#seenandnotheard

Romans 14: 1-4

Accept the one whose faith is weak, without quarreling over disputable matters. 2 One person’s faith allows them to eat anything, but another, whose faith is weak, eats only vegetables.3 The one who eats everything must not treat with contempt the one who does not, and the one who does not eat everything must not judge the one who does, for God has accepted them. 4 Who are you to judge someone else’s servant? To their own master, servants stand or fall. And they will stand, for the Lord is able to make them stand.

I remember one day at college I was walking along campus and trying to rush to my next class. As I rushed I saw a bit of a crowd instead of the usual students with heads down trying to get to class. So out of curiosity, I took a peak. This man had set up a large sign that read: “Fags are going to hell” (Note: I don’t condone that language or support it) He also had a portable microphone and was shouting at kids walking by that they were going to hell. He didn’t seem to care that he had never known these people. He just passed judgment. Some students who were Christians brought out their bible or cell phone and began to quarrel with this man. While I heard some students in the back mutter this is why God wasn’t real or at the very least was a cruel bastard. Another few laughed it off and shouted: “Stop arguing. You won’t get through to that knucklehead!” I must admit if I hadn’t been in hurry I may have tried to quarrel with this man as well. Didn’t he see the damage being done? What I didn’t realize is that stop arguing comment was actually good advice. 

First, we have a man who has put himself on equal footing with God and somehow thinks it is his duty to pass judgment. A man that probably feeds on a good verbal battle. Why else stand in such a public place with a microphone with a sign that just begs you to argue with him? The problem is that when we argue we are doing the same thing we found so vile in that man. We decide we are right and must save this man from himself because surely he is the one going to hell...right? See what happens? Everyone judges and it builds up an unhealthy anger between them that could easily turn to hate. By indulging in the argument you become just as bad as him. 

Now I am not saying you can’t have a healthy debate between friends, but this wasn’t healthy. I dare say it was a live action version of something you might see in a Facebook comment section. What should we take from this? 

1. We should never judge. It isn’t our place. We have no way of truly knowing that person’s heart or who they really are. 

2. We need to learn arguing because we have decided our position is right and everyone else is wrong is never healthy. That kind of arguing births hate and builds thick walls between God and those who have not yet found him. 

Sometimes it takes far more courage to realize words are useless and that we should be seen and not heard. 

Prayer:

Lord help me to know when you to quiet my words and when it is the right time to speak up. Help me to withhold judgment.  Help your grace to evident through my actions. Let people see your love and grace through me. Help me to be the person you need me to be. Amen. 

Song of Meditation:

I always interrupt people when they are doing other things, I always ask for too much.. I always expect the impossible

The walls were bare, the room lifeless.

You looked at it in amazement.

This space reflected your happiness as did everything else.

My joy never 1st, 2nd or 3rd place, merely a ‘well done for partaking’

  How was I to know that this wasn’t living?

This was all I knew.

  So many trips to the north that resulted in me watching you walk away.

Leaving me at any given opportunity.

So many New Year’s countdowns spent crying alone, as my grandparents slept in the next room.

Who knew a 9 year old could be depressed?

  I was a burden.

  An uncle that hated you, so hated me.

An uncle that was so traumatised by life that he’d do everything in his power to hide.

A granddad that made the room cold, with his very being.

Who knew a 9 year old could understand the intricacies of faking love?

  My eyes were open.

  The male named ‘Dad’ appeared about once a year.

Not sure of his purpose, but to flirt with you.

  Great Choice

  You let the male take me out.

I had nothing to say. Who was he?

We stood and knocked at this door.

‘Meet your grandparents’

Who knew a 9 year old could be a secret for 9 years?

  They thought I was stupid.

  We lived in a house congested with anyone in the family that needed refuge.

Each bed shared by three.

A house filled with warmth and love.

  The only place that could be called HOME.

  A year later and here I am at this door again.

You knocked said Hi, then left.

I watched you walk away.

In the front room was a child that resembled me.

The male walked out and introduced my baby brother.

9 months of pregnancy, 6 months on the earth and not one mention of his existence.

  Fast forward to my teenage years.

  I drank.

I smoked.

I had sex.

I rebelled

  Sexuality formed my world.

  I wanted to talk to you.

The secrets wanted to trickle out.

But your judgement and disapproving nature always kept them in check.

  I became two people.

The unhappy and angry teenager (outside of your company).

The teenager YOU wanted me to be.

  Lost.

 S, C and L became everything to me.

They said your friends were the family you chose for yourself.

And that’s exactly what it was.

We cried, we laughed, we celebrated and got lost together.

  The best years of my life.

 We were the Black Female Engineers.

Accepted into 4 out of 5 universities.

The college lecturers loved us.

Strong, bold and fearless.

 I guess we were unstoppable.

 19.

I missed the coach.

The one chance I had to say goodbye.

You turned to me with tear filled eyes.

“She is gone”.

The only woman who ever loved me unconditionally.

  3.45pm

 The male appeared again in the form of a Father.

 Blame, guilt, sadness, anger, self –loathing and arguments.

Divided, we fell.

You blamed me, for needing you.

Your anger built up.

Because I did not grieve as you wanted me to.

 I dropped out. You kicked me out.

 Weight loss. Sleepless nights. Hunger. Shouting. Abusive relationships.

Suicidal thoughts.

It needed to end.

 I applied again and you let me back in.

 You struggled because she was gone.

A lot of crying and anger.

All my fault.

She’d be ashamed to have a granddaughter like me.

 You always reminded me.

 University didn’t help the struggle.

Bombardments of texts.

Traitor. Selfish. Ungrateful. Irresponsible.

The only time I saw your support was when the girl got me arrested.

Although short-lived.

That too was my fault.

 Final hurdle.

 I was convinced you hated me.

Accused me of everything under the sun.

But to Facebook everything was fine. Not even family knew.

 You warned me not to tell them. “Traitor” 

“They don’t care about you”

  Right before you told me to leave for the final time.

 I lived my life to make you proud.

Nothing I did was good enough. Always met with a disapproving face.

And a compliment of another.

My achievements weren’t my achievements. They were yours to share with Facebook.

Facebook is where you expressed your pride, while I received silence for weeks on end.

 A public show.

 6 years it took to get the degree, through homelessness and 30 hour working weeks.

 2:1 Honours, Engineer, Good Job and Business Owner.

Despite this I’m sad. All the time. So much so that I’ve mastered the mask.

 2 years and counting.

 With you left my family, confidence and self-esteem.

Every time I tried to contact you, you’d tell me it was my fault and this is what I deserved.

“Unconditional love is a myth, I love you as a human, not as a daughter”

 Deluded

 Now here I am. Alone but rediscovering myself.

Teaching myself that not all love is good love.

Blood does not mean a thing.

They do not owe me anything and neither do I.

 There are days that I struggle, cry, long for you to hold me and tell me it’s going to be ok.

Then I realise its ok and I can do that for myself.

 But Sometimes I can’t help but think.

We were in pre-production on a film and discussing changes to the script during rehearsal.  I was the only principle female in the all male cast (love interest, naturally).  I made a number of thoughtful suggestions to streamline the script and specifically my own character’s story, but the director glazed over every time I spoke and typically interrupted to address my male co-stars.  

I rewrote some of the dialogue and shared it with one of the other actors privately. He loved and supported my changes and consequently shared them with the director who all of a sudden adored them.  He immediately incorporated “Tyler’s Changes” and thanked him for his genius.  

You’re welcome.