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Torn Between Two (or three) Lovers


No, I am not cheating on my spouse, but I am struggling with all the social media opportunities available as I sit in recovery from surgery, for the first time in decades undestracted from my theological ruminations.


There seems to be a new work mulling around inside, broiling from a fire in my bones, perhaps long denied by my own busy life, first preoccupied with church, then community and marketplace opportunities.


I am not complaining, just blessed and hungry for a means to share.


Posting first on Facebook, with so many of my aging friends, then LinkedIn and Twitter, my market savvy crowd, as well as an occasional, but limited communication with the millenials on Instagram.


Lord help me as I am addicted to seeing the responses I see from fellow educators, former students and peers with whom I have shared a lifetime, especially since my early college days.


Yes, something is surely happening in me, shut up in my bones; for years, like many my age, long pressed down by the need to avoid offense.


Now as I mature and the body weakens, the bones burn.


I really don't think its pent-up regret, but rather some substanative wisdom that in a younger mind, one who still needs "market," would be denied. Perhaps it describes another dimension, less tangible than the universe in which we now "live and have our being."


"Nothing is new under the sun," surely known earlier, though now blurred by human knowledge, our spirit mind threatened by the vast glowing galaxies, yet haunting if somewhere in that vacuum exists another reality, as hinted in ancient writ.


Maybe now I'll say what I should have shouted, when I was younger, though by different means than those who shouted before me. Their words lost to wars and prosperity doctrines, too often only shared within segregated walls of brick and mortar, on campuses now hard to support. The loudest directed at an outside world by electronic media, those words however muffled by a constant plea for funds. May my words surely offend their theology.


Such words have to incubate over generations, maybe even beyond my own. Lord have mercy and if in your time, provide those words as I wait on you.

Perhaps, love is finally ripening within me, as I feel called to share my love, the deep changes since that night on January 3rd, 1973, yes 50 years ago, when an undeniable epiphany occured, as unannounced I walked into my dad's living room as he prayed for me by name.


Then the English teacher across the hall joined hands with me as our principal invited us to an interdenominational prayer breakfast that led to my first community leadership role and later a ninth grader, Mitzi Foster, assumed I needed scripture in my life so she discretely placed a 5th grade Gideon Testament on my desk.


My teaching ability and a Pentecostal pastor with an amazing story, opened doors in a small church which soon expanded my calling, opening denominational leadership roles to an otherwise discarded divorcee had they played by the rules.


Then came the calling to greater community leadership, the need for a masters degree, and later a third degree, each providing opportunity for promotions that were undeniably God ordained.


So much history, so many relationships, so much change.


My morning scripture reads only bait me further, as was the case this a.m.


"We always thank God for all of you and continually mention you in our prayers. We remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ."

1 Thessalonians 1:2‭-‬3 NIV


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