Overthinking, For Lack of a Better Word

I have the tendency to become caught up in the intricacies of things, titles, for instance. Commas are another. I get caught up in a buffet of thoughts and how to decide which thoughts should darken a page. I get caught up in things like pages, and how this glowy white backdrop is actually not a page. I get caught up in the names of things, how inaccurate words can be. How a name can summon more than identification. How a name, or more accurately, a label, can conjure expectations as well as visual references.

Clearly, I do not find it overwhelming to filter through all of these thoughts, and both their implications and their representations in a judgmental culture. Perhaps all cultures are plagued with a bit of judgment.

Perhaps the title should be…I almost had it. Then I thought that maybe you wouldn’t find the title attractive. Then I thought, perhaps I’m too tired from adulting to wield creativity as I did in my college-aged youth.

Overthinking…it’s a bit generic, maybe, but it fits. Although, I do find the term a bit oxymoronic. How does one measure the appropriate amount of inner-dialogue, self-reflection, or simple ponderings that run free in our minds? Overthinking…there has to be a more accurate word, but the thought hasn’t come to me yet. There are so many other thoughts crowding the way.

What Did Jesus Teach About Prayer, I Wondered.

I could take time to offer a cute little anecdote about how in a conscious effort to get even closer to my mom, I had us start this thing called Word Up Wednesday. I know the title isn’t very original, but the action of it is.

On Wednesdays, my mom and I simply send a scripture to each other and put #WordUp in front of it. Sometimes, it’s race to see which one of us sends the first #WordUp. After several weeks, I’ve noticed that this mom-son thing does three things: 1) it makes sure that, no matter what, on Wednesday my mom and I are going to be in touch, 2) it ensures that I continue to practice self-discipline by sticking with it, and 3) it also enriches my understanding of the bible in real time.

See, there’s no need to share that little anecdote because today is Monday and I had some down time. I ended up in Matthew 5 because I had a question about prayer and that question was: What did Jesus teach about prayer?

After a quick google search, I came across Matthew 5:23-24. To get a better understanding of the context, I went ahead and started at verse 1. Before we get to Matthew 5:23, Jesus begins teaching his disciples what we know as The Beatitudes (Matthew 5:1-12). Next, he uses the metaphors of salt and light to describe his disciples (Matthew 5:13-16). Then Jesus expounds upon the Law, that which the pharisees and other religious leaders all but claimed to practice to the letter (Matthew 5:17-20).

Now, in Matthew 5:21 (NIV), Jesus refers to what the Law said about murderers: “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘You shall not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ 22 But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment.

Jesus’ mentioning of judgment resonated with me because my best friend and I had been discussing the oft quoted Matthew 7:1 (KJV), ” Judge not, that ye be not judged. We also discussed the less often quoted verse 2, which reads: For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.

The King James Version can be a little confusing so the New International Version translates both verses to:  “Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”

So, back to Matthew 5:21. Jesus compares someone being judged (presumably by God) for murder to one who simply carries anger against a loved one (“brother or sister”). By extending judgment beyond the murderer, Jesus leveled the playing field, so to speak. Judgment doesn’t just belong to the murderer, judgement also belongs to anyone who holds anger in their heart towards another, notably a brother or sister. Does anger not ofttimes lead to murder? Hmmm…I’ll explore that thought another time.

Additionally, in Matthew 5:22 (NIV), Jesus goes on to say: Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell. Now, I am honestly unfamiliar with the term ‘Raca’, as I’m sure most people are as it is not a phrase native to our time period or culture. But I am familiar with ‘You fool!’ and even those who utter this phrase will “be in danger of the fire of hell”, according to Jesus. Again, Jesus levels the playing field in my opinion. Meaning none of us should be quick to exalt our ‘righteousness’ over another’s. Likewise, none of us should be quick to put another’s sins over ours. But that’s human nature isn’t it? Perhaps that’s why Jesus said: “Judge not, lest ye be judged”?

If you continue to read Matthew 5, Jesus continues teaching his disciples the fullness of the law similarly to how he taught them about murders and those who harbor anger. He dropped further divine knowledge about adultery, oath breakers, justice, and more. He also advised them on matters they would encounter going forward as his disciples.

Coming across this passage reassured me somehow. Perhaps I understand how Jesus was teaching his disciples that appearances don’t matter to God, that simply adhering to the dos and don’ts of the law does not guarantee righteousness. That though one may not be a murderer in the literal sense, hating your sister is not righteous either. Jesus taught them to be wary of deeming others fools, because by doing so we subject ourselves to judgment. In other words, we are all imperfect. We all have our faults, if we’re being honest. We’re all equal.

And to think, my initial question that led to all this was: “What did Jesus teach about prayer?”

On Turning 30

Despite my efforts to the contrary, I’ve been thinking about death a lot. (Not the celebratory start you were looking for, huh.) Make no mistake, I am thankful to see these 30 years and a day. Very thankful– 2019 has been a great year career-wise, I’ve made monumental steps in strengthening relationships, and I am here. But my cousin is not, he was murdered in his own home. From my understanding, this was some haphazard robbery–the details are still foggy. Then, several days before my birthday, I find out my brother, my lil bruh, had cancer and even his hours were numbered. God answered my prayer and I was able to see him the day before he transitioned.

Passed.

Died.

That I’d have death on my mind makes sense now, huh?

Both of these passings were completely unexpected. But let’s be real, who truly expects death to come to the family reunion? Who actually expects death to sit at the bar with the crew? Death runs in a different crowd, at least, that’s how we live. And who can judge that? Who wants to always be aware of the possibility of death? Of loss? Of pain?

This year, death invited himself into my safe places. And quite frankly, not just this year. The last few years, funerals have gathered the living more than birthday celebrations and weddings. More than baby showers.

And here I am, 30 years old, and I can’t help but wonder why. Now this ain’t no survivors guilt, or maybe it is…nevertheless, why is my brother not letting me know what he’s doing for his 29th birthday? Why is my cousin not chilling at home and watching the game with his dad? How can they suddenly not be here, on this earth, where I am?

Every loss, every death, doesn’t hurt the same. And maybe that is a blessing. Just like being here to ponder about inevitable things like missing the deceased is indeed a blessing. Life is a blessing. But that doesn’t mean you can’t feel cheated. (The things we tell ourselves, right?)

In my 30 years, I have learned that plurality exists. That a man can be both grateful and unsettled. That a person can be at peace and in turmoil. That I can still laugh and smile and converse despite less than shiny thoughts. That I can live while fears of death kick back in the family room with my loved ones.

I would apologize for the solemn nature of this entry, especially due to the title, but it would be a dishonest apology. Why do we feel the compulsion to pretend like everything is alright? Why do we celebrate when we aren’t even quite sure how to grieve? So, I do apologize for the title, especially if this content put you in your feelings, as they say. I understand how it could be misleading, but I’m choosing not to change it. Sometimes we forget that a major part of living is feeling, and feeling honestly. We owe ourselves that.

#cancer, #grief, #life, #loss, #mourning

With A Note (written 2012)

It’s not that I presumed…

It’s not that I presumed greatness before its time, demanding accolades for works yet unwritten.
There’s a reason, I must believe according to faith, that rejection has stood stone-faced behind opportunity’s many doors.
As I must believe, according to that same faith, that more often, and when it counts, acceptance will greet me at those doors with open arms.

I must believe that purpose cannot be ignored forever.
That hard work pays off.
That little boys can grow up to be the heroes they wished they’d encountered.

Where Do I Begin (Midnight Ramblings)

How do I start? How do I determine if the seed came before the flower or the flower before the seed? Perhaps the question is how do I begin. Perhaps the question is why should I begin. Perhaps the question is an expansive universe full of strange suns. Perhaps questions are both seed and flower.

“Did I start in the valley?” wonders the seed. “Or are my origins more rock than soil?”

How do we start? How do we determine if our pain came before the love, or the love before the pain? Perhaps the question is: how do we begin? Perhaps the question is: why should we begin? As it stands, beginnings transition into endings, as is the natural order.

But can words, convenient as they are, truly pronounce the beginning in its purest form? But can words, generous as they are, grant us reprieve from the frustration of inaccuracy? How useful is a metaphor with a shoddy bridge connecting the comparisons? The seed or the flower, the beginning or the end, the pain or the love, the answer or the question?

Is a man a flower? Are flowers black? Can petals remain fragrantly appealing when pigmented brown?
Is a man a seed? Are seeds mere flowers? Can men remain fragrantly appealing when pigmented brown?

Perhaps the question is when will I begin to focus my thoughts.
Perhaps the question is a matter of faith.
But in whom?

Excerpt from “Master of Silence: Avatar Rahk”

Chapter 9-Toddler Rahk

“Mama, where is the seedgiver?
Am I not given?”

“You are. And your father
gave all he could muster
before your roots
grew too thick for my womb”

“So where is the seedgiver, mama?”

“Dear Rahk, had I an answer
perhaps I would have carried you
on dry land
rather than a sea”

Rahk contemplated her words
while studying the power “to be”


I want to read Chapters 10-11.