Being an Aunt

Moments ago my talented nephew, Roberto, who has been living in California for the last two years pursuing his dream of being an artist, texted me. The exchange went like this:

Roberto: Hey Auntie! I was just reading your blog and it's great! I definitely love "Being Delores Ellis." I hope all is well with you. I miss and love you!

Me: Oh, it's always so good to hear from you. I sooo love you and Grandma did too. Remember that "He who began a good work in you will complete it." Grandma believed this. She loved you so very much and I loved how you always took care of her.

Roberto: Thank you, Auntie Judith. Grandma was and still is very dear to me. I have dreams of her all the time. Usually she is doing something rare like driving. LOL!

Me: That's so very funny about Grandma driving. Thank you so very much for that image which we rarely got to see. LOL! You were her willing chauffeur.

Roberto: It was my pleasure, Auntie. As I get older my purpose in life becomes crystal clear. I have Grandma to thank for that.

Me: We all have her to thank for that. Do you need anything? I know how difficult it can be out there.

Roberto: Thanks, Auntie, but I don't need anything at the moment but prayer and support! So many great things are on the horizon. I can't believe it.

Well, I can believe it and he certainly has my support and prayer. As I read his last text this scripture came to mind: "Raise up a child in the way that he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it."

Believe me when I tell you that I have departed a great many times. Even today, I sometimes fail miserably. But I guess being old varies increasingly. Now, I need your support and prayer. :-)

Being Delores Lee Ellis VI

Today, on the day of my birth, I honor my mother, Delores Lee Ellis. I was reminded of her great love for others yesterday. Over these past few months I have been engrossed in renovating a very large house. While the house is not in Detroit, I have hired more than a few contractors from the City in an effort to employ as many as I can, considering the devastating unemployment rate there. I have hired five contractors of diverse skill from the City and two others from the surrounding suburbs. The suburbs are hurting too, though not nearly as bad.

A few weeks back as I was walking down the aisle of Lowe's, I heard someone call my name. I turned around and to my delight stood an old family friend of my twin brothers. It was so very good to see him. We embraced and reminisced about the many times he and his brothers would spend the weekend at our home. Our parents were best friends when they were younger. Even though there were 12 of us, our home was always open to others. Over the holidays, people came and went all day. It was nothing to have many people pass through for Thanksgiving and Christmas. And our house was the neighborhood house to hang out. This was good as we could not hang out anywhere unless my mother knew your parents well. She was very watchful, but allowed us to make our mistakes, but only under her discerning eye.

That day I hired our family friend, as well as his two brothers, one of whom had been in incarcerated, but had been out for six years and is doing quite well. During his incarceration I wrote often, sent him support and allowed him to phone me collect. I am pleased with his work and dedication. He simply got caught up in a bad scene. Yesterday, the brother that I met at Lowe's said out of the clear blue as he repaired the oak floors, "Your mother was really amazing. Do you remember the prayers and songs she sang before we went to bed? What about the poems she recited? I'll never forget them." Our ritual did not change no matter who visited. Whomever was in our home participated in our nightly gathering of thanksgiving.

Of course, I remembered those prayers, songs and poems. They have sustained me. What he might not have known was that many of the songs and poems she had composed and written. He began singing the songs one after the other. I was amazed that he remembered them. "Judith, your mother had such an impact on me and my brothers," he said. "I remember one of her favorite scriptures: "A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches." Indeed.

On this day of my birth, I honor my mother.

Being Delores Lee Ellis V

Today is the day of my mother's birth. If you have read my blog for anytime you will understand the love and appreciation I have for my mother. She raised 12 independent successful children alone, of which I am the youngest, instilling us all with responsibility, kindness, grace, and ethics. While she was not perfect, every single day I am simply amazed at what she was able to do. It was nearly shy of extraordinary.

It was always like our mother was teaching us lessons for when she would no longer be here and for her grandchildren and their children's children. She had tremendous foresight. Everything was a beautiful lesson without judgment. When we messed up the most this was when her love was strongest. She never ever raised her voice; our house was very peaceful and completely spotless, not that we didn't leave our wraps about and have disputes. We did. But there was never any love lost and respect was paramount in all of our relations and surroundings.



Above is a picture my aunt recently sent me of my mother and father in California in 1960. (They are on the far left.) There were nearly half of us born at this point. My beautiful tormented father, having served in the Korean War as a very young man and having an incredibly difficult father whom he loved and respected, left the family shortly after I was born. When I look at this picture I am reminded of his sensitivity, grace, stature, and kindness and my mother's pizazz, independence, elegance and strength.

My mother passed four years ago and I miss her incredibly.

Being an Aunt VII

My young handsome talented nephew, Pierre, stands 6' 5" and got a scholarship to play college basketball. While he was a gifted athlete, his heart was never really into it, even though he played sports in junior high school and high school. Both of his sisters also received athletic scholarships to college and are by far more athletically inclined and totally into it. One graduated in sports medicine and the other is a junior in college now. Although gifted, Pierre really didn't have a heart for sports. He and I talked of it often. He was always conflicted. As an aunt and artist, I offered what help I could. Today, two years out of college, Pierre is no longer playing basketball and is following his dream of being an artist. Above is a recent picture of a dance performance. (What about that body, eh?) I love him very much and wish him the very best. I also trust that he will carry the lessons his dad and grandmother taught him. He will need it in New York. I sometimes worry about him. But I know that he has been given a solid foundation. It will not be easy.

Being an Aunt VI

Luckily for me when my nephew Sheldon called to see if I could watch his daughter so he could take a two-hour exam, I had run four miles earlier. I had spent many hours with him and my other older nieces and nephews as kids. We still meet for lunch and shopping sprees. Most are in college, high school, and middle school. I haven't spent one on one time with the really younger ones. My youngest niece, my sister's daughter, is two years old, the same age as Destinee. But they live four hours away so babysitting duty has been pretty much not necessary; plus, they have a nanny. There are eight kids. My sister says that she's finished. This time I think she's serious. We thought that she was trying to catch up to our mom.

When Destinee arrived, I had to first calm her down after screaming for her dad for about 15 minutes straight. I offered her all kinds of treats, including a treasured windup music box which only caught her attention intermittently. I had to keep saying "Shhh, can you hear the music?" She would stop crying enough to help me wind the music box up again, but start wailing again. I jumped around, sang nursery rhymes, and got on my hand and knees playing "peek a boo." She was fascinated by my actions but was still bent on going with her dad. I thought she would never stop screaming. But she did calm down eventually and we had a snack and headed to Borders.

As with most of the Ellis clan, she is as independent as any. She just walked through the children's section of Borders like she was home and had so much to say about each and every book, stuffed animal and rattling trinket. I guess they put things in little bins so kids can reach them easily. But, boy, did I have to walk through with arms loaded with things, asking her to put toys back in bins when she was finished with them. I had to tell her each time that she could only get one of each instead of three of the same with slight variations. She never actually chose two of the exact same toys. I thought this was very perceptive of her. She was very discerning. (Did you notice her facial expression in the photo?) She just wanted so many things.

"Which do you want?" I asked, putting the load of things that I had in my hand on the floor to hold each up. "This one or that one?" "That one." "Okay, good." But it wasn't for me as I could barely hold one more thing and follow her too. Do they have baskets at Borders? A few times I wanted to go and look but I could not take her away from the toys and books long enough to find one and I was already a bit nervous about keeping an eye on her every single second in such a busy store. She was walking around like she knew the store well and she knows no strangers.

After about an hour, I was exhausted. I had run four miles earlier, but it was like I hadn't. I think the stress of running behind her with arms packed so high and dropping things occasionally (Why didn't I just stack them up somewhere until we were ready to go?), seeking to teach her lessons as we walked about from bin to bin and book to book, and keeping an eye on her every single second was a bit taxing to say the least. "Come, Destinee, let's read a book." I was happy she thought this was a good idea because I needed a break. Other kids thought it was too because they gathered around as if it was story hour. I learned how to tell stories from my Aunt Dorothy who often took me with her shopping and to her house for tea and biscuits. There were mini stories always, lessons in behavior that were quite fun.

Watching Destinee I also remembered just what an amazing mother we had. She raised 12 children alone without losing her mind. She was always calm, fun, and steady, even when inside she must have wanted to loose it. She never did. We left Borders with a big bag of goodies. On the ride home she went to sleep. I guess she was exhausted too. On the way to Borders we sang songs the entire way, many of which I made up. I got that from my mom. For all of my older nieces and nephews she composed a special song for each at their births. They still sing them today. One that I particularly love is "Grandma's baby 'leepy." Roberto used to say, "Grandma, I'm 'leepy." He was the only niece or nephew who would actually ask to take a nap. Most were super rambunctious and would run until they dropped.

The kids used to keep me hopping. But they also knew quite well that there were certain boundaries that could not be crossed and that they had responsibilities, as I insisted upon for Destinee, even at her young age, like putting toys back in the bins when she finished playing with them. I was not opposed to tapping their little hands too. They loved me, but I insisted on discipline. When Sheldon left he said, "I know she'll be okay. You were so good with us. Thank you so much, Auntie Judith." "It's going to be fun, Sheldon." Yep, it was really fun, but when he arrived I was happy to see him. But there will be a next time and I will be happy to see her again.

Being Ellington Ellis II

"What do you have that you have not received?"

--Ellington Ellis

My brother spoke these words to me this evening in an extended conversation that got me thinking. Innovation, ideas, creativity, wisdom and knowledge are not formed in a vacuum.

Being a Princess

Disney has finally after 71 years made a movie where the princess is an African American. In its history there has been an Asian, Arabian, American Indian and now an African American. As I watched parents talk about their insecurity of not knowing whether they were good enough to be the princess as kids, I had to think about that. While I understand the importance of image and appreciate the necessity of diversity, my mom raised us in such a way that the body was important and we were taught to honor it, but we were never made to feel as if skin, outside of its awesome protection function, was most important, even when others sought to make us feel as if ours was particularly unbecoming.

We were very much raised with black consciousness. We had books by black authors from the poems of Langston Hughes to the novels of Zora Neale Hurston to the magnum opus that is The Souls of Black Folks by W.E.B. Dubois and had examples of evey ilk nearby. But we were extended beyond the largest organ of mankind to a deep seated fundamental bedrock of belonging to the human race by the sheer power and skill of our familial examples and the works of the above writers. I wonder if we needed the public television images as some others, both black and white. We were black and proud. I remember one brother in particular repeating the sixties anthem, "Say it loud. I'm black and I'm proud."

Yes, there were difficulties in middle school and at camp where I had to explain my hair and why my palms and feet were lighter than the skin on other parts of my body. I would let the kids touch my hair and answer questions about skin in general as if I was a dermatologist, even at the age of twelve. Parents would ask me far out questions. I was often less patient with them. But because our mother wisely balanced self-pride with a global consciousness (we had subscriptions to the National Geographic and had editions of encyclopedias every ten years or so) we were made to feel proud of our heritage and fully appreciated the beauty of others.

In thinking about this upcoming movie, I also remembered how I felt seeing the Cosby Show for the first time. It was great to see this family as a representation of my heritage. But for me it had more to do with balancing a public image to the likes of Good Times, What's Happening and the Jeffersons, all of which I really liked, with those that I knew. While we liked these shows, we had to sneak and watch these shows as they were not allowed. Another show that we liked was All in the Family . This too was unknown to our mom. We had one hour of television a day and it included shows like The Waltons, The Electric Company, Fat Albert, and Little House on the Prairie.

Mom was a stickler about television viewing. Besides the acceptable shows above, we watched The Today Show and the CBS Nightly News with Walter Cronkite and were expected to say something intelligent about what we were viewing. We discussed national and international politics as we sat for breakfast before school and after dinner. We talked about culture, presently and historically. The conversation was never focused on being an African American. It was about the beauty of who we were rooted in an intimate knowledge of our historical strength and the beauty of our struggle in a global context. While images mattered, we were first thoroughly human. Would a black Disney princess have mattered? I'm not sure.

Being an Aunt V

I love being an aunt! I have 26 nephews and nieces and it's amazing how fast they grow. One even has a child of his own.







Hey, I'm getting old, for real!

Being Delores Lee Ellis IV

My mother passed four years ago, but there isn't a day that goes by that I am not reminded of her words of wisdom. For her, living was showing love and looking at ourselves and making the needed change. I was reminded of this today when I came across a poem she wrote. Honesty in living was paramount for her.

"If Jesus Came to Your House"

If Jesus came to your house to spend a day or two,
If He came unexpectedly, I wonder what you'd do.
Oh, I know you'd give your nicest room to such an honored Guest,
And all the food you'd serve Him would be the very best.
And you would keep assuring Him you're glad to have Him there,
That serving Him in your home is joy beyond compare.
But when you saw Him coming would you meet Him at the door
With arms outstretched in welcome to your Heavenly Visitor?
Or would you have to change your clothes before you let Him in.
Or hide some magazines and put the Bible where they'd been?
Would you turn off the radio and hope he hadn't heard,
And wish you hadn't uttered that last, loud, nasty word?
Would you hide your popular music and put some hymn book out?
Could you let Jesus walk right in or would you rush about?
And I wonder if the Savior spent a day or two with you
Would you keep right on doing the things you always do?
Would you keep right on saying the things you always say?
Would life for you continue as it does from day to day?
Would your family conversation keep up its usual pace?
And would you find it hard each meal to say a table grace?
Would you sing the songs you sing and read the books you read.
And let Him know the things on which your mind and soul feed?
Would you take Jesus with you everywhere you'd planned to go?
Or would you maybe change your plans for just a day or so?
Would you be glad to have Him stay forever on and on?
Or would you sigh with great relief when He at last was gone?
It might be interesting to know what you would do,
If Jesus came in person to spend some time with you.

My mother quoted this poem to us occasionally and I remember thinking, I am sooo not there. Although I had shortcomings, it had just the desired effect. It left me thinking about my actions and words and how I could be better. I am still thoughtful of these words today even though I miss the mark.

I miss my mom, dearly. She remains very near.

Being a Veteran

Having just watched the documentary, Alive Day Memories: From Iraq, as I work on my novel which is loosely based on my family, I am overwhelmed at the sacrifice of soldiers. It is really extraordinary what these patriots have endured and just how brave and beautiful they are. My handsome compassionate 6' 3" dad came back from the Korean War with no physical scars and if you spoke with him on any given day you would never know that he had any. He was impressive: intelligent, creative and striking. (No one could play the piano better; his touch was extraordinary.) People were drawn to him because he loved them.

Dad visited the sick and infirm often and taught us the importance of giving to others. Yet, one day he left my mom alone with twelve children. Although he returned regularly, it was amazing how he was able to divorce himself from our sometimes difficult reality and yet love so many others so selflessly. He even took us along with him to nursing homes where friends of his parents were as we listened to him patiently attend to their concern. He was otherwise very loyal. Dad routinely talked to derelicts, giving them money and food, but did not see to it that we ate daily. Our wealthy relatives would take care of us. Sigh! My brothers are wonderful fathers for the great lessons and failures of our dad. One still struggles that dad left and we are supportive of him. He emulated dad the most as a teen.

When Dad died in the Bay Area when I was a first year graduate student, people were amazed that he had twelve children. He had never spoken of us, yet he told us of them. When he passed and my brothers went to California for his belongings, perfect strangers readily identified my brothers as his sons and spoke of our dad to them. It was amazing. But this was dad. He cared deeply for others and people were drawn to this tall dark handsome man with gentle eyes and physique of an athlete. He was a gentle giant. I can only imagine now how the war must have affected him. He never spoke of it. He was such a young man when he enlisted.

My mother never ever spoke ill of dad and we were taught to love and respect him. She never demanded anything of him which was always a bit strange to me. He would visit and there would be absolutely no tension, except for what I was creating. She also never pinned openly about what he wasn't giving her as a spouse. Mom loved dad dearly and was a fierce advocate for our well-being and his. Where did this leave her? As the youngest of my family, there were things I didn't quite understand. Dad had left for good just when I was born. Although we became close throughout the years, I was not raised in the same house as were my siblings. But my mom's compassion and forgiveness taught me to be compassionate and forgiving. Actually, both my mom and dad taught me these invaluable lessons by both their words and actions.

I was a first year graduate student when dad passed unexpectedly; it was a major blow. I wept silently for quite some time and thought that I would never get over this loss. For someone who never supported me as he should have, although he came to most of my performances since middle school and would talk to me about anything when he visited, the pain was intense, even though he was a bit of an enigma. I miss dad dearly to this very day and honor the gentle solider who must of had many inner scars. May God bless the veterans of war and may we weigh the consequences fully before sending young men and women to war.

Being a Victor

Embarking on a new exciting venture my brother Reuben, who I have written of here, texted me today to encourage me. His timing is always perfect.

"Judith, you are a real blessing. Keep doing what comes so natural. Love you much."

"Reuben, thank you so much for that. I know that I'm rather brave but sometimes I'm not. Sometimes the things that I take on even scare me. Pray for me. I love you."

"Yeah, I'm certain you will be the victor. Always praying for you. Love..."

That last line gave me just the boost needed. It read so assuredly that I wanted to say that you too "will be the victor." Keep the faith!

Being an Aunt III

Many of you know that my mom raised 12 fiercely independent and successful children alone. We are all in ministry first as licensed pastors, missionaries, chaplains and evangelists and have served nationally and internationally. We are professionals and entrepreneurs second. Early on it was the strength of my Aunt Dorothy, my mom's oldest sister, that meant everything to her. My maternal grandmother died at my mom's birth and it was Aunt Dorothy who was like a mother to her and a second mother to us.

Besides my mom, never have I known a more intelligent, thoughtful, talented (she was a composer, writer and painter) deeply spiritual and compassionate woman. I remember her counseling many mothers Sunday after Sunday and throughout the week. She never married and had no children of her own. But she was over the children at my uncle's church of 10, 000 members, 4,000 of whom were her children. My great-grandfather was the founder.

Aunt Dorothy composed the songs, wrote the Sunday school lessons, painted the paintings, drew the sketches, and designed the series of children's literature that our church produced and sent to the thousands of other churches in our organization around the country and overseas. We had our own separate service in our own mini cathedral off of the main sanctuary. These were grand times that I will never ever forget. We got to participate in our own service: singing, doing drama skits, writing and composing.

This aunt was very dear to me. Early on she must have known that I needed particular guidance. So, every Sunday morning before service she would invite me over for tea and biscuits--just she and I. It started when I was four. She seemed to understand that I came here with eyes to see and sought gently, but firmly to guide me.

Her apartment, spacious and beautifully and tastefully decorated, was on the grounds of our church. There were three very large apartment building complexes on the grounds which before my grandfather bought it in the late 50's was a Jewish synagogue. It was cavernous, rich in color and deeply reverential. But believe me when I say we found ways of cutting through all of that as young people. We had fun and hide away from our parents in all of the many empty hallow crevices.

During tea on Sunday Aunt Dorothy would set the table in the finest setting of silver and we would just talk and talk. She was always so patient and didn't seem to be concerned in the very least that I had so many questions that demanded answers. She allowed me to express exactly what was on my mind. Now, there was plenty of teaching going on too, but it was done in a way that I never felt inhibited. I listened and learned so very much. Many of the lessons learned then I tried to instill in young people when I worked as a substitute teacher for years while in graduate school and when I meet them just about anywhere today.

Aunt Dorothy died when I was seven and my mother wrote this poem in remembrance:

Dorothy I thought that you'd like to hear
The thoughts I have of one so dear
My heart is bowed so low in grief
But there is one thought of blessed relief
Of one who truly loved the Lord
And served him in a sincere way
Who bore your trials in the heat of day
You sat like Mary at Jesus' feet
Deeming his precious words so sweet
You cared not much for earthly gain
And felt that deep within you heart
Yours was to choose the better part
To labor in the vineyard of this dear friend
Encouraging others to work for Him
You loved to work with little children
While their minds were young and bright
You gave your strength to this endeavor
Putting up a vigorous fight
I can't just once recall the time
You didn't have the Lord in mind
You always felt what could be done
Before the setting of the sun
You often spoke of the beautiful city
And how to miss it you would dread
You also spoke of God's requirements
How to His spirit you must be led
You were a mother one who cared
My grief to bear my joy to share
My heart is so overwhelmed in me
To think that this no more will be
I truly say of you Dorothy
I'm so glad God gave you to me

Aunt Dorothy gave me the gift of love and patience when I was very young and I seek to forever whenever possible give a bit of what she has given me to others. These many years later I still miss her, even though sometimes I think I can still hear her voice. She is forever with me.

Being Haywood Ellis

Today for no particular reason I am especially grateful for my big brother Haywood who helped our mother raise 12 children alone, being the third oldest. There are two sisters older than him. Haywood was the big brother who introduced us to new things constantly, exotic fruits and vegetables, even chocolate-covered ants and cockroaches wrapped in sparkly clear tinted plastic silver and blue. They were good for protein. I looked endlessly. I even touched but never partook. He was the big brother who let me tag along with him to the track when he was a free agent trying out for professional football teams and track meets.

Haywood was the big brother who was meticulous about what we ate and how much we ate. He was always so disciplined and fit. He was the brother who drove a convertible Mustang when we were growing up and took us places when needed or just for a ride. He became the brother who insisted that above all else that we do what was moral and ethical. Sometimes his reasoning seemed a bit much, but he was right.

Haywood is the big brother who to this day calls and loves on me just about every day of the week. We laugh continuously. Most times when he calls the conversation is prefaced with something funny, even if it ends with how we are going to solve the world's problems. We Ellises think big. I love him dearly even when, especially when, he challenges me to be better still.

Being a Mother

Eight of my twenty six nieces and nephews belong to this beautiful mother, my sister, Bernadette. Here she is standing with her oldest daughter, Delores, who's named after our beautiful mother. (Delores stands 6 feet tall. Isn't she beautiful?) I am not a mother, but mothering can't be easy. Our mother had twelve children, all by "the one man she loved next to God," and raised us alone with such grace and beauty. Even though she must have been fearful and unsure at times, we never knew it. She was so incredibly graceful in form and action.

Mothers generally have both strengths and weaknesses; mine did. But the most beautiful strengths of mothers are love, honesty and humility. Sometimes mothers act out of insecurity which isn't often love. Sometimes mothers withhold things which isn't always honest. Sometimes mothers refuse to admit they are wrong which isn't always humble. Mothers miss the mark sometimes, but the beauty is that most mothers are doing their very best. Let's support them.

Thank you mothers, everywhere. We don't need a holiday to celebrate you.

Being Expectant

"Everyday of your life should be filled with expectancy and expectancy should never be based on what seems probable."

--Rob Ellis

Expect much and think big!

Being a Daddy

Dear Daddy,

You and me, we’ve shared so many memories and even more laughs.
How about we take a second and think a little bit about the
past.

You’ve been right by my side, from little problems to big mistakes
from silly little crushes to tear dropping heartbreaks.

You’ve watched me make new friends, and ditch some old,
No matter what I’ve been through your hands have always been there to hold.

You’ve told me no, but not as often as you tell me yes,
you’ve always taught me and Julian to give our best.

From daddy daughter dances to my senior prom
you’ve held your composure with a little help from mom.

Somehow you’ve dealt with the sleepovers full of giggling girls,
to me hogging the bathroom on Sunday mornings because I need the perfect curl.

You’ve always taught me to be strong,
and face my problem head on.

You tell me to never give in,
because on you and God I can always depend.

When I was little you’d come in my room at night and we’d get on our knees and pray
and even though I’m in college now you still remind me that prayer is the only way to end my day.

I remember when I was younger and baked cookies using just flour and water,
even though it was disgusting you ate them for your daughter.

How about the time you came to help out in my second grade class and because of your tall height (compared to us) and your short hair
everybody thought you were Michael Jordan, the basketball player.

One thing I love about you is that you’ve always been the best dad you could ever be, and I also love how you let me off punishment when I shed a few tears and gave a pouty plea.

I’m a Daddy’s girl, yes its true. But I wouldn’t want to be the daughter, of anybody but you.

I love you Daddy,

Raven

(This is a poem that my niece, Raven, recently wrote for her dad, my brother, Reuben.)

Being Inspired by Others

Reverend Wright worships in the story-telling tradition that my siblings and I grew up in on Sunday morning. The annual convention of churches throughout the US and the world, which included many thousands, is also reminiscent of my childhood. Our church alone had 10,000 members. The gatherings were spiritual, communal and affirming.



Such stories reminded us that no matter the situation that everything was going to be all right. Such stories reminded us that we were not alone. Such stories reminded us that there for the grace of God went each of us. Such stories reminded us of the importance of faith. Keep the faith!

Being Favored

"Being favored is an act of investment."

--Rob Ellis

Having been infinitely invested into by those who believed in me my entire life, returning the favor to others is essential. In fact, the way to be favored is to show favor to others. Let's show favor to others. Favor breeds favor. It's an act of investment, an act of love.

Being Inexperience

"Being inexperience has no power of walking in experience."

--Reuben Ellis

My brothers always say things that linger. They are all liscensed ministers with experiences in the "real" world as executives and entrepreneurs. Sunday during his sermon Reuben spoke these words and I jotted them down. As I pondered his words throughout the week it became increasingly clear that walking in inexperience creates experience. Is there another way of getting there?

But this is the power of inexperience: the ability to create experience through our experiences. Inexperience becomes experience through our experiences. In other words, being experience is our experiences created first by inexperience. Walk in your inexperience; it is the movement that matters.

So, worry not about being inexperience. Move!

Being in the Kingdom of God

"The Kingdom of God is a result of a Godly act."

--Rob Ellis

My brother, Rob, spoke these words a few Sundays ago and they have resonated very deeply. Being results-focused and action-oriented, I have not been able to get them out of my head.

A lot is spoken about the Kingdom of God. But it is simply God's way of doing things. The Kingdom of God is action that produces results. We are in the Kingdom of God by our actions.

Christ prayed, "thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." We are the beings through which the Kingdom of God is forever established on the earth.

Considering our homes, work environments, schools, places of worship, neighborhoods, etc., it is our actions that establish the Kingdom of God, God's way of doing things, in our various surroundings.

The Kingdom of God has come and is forever established through our daily actions unassociated with guilt but embraced by love and settled by His word in heaven.