In the meantime…

When I looked at the date of the last proper post to this blog and found that it was in February, I asked “What took me so long?”

What am I looking for?

What am I waiting for?

I think I was waiting for the big moments, the things I wanted to declare off the rooftops to show that the path is becoming clear and God is working great things in my life…

Until I remember that those great moments usually show up when I have missed the little things. When I look over the pasts weeks and see that there have been wonderful little things that have happened. Wonderful slices that happiness that filled me up little by little…

That wonderful hug Moe gave me on Mother’s day.
That surprise that Bill gave me on Valentine’s day.
The feeling of warmth and fellowship I feel every time I walk into either the Garbacz’s or the Jerkin’s homes.
How easy it feels to surrender all when I am at the Hill.
Meg and Justin’s texts during the week.
Laying in the back of my car in prayer.
Getting to the point where I can admit that I cannot trust God right now (that is a very good thing as I can’t trust Him until I admit that I can’t)
Being able to get all the pain and anger out, bit by bit…

I know that there is going to be a great work that will come through me…. And I know and God knows where I came from…

The challenge right now is enjoying the meantime, the journey. I want to get there so badly that I can taste it. But I am starting to understand that I can’t get there without the lessons, good and bad, along the way.

So here’s to in the meantime. And I promise that I will share the little things weekly. And a girl is only as good as her word, isn’t she?

38 [reload]

this is a repost of my annual birthday post. I forgot that I hadn’t put it up here…. better late than never…


This time around the planet was the year that Sique died, Chrishaun returned to teaching, back into writing and into the [real]Church.

It was the story of the prodigal child, who left the [cult]Church to find herself… and she did in the far corners of the earth. She found out what the real world was like. The world that the [cult]Church told her was ‘worldly’ and would ‘spoil useful habits’ and built a life, family, and career that pleased her in so many ways.

But she also found out that she was in love… not with the red haired, brown eyed boy who saved her life even though she couldn’t save his (she would go on to try to build others in his image, but that is another story)… but with God. She remembered what it felt like to have full trust in him, to love her God boldly, and to live fearlessly for his name sake.

Unlike the lad in the bible story who ran out of money and wanted to eat the pig’s food, this prodigal child did not go back because she was in the dumps… she went back because she had survived slander, betrayal and isolation; the poison that made her stronger, wiser, and was loved more than she had been in many, many years.  And she wanted to share that feeling with someone….

…someone that had truly known how far she has come and the pain she had to go through to get there. So she prayed.

And she heard the call.

And she ran as far away as she could. And broke her nose in the process.

So upset and with a Hello Kitty bandage on her nose, she went to search for Him again and found that the path was lit with the bright lights and the loud music that was Celebration. There she reconnected with Him and found that He still loved her too. He mightily showed that He heard her prays for vindication and answered. She rededicated herself to Him and He held a feast for her…

in a place called Immanuel.

In this place she found others like her, others that wanted a truthful and transparent way of living. And she was fed and found for the first time followers of Christ just like her. And she was happy.

During this time she was guided to others whose kindness, long suffering, and patience put her to shame, but gave her a model with which to shape herself.

She found geeks that was full in their geekdom and in Christ, something the [cult]Church told her was impossible.

The feast time was glorious, and when the time came to part ways, she witnessed a group that humbly walked in the direction that the Spirit was leading them. It could have easily dissolved into defiance and bitterness. There could have been foot-stamping and shaking fists. What there was instead were tears…

(for every change is difficult)

And statements of uncertainty…  

(for very few like the unknown, especially when there is everything to lose)

And solid faith and conviction. There was a fog thick with questions and precious few answers, but arm in arm they moved ahead and wished her well as she went her own way.

To the Hill.

Not the one in Georgetown (snicker), but a small community church that felt like Immanuel and had video…

(she … likes video…)

A community within her community, she waits for the next step…

And through all of this she saw new life in her old Tribe, and through her connection to the [real]Church, found more and more reasons to be thankful that they gave her the honor of calling her friend.


Something else happened.

She saw him again. Which was impossible, because she saw him die. She saw her red head boy, the one who loved her even though she was broken all those years ago. She saw the one that taught her that there was a love that was separate from sex, marriage, and games. It was the love born of kindness, truth, mercy, and forgiveness.

The man she actually saw was a stranger, but the memories were real and she realized how much she missed him and how she had over the years tried to find that same love again. She had angered and got angry at more than one man because they were not him.

But it made sense… to her, he was a god[small g]. A benchmark that could not be reached because the girl she was all those years ago has become a woman and the things that she needed then

(to be loved, to be whole, to know the happiness of kinship)

she already had. Seeing him told her that it was time to return to her True Love and that it was time for her to say good bye to him forever.

She saw that and she fought and she cried but she finally…. finally did.

And as hard as that was, what came next was worse and better.

Sitting with her friends, she turned and saw her.

And everything in her wanted to weep.

She was scolded and told to keep it together, and she couldn’t form the words that explained what she saw and what that meant.

That while she and her friends were talking about signs and omens, an omen sat right beside her.

Her Grande. The eternal sign of strength and boldness. The place where she drew her strength when all went cold and dark was there to say her goodbyes and to tell her that the days of using her crutches were over. That the days of drawing her strength from dead gods[small g’s] were over. The days of hiding behind masks and leaning on crutches were over.

Actually, the one mask and the one crutch.


“Sique is this… Sique is that… Sique just may well, you know how she is…” Yeah, Sique is a lot of things… and she was engineered that way.

To take the punches, to show a brave and cocky face, to be the eternal fairy godmother and the walking utility belt. Tough, bold, strong, bat shit crazy, and smart, she was everything I needed to face the world day after day.

And when Sique saw Grande, she does what Sique does.

She went for a smoke, but she never came back.

Chrishaun sat down at that chair and when I looked over and saw that woman who I swore a moment ago was my grandmother, I did what I do in situations like that.


Or tried to. Tracye looked over and started immediately:

“don’t do it…don’t you do it…. I know that melancholy look….”

Good God, if only.

That wasn’t melancholy, that was fear…

Because the big, Bad SCAARY world is, well big, bad, scary. And that cock sure, brassy and sassy gal has given way to goofy, awkward, and quiet woman. I tried to fight, to keep the Sique persona going and found it heavy and uninteresting.

Yeah, I said it…

So… I said that to say this….

My name is Chrishaun and I don’t have a clue…and I’m okay with that.