No Flatlines Around Here

When I first decided to write this blog, I was in a state of constant euphoria. I floated on this seemingly unending spiritual high. God was constantly revealing Himself to me. I was all, "Hmmm I wonder why ___________?" and lo and behold, there my answer would be in my Bible, in a message at church, or out of the mouth of my friends. And this is where I found the joy, the bliss that made me want to sing (blog) at the top of my digital lungs. A friend of mine warned me in the beginning that my relationship with Christ would wax and wane, just as any worthwhile relationship tends to do. I didn't believe her. I was downright offended. Things are different now.

The picture above is the PERFECT representation of what I've been learning recently. Life has thrown me a few downs. We'll call those curve balls. God has thrown me some ups. We'll call those blessings.

At the end of October I began a used car search that would yield both curve balls and blessings. I had faith that I would be blessed with a car nicer than my beat up '03 Mitsubishi Lancer, and in the recesses of my heart I hoped that God would let my new car just fall from the sky - without any damage of course!

It doesn't work that way though. Believing something will happen by faith is a huge part of being a Christian, but as the Scriptures say, faith without works is dead. That particular scripture refers to combining your faith with charitable action, but I believe it also refers to how we be quick to put our faith to work period. You cannot just sit on your faith. I've tried. Didn't work. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I never knew buying a car would be so stressful. I almost just bought a bike and called it a day.

 I let my fear of overspending or picking the wrong car cripple the experience. I couldn't find the car I wanted for the price I wanted, so I tried to compromise the make or the body style or the year, but no dice there either. I ran into car salesman after car salesman promising me a great deal, but when it came time to negotiate, none would budge to what I thought was a reasonable price.

To make a long story a little shorter, I did find my car. I had to stop blocking my blessing and just purchase what I wanted. It's perfect for me, I got a decent deal, and I get a little (well a lot) giddy every time I see it in my parking space. In the midst of all that warm and fuzzy though, my apartment management notified us they will be tearing the complex down at the start of the year. We have to be out before then. This was a definite curve ball. This was nothing but a test. And friends: I pass tests every day. I decided then that I would come out of it with a new car and an awesome apartment - all to match my new, awesome outlook on life. It was pointed out to me, that as a believer, God wants "to do a new thing" in our lives. Apparently He's got a reputation for elevating us to new levels faster than a Call of Duty addict (yes I went there).

I say all of that with this disclaimer: I still had a mini-meltdown even after I firmly decided that this battle was already won. For a minute there my situation was looking a little bleak. My car was on the verge of a breakdown and I was on the verge of homelessness. But then I had to remember that I am blessed in other areas - my job, my friends and family, my health. I've been given a new chance everyday to learn from my mistakes and to make a few more, and then to get it right. No matter how bleak life looks and no matter how horrible I feel, if I am still breathing then there is still the chance for my circumstance to turn around. No flatlines around here!

In the beauty of it all

via http://vsingleton.blogspot.com/2009/04/fall-leaves.html

"Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree."

-Emily Bronte

I often find myself awed by God's creation. Some days it stems from the sway of the trees. Some days it's the simultaneous intensity and clarity of a blue, cloudless sky. Some days it's in the breeze that cuts through this Houston humidity. It's the budding of a flower, the feel of the grass between your toes (except when a blade cuts you...that sucks).

This morning I realized that we are His most beautiful creation.

Our bodies are the perfect combination of strength and delicacy. We can sing, and dance, and run, and laugh, and make mistakes, and make promises...it is beautiful.

Sometimes when I'm feeling like taking the elevator or a ramp, I force myself to take the stairs just to remind my body that it works. Just to remind myself that I can move. It's the little things you know :-) 

Today I Listened...to my Body

                                                   Vegetarian Chilli-Cheese Dog. I smashed this!

When I tell you I lived for beef - I mean truly found LIFE in a steak - that is no joke. I remember one fateful day, my friend Dulcie and I stumbled upon Nelore Churrascaria, a place where I could play red light, green light for as much meat as I wanted. I was in hog, and cow, and chicken, and little lamb heaven! Being that oil and beef are king in Texas, there was never any real reason to ask the age old question, "Where's the beef?" It's everywhere you want it to be. No Visa. Even when I found myself on a diet, I'd still indulge in a steak weekly...as a treat I told myself. 

Fast forward to May of this year, and you'll find me sitting in the office of my new general practitioner, complaining of fatigue and "general malaise." That word is funny. Malaise. Reminds me of mayonnaise. As usual, I digress. My doc took my vitals, some blood, and a hefty chunk change from my flexible spending account, and sent me on my way. A few weeks later I received the results of the blood work in the mail with a note that said, "Cholesterol is mildly elevated; watch your diet." 

 I am 26 years old. I barely have time for the standard broken heart, let alone for diseases of the heart. I made the decision soon after to give up meat, and with the exception of a month-long slip (blame it on the chicken and waffles at the Breakfast Klub and the best bbq ever at Gatlin's), I have stuck with vegetarianism. 

There have been bad days. Days when the burgers from my favorite food truck seem to lift their buns in the air and shout my name. Days when I wish I were getting smaller, sooner from my new eating habits. Days when I want to curse my friends for describing their rendezvouses with ribs, chicken...bacon...oh bacon....

And then there are days like today. Days when I listen to what my body wants, and not what my mind wants.Today my body wanted mostly raw food, so that is what I ate. With the exception of some random junk food at a meeting this afternoon, I ate raw for no reason other than that is what felt right. It felt perfect. I swung by the grocery store at lunch in lieu of Chipotle, and I picked up a small hand of bananas, some pears, and two avocados. The total came to $2.38; a third of what I would have paid for a burrito, and I'm sure I gained twice the amount of energy. Not to mention, I didn't feel deprived at all today. 

After work, I went for a 2.25 mile jog and enjoyed every granny-paced step, even the last few where I wondered if my legs or lungs would give out first. But it is what my body wanted. I also know it's what God wanted. It may sound funny, but I know that he cheers on my trot just as fanatically as he cheers on Olympic marathoners. That is enough to make me sweat with a smile.

Even though I've placed a dietary restriction on myself, I feel more free than ever. At the suggestion of my therapist, I threw away my scale months ago. I'm not bound by a number; I am only bound by the requests and needs of my body. Now that I'm listening, she's got the simplest, most sound, and most beautiful things to say.

Lessons in Pride, Acceptance, and Rejection: Part 2

For years I walked around with a signature mean mug and a serious case of avoidance when it came to making eye contact with strangers. Up until recently, if you'd asked me why I never smile at people and why the perpetual stank face, I would have told you, "This is just my face." And to a certain extent, I was telling the truth.

I first became aware of the Mean Mug during my days at the University of South Carolina. Apparently, I'd passed a friend on the way to class and she'd decided not to speak, because I "looked pissed." I tried to remember if there'd been anything on my mind other than not having an outfit to wear to some fraternity party that weekend. I drew a blank. As far as I could remember, I'd just been power walking, in (what I'd thought was) the craziest heat and humidity, trying to not to trip over the bricks of the historic Horseshoe. Besides, I was going to class. What was there to smile about?

And there it began. What felt like a neutral face to me was in fact a stank face. Don't get me wrong, sometimes I catch myself walking around deep in thought with Grand Canyon-sized furrows between my brows. Not to mention the pursed lips and evasive eyes.

Of course, as I began to take my first toddling steps in my faith, I constantly wished people would notice that I'd changed. I wanted to be the light so to speak. The problem with that is, it's one thing to tell people how much you've changed, and it's a very different thing for them to just see it for themselves. Alas, no one sees your joy when you constantly wear the Mean Mug. So, I tried to smile more at strangers. I tried to be friendlier to no end. I'd freak out in my head as soon as I made eye contact with a stranger. What if they thought I was weird for staring? What if they were having a bad day? What if they thought I was hitting on them? What if they rejected me? So, I'd look away. I gotta tell you: it's pretty impossible to be the light if you can't even look at people.

One Sunday at church, the message was about making deposits into people's lives, and I'm not just talking financial deposits, though those are also important. Pastor Joel told a story of a woman whose mother had recently passed away. When she came to Lakewood she was greeted with a hug and pat on the cheeks by one of the greeters; this happened to be the exact way her mother used to greet her. Pastor Joel emphasized that there are over 270 doors in all of Lakewood Church. That woman went through that door, at the right time, to be greeted by that greeter. I'm beginning to believe there are no coincidences. That young woman was lifted from her sorrow by a simple greeting, by a deposit.

Finally it clicked! I had done it again. I had made this whole "being the light" thing about me. I wanted people to see me, when I should have been striving not only to see them, but to make them better. Lately, I've been walking the talk. I don't get it right every time, and sometimes the same insecurities arise. But mostly I get that even if I'm making that "deposit" and the person doesn't smile back or doesn't say thank you or calls me a weirdo for being kind, it doesn't matter because I've made my deposit and it's out of my hands. It's just not about me.

Lessons in Pride, Acceptance, and Rejection: Part 1

It is never about me.

This has been the hardest lesson for me to learn. Okay, maybe the second hardest behind learning self-control. And wouldn't ya know with my bag of chips in hand: I'm staring down both as I type...

If I start from the top of this day, from the top of this mountain, I can remember why I started this blog. This morning I awoke, took my first conscious breath of the day, and thanked God for air conditioning. You see on the radio this morning I heard there's a cold front coming to town that will take the temperature all the way down to......90 degrees *insert spirit fingers*! You know it's hotter than the devil's left pit (or other body parts) when you're shouting over a 90 degree cold front. I digress...

This day was a day of simple joys. My grilled cheese breakfast tasted superb. The slight breeze against my cheeks felt like an ethereal kiss. I am alive, and at the start of today there was nothing better, nothing sweeter than that fact that we too often take for granted. 

Then things took a turn from bliss to the pits. This evening I took a nosedive into self-pity. Up until very recently in my journey I'd found myself glowing from within. I remember leaving Lakewood after one late night service, and a woman stopping my friend and I to say we were glowing. To us we were doing nothing but dragging our weary, yet spiritually-filled selves to the car. To her we were alight with joy. 

But old habits die hard. I've got a few that don't realize they've been killed...they're like zombie issues. The need for acceptance and the overreaction to rejection keep walking, stiff-legged through my life.

I remember the first time this lesson appeared. I was presenting a workshop to a group of teachers. One of them made what I felt was a snide comment. Another seconded her. The others laughed. I felt like a fool on display. My mood was ruined for the day and I shrunk into a self-conscious, less than stellar presenter. Later that night sleep eluded me, prayer did not. As I often do, I asked to be shown how to change the situation. I turned to my Bible and found a verse on selfishness and it hit me: I'd made the workshop about me. About how much I was giving the teachers. About how great of a presenter I'd become. About how much they liked and accepted me. All of that over a workshop...I realized that none of the work I do and none of the words I say are about Karissa anymore. 

I forget sometimes.

Tonight I was invited to a poetry performance workshop in preparation for the upcoming slam season. Mind you, since I've been in Houston, I've been following the spoken word circuit and longing to share my own poetry with the city. Of course there were always some insecurities to hold me back. They took on many forms; they had many excuses. But it was insecurity nonetheless. And I'd thought I was ready to shirk them. In fact I thought I had. Until a few well-meaning people threw some constructive criticism my way and I was right back to what felt like square one. I longed to be accepted and that criticism felt a lot like rejection. 

I'm sensitive. I can be awkward. It seems I can even make others awkward by osmosis. 

More importantly sometimes I forget why I've chosen to become the woman I was always meant to be. It's not about me, but it's definitely for me. Today I realized sometimes I'll have to bob and weave and cringe through some uncomfortable ish to stay in my place of joy. I'll have to take some criticism, some flat out rejection, some risks to do what I was made to do...to share my story with someone else. 

I'll fail. I did today. But luckily enough tomorrow promises nothing but to be a brand new day...

Get control of yourself woman!

Mantra for the week...

More on this one later!

A Lesson in Disappearances

Today I was reminded how difficult, yet necessary it can be to let someone go.

Source

One significant element of my journey has been to realize where my support comes from. In April, I found myself praying that God would move me closer to Him, and that He would remove those who I had placed in the way. This little exercise in prayer was a testament to the power of our requests. People started dropping like flies: close friends, some family members, random men who were vying for my attention (my cell even mysteriously stopped sending and receiving text messages which could just be bad business from Verizon or it could be divine intervention to stop a booty call). For those of you who haven't prayed in a while: try and you might be surprised at the answers that come your way. I am constantly awed by the revelations I receive, when I just ask to be shown. 

So in the midst of these relationships dropping like calls on a Cricket phone, my boyfriend and I decided to take a break. In the deepest recesses of my heart I knew it was time to let go then. Calling it a break appeased the part of me still clutching on to the relationship's better days. And it had seen better days. Most of you know how this story goes...what was supposed to be a two-week-long break, turned into a month...turned into two months...turned into a man who had simply vanished into the abyss of boyfriends passed.

I left plenty of pillowcases tear-stained until finally, it seemed I was over it. I'd thrown myself into self-discovery, work, my friendships, and most importantly my faith. I didn't have time to dwell on the relationship that was no more. One day he just popped up to the forefront of my mind. I was angry at his cerebral return! He had snatched a part of my heart and disappeared with it. I wanted the piece back and I wanted my peace back. In order to retrieve said piece, I decided that I would write him The Letter detailing all of the ways in which he'd broken my heart. Then I would demand that he fix it by either returning the piece he'd taken in the form of an explanation and apology, or by reappearing in the form of the man I'd originally fallen in love with. I needed answers, and he had them. Or so I thought.

Let me be upfront here: I have played this game before. Girl meets boy. Boy woos girl. Coupledom ensues. Boy falls off the face of the Earth. Girl writes long, crazy love letter berating Boy, demanding answers, and finally begging to be taken back. Luckily enough I've got a new coach in the game.

Just as I began to type up this letter to my ex, something inside said You can ask why he disappeared. Just don't ask him; ask the one who put him there. So I prayed. Again. This time for answers. It's taken a while, but I'm getting it.

Throughout our long-distance relationship, I'd relied on how often we talked, if he'd said just the right thing, if he made me feel beautiful, worthy...happy. I'd leaned on him completely when I had a bad day, and then had the nerve to rehash it all to my girl friends. I needed to stop the whiny phone calls to my girls; stop turning them into living room psychologists. And  needed to stop relying on romantic relationships (or the illusion of them) to make me happy. I needed to stop quasi-co-depending.

When you think about it, it's not fair really that we ask people to take on the role of constant cheerleader and counselor. They are only human. They get tired of cheering. They will fail. We all do. There is nothing wrong with failing, except that when we place the essence of our bliss into the hands of people, we find ourselves up a creek when they fail us simply by being who they are: human. 

That is not to say we should not rely on people at all...far from it. Our interaction with people, the way we treat them and the way we love them, makes life worth living. However, co-dependence is never a good look, even in its mildest forms.

It's been a few weeks since I decided not to send The Letter. Today I learned some things about him that, stung at first, but are making it easier to release. More importantly, I've learned a few things about myself. I've given myself permission to hold onto some of the good without holding on to him. I've taken the time to re-evaluate my role in the demise and the beauty of the relationship; taken the grace to forgive myself for the things I did wrong and to ponder how to do them better the next time. It's tough. The inclination is to wipe the tears when they come, call myself a wuss and act like it doesn't still hurt a bit. To just "move on." To move into the next relationship before the wounds heal and the scars fade. I'm not interested in re-opening these wounds again, so this time, I'll take as much time as it takes to let go for real. I'll be a relationship champ by the end. Like I said, I've got a new coach.

Who is BlissfulRiss?

I am on a journey of the spiritual variety. It may sound like the most cliche phrase in the world, but there is truly no other way for me to describe the metamorphosis happening in my life. I am being remade from the inside out and the process is beautiful. I am amazed everyday by the changes in myself, some of them small and only found in the nooks and cranies of my heart and some of them bold and noticeable. I owe it all to Jesus. If you'd told me I would be here in January, I would have laughed in your face. Literally. Jesus Freak? Me? Ha!

I've always believed that I would "come back to Jesus" when I was older...I imagined it happening closer to 40 when I was done with booze and booty calls, cursing, clubs, and cattiness. Oh and my love for R&B crooners. That would have to go, too.You know, before I came back to Jesus. I thought God couldn't possibly be as into R. Kelly or Trey Songz as I was. I was wrong of course; He loves them more.

The problem of course was that while I sort of enjoyed all of those things (and to an extent still enjoy some of them in moderation), none of them left me feeling particularly good about myself or about life in general. But even though none of those things were "it," I still didn't want to give them up, and I just knew in order to be a good Christian girl, I had to come correct. Knew I had to come perfect. Oh the lies! My sister, who is an awesome woman of God, used to tell me that I didn't have to give up anything but my heart. That if I just turned it over to God, all the "bad" stuff would sort of....fall off. That...seemed....impossible. But I get it now.

In January of 2012 I found myself in a funk. I was a few months into a new gig, a promotion, that I'd thought would make me happy. A year into a relationship that should have made me happy. But I  wasn't. Something was missing; I felt listless and out of touch. Work was a chore. Being Karissa became tedious. I was depressed, which is hard to admit...even though the very purpose of this blog is for me to write about overcoming that season of depression, just now my fingers rebelled against typing those words. It's hard to admit it out loud to the Interwebs. I, a strong, successful Black woman, suffered with depression.

I didn't (couldn't?) acknowledge I had a problem until around March. It was around that time I decided to seek God and to seek out counseling, and through those experiences I'm relearning who I am. I'm still me, with my quirks and eccentricities and my ambition and humor, but I am also moving towards the better version of myself. Like Karissa 2.0. She's always been there, this better version of me. I could see the back of her head rushing forward to fulfill the dreams of my heart, but it felt like there was a a river running between us. A gap between the insecure, confused, passionless girl I was, and the confident, peaceful, blissful woman I knew I could be. I'm swimming across the river now. These are the stories of how I'm getting there. I hope you'll come along, enjoy, and learn with and from me as I grow.

Love,

Karissa