The Widow at Zarephath

"Mama, what does death feel like?"

The question hung heavy in the hot air as she walked carrying her son to what she believed would be their final resting place.

"I'm not sure, son. But it can't be worse than this."

"Will it hurt? Is God going to come and get us? Will we see what He looks like?"

"I sure hope so, baby," she grunted as she reached what could hardly be considered home--two poles with a small thatched roof barely meeting the poles with the vine twined loosely around the top. Two small holes were dug in ground--one for food going in, the other for waste going out--nothing in either one lately.

She laid her son in the corner of the hut and prepared to cook what she believed would be their last meal together on earth. After that, she was prepared to die.

She went outside to gather sticks to make a small fire to cook their bread. As she bent down to gather a couple of smooth limbs from a nearby bush, she heard the shuffling of feet behind her.

"Who is this coming to my home this time of day?" she wondered. When she looked, there stood a man, hunched over--obviously hot, tired and thirsty. She had nothing to offer him. Then he spoke, "Please bring me a little water in a cup, that I may drink." Reluctantly, the widow withdrew back into her tent to get a cup of water from her water pot. As she dipped the cup for water, she heard him call out again, "Please bring me a morsel of bread in your hand."

The widow laughed within herself. Maybe there was a time when she could have happily spared some bread--maybe even some preserved figs to go with a lunchtime meal. But that was a far gone memory. Back before her husband died, leaving her alone to raise a son. Before the drought that dried up all of her crops and all of her land was laid waste.

Today, there was not a morsel to be spared--only enough to make a last meal before resigning to what seemed like her fate, and that of the fruit of her womb--death. Her flour bin was almost empty, and so was her soul.

She peeped her head out thru the threadbare cloth that served as the door to her tent, "As the Lord your God lives, I do not have bread, only a handful of flour in a bin, and a little oil in a jar; and see, I am gathering a couple of sticks that I may go in and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die."

The man of God offered no sympathy for her hopeless fate. His response seemed rather selfish at first. "Do not fear; go and do as you have said, but make me a small cake from it first, and bring it to me; and afterward make some for yourself and your son."

'Make some afterward for me and my son?' The widow laughed. He must not know how little flour she had. And the jar of oil had already been turned upside down so that the last remnants could make its way into her kneading bowl. There would be nothing left after cooking for him. He was asking for her last.

But then, there was a promise.

"For thus says the Lord God of Israel: 'The bin of flour shall not be used up, nor shall the jar of oil run dry, until the day the Lord sends rain on the earth."

She heard a word! A word that reversed her death sentence and that of her future. A word of hope, of promise and of provision. And all that it would cost her was her last.

The Bible says that the widow went and did according to the word of Elijah; and she and he and her household ate for many days. The bin of flour was not used up, nor did the jar of oil run dry, according to the word of the Lord which He spoke by Elijah.

God knew that the widow's faith would outweigh her seeming fate. How do we know? Because God specifically sent Elijah to her home, instructing him that He had already commanded a widow there to provide for Elijah during the drought. The widow's heart was already prepared to make the sacrifice. Hers was a faith that superseded her situation.

She had a heart for the things of God. She recognized the man of God when he came on the scene and she believed the word of God to the point of being willing to sacrifice what she could see in exchange for the promise of what she could not.

What does this say to us as women in the 21st first century? In a world where everyone's voice can be heard and individuality is worshiped over collective unity; where death looms daily over our hopes, our dreams, our plans and our families--where does our faith lie? How can we expect God to move the mountains in our lives?

First we must recognize that it is bigger that us.
The widow was not only concerned about herself, but her future as well. Her son would die along with her--death was looking to consume not just her, but any hopes of leaving a legacy in the earth. There are some things that don't affect only us. If we fail to allow God to revive the dead places in our lives, it will affect generations to come and cut off our future. Can't stay in a healthy relationship?  Don't be surprised when your daughter jumps from man to man. Tend to allow your anger to get the best of you? Watch those behaviors show up in your son. We must allow God into those dead places--those places where sin has taken root in our lives--and allow Him to heal and bring us into life and wholeness in Him.

Secondly,  we must learn to recognize the voice of God.
Whose voice are you listening to? Who gets most your attention? Facebook? Your Twitter feed? Instagram? When's the last time you turned off all of the external voices around you and spent time alone with God? Many of us have become so accustomed to the noise of the world, that we have to re-learn how to hear that "still, small voice" of God that Elijah talks about in 1 Kings 19. Because Elijah knew the voice of God, he knew that it was not in the wind, the earthquake or the fire that came upon the mountain. He waited until he heard it in the still small voice. What are the winds, earthquakes and fires that make up the cacophony of your world? Many of us are looking to hear from God in big, loud sounds or gestures, and so when He gently knocks on the doors of our souls, we don't recognize Him. God uses man to convey His Word--so much so, that He became one and dwelt among us to speak to our hearts and help us see the Word in the flesh.

Finally, we must act on what we've heard. 
The Apostle Paul tells us that faith comes by hearing and hearing by the Word of God (Rom. 10:17). The widow's faith moved her to act. She knew what she had, but she wasn't sure of what was coming. Yet, she was willing to give up that in her hand in order to receive the promise God spoke to her heart through the man of God.

You know that feeling you get in church when it seems the preacher spent the previous night looking into your hom? It's as if s/he walked right into your living room, sat on your sofa and kicked his/her feet up on your table. The read you like a book, and you didn't even realize your life was on the shelf to read. Well, that's God speaking through His sent man/woman. So, now that you've heard the Word. Now that God has asked for the sacrifice, what are you going to do?

The widow had two options--go with what she had and die or step out on her faith and let go of what she had to receive the life she was promised.

What do we need to let go of today that we might live? Whatever God is asking you to exchange for life in Him, I pray that you find the faith to live! May we trust God with our almost empty so that He can fill us up and breathe life into the dead places in our souls.

Until the Divas meet again, I remain...

In and for His service,

Jabaria
The Divine Diva

Elephants and Religion

"I believe in Jesus. I love God's Word. I have a passion for Christ's church. It's the church folk that scare the hell out of me." Pastor Michael Jackson, Sr. Aimwell Baptist Church

For the past month and a half, I've been serving as the Interim Minister for my church, a task that has made me question everything I thought I knew about church--and those of us who claim to be a part of it.

Over the course of my 15 years of ministry, I've worked as Associate Minister in several congregations, and for the past five years, as an Associate Minister to Children and Youth for my current congregation; however, when you're not the minister in charge, there are certain things you are shielded from. Being an Associate Minister allows you to minister at a distance thru lenses that have not been discolored with the reality of human nature. For instance, I never knew how double-minded those who are looked upon to be spiritual heads in the church--Officers, Deacons, Trustees and even Auxiliary leaders--could be.

Growing up as a PK, I called these people my Daddy's "Amen Corner". I believed them to be the spiritual heroes of the congregation because they seemed to agree with everything the Preacher was preaching. They were always in meetings with my father, and he often spent many hours talking with them on the phone. Little did I know that most of those meetings and subsequent phone conversations consisted of him putting out fires, assuaging egos and dealing with offended church folk. As an adult I find it ironic that those who "Amen" the sermons the loudest are usually the ones who walk out its message the weakest.

When my Pastor went out on Sabbatical at the beginning of the year, true to my pachyderm nature,  I asked for the opportunity to lead the ministry and help keep things moving in his absence, especially as we prepare for our 210 year church anniversary this upcoming summer. I know that God has a calling on my life to lead a ministry in a pastoral capacity, and so, I wanted some experience in serving in that role, if only for a short time. My Pastor trusted me enough to allow me this opportunity, and so I began meeting with the leadership of the church find out where we were spiritually and financially as a body. The findings were astounding--not only were we spiritually immature, we were financially fractured, and much of that had to do with the leadership. Looking back, I don't know why I was astounded at the spiritual/financial correlation; finances are the number one indicator of where a ministry is spiritually because our wallets are usually the last bastion that the Holy Spirit has to conquer in our hearts and minds. Finances follow faith.

Perhaps I expect too much from people--I always look for the best in people and want to see that potential realized. I expect people to exhibit SOME indication that they actually know this Jesus that we claim to worship and to reflect his character in their lives--especially in HIS house. So, it befuddled my mind when I began to see members of leadership catching attitudes with one another, sending mean-spirited texts and emails and bickering with one another to the point where their spouses and children wanted to intervene. My phone began ringing off the hook with people claiming some type of offense. I even got offended!! Then I realized that we have all fallen for Satan's bait--that of offense.

Some issues in the body you cannot shout away, no matter how good your good praise and worship may be. You cannot sing hymns and make them disappear. You cannot even pray them away. Some issues you must call out, cast down, root out and destroy through the power of the Holy Spirit. Offense is one of those issues. And that is where the elephant meets religion.

As good Baptist church folk, we want to tip toe around issues so that no one is "offended"; however, Jesus' very presence was an offense to many. His truth offended the religious leaders to the point that they killed him. He was the elephant in the room that called a spade a spade and spared no ones feelings in the process.

Too many times we allow emotions to rule and guide us; however, emotions were not designed to be the compass we should follow for our lives. Our emotions are indicators that sound the alarm that something is not right. The problem is that, most often we are looking to fix the external situation rather than our own internal state. We want everyone else around us to change to accommodate our feelings rather than align our feelings to the truth. This causes us to fall into offense. However, God's Word tells us to let God be true and every man a liar (Roman 3:4).

So what is to be done about offense?

First, realize that the truth is often offensive because it challenges our status quo. It may even challenge our rearing and some of our core beliefs. Even if we have done something a certain way all of our lives, that doesn't make it right or Bible-based. Many things we do because that's the only way we've known or been taught--even though it is wrong. So, when the truth is introduced, we become offended that our status quo has been called on the table. Embracing the truth can be difficult because it requires that we relinquish the relics of religious tradition in favor of faith. Faith is scary because it is inherently risky, but trust me, it's a risk worth taking.

Secondly, we must separate the truth from the truth-teller. We may reject an essential truth in our lives because of our view of the one that is telling it. As my grandmother would say, "The truth is the truth, no matter who tell it." Whether it comes from the pulpit or the pew, a trusted friend or a known enemy, if it is true, accept it and move on. There are two people who will always tell you the truth--your true friends and your enemies. True friends will tell the truth because they want what is best for us. Enemies will tell the truth because they see every flaw and imperfection about us, and they are quick on the draw to reveal it. Either way, when truth is revealed, we must learn to embrace it, unpack it and deal with this new reality.

Finally, there is no such thing as "your truth" or "my truth"--just "the truth". If God's Word says it, then the issue is settled--there are no extenuating circumstances that would excuse or justify our behavior if it opposed to God's Word. Now, we may differ on the interpretation of the Word, and that is where we must rely on and submit to the Holy Spirit to reveal it to us. All too often, however, we tend to excuse our choices and behavior by claiming that we are "living our truth". How is your truth different from mine when we worship the same God? There is but one Lord, one faith, one baptism. (Ephesians 4:4) Our truths must align.

This past First Sunday, I preached an offensive sermon. It offended everyone in the sanctuary, including me. It confronted my behavior and my attitude and forced me to look at myself in the mirror of truth and realize that I come up short. At that point, I knew that I had a decision to make--either remain in my emotions of offense or embrace the truth and change. It meant I needed to apologize to some folk and forgive some others. It meant that this elephant had to meet religion and allow my relationship with Jesus to flow outward from my faith. May God grant me the grace to do just that.

Until the Divas meet again,

Jabaria Jenkins
The Divine Diva

Walking in Stilettos with a Broken Ankle

Anyone who's ever tried walking in heels knows the core muscle, back and leg strength needed to pull off this feat with any type of grace in our gait. Strong feet and ankle muscles are imperative as they ensure that we remain standing and not find ourselves in the same predicament I once found myself trying to cross a busy intersection during lunch traffic in heels--fallen with a broken shoe heel, an even more broken pride and an extremely sore backside. When I went to my doctor to check on my sore bum after the fall, he asked, "Jabaria, when are you going to give up those heels for some more sensible shoes?" My response was, "When sensibility looks as good on me as these stilettos!" He laughed and said, "You'd probably try to walk around in stilettos with a broken ankle!" 

He's probably right. 

There is oftimes a similar heaviness in ministry...one that comes from trying to carry all the burdens of those around you while attempting to maintain some semblance of self and sanity. I call this, ministering out of brokenness, or in diva speak, walking in stilettos with a broken ankle. 

As women, we are faced with many disappointments and difficulties in life--broken marriages, broken children, broken careers and broken finances. And yet, despite our own fragile and broken state, we are called on to help others who are broken. We are charged with keeping our homes and families intact, keeping our careers moving, maintaining our heads above tumultuous fiscal waters, all while balancing on mental, emotional and ofttimes physical stilettos. 

We carry within us the shards of our broken hearts, and as a result, find ourselves slicing, cutting, jabbing those around us with the jagged and sharps fragments of our brokenness. We damage those we are called to protect. We wound those we are called to help heal. Some of us are so desperately trying to hold ourselves together, we dare not stretch out a hand to others because we are using both of ours to hold in the pieces. If we let go, even a little bit, we'd find ourselves scattered all over the floor. Then what would everyone think of us? What would those around us say, if they knew that underneath the well tailored suit lie ill-sown sutures bursting at the seams of our wounded souls? Sores of hurt, betrayal and disappointment leaking and oozing with infection that comes from festering unforgiveness that has soured and turned bitter. What if people saw underneath our well placed make-up and foundation lie lesions that have formed keloids and scar tissue, developed from years of rehearsed pain and self-pity.

How do we minister in this broken state? How can we help others live lives full of God's grace and mercy, when don't know how to apply it to our own wounds and issues?

Since bringing my 2nd daughter into my home December of 2014, my finances have shrunk while my household size doubled. And so, I find myself again, balancing in yet another pair of stilettos-these being of the Wells Fargo variety.

As I stare at the calendar and another birthday has come and gone, I find myself just shy of the dreaded 4-0. I don't think I'd have such trepidation and hesitation if I were closer to reaching some of my personal, professional and relationship goals. I am single with no time to mingle and everything on my body is beginning to jingle (despite my 4-5 day a week workout regimen). I often find myself ministering to people who are struggling to deal with the inner demons of self-esteem, relationship woes and single parenthood, all of which are pain points in my own life. I sit, listening to them while wondering what advice or counsel could I possibly give them. We are shopping from the same shoe rack. The size and color may be different, but the stilettos are of the same brand and style.

The Bible says that we when we are broken, that is when God is closest to us. The Psalmist writes, The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." (Ps. 34:18, ESV)

I take comfort in knowing that Jesus has walked in my stilettos--at least metaphorically. No, I am not indicating any transgender tendencies on the part of our Savior, but as John and Baptist so pointedly stated, his sandals, we are unworthy to even untie. 

Although he carved the ocean floors and painted the horizon with his hands, the creator became the created to redeem his creation back to himself by carrying a cross heavy with my sin. His feet, weary from restless walking from judgement hall to judgement hall, trudged a path spattered with the blood that would save humanity. The shoes he walked in were far more difficult and demanding than any I have or will ever face, and because he has walked in my shoes, he feels and knows my pain. He is well acquainted with the isolation and despondency of loneliness, the pain of having his very identity tested and questioned, and the weight that is felt when others are relying and depending on you for their very existence. He is familiar with the frustration of dealing with church-folk and the hassles of handling haters who try to belittle your gifts and misplace your motives. 

I often think of the Last Supper when Jesus took the unleavened bread and blessed it. He then broke it and gave it to the disciples telling them to eat it, thus ushering in the new covenant of grace. He gives them the commandment, "as often as you do this, you remember me." There are a number of beautiful aspects to this word picture.

The first is that we are blessed to be broken and distributed to others to bless them. Because we are blessed, our brokenness is not in vain. We are broken for the purpose of service. We are broken so that in our brokenness we can remember Christ and the sacrifice He made for us. We are broken to help others who are broken! Jesus shared in the Last Supper with a group of broken men--each with their own set of struggles and issues--yet, God used them to change the world.

Jesus instructed the disciples that whenever they came together--broken and bruised in their humanity and the suffering that they would endure as carriers of His gospel--to remember him. Why is that important? The significance lies in the original institution of the Passover meal. When the children of Israel celebrated Passover, they were remembering God's delivering them from the bondage of Pharaoh in Egypt. When the believer celebrates the Lord's Supper, we are remembering Christ's delivering us from the bondage of sin. We, too, must remember that he was bruised for our transgressions and would for our sins. He was broken for us! and it was when He was broken, that we were healed. It was when he laid down His life, that we were able to pick up the pieces of ours and allow the Holy Spirit to use them to benefit others. 

Paul writes to the church at Corinth, "Even when we are weighted down with troubles, it is for your comfort and salvation! For when we ourselves are comforted, we will certainly comfort you. Then you can patiently endure the same things we suffer. We are confident that as you share in or sufferings, you will also share in the comfort God gives us. (2 Cor. 1, ESV)

We are broken so that God may comfort us and remind us of His undying, unyielding love for us. We then are charged to reach out and comfort others in their brokenness with the same love and grace with which we have been comforted. To do this, we don't have to have it all together--in fact, true ministry comes from a place of brokenness because it allows others to see the frailty of our humanity and the power of God's grace and love towards us.

Broken? Perhaps. Flawed? Certainly. But blessed? Always! To God be the glory!! 

Till the Divas meet again, I remain

In and for His service,

The Divine Diva

Lenten Woes!

I'm down to the last 13 days of the Lenten season and so far, the only thing I've managed to completely give up is my occasional glass of Sweet Red wine. I'm still a shopaholic, chocoholic and himaholic, and I think I'm okay with that.  

My goal at the beginning of Lent was to fast from dating, shopping, bread and alcohol. I'd just gotten out of a three year on again-off again relationship with a man after realizing that he was never going to fully allow me into his life and that, quite honestly, I didn't want to be in it (thus the man-fast). I also needed direction in my finances having taken on a second child with no additional income (thus my shopping fast). I found myself slipping back into old eating habits which have kept me in the plus-size section of all my favorite stores (thus the bread-fast) and given some things from my past, I'm always a bit paranoid of becoming addicted to alcohol (thus my alcohol fast). Well, 31 days in and I realize that I am in no way an alcoholic; however, shopping, bread and men may well be the death of me. 

Sales ads began flooding my Facebook and Google pages like never before-okay, maybe they were there before, but I never really noticed them because I wasn't trying to NOT shop! They keep beckoning me towards those new pumps or that cute dress on sale at Lane Bryant. And with my new more-curves-less-rolls shape, I love a well fitting skirt with some cute slingbacks. I also love shopping for my girls who are polar opposites in the size/shape department. My youngest is my child--no denying that--with the hips and butt to boot, thick long heavy hair and eyes like her father--piercing, deep and quite frankly, blind. My older adopted baby, is thin and long--long legs and long arms with the most beautiful full round eyes you'd ever hope to see. I could spend all day shopping for them--and I literally do sometimes! 

Men must've seen the the "No Dating" sign over the my head, because since the start of Lent, I've been asked on more dates than probably all of 2014 put together, and while I was good at saying, "No" at first, a bald head and nice smile wore a sister down and I ended up going out on one of the longest and most boring dates of my life! The highlight of the night was seeing the interior of his new Honda Coupe (those things are sleek, by the way). I ended up having my sister make the "emergency bad date exit call", and was back home in my bed by 10:00 PM sharp. What a waste of a Friday! 

Now, before you judge me as less than holy, I challenge you to understand the purpose of a fast. God seeks our hearts which then transforms our habits. For me, that meant understanding the "why" behind my "what's". I also realized that the only thing God asked me to give up this season was my dependence on myself so that I could allow Him to do what only He could...show me, me--not the way I choose to "spin" myself, but the way He sees me--flawed and imperfect but full of potential and promise. I did cut down significantly on bread because I realized the triggers that made me want to eat and was conscious of the way it made me feel afterwards. And so because I understand the why, I now have greater control over the what. The same thing with shopping--I use it when I feel insecure to give me a sense of stability; however, that only counteracts the very security that I seek as I'm often left fiscally unstable because I've gone off my budget. Today, at the mall, I was able to walk away from things because I understood what I was tapping into by looking at that new tube of lipstick and contouring kit in Sephora. 

And then there's dating. Or rather my misadventures in dating. Sometimes I feel like the UNLUCKIEST (or in church-speak,  the most NON-ANOINTED) girl in this area of my life. I seem to attract more Mr. Wrong's and kiss more frogs than I can count. Fasting from dating over these past weeks has made me ask the question I think so many women fail to ask, "What vibe am I putting out that is attracting all the wrong men into my life?" What I found looking back on my past relationships is that I have a bent for the broken. I love a project--someone with lots of potential, but a definite fixer-upper. Kind of like, Home Improvement--only for men. Thus my last three relationships were with a younger immature man who needed direction, an old stubborn man who refused to take direction and a guy my age who was going in too many directions. And it doesn't help that I am a nerd--intellect is my krypton-ite. A man who is a reader and a thinker--that gets me every time. And don't let him have a nice set of chompers that are actually all his! Be still my heart! I've dated the gamut of men--from suave smooth well spoken brother to the blue collar brother on shift work whose idea of stimulating literature consisted of Sports Illustrated. I've dated the preacher, the deacon and the pew. And quite frankly, I'm just tired of dumbing myself down and trying to justify my calling as a woman preacher. 

Is it too much to ask for a smart, well-read man with a sharp sense of style, secure in his masculinity and spirituality that can traverse the various facets of my personality from the fact that I love theater and Netflix with equal passion, that I'm a fire baptized, Holy Ghost filled preacher and the girl next door who loves a good laugh and a glass of sweet red with dinner.  Can he navigate these extremes with the same grace would be expected of me were the roles reversed? I want a man who appreciates that I am first and foremost a woman and won't try to control me or box me into what he thinks is an acceptable place for women in church and society--a man who is a real man and knows how to effectively communicate his thoughts and feelings. Is this too much to ask? Obviously so, or I wouldn't be on the downside of 30, staring 40 slap smack in the face, yet still coming home to an empty bed and a dog every night. 

But that, too, is okay because in this period of singleness, I've also learned that I am okay. That having boundaries, standards and goals is healthy and that I don't need to change the essence of who I am to be in a relationship because then I would be lying to my partner and to myself. And so, I wait. 

Where does that leave me with less than two week left for Lent? It leaves me leaning wholly and completely on God's grace and not my flesh. It leaves me seeking His will and plan for my life because I am utterly and completely lost in and of myself. And it leaves me 2 lbs heavier than when I began my fast. 

Until the Divas meet again, I remain

In and for His service,

Jabaria 
The Divine Diva

Misadventures in Dating_Part I

Hi,

My name is Jabaria...my friends call me Baria. And men...well, they don't call me. Think of me as your darker, thicker version of Sex in the City's Carrie Bradshaw--except I don't sport $400 Minolo Blanacs, I don't live in a posh loft in the heart of Manhattan and I definitely don't have a Mr. Big trying to sweep me off my feet.

No, that is not my story. I'm a divorced sistah struggling to find a decent pair of Nine West slingbacks on sale, living in the heart of the hood in a nicely restored shot-gun house. And my Mr. Big's look more like the Ronald Isley types of the world. I'm not complaining--no, quite the contrary. I love my life. I just hate my love life. I am surrounded by men all day long; they're just emotionally, relationally, physically or sexually unavailable. In other words, they're either crazy, married, live thousands of miles away or are gay.

Take my ex for instance. We started out the best of friends, and on paper, he was perfect. Degreed from Howard University, Technical Engineer at one of the largest firms in the country, single with his own place in the heart of northwest Washington, DC driving a tricked out Mazda RX-7. In other words, he was every woman's dream--a BMW--Black Man Working. Fast forward ten years, multiple affairs and several thousand dollars worth of Patron later, he now lives on his parents' couch back in Montgomery, barely paying child support and entertaining his own delusions of grandeur in the by-gone days of buppie-land.

Then there was Kaleb--my first real relationship post-marriage. While only three years my junior, I felt like I'd been cruising the local daycare centers to find a mate. We met on this free dating website, POF (they say you get what you pay for). He was totally emotionally and financially unavailable. I was his token black chick and sugar mama. I ended up paying him to pick up my daughter from school and keep her while I worked and went to school at night. He was my manny! Can you believe that--I paid a man to stay home and take care of my daughter (among other services, all of which left much to be desired). To top it off, I developed a huge inferiority complex and an even bigger budget deficit.

Now, I've struggled with many things in my life, but low self esteem has NEVER been one of them, or so I thought. But with him I found myself comparing me to white women wondering what it was he saw in me when all he'd dated in the past were white girls. It could have been the fact that I have my own house, my own car, I'm working on my second Master's and have a great job. Or it could have been my nice thighs, pretty eyes and curvy shape. But at the end of the day, I know it was my backside. Yup, he loved the girls with plenty cushion in arrears--and that is definitely me. And he appreciated women who went into their pockets to finance the romance--and unfortunately, that too, was me.

But when it was all said and done, and he'd left to go back home to the land of Amazon white girls, I learned my lesson, as difficult as it was, and I'm all the better for it.  The funny thing is that it forced me to be honest with myself about a lot of things in my life. And at the end of the day, that is what life is all about--learning who we are and coming to appreciate ourselves with all of our flaws and failures.

So until next time, I wish you all fabulous hair days, a ready massage chair at the nail shop and a surprise sale on those fierce stacked slingbacks!

Divine Diva J-