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Brenda Bradford Ottinger

Encouraging Women to Live Rooted in the Sacred

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A Thousand Words in Sepia

That memo—the one that made sense out of nonsense—I was out of the office that day. I’m still at a loss. I’m certain I’m not alone when I say that one thing my spirit is wholly unable to absorb is the nonsense of racism. No part of my being is volunteering to comprehend the what-in-the-world’ness of it. The notion that skin color somehow determines worth is purely senseless. Without sense. Purely.

(A Picture is Worth) A Thousand Words in SepiaWhile exercising this week, I tuned into a national talk show that happened to be debating the topic of racism. As I listened to an old-enough-to-know-better “gentleman” who was bent on a belief system that is beyond reason, my spirit gasped. Racism is as old as time, but it boggles my heart how such an illogical mindset can linger in an age when we have so much access to understanding. Yet, linger it does. Sometimes overtly. Sometimes subtly. Always foolishly.

A couple of summers ago, while on a family trip to Washington, DC, we visited the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. My husband is a Messianic Jew, so we’d hoped to include this museum in our “we’re-in-DC-so-let’s-visit-every-possible-landmark” tour. It pains me to admit that we skipped the last floor of the museum because our eyes couldn’t hold more; our hearts couldn’t see more.

Honest to goodness y’all, the backwardness of it all leaves this lover of words speechless. Absent of articulate speech, at least. A humble brick building on the outside, history’s outcry on the inside.

(A Picture is Worth) A Thousand Words in SepiaOne of the artifacts that I found especially striking was a comparatively obscure piece of the past—considering the other profound disgraces that wept within those walls.

A picture. Smiling faces. Seeming normalcy. A group of young folks, early twenties—of an apparent “preferred” race. Smiling, arm in arm, eyes that knew not the indignity of personal discrimination.

Of all the sadness that this building held, that photograph had a haunting all its own. This, to me, spoke of the world that carried on, that stayed in step with busy morning routines, homework before supper, birthdays, bedtimes, life. One that didn’t stop while the outcasts, the unwelcomed—suffered. A world that played a silent role.

I wondered…while their faces were smiling, what were their minds thinking? What made them tolerable, better, acceptable? Their nationality? Their skin? Things of which they had exactly no control.

I can more easily wrap my mind around an evil tyrant who’s full of hate and empty of Jesus – than I can around this indignity being accepted among society.

History does document the accounts of some who found it unacceptable, and I’m sure that there were plenty of others who shared the sentiment, but felt helpless—perhaps, even, those young faces forever preserved in film.

Whatever their stories became, however exciting or challenging their futures were outside of that snapshot in time…the story evermore displayed in this hallowed space of yesteryear, is one of indifference. It stirs within me a come-to-Jesus reflection on my own humble space in history, mindful of how deeply I wish to leave a legacy that is not one of indifference.

I doubt I’ll ever grasp the senselessness of racism, but one thing that I can understand is that, as the saying goes, “hurt people, hurt people”. Indeed, my heart bleeds for the racially oppressed across time. I truly cannot imagine the half of it. But, for the offenders—my heart also cries. To walk through life without the One who makes hearts soft—this too, I cannot imagine.

(A Picture is Worth) A Thousand Words in SepiaOf this I’m confident: the family of God is one of diversity. Time and again, God’s word tells us that He is not a respecter of persons. His favor isn’t hidden, or secretive, or racially obtained. Solomon tells us in Proverbs that “a good man obtains favor from the Lord.” Race has no bearing on whether or not we choose a lifestyle of goodness. Micah 6:8 says: “…The Lord has told you what is good, and this is what He requires of you: to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” I fail to see a racial divide anywhere within this eloquent description of goodness.

The integral fact that makes racism so perfectly illogical is that every one of us is embossed with the image of God. Because He’s the mold from which we’re formed, we have more in common than we do in difference. When we’re unable to learn from one another we miss so much—limiting our life experiences to the bland and the simplistic. We lose a richness and complexity that makes the world sharper, brighter, edgier. Choosing an essence of inclusion rather than exclusion doesn’t just benefit you or me individually—it benefits society as a whole.

Collectively we’re stronger. Collectively we’re smarter. Collectively we’re better.

I’m glad that I missed that memo. I’d just as soon not sully my spirit with an impossible answer to the nonsense.  Chasing Holiness

 

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Never can there be too many magnolia pictures. . S Never can there be too many magnolia pictures.
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Says the lens of my eyes; of my soul.
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(“Not so,” says my iphone storage, but that’s a tomorrow problem.)
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Every time I leave my house, I can’t not stop, not stare, not take another jillion pictures.
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This magnolia tree of mine, she keeps a record of time, reaching farther into the sky with each passing year.
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In all her southern glory, she lifts leaves and limbs toward heaven, pointing to the One on whom all glory rests.
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Boldly, yet elegantly, she speaks of a Creator who, year upon year, grows lovely things under the banner of His care in the lives of His own.
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Even in times when life doesn’t feel full of lovely, may we listen to the magnolia’s anthem.
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She doesn’t question the winter, knowing full well that her Maker has yet to deny spring its beauty.
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I wonder how breathtaking magnolias must be in the City of God. ✨
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“Not to us, O, LORD, not to us, but to Your name goes all the glory for Your unfailing love and faithfulness.” Psalm 115:1 💕
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The May calendar has a way of turning our thoughts The May calendar has a way of turning our thoughts toward home, doesn’t it?
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Perhaps, for you, that’s a beloved Home State where the soil smells like childhood and dreams.
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Or, maybe the humble shelter of your youth, where boo-boos were kissed & fairytales carried you into dreamland.
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Perhaps you’re like me, and yesteryear’s home holds heartache and rejection, insecurity and confusion.
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Far too much of my past I spent chasing roots, not sensing an inheritance of belonging within the halls of my kin.
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Layer by broken layer, though, the Lord is healing me from within, showing me that…
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What our hearts long for can’t be satisfied with what our lives long for.
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The temporal can’t pacify the eternal.
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We’re so prone to searching for home in containers not meant to carry its calling—whether in place or people, title or position, acceptance or belonging—that we seek to satisfy its longing with lesser things.
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Having a sense of home within our circles is beautiful and sacred, but—it’s a shallow substitute for the inheritance we have in God.
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No place, no person, no position—no earthly brand of belonging—can ever claim home to your soul like the Haven of Him.
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Quiet your spirit in the shadow of His covering, dear friend, for never will He stop calling you His own. 💕
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Dear friend, do you feel like you’re etching a p Dear friend, do you feel like you’re etching a prayer into the ear of God, day upon year upon decade?
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You’re asking “why,” and “when, O Lord,” yet the situation your heart plays on repeat at the altar of God, remains seemingly unchanged.
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Oh, friend, I understand; me too.
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Sometimes those miracles we’re waiting for, they come at the expense of years of prayer.
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Not because God is cruel, but because God is thorough. He phones nothing in; takes no shortcuts with our hearts.
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The life-mending, soul-touching, supernatural work of God takes time to witness from our perspective.
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Oh, but take heart, dear friend, for God hears the cries of your heart.
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That outcome you’re praying for? Your God is already there, working out the details ahead of you.
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Even when it feels like you’re crying yet one more prayer into the silence, He hears and is moving ahead of you in ways you can’t even imagine right now.
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Hang on, my friend; keep praying, for those prayers are a worthy sacrifice to the only God who is altogether able. 🙌💕
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I wonder, friend, do the demands of life leave you I wonder, friend, do the demands of life leave you feeling downright weary at times?
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If so, I understand. Me too.
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Oh, that our souls would rest in remembering that Jesus also knew what it was to feel weary as He walked this earth in human flesh.
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You are not alone.
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This one’s for the weary. 💗
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Head over to Proverbs31ministries.org. to read & join the conversation! 💕
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