An Exodus 14:14 Moment

Over the summer, I got a ticket for pulling a U-turn on 125. The officer wouldn't take my get out of jail free card, but told me to go to traffic court.

So I went to traffic court this morning. My defense was going to be that the area where I got the ticket wasn't a Business District so the ticket wasn't valid, but I looked up the definition of Business District and determined that it was. I'd heard that if the police officer didn't show up, the ticket would be dismissed, and that's what I was hoping for; as a backup, if he did show up figured I would try the "oops, I meant to make a left turn but couldn't..." defense.

Go into court and am in the courtroom of this judge who listened politely and compassionately to everyone before finding them guilty. She was taking people who'd signed in after me, and my officer wasn't there, so I thought it was all good. Then this guy shows up and I'm trying to ask him if he's my officer and the judge pops me for talking to a police officer (apparently that's not allowed). But we are the only two in the room who haven't gone before her, and even though he's not as cute as the guy I remembered giving me the ticket, I figure it must be him and begin to prepare myself for the possibility that I might actually be found guilty of this offense.

The judge doesn't see me and instead sees some attorney who wasn't in the room with us, but I guess attorneys get to go to the head of the line. While she's finding him guilty, some guy comes in and says something to the police officer. Then he goes to the judge, gets my id, and tells me to come with him.

Turns out he's the judge in another courtroom, and we go in. Judge asks me if I have an atty (no) or documentation (yes), and if I'm ready to proceed (yes). The officer gives his testimony. Judge asks him how he determined it was a Business District. Officer answers "all of 125 is commercial." Judge DISMISSES THE TICKET, stating "there are very specific guidelines for what constitutes a Business District."

Y'all shoulda seen me shaking getting out of there. Then on 125 I was shouting so hard strangers were turning around to see what was going on.

But: 1) I was removed from the courtroom of the judge who found everyone guilty;  2) I did not have to open my mouth to defend myself; 3) the evidence that I had deemed insufficient is what was used to exonerate me; proving that sometimes, every now and then, 4) the Lord WILL fight our battles, if we just keep still!!!

PS: I don't pull illegal U-turns anymore.

Thoughts after Jumping outta the plane...

This morning I jumped out of an airplane.  It’s not that big a deal; while I don’t have a USPA license to jump, today marked my 7^th dive, including one from 18,000 feet, billed as “the world’s highest skydive” (technically it’s just the highest you can do without having to don an oxygen mask).

Today was only 13,500 or so, so it wasn't that big a deal.  I’m not crazy; it’s terrifying every time I even think about jumping out of an airplane.  I sort of do it for the thrill, but I also do it as a very real reminder of God’s provision.  I often challenge my preacher friends to “step out on faith,” but I know that every thing is not for every body.  Just like I don’t understand how you can proclaim to trust Jesus and express fear at anything in the natural world, some of my folk don’t understand many of my behaviors and/or theological positions.  Since this really isn’t about my preacher friends but about me, I’mma move on.

So not only was I at a new dropzone, I was going to be at a dropzone in the South.  Conservatives and/or Republicans collectively puzzle me.  Individually they're usually cool, but when they come together behind a "Republican" or "conservative" veneer that is seemingly inconsistent with who they are, it tends to puzzle me.  So not only am I in a conservative, probably Republican area, but it’s the Bible Belt. I love people who love Jesus, but sometimes I feel there may be agendas other than Jesus' being carried out... So as I drove to the dropzone I wondered what it would be like if my tandem instructor were an obvious trumpster or a racist or a misogynist – after all, I’m about to join my fate to someone I don’t even know! (And if you’ve never skydived, the standard waver you sign talks about how you are going to be in close physical proximity to someone and you might be touched by them in ways that make you uncomfortable; I dare not write publicly HOW close we get, but suffice it to say you are INTIMATELY connected to your tandem partner).  Could I do it with a trumpster?  More importantly, could they do it with ME?

I went to the dropzone, I had a wonderful jump (did I mention how my tandem partner stripped to his skivvies right in front of me?  He had to change into his jumpsuit and was in a hurry.  A coupla guys changed their shirts, and while I do notice physiques, all I did was come to the conclusion that skydiving must make your upper body strong, the adrenalin is prolly good cardio, but it doesn’t seem to burn a lot of fat.  But I've digressed again.). I had a wonderful jump, and by the time I saw the “Hillary for Prison 2016” sticker on a jug, I was much more concerned with what might have been in the jug than I was with the politics of whomever may have put the sticker there.

I’ve jumped now in four different dropzones and I’ve noticed some similarities in them that perhaps could be employed in the church.  I was a walkin, even though I’d called; I just didn’t want to make an appointment because I didn’t want to be committed to a time.  I told them that, and there was absolutely no judgement; they just worked me into the next load.  When you first go for a tandem jump, they sit you down and make you watch a video.  It acknowledges that you came to skydive because you want to, but that to get the thrill, there are risks.  It goes over those risks and tells you what the worst possible outcomes could be.  Then they spend an inordinate amount of time suiting you up and giving you instructions and cheering you up and attending to your needs so that the possibility of negative outcomes is minimized.  At any point in the process, you are free to say “hey, I don’t think this is for me” with no judgement and a complete refund.

What if when people came to church, instead of trying to get them to join or even to get them to give their lives to Christ, we just took them, just as they are? What if they could come to us on their own time, rather than at 10:30 or 11:00 or whenever we tell them service starts?  What if we then had a conversation with them, acknowledging they came for something, maybe even figuring out what that something is, and letting them know we’ve got something and it looks like it may be what they need, and they are welcome to partake, but that it will require something from them.  And what if we were really upfront with them about all the time and toil and trouble and blood and sweat and tears it will cost them to follow Christ?  What if we then girded them up with spiritual armor, dd our best to strap them in tightly so they wouldn't fall, taught them about their responsibilities, coached them on things they could do to achieve the best outcomes, attached ourselves to them and answered their every question before joining with them on the ride of their lives?  What would our churches – and our own faith walks – look like then?

At one point Brian, my jumpmaster, was telling me how we’d exit the plane.  I have an arthritic knee, so crouching is hard for me.  We’re at 13,500 feet in a single-engine Cessna that is filled to its 14 passenger capacity.  Brian’s not commenting on any of that, he simply makes sure the hop and pops go out first so the aircraft will be relatively empty when the time comes for us to go out.  And he’s telling me how we’ll exit, that we’ll do a 180 degree turn and face the wings.  Not fully understanding, I say to him, “so you’ll go out first?,” (I just meant his body would exit the aircraft in front of mine) but he immediately responded “No. We go out together.  We’re doing all of this TOGETHER.”  What if we took that attitude in our churches, say if we had a new member who was slow or needed special accommodations or didn’t understand?  What if our focus was on our unity rather than on the obstacles to unity?

I always say there’s a bond among swimmers because no matter how much we exercise, train, and try to tame our bodies, our sport places us ultimately at the mercy of a natural element that cannot be completely controlled.  Our safety and our lives depend upon proper respect and communication.  I think the same thing is true of people who jump out of planes.  No matter how good a plane or a rig you may have, no matter how much skill or experience you may have, the wind can take your chute and leave you freefalling to the earth.  Proper respect for the natural environment and good communication does not eradicate the danger, but it does lessen it.

So what if we were like that in church?  What if we acted like our very survival depended not on anything we have or anything we do, but what if we acted like our survival was anchored somewhere deep inside a respect for the environment – the Body of Christ --  and in proper communication?  What would that look like?  Could we then create and foster an environment in which our differences did not define us?  Could we flourish in an atmosphere that focused on the love that binds us together rather than those points upon which we disagree?

I don’t know the answers.  I know that I went, I was welcomed, I was safe, I got what I came for, and even after seeing the “Hillary for Prison” sticker, the experience was a positive enough one that I’d go back in a heartbeat.  Do we have that same atmosphere in our churches?

Going Home

My cousin’s funeral is set for Tuesday, March 14 at 10 am.  I was fortunate enough to get a 6 am flight on Tuesday scheduled to get me into RDU at 8:30, so even if there are delays, I should be able to make it.  Then the meteorologists decide there’s going to be a nor’easter in the City.  They forecast blizzard like conditions from Monday midnite thru Tuesday midnite.  We’d spent Monday in Albany lobbying politicians for more money for housing.  So I’m thinking I’ll come home from Albany, maybe hit the gym, maybe not, and head to the airport about midnite in case there really is a snowstorm.  That way I can beat it, and hopefully there won’t be too much accumulation before my 6 am flight.

On the way to Albany I get a message from the airline that my flight has been cancelled.  I start to rebook, but we lost the signal, and because I’m a genius I didn’t think it was that big a deal.  We go to Albany, we have a VERY productive meeting with a couple of State Senators, and get on the bus to come home.  I use my phone as a hotspot instead of relying on the bus’s wifi, and look at the airline’s options.  There’s a 4 pm flight and an 8 pm flight, both out of Newark.  The 4 pm isn’t even possible since we didn’t leave Albany til after 2;  the 8 pm could possibly work.

Long story short:  traffic was a bear, which slowed us down.  I made a conscious effort to remain calm and rely on God’s Will.  We got off the bus, I got in my car and amazingly zipped through 5:00 traffic in the South Bronx.  I’d told myself that if I got home by 5:30, I might have a chance.  It was 5:29 when I pulled into the parking lot.

I go into the house and can’t find the duffel bag I’d wanted to use.  I found another one, and managed to stave off the OCD enough that I didn’t go through every pocket in it reminiscing about what I might have used it for.  Instead, I put in my robe and stoles, grabbed some stockings and some dressy-ish boots, (the funeral is at a Missionary Baptist Church with a pastor whose own preferences overruled those of the family and who actually had an opinion on what type of collar I should wear), and my good black preacher suit.  Come to think of it, I should have taken a different one, but the one I took is my favorite.  Of course the jacket and skirt were in two different places, but I managed to pull them together, a collar, a gift for my brother, stuff it all in a bag, and skedaddle.  By this point I’m not watching the time. 

The bag doesn’t have wheels, and I have to schlep it to the train, with my laptop (including not-yet-completed remarks) slung across my back.  My metrocard is around my neck where I keep it for easy access.  Get to the train station, and a train is pulling up.  Except I can’t unzip my coat to get to my metrocard.  I look like a 5-year old standing there trying to unzip my coat while the train pulls out of the station.  Next train is 6 minutes later.  Plane is due to take off at 8, board between 7:25 and 7:45.  Six minutes means a lot.

But I get to the next train and get to Penn Station.  I wander around NJTransit because I don’t see any schedules or fare machines.  Go to Customer service who tells me there’s a train now on Track 10. I go to track 10, passing a ticket machine on the way and getting a round trip ticket to Newark Airport.  I meant to get money, since I forgot to bring some from home and tipped the Albany driver with my last, but the two Chase ATMs I saw were both out of service.  So I get my ticket and go to the train which is full.  No problem, I’m standing, even though there’s a lot of traffic pushing by me.  Finally decide to go to the upper level of the packed train where I immediately find a seat.

The journey to EWR was uneventful (except for the fact that my NJTransit ticket to Newark airport included the Airtrain  -- I thought I’d have to buy a separate ticket for it!), but I was on standby.  Somehow United failed to put my TSA pre-check status on my standby ticket.  It’s now 7:25 or so, I think boarding has started, and these people at Newark literally sent me walking around in a circle before I got to the TSA line.  There not only did I have to take off my shoes and take out my laptop, but my scarf fell out of the bin and got caught in the rollers. After we got that untangled, this little girl kept feeling me up.  She explained what she was gonna do, but it was basically feeling me up.  As always, I made awkward jokes about how much she seemed to like it and who should pay whom, but it didn’t serve to make her move any quicker.  She even swabbed the palms of my hands and it seemed the machine took forever to tell her there was nothing on them.  I’m thinking I’m not getting on the plane.

Then I go to the gate, which is located on bumblefuck lane in west hell.  Seriously.  It was like gate 120-something. And while there were a lot of little cart thingies, the people who were spozed to be driving them all seemed to be talking to each other. I had no confidence they’d get me there any quicker than I would get there walking, so I walked.  And walked.  And walked. And walked.  I even lamented loudly at how ridiculous it was to have a gate that far away.

I finally got to the gate and waited behind a couple of people, only to find out I was at the gate for the Los Angeles flight.  I finally got to the correct gate.  I’d checked the app, which had gone from 7 available seats to zero, and where I had gone from #6 on the waitlist to #7.  It didn’t look good.  But the woman at the counter told us to hang out.  I told God I would trust God’s decision.

Turns out there were 6 available seats on the flight.  I was #7 and the guy I was talking to was #8.  Somehow, we both made it onto the plane!! Seems three people failed to show up.  I ain’t saying it was the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, I’m just noticing three people failed to show up….

There were obstacles on every side.  Every rational indicator suggested I would not make it.  But I’m writing this from 30,000 feet (did I mention I got a window seat?), as we prepare to begin our descent to RDU where I’ll go to be with my family as we prepare to say our final goodbyes to our beloved cousin, father, husband and friend.  I’ll be talking about Faithfulness.  He was a Marine, and Semper Fi was their motto.  I’mma be talking about the faithfulness of God.  I know what I’m talking about.

What I Learned at the Spa

So it seems my latest obsession is with Korean Day spas.  There is a long-standing camaraderie of women at the Harlem Y -- for over 30 years we've sat in the nude, sweating, and steaming, sometimes scrubbing and massaging one another, and always discussing the world's issues.  Vestiges of that camaraderie (though it has waned tremendously as the neighborhood has gentrified) are what keep me at the Harlem Y rather than the gym where people eat while they do reps.  We share our womanhood as we share our communal care about our bodies.

And one day, when either the steam was coming up nice or wasn't coming up nice, or when the sauna was hot or it wasn't hot enough -- on one of those days the discussion turned to Spa Castle, some place in Queens.  Various women raved about it, enough that, even though it had scandals (including a man being found dead in one of the pools, after which it closed down for about a year), I was interested in checking it out.  I never buy anything at retail, so when a Groupon offered 40+% off, I bought one.

And it was great.  Apparently it's based on the concept of a Jjimjilbang, which you can read a wiki about here (or if the link doesn't work, just Google Jjimjilbang, or "Korean Day Spa.").  It's set up just like that, down to the color-coded uniforms.  Spa Castle had a bunch of pools:  100 degrees, 104, 106, a chill pool, a cold pool -- and a massive jacuzzi area with chairs built into the walls.  Position yourself properly in the chair, hit a button,  and you have a personal jacuzzi-massage!  It was fabulous.  The pools were all same-gender, and they required you to enter them nude.  There was lots of showering and scrubbing before getting into them, though it IS still a bunch of naked women in water....  Granted, I've been in the gym for decades and am no stranger to nudity (I actually met a nun in the steam room at AAR once; we had a delightful chat in the steamroom and later, when we saw each other during the conference, we both remarked something like "I didn't recognize you with your clothes on!" which made us the butt of jokes for the rest of that evening...) -- I'm no stranger to nudity, own whatever body issues I have, and am comfortable in my skin.  But in the spa, I very quickly I realized that pretty much EVERYBODY owned their body issues and was comfortable in their own skin.  I mean, here we are parading around in our birthday suits, and all we're concerned about is "is there any conditioner left?" or "how hot is that pool?" or "how long til I can get a massage/body scrub?"  Usually when I'm walking around a locker room with no clothes on, I'm aware of my breast cancer scar, and it's a badge of honor.  In the day spa, the only thing I thought about my breasts was to notice how they floated and wonder whether they'd hold me up if I were to pass out from the heat of the pool.  The upper floors of Spa Castle were co-ed.  Fortunately, I'd been told to wear a bathing suit under the uniform they gave me, so I was good to go in the various saunas and in the co-ed pools and Jacuzzis.  Spa Castle had outdoor pools, but since the air temperature was in the 30s, I didn't choose to brave them, though many people did.

Back at the Y, I raved about how I'd finally gone to Spa Castle, and someone told me about King Spa in New Jersey.  Sure enough, a coupla weeks later, I bought a Groupon for King Spa.  It was very similar to Spa Castle, with a couple of exceptions:  King Spa doesn't allow kids in the pools, it didn't appear to be as trendy and crowded as Spa Castle; King Spa didn't serve or allow alcoholic drinks; and it had more varieties of saunas and less pools.  It was a mellower, more chill vibe for me.

So I'm laying on the floor in one of these saunas (they have like a Rock Salt sauna, a Mineral Salt Sauna, a Yellow Ocher Sauna, an Amethyst Sauna, a Gold Pyramid Sauna, an Ice Sauna, and a bunch of other saunas with Korean names that I don't know what they mean.  There's even a little female-specific spa/herb bath with mugwort that the lady says is "good for your v-jayjay." Most of us did it out of curiosity, but one of the women said she was doing it because her friend told her that it enhances orgasms).  So I'm laying on the floor of one of these saunas.  The heat comes through the floor as well as from something in the middle or top of the room.  And I'm laying there, still and quiet, and somehow I'm able to pray and commune with God in a way I haven't done in over 30 years.  (Sidebar:  I'm really into the triune person:  body, mind, and Spirit, and I have to engage with God in all three areas or else I don't feel complete.  I realized this about myself when I was a martial artist, and I try now to maintain a strict exercise discipline, but they really need to be intentionally integrated -- you need to recognize when you are exercising that it is also a form of worship, or else it's just exercise.  The spiritual discipline is different from the purely physical one).  But I've digressed again.  As I was laying on this floor, struggling to surrender my body to the intense heat, I came to realize how incredibly broken I am.  My public persona is sort of a gloss over bandaids, duct tape, and dental floss, which all hold me together.  My life is so busy (Burdened Under Satan's Yoke), and chaotic that I have not been consistent about addressing that brokenness. I can feel it, and can duct tape and gloss it over, but at some point I need to go in and repair that brokenness.  For me, the repair doesn't happen in communal experiences, it doesn't happen through external stimuli, it doesn't even happen in supplication to God.  For me, the repairing of my brokenness happens when I calm my body and mind, open those inmost parts of my spirit, and allow God to touch and heal me in those places.  And it's not just allowing God to touch me in those places, but being still and calm and quiet and open and present enough to receive GOD'S healing touch, rather than trying to interpret it, or to put my spin on what I feel -- there's a difference between feeling the Power and Presence of God and going out and babbling about it versus feeling the Power and Presence of God, connecting with it, and surrendering to it -- even when it's contradictory to what I'd thought or wanted or imagined.  It's like in that sauna is where I can:
Be Still And Know That I Am God.
Be Still And Know That I Am.
Be Still And Know That.
Be Still And Know.
Be Still.
Be.

The Spa is where, after studying and napping and scrubbing and showering and massaging and exercising and eating and all, I can subdue my flesh, consciously and intentionally make my spirit available to God, and just Be.  In that Being, God enters in, miracles happen, and brokenness is repaired.

And that's what I learned at the Spa.