'there's nothing worse than' no fewer than 10 times throughout this post and then I'm laying it to rest. It's one of those phrases that we say and hear so often that we become immune to it. Dare I say cliche?

There I was watching television - not sure what was on and it's not important - and a commercial came on - not sure what for and it's not important. What is important is that the commercial began with the phrase 'there's nothing worse than' and was followed by something seriously trivial like not having the right creamer for your coffee. I'm a coffee drinker and I use creamer, and again, I don't remember the commercial at all, but suddenly that phrase rung out of the television like it was the first time I'd ever heard it.

Suddenly, I was angry with the writers of the commercial. I know their job is to create a sense of urgency and importance for their product. But seriously!? Nothing worse than hypothetically running out of creamer?

People are dying from natural and unnatural causes. We have ISIS, Donald Trump, street bombings, school shooting, random police killing unarmed citizens, mothers losing children, children having children, an educational crisis, poverty at home and abroad and you mean to tell me you can't think of anything worse than a creamer problem?

As a public school educator, I can come up with an easy laundry list of 'there's nothing worse than' statements that might hold up, and yet, there would still be SOMETHING worse than anything I put on my list. Heaven forbid we should actually experience a 'there's nothing worse than' moment - come face to face with the reality of something which has no superlative worse.

My current fixation on this particular phrase rest in a larger context of how loosely we use words and how often we fail to think before we speak.

We say things for the shock and awe. We have to one up the person's story we just heard. My gun is bigger and so's my d**k. So rather than simply examining the things we actually mean to say, we find a way to dress it up; sell it to closest available consumer. Well, I'm not buying.

Keep your big gun and big d**k. (Well, maybe not that second part - I ain't dead.) Keep your hypothetical creamer that there's nothing worse than running out of. And stop (politely) saying shyt that you don't mean or that doesn't mean anything.

There's nothing worse than saying shyt just because it sounds good.
There's nothing worse than promising to say something 10 times and realizing you said it 5.
There's nothing worse than having a perfectly sensible idea for a blog and getting so wound up in your emotions that you forget half of it.
There's nothing worse than waking up from a nap with peanut butter heartburn, which I did earlier.
There's nothing worse than not having the right creamer for your coffee.

Actually, there's a BUNCH of shyt worse than that last one which was what started this rant in the first place. More about that whole think before you speak thing in a later blog, but for now, please join me in burying the phrase 'there's nothing worse than' unless you are mentioning the apocalypse.

Going to the Past to Claim my Future

I've fallen off the blog bandwagon. Despite knowing that I MUST write - because it keeps me breathing - I'd stopped. I've been holding my breath. Nothing is particularly unusual about that. I hold my breath a lot and then wonder why I can't breathe.

I'd been keeping a blog called "The T Room" on WordPress and when I decided to dust off my blogging fingers, I discovered that there was a problem with my WordPress site. Well, I could have taken that as an omen and just called it quits. However, as was perfectly stated in church this morning, "I did not survive the storm for a snake to kill me." So, I came back to my original blog space - before I got too bougie for Blogger. I found the blog "What Does TJae Have to Say?" still working and functional, so I decided to re-brand it and go boldly in the direction of my future.

This space will still hold what TJae has to say, but I didn't love that title anymore. The new title "Twelve thirty-four" happens to be my favorite time on the clock. It's the only standard time which uses four digits in their numerical order. Somehow, most days, I am able to catch the clock right as it strikes 12:34 and for a moment I'm reminded that there is a system and order in the world - no matter how much chaos I happen to be experiencing. For a moment, I remember love. When I catch the clock at 12:34 and I'm in a position to do so, I text my husband. The text will simply say 12:34. No other words are necessary.

So this blog is an homage to systems, order and love. When I write - for me - all those things exist.

Please join me on a journey toward my future. If, in fact, the scheduling feature works, I will share the posts at 12:34 - sometimes a.m., sometimes p.m. - depending on which is nearer to the time of actual writing.

Please subscribe, share and comment. Almost as much as I love writing, I love dialog. Let's begin a conversation. Thanks, in advance, for participating in my resuscitation.

When I Need a Smile

Sometimes life is stressful. I know that comes as a surprise to some folks. I adopted the motto some time ago that I have enough necessary stress in my life so I avoid unnecessary stress whenever possible. Funny how even when I'm trying to avoid it - especially when I'm trying to avoid it - it finds me anyway.

Sometimes the stress is small - I can't find the belt to my dress. That happened this morning. But it shouldn't have caused me any stress at all. I couldn't find the belt to this same dress last week when I wore it.

Sometimes the stress is big - my youngest daughter saying mean and derogetory things to her brother. That happened last night, but I just heard about it this morning. I imagine this would cause me some stress if the remarks had been directed toward one of her older sisters - they've been going back and forth at each other for a long time. I've already written it off because I heard it happening both ways and I know it's usually a matter of steel sharpening steel. But now - it's her brother - who is not only 6, but also has only been her brother for a little over a year. He doesn't have the benefit of knowing (or at least believing) that she's not trying to hurt him. Nor do I have the complete confidence that she wasn't, in that instance, just being mean (which I've seen from time to time.) Adding to the stress is that the report came from my husband about his biological son and his non-biological daughter. And my hyper-sensitive ears can't help but hear the report as "your daughter is bullying my son."

Not exactly the best way to start the morning . . .Funny, I was in a perfectly excellent mood up till that moment.

Anyway - although I left home frustrated, with a lump in my heart and in my throat - I was (am) determined to not let the rest of the day stay in the toilet.

One of the things I do when I am having a bad day is look at pictures of happier times. Through the beauty of the computer, I have access to photos from our engagement photo shoot, our wedding and multiple family outings - photos taken on happy days when everyone is smiling . . . and I remember that we have had some great days together. Also, since some of the photos are more recent than others and since I can recall days between those pictures that weren't always so wonderful - I know there is a certain ebb and flow. I know that better does exist.

In my quest toward happy memories this morning, I ran across this picture from our wedding. It was sort of a hidden gem . . . I'd forgotten it was taken. This picture shows a family that is happy and joyful. The woman in this picture is clearly in love with this man and the man in this picture is clearly happy about the life he is entering. There are a myriad of other emotions displayed by the other people in the picture, but mostly - people who love and support this man and this woman . . . .what a beautiful memory from a truly happy day.



This picture makes me smile. And it has added some sunshine to what started out as an overcast day. And lookie there - it's time for lunch . . . the day just keeps getting better!

Dorothy We're Not in Kansas Anymore

This week, my oldest daughter transferred from one of the highest academically ranking schools in our school district to one of the lowest academically ranking schools in our school district. She struggled with math in general beginning in ninth grade and specifically now, in her Junior year - Pre-Calculus and Physics (which is more math than science). Rather than continue to flounder in a situation that left her feeling unsuccessful and totally stressed out, she asked to be transfered to the school she is zoned to. Houston ISD does not allow more than one Magnet transfer per school year, so that really limited the selection process.

At her old school, she was just another smart kid. Afterall, because of the school rankings, the best and brightest from all over the city make their way there. The school is neat and orderly. There is one full-time police officer. The office is run efficiently. There is a uniform and it is actively adhered to. The children respect their teachers and listen in class - they know why they are there and they know what it takes to stay there. At the same time - there is a lot of pressure for success there. The competition is stiff. The work is challenging. Being there comes standard with a lot of sleepless nights trying to complete (often college-level) homework assignments. Leaving middle school it's where we all thought she needed to be. And we were right. She "fit" there.

At her new school . . . there are likely a lot of smart kids who don't yet know how smart they are. Or they've learned that is better to be cool than to be smart. Or they've learned that being street smart is better than being book smart. No one is beating down the doors to attend. They, in fact, are working hard to overcome the fact that they have one of the highest dropout statistics in the district. The office workers are very nice and polite. They do the best they can to point you in the right direction, but yesterday was the second day of school and my daughter was finally issued textbooks and does not yet have a locker assigned to hold them. The principal has instituted a uniform dress code and the children are not taking it well . . . it make take her longer than she plans to get it catch on. The school is neat and orderly - at least on the days when I visited it was. There are, I believe, 4 full time police officers on duty. They are not hard to find. My daughter says she saw two people get arrested on day one and she's told that is a regular occurence. There are pregnant students and students who are parents. My daughter knew the statistics surrounding these "kinds of events" and know she knows it up close. Dorothy we're not in Kansas anymore. She said she doesn't understand why so many conversations, no matter where they begin, end with a discussion on "doin' it." I'm glad these things come as a shock to her.

On the other hand, she has gotten the first restful, full-night's sleep that she's had in 3 years. Her spirit is lighter and she's smiling a lot more. She's a bit of mystery to the people at her new school - adults and children alike. She's always been a bit of mystery to me too. And I think she likes that about herself. She's very much her own person and not easily swayed, so I don't worry that her new daytime environment will engulf her. I do believe, though, that it will help to round her out and make her more in tuned to who she is.

Right now the people of Munchkin land just want to know who this girl is who fell out of the sky and landed in their city. She looks different. She talks different. She acts different. The trick will be finding out if they can point her towards Oz and if when she gets there she'll be able to show them that the big scary stuff they've all feared is just smoke and mirrors.

Words

It took me a while to decide if I would blog about this. I live in Houston, TX. In the news recently there has been a lot of discussion (rightfully so) about the shooting committed by Nidal Hasan at Fort Hood in Killeen - which is a few hours drive from here.

13 people died in the shooting. By any account, this is a horrible incident.

The following day, I had a conversation with a man who said, "Well, I guess we should put an end having Moslems in the military." My mouth fell open. For a minute I thought not to respond - not to engage in any way. But then I said, "I'm not prepared to make a blanket statement about all Muslims just because some nut lost it." His follow up comments, which I do not remember verbatim, were something along the lines of - He wasn't just some nut. He was shouting Allah while he was shooting. He was following the Qu'ran. Etc. . . .

Oh my God! I wanted to just start shouting right then but I didn't. I tried to ignore him, but he just kept talking for another five or so minutes.

Perhaps the man did not remember that for about six years on my Spiritual journey, I practiced Islam. Perhaps remembering that wouldn't have made him any difference at all. He felt it. He felt like he was entitled to express it.

Let's suppose for a minute that the gun weilding person had been a black man and instead of shouting Allah, he was shouting - Death to Whitey! Or supposed the gunman had been a gunwoman and she attributed the breakdown to PMS. Would this man then have said that's the end of letting all Black in the military or all women? And haven't we already been down both those roads before?

And since I happen to be both Black and female, would he have felt as comfortable sharing his sentiments with me then, if by chance he didn't feel like he would have found some solidarity in his statement? I wonder.

I wonder if we truly understand the power of our words to affect change - both positively and negatively. I wonder if we honestly consider what we say and its ramifications - not just on our immediate environment, but on the world.

What a sad world we live in. What makes me even more sad is the thought of Muslim (Moslem) soldiers in the US military having to face this kind of ignorance and having to watch their backs - not just in "enemy territory" but in their barracks.

I hate that it is even necessary, in 2009, to have to write such an editorial. In kindergarten I learned a song, "Let There Be Peace on Earth." The lyrics say, "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me." And so I begin - one peaceful word at a time.

I welcome your feedback.

When Love Holds Your Hand

When love holds your hand
That hand feels empowered
To handle any task
To open any door
To move any mountain
To wipe any tear
To take any test
To mend any rip
To clean any stain
To sow any field
To scold any wrong

When love holds your hand
That hand feels encouraged
To hold another hand
To keep holding
Even when the grip is loose
Even when the joints ache
Even when it’s wet from tears and sweat
Even when that hand wants not to be held

When love holds your hand
That hand knows it’s been held
There’s no mistake
There’s no confusion
There’s no doubt
There’s no worry
There’s no fear

There’s just love

When love holds your hand
Hold on.

Tracie Jae 8-20-09

Transparency

Our church has a series of videos called Transparency. They are available to view on several places on the web: YouTube, www.LifeMill.ning.com and Facebook.

Oftentimes people are afraid to be transparent for fear that if people know too much about them, they may not be accepted. Deep down and sometimes, right on the surface, we all want to be accepted.

I've never considered myself to be hard to figure out, or hard to get to know. I have realized though, that I used to hold a lot more of myself back. The older I get the more inclined I am to say what I feel and to be very much the same person in all surroundings.

I'm more likely to be transparent.

That freedom of transparency has transferred over to my marriage and I love it. We had a few very open conversations this weekend about ourselves, each other and our union. I feel the brink of a communication breakthrough.

Keep Smiling

Because of the nature of my job - front desk at a busy, downtown church - I am expected to smile. No matter what, keep smiling.

It doesn't matter if my shoes don't fit, or I woke up late, or someone at home ate my apple - I'm expected to smile.

This isn't my first front desk job. In my early working days, I spent a lot of time at some front desk or another. In doing so, I learned to mask my emotions. I learned to smile without really smiling. I learned to always be on guard because you never know who might walk through the door. I've also learned to take a deep breath and smile before I answer the phone so that my heart isn't heard in my voice.

I've done this so well for so long, that even away from work - people tend to expect to see a "smiling Tracie Jae."

Well, dammit, sometimes I don't feel like smiling. (Shock and awe!)

Sometimes I just wanna look the way I feel that day - sour, irritated, angry, tired, frustrated, undone, whatever the emotion - real.

I know a guy who always says, "Real talk." It used to work on my nerves because he said it after almost every sentence. But, just to borrow from him, "Real talk. . . some days are not so smiley."

These days, I have a lot of great reasons to smile. . . a great husband, great children, a nice home, a nice vehicle, gainful employment, healthy parents, a supportive church family, a sound mind (mostly). And yet - even in the midst of all the greatness around me - there are still some days that I don't feel up to smiling all day.

But I do it. I smile all day.

And ever so briefly thoughout the day - I get a chance to breathe. And sometimes in those moments - I'm still smiling . . . and sometimes not.

Add a Word

If you've visited my blog in the past, you'll note that my description has changed by one word - Wife.

I've been, until now, 'Believer, Mother, Friend, Author, Poet.' On January 30th, for the 2nd time in 16 years, I added the word Wife to the line-up.

It's a word that's long overdue. And a word that, perhaps, I've only recently begun to understand. Even in my first go at the job, I didn't have it quite figured out. And at 20 - we don't tend to have most things quite figured out. But who can tell us that?

I am, and my job as Wife is, still very much a work in progress. Looking at my other descriptors, though, I'm still growing and evolving in all areas listed.

As a Believer - I've committed to a particular church and give of my time and my talent when I can. I study the Scripture more often than I had at other times in my life. I suppose marrying a pastor has had a profound impact on all of the above. Having said that - folks who know me - know that I'm doing the things I WANT to do and that I am growing at a pace that is comfortable for me.

As a Mother - My daughters are now 11, 13 & 15. My husband has two boys - ages 5 & 6. The girls challenge me to remember being a teenager; to remember how challenging and awkward and unforgiving those years can be. They remind me that just because you're an authority, doesn't always make you right; and when I'm wrong - I'm learning to admit it. (But I HATE to be wrong.) I'm reminded that we are all individuals and the things that work for some of us - don't work at all for others of us. As for the boys - whew! That's a whole other ballgame. We are only with one son full time - he's 5. I remember my girls at 5: hyper, precocious, inquisitive, loquatious. And he is all of those things. And yet, the little extra bit of testosterone changes the equation. He's slightly more fearless than I remember the girls being at his age. He takes more risks. Sometimes it's my heart that can't take it. Sometimes it's my mind. And sometimes, it's his fearlessness that makes him wonderful to watch. Each of them push me to love more aggressively and to love equally and differently all at once.

As a Friend - I'm learning to let go. I'm learning to appreciate people where they are and also recognize that I can't always be where they are with them. Sometimes, it's better to walk away. I am learning to accept help when it's offered and say thank you more often. I have been a better friend to some folks than they have been to me. It's a blessing and a curse that I have carried with me from adolescence. That statement does not mean that now I will become less of a friend. It means that I will place a higher expectation on the people I allow to wear that badge.

As an Author/Poet - In December 2007, I publised a book of poetry called "Freedom's Verse." Most of the poems in the book were written well before December 2007. Before that, I published a novel entitled, "The Puzzle." That feels like a lifetime ago. And in many respects, it was. For a while, I'd lost my desire to write, so even the projects that I began felt like work and writing had always been a passion and had never felt like work. So I walked away for a while. I stopped journaling and blogging and writing poetry - almost forgot how to do it - began to develop gift atrophy. I feel a few projects brewing inside: a poem with only two lines, a book I started long ago, another blog that perhaps will write itself tomorrow - my heart is beating again. It's hard work to recover from a coma. But at least now my eyes are open and I'm making audible sounds.


As for where this blog began: As a Wife - I am learning to trust - not in the sense that I believe my husband will be faithful (although I trust that too.) I am learning to trust that someone else can have the same good intentions for me that I have for myself, that someone else is capable of looking out for my best interest, that someone else can make decisions that affect me and my daughters and it will be okay. I am learning to be transparent in my feelings and my fears. None of this is easy for me. I am learning to not only do the things that are expected, but a few unexpected things too. Although I'm not so easily swayed, I am also learning that there are other points of view beyond my own. Marriage has reinforced the idea for me that small things matter: small kindnesses, early morning kisses, hot meals, midday phone calls - all matter.

Here I sit, Tracie Jae, 'Believer, Wife, Mother, Friend, Author, Poet' - a work in progress.

Some Days

Some days I'm so in love it hurts. . . my eyes are crossed, I can't see straight

Some days the line blurs between who I've been, who I am and who I'm becoming

Those people don't feel like me.

This girl, with all her impulses to do right

This girl, who just wants to be helpful

This girl, who holds on to the last breath . . . . not realizing she might be turning blue.

Some days the urge is to build the wall

Some days the urge is to tear the wall down - barehanded - bruised - bleeding

Some days she can't let the love in

Because then she'll have to feel it

And sometimes feeling doesn't feel good at all

Somedays she walks backward

Along the path she made

And sees how far she's come

And some days

She stands completely still

Starring at the road ahead

Realizing how far there is to go

This girl . . . playing dress up in mother's shoes

This girl . . . wanting to be grown

This girl . . . saying bedtime prayers on her knees

Some days this girl knows . . . that she's not a girl anymore

And some days this woman wishes that she was.

Here Am I. Send me!

Isaiah 6: 5-8

5.
"Woe to me!" I cried. "I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty."
6.
Then one of the seraphs flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the altar.
7.
With it he touched my mouth and said, "See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for."
8.
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I. Send me!"


It seems that wherever I am, I am needed. It seems that I've arrived at just the right time to help; to get whatever place, whatever company, whatever cause - to the next level. For a while I wondered what it was about me that created that presence. Now I know, it's bigger than that.

I have an Isaiah spirit. I am sendable. I don't know if I've ever said it to God outloud or in prayer, but I've definitely opened myself up to His direction. Often I don't know how or why I wound up in a particular place. Not that I'm lost or anything. It's just that I have had an odd set of experiences for a person who is only 35.

Most recently, the event that occured that I found strange was that (through a temp agency) I went to work for a large, prominent church in Downtown Houston. I was sent here at a time in my life when I really needed some stability and I really needed to be around people who know how to love. What I didn't know was that, in addition to possibly saving my life, I would be gaining many skills that I would need for the next phase in my journey.

I met a man - who'd a thunk? Through my association and then relationship with this man, I became part of a new church plant (a start-up church). And to add to that, this man (my man) is on the track to become an Ordained Minister (already a local pastor). I've learned a lot about the business of running a church. It's been useful. Hopefully this will all pay off.

I'm interested in seeing where I will be sent next and in what way I will be able to serve God by serving others.

Ordered Steps

"In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps." Proverbs 16:9

I have asked God to please order my steps. I've asked on countless occasions in the last 6-9 months. What I failed to do, though, was 1) be still and listen to His instructions and 2) actually let Him do that. That was true until about 2 weeks ago.

Since February 2, I've dated a really wonderful man. And since February 3, I've known that I did not ever want to date anyone else. It felt, at the same time, completely natural and altogether frightening. But I'd heard God's voice loudly - not as a whisper; as a shout. This was the man He was preparing me for. And meanwhile, He was preparing this man for me. It's hard to ignore God when He shouts at you.

What I had begun to do, though, was to ignore the whisper. God would subtly drop a hint about a thing I should do or not do, say or not say - and although I thought I heard Him, (sometimes I KNEW I heard Him) I was not being obedient. Then the messages came a little louder and closer together. And I was still being stubborn. Then all of a sudden - not really all of a sudden since I'd had so many warning - things came crashing down around me all at once.

I could hear God clear as an October day, "Why are you making me shout? I was really trying not to shout at you." And not only did He shout at me, He was using my children and this man whom I've fallen in love with to do it. My children - literally - shouted. This man who I love makes a practice of not shouting, but he was extremely direct in telling me the things I most needed to hear. He spoke using God's voice.

Well since then, approximately 3 weeks have passed. I've got some clear directives from God about where He wants me to go - places I've wanted to take myself - but now I'm letting God drive. Since I moved over into the passenger seat, I can still see where we're headed, but I'm no longer in control. I go when He says go; stop when He says stop. There are consequences for trying to take the wheel from the driver, and I know that. So, like I tell my daughters - we will ride until the car stops. True-be-told, I like the view from the passenger side and I'm a lot less stressed.

Farewell 2007!

I'm not sure when I could last look back over a twelve month period and note clear changes. 2007 is one such year. I remember the beginning of 2007 like it was yesterday.

January 2007 marked the 1^st anniversary of the death of my father-in-law. My second reconciliation effort in my marriage of 14 years was spiraling rapidly downward. We had moved in to my mother-in-law's house and most of the material possessions I'd accumulated in my 2 year separation were either left behind in our old house or set outside for heavy-trash. I was in my 3^rd month at a new job at a church, but still on the temp agency payroll. I invited my friends to celebrate my 34^th birthday by serving the homeless with me and then attending brunch. I thought if I did something great for someone else, it would make me feel better about my life. Yet, I was miserable. Miserable! Not only was I miserable, but I lived in a constant state of fear and agitation. I was nervous that everyday would be the day that the collective frustration that my husband and I heaped on each other would come to a head. I, passive by nature, and he, aggressive by nature, would hit the proverbial brick wall. I did not eat well. I did not sleep well. I cried more than any adult woman should. I felt guilty for angering him to the point where he would want to inflict bodily harm on me. I looked at my own reflection and saw a stranger.

On Superbowl Sunday, I had enough. I attended the regular service at the local Mosque to hear Dr. Alim Muhammad speak. He'd spoken the night before, but I had been forbidden from attending. I left Sunday without waking him. I went to the Mosque. It has always been a place where I felt safe. Although I have not practiced Islam for nearly 10 years, I knew I would be welcome and loved in that space. My husband called me continually and I did not answer his calls until the end of the service when I had already decided that would be the day I was leaving. I called my father and asked him to come with me to collect my and my children's belongings. My 3 daughters and I moved in with my parents that day.

Man! It feels like yesterday. And yet, it was almost a year ago. And so many things have changed since that day.

I accepted a full-time, permanent position with the church. That fueled my spirit in ways I could never have imagined. I was surrounded daily by people who not only believe in God, but practice their beliefs in their service of others. I did not join the church, but I participated in many of their activities on my off time. Not only did it help me get to know the practices and parishioners of the church, but it helped to heal my soul. It made me want to seek out a place to practice organized religion.

I filed for divorce on July 11^th. I remember the date because it happens to be my parents' wedding anniversary. The divorce was final on September 28^th; one week after my oldest daughter's 14^th birthday.

I have joined a church and enjoy being there. I even sing on the choir. Folks who know me, find that strange. But I love to sing, even if my voice isn't that wonderful. I harmonize well, so it works for a choir voice.

Prior to filing for divorce, I met, dated and fell in love with a truly special man. My timing was all wrong for him because he was in a place in his life where he wanted to settle down and get married. His timing was perfect for me, though. After the relationship with my husband, I could have been bitter and turned off to love completely. But this man showed me so much of what I wanted in a man and in a relationship. Being with him taught me that I could find happiness and, more than that, that I deserved it. He ended the relationship and it hurt my feelings, my ego, and my heart. But what I learned was that I could heal. I wouldn't trade those days for anything.

I'm also much more guarded with my heart these days. I'm making myself available to experiences as they present themselves. My criteria is tightening as I narrow down what I am looking for. Having found nearly all the qualities I was looking for, I know that men like that exist. I know I don't have to settle. I know to be specific in my prayer. I know to work on me. Because the closer I am to what God plans for me, the more likely I am to attract the man that God has planned for me. We get what we give.

In 2007, I finished a book of poetry, contributed my voice and my poem to a play, and started writing my second novel. I have recognized one of my life purposes as being an advocate for women and children.

I recently changed my last name legally to reflect my power to define myself.

Tomorrow is the last day in this calendar year. I am glad to see it leave. So many low places in my life occurred this year, but they were matched almost tit for tat by some of the highest places in my life.

2008 is already a better year than 2007 and it hasn't started yet. I feel great things about to happen and some monumental changes. I know that if I am quiet and listen to the God voice, that I will not go wrong.

In 2008, I hope to complete my second novel, move into a house, get my Spiritual house in order, bring my daughters to church more often, pay more tithes and save more money.

I know I can do these things because "the Lord is my shepherd and I shall not want."

Are You Ready?

I'm willing to embrace that the world may not quite be ready for Tracie Jae. She's a new school woman with an open heart, sound mind, fresh ideas, and a low tolerance for bullshit.

She likes to work smart, not hard; but hard work does not frighten her. She does not scare easily, having already faced most of her fears head-on.

She raises her children to be independent and strong-willed. She wants them to grow into adults whom she will want to call "friend."

She has learned that although honesty can hurt, it is a lot easier than lying.

Tracie Jae sees God in the great and the small. She talks with God and is quiet long enough to hear the response. She is conscious of the God voice even when He whispers. She is not always obedient, but knows and understands consequences.

Tracie Jae is the "Mary Tyler Moore" of 2007. She can turn the world on with her smile. She can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worth while. She's gonna make it afterall.