Category Archives: Current Events

Why Vault 7 is the Most Sherlock Thing to Ever Happen in Real Life

Just so you know, I get that this is serious.

But honestly, it’s also a rush.  After so much opinion and spin in the news, the transparency from WikiLeaks is somehow, at the same time, both terrifying and reassuring.

Whatever happens, whatever the debate, there is no doubt that these are exciting times.

And more than anything, I appreciate WikiLeaks for being one of the few places in our modern media that isn’t talking down to us.  Kind of like Sherlock.  Julian Assange is a Sherlock fan, I’d bet my pipe on it.

Love, hate, or just don’t care about WikiLeaks and the CIA, this is the work of brilliant men, criminal masterminds, heroes, & villains.  And there is a lot of debate about which one is which.

If you haven’t been following the recent (practically nonexistent in the MSM) news about Vault 7, here’s the short version.  This story is the most Sherlock thing I have ever heard in real life.

In February, Julian Assange, founder of the controversial Wikileaks organization, announced the release of new information coming on March 7, 2017.

Some have said that Vault7 got its name from the release date, but I’m sure there’s more to it than that.  Assange loves to speak in clues and riddles.

Assange went dark in October of 2016, not long after the release of the now infamous Hilary emails.  He was presumed dead by some followers, after all, how many high profile people must desperately want to see this man put out of business?  However, Assange has made allusions to a “kill switch” on WikiLeaks.  In other words, he has suggested that there exists an understanding between unknown members of the Assange network, so, were anything to happen to Assange, incriminating files on some world leaders would be released.

This is strange to us who live in a 9-5, bread-and-butter world.  But, to the players of chess in politics and leadership, this is business as usual.  It’s just that, now, it’s finally in the open where we can all see it playing out, thanks to the transparency provided by Wikileaks.

Back to Vault 7.

On March 7, Wikileaks tweeted this encrypted image.

 

 

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And the next morning, the password to decrypt it, “SplinterIntoAThousandPiecesAndScatterIntoTheWind.”

Like all things WikiLeaks, the password has more than surface meaning.  It is an excerpt from a larger quote by JFK referencing the need to dismantle the CIA, which he believed was gaining and abusing power.

That was in the 1960s.

Decrypting the photograph then revealed an image of a piece of artwork covered in phrases in many different languages.  Link to more images and details about clues here at heavy.com.

If the riddle interests you as much as it does me, you can read about it at the link above.

One image after another, hinting at the contents of the Vault 7 release.  A seed vault.  A mailbox.  A jet engine hush house.  Nazi gold.

Now we know that the documents in Vault 7 contain a volume of evidence showing that the CIA has been hacking government and private citizens all over the world.

Some were disappointed that this information was the subject of the anticipated release.

In the current climate, many people consider some measure of surveillance to be expected.  It has been normalized through years of seeing ourselves on recorded video–in stores, elevators, our own phones and devices, etc.

We have been conditioned over time to accept a scenario that was regarded as sinister and unlikely in the famous novel, 1984.

But it appears that there is more evidence in Vault 7 beyond what has become ignored and dismissed as garden variety surveillance.  Evidence that the CIA has overstepped in ways that would trouble even the most jaded and overexposed.

It remains to be seen.  I’m watching for the big reveals.

But it’s clear, if it wasn’t before, that we are in a war.  Whether it feels like it or not.  An information war.  A war that is being fought on the internet, in the media, in entertainment, and technology.

Amid all the noise, Wikileaks’ strategic moves are quietly epic.

The response will, no doubt, be the same.

***

The greatest battles are fought in the mind.  ~Casey Treat

And you will be hearing of wars and rumors of wars; see that you are not frightened, for those things must take place, but that is not yet the end.  Mt24:6

Why Milo is Rising and Why You Should Care 

Berkeley burning.

I saw the images, and I was stunned.

I had already dismissed Milo Yiannopoulos, without ever hearing him speak, as an absolute show-off with fabulous hair.  But when Berkeley decided to burn itself down over his visit in January, I had to know what he was saying that was so terrible and incendiary.

I took a crash course in Milo over the next week. If you aren’t familiar with him, Milo is a gay Jewish Catholic British Greek journalist in the U.S. and the U.K.  Read that again if you need to.  I’ll say up front that he is R-rated, and I don’t agree with everything he says.  But, that much, I expected.

What did surprise me was how much of what he said, getting past the bear-baiting and f-bombs, that I did agree with.

I listened to Milo talk about the war on boys in public school.  A personal issue for me since taking my son out of a school that was humiliating him, lying to me, and certain to insist on medication as the path to his success.

I listened to Milo talk about the bullying tactics of third-wave feminism and the importance of truly giving women choices, also a personal issue for me since leaving an academic path to stay home with my kids.  When I had my first child, the academics I knew were visibly disappointed, and I knew the things that would be said behind my back.  A woman that had made the same choice before me had been called “a waste” and her choice “a shame.”  Older women that I knew called me during my baby’s first year and told me over and over, “You know you can go back to work now.  It’s time for you to go back.”  I didn’t want to go back.  I thought feminism was about giving women a choice?

I listened to Milo talk about women proudly videotaping abortions, his support of the Catholic church, his concern for the cultural confusion around the problems of radical Islam.  He was laughed at, screamed at, even assaulted onstage.

And I found myself cheering him on.

For standing up for stay-at-home moms?  For families feeling the pressure to medicate their otherwise healthy boys? For Christians and their right to free speech?

Yes.  I’m cheering him on.

I saw a post on social media saying, “shame on Milo.”  Many headlines emerged after the fires at Berkeley, incidentally, the place, should anyone forget, that birthed the concept of the peaceful protest.

Headlines that read, “Milo Incites Outbreak of Violence at University.”

Last time I checked, we still have a constitutional amendment that guarantees a person’s right to say what they think.  It’s called free speech.  And burning buildings is still against the law.  It’s called arson.

And yet, people are afraid to say much of what Milo is saying, even if they think it.  And as Milo is escorted out of Berkeley for a very real threat to his life, and police stand and do nothing, it starts to look like their fears are founded, that there is indeed a very real war on free speech in our country.

You should care about Milo, because if his right to free speech is threatened, censored, or reframed in the media, your free speech can be, too.

Let me repeat:  Protestors throw fire into a publicly funded building and the main media headline is “Milo Incites Violence at Berkeley”?

Here’s the thing:  Milo never spoke that night.

He didn’t get a chance.  Rather than shut down the violence, police let it rage, and Milo was taken off of the campus.

You should care about Milo, because if his right to free speech is threatened, censored, or reframed in the media, your free speech can be, too.

I hesitated to do this blog. Considered keeping my own mouth shut on this topic. Google is censoring Milo’s name, so anything containing it is damaged in SEO. But one great thing about being small is that you don’t have much to lose.

And this is Lady the Fearless.  I can’t be quiet for fear of speaking up.

True freedom is always associated with free speech. I’m for freedom.  I’ll support free speech whether I agree with all of it or not.  And I’m not running to a safe space if I feel challenged. I am an adult.  I do not need play dough to recover from hearing someone else’s opinion.  And I don’t plan on starting a fire if someone says something shocking.  Call me crazy.  I just don’t think play dough and fire are the right avenues for me.

But I do feel suddenly like raising my voice in a new way. It feels weird. All fluid and like I scare myself a little. Like I might say anything.

It feels like freedom.

***

Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.  2Cor3:17

Thanksgiving, How Sweet the Sound.

My grandmother’s love language was food.

Biscuits and gravy.  Bacon and eggs.

Pancakes, stacked high with butter and syrup, sausage on the side, mixed and crispy-hot in the pan just before daylight.

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Home fried chicken.  Ham and beans.  Cornbread in an iron skillet.  Mashed potatoes, perfectly white, whipped to an inch of their little lives.  Homemade cinnamon rolls, homemade ice cream.  Chocolate chip cookies.  Banana splits.

My grandma made iced tea so sweet it crunched, and then she sent me out to the garden to pick little sprigs of fresh mint. She laid the green leaves gently on top, and the smell of that sweet mint tea was as fresh as the sun.  We are Southern after all.  There’s really no other way to drink it.

In the winter she made hot chocolate, and cappuccino from a tin.

hot-chocolate

She made grilled cheese.  Macaroni and cheese.  Sandwiches with three slices of American cheese.  Cheeseball.  Pimento cheese.  Fruit and cheese.

Oh, and pepper jelly on a Triscuit.  With cream cheese.

Fresh.  Everything so fresh.  And almost all from scratch.  Pie crusts rolled out early in the morning.  Fruit picked from her own trees and sugared by her own hands.

Berry pie.  Cherry pie with whipped cream.  And apple pie with melted cheddar cheese.  The first time she handed me that delicacy, I thought someone had gotten confused.

But it was good.  Like all of it.  So good.

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And Thanksgiving?

Move the chairs out and bring in some tables.  Turn yourself sideways to make your way through the bounty, stack up your plate, and don’t be shy, honey, come back for more.

On Thanksgiving, my grandmother cooked for days around her teaching job.   Deviled eggs could be done early. The pies too, they could be done ahead.  Salads, chopped the day before and tossed in the morning.

She still made jello molds, maybe the only thing she made I didn’t love, but they were pretty and somewhat gravity defying, and what kid isn’t entertained by carrots jiggling in gelatin?

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My grandmother was a schoolteacher and a children’s librarian.   Besides cooking, she dressed in costumes on the holidays.

On Christmas, she was Mrs. Claus, Santa hat, red sweater, matching skirt, and a huge black belt with a shiny gold buckle.

And on Thanksgiving, she alternated years, one year a Cherokee maiden with construction paper feathers in her hair.

And, other years, a pilgrim in black and white, complete with a little collar and funny hat, flaps around her ears.

And she did it all while caring for my grandfather, wheelchair-bound from polio.  My grandmother sold everything she had after he came home from the hospital, and she went to school to become a teacher.

She was loyal to him until he died in his fifties, and she never remarried.  She still wears her wedding band, even though I’m not sure she remembers why.

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She doesn’t know us anymore, and she gets upset if she forgets where she is.

But her love language is still food.  She got afraid at my house the other day, and I said, “Grandma, do you want a cookie?”  She nodded.

I gave her two cookies.  “One for each hand,” I said, like I do for my kids.

She smiled and took a big crumbly bite.

It wasn’t until I had my own kids and tried cooking for a family, day in and day out, that I realized what a gift she gave us.

After I had stayed home for ten years, I realized that I had prepared over 10,000 meals, many of them spit out and proclaimed “disgusting” by children who had just been eating dog food.

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I know they did.  Dirt, too.  I saw it with my own eyes.

Even so, I baked and meal-planned and hunted recipes to delight them.

One time as a young mom, I tried to make beans.

I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to make the whole bag at once.  When the water boiled, I happily watched the beans soften and swell.

Until I realized they were swelling right out of the pot.

I called my grandmother.

“What do I do?”  I asked her.

She laughed so hard.  Couldn’t even talk.

“Grandma, stop laughing,” I said, “they are seriously coming out the top!  What do I do?”

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“Just get another pot, honey,” she gasped.  “Start spooning them in to something else on another burner, add more water.”

“Ok, Grandma,” I said.  Her laughing made me laugh.  I spooned some in another pot.

The beans kept swelling over the top.

I called her back.  “Grandma, I think I should just throw it away.  There’s too much, it’s still overflowing.  I give up.”

She thought this was hysterical.

“No, honey,” she said.  “Don’t you have four burners?   Just keep adding pots, keep spooning it out.  You can fix this.”

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It was a vote of confidence from a woman who knew her food.  I did fix it, on the phone with her, laughing and spooning and babysitting beans.

She kept asking, “What does it look like now?”  and laughing.

I wish I’d had a cell phone back then.  I would have texted her a picture of the four bean volcanos erupting on my stovetop.

I think she got the idea.

It’s a little memory.

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But I’m so thankful for it.

The food is a small thing too in a way, but in another, it’s the soundtrack of my childhood as much as any music.

A soundtrack of flavor and love poured out and laid before me by a servant of God and family who lived to bring us comfort.

My grandmother worked hard in her gardens and at school to provide the food for a big family she fed all the time.

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And then, unless you’ve planned meals like she did, and gotten up at all hours of the day and night to make sure it came out right, and tended to every little bite like it mattered, it’s hard to explain the time and the effort, the cuts and the burns and the sweat and the tired arms over a hot steamy stove.

I remember conversations at these meals.

Conversations that often ended up with someone raising their voice and walking away mad, and the awkward silence that followed.

And I remember my grandmother leaving the angry adults and swooping us all up in her arms.  She had holiday books that she read in the most soothing, sweet voice, a voice and a cadence made to order for children’s stories.

I’m sure the conversations mattered to her, but her babies mattered more.

She had worked hard to make a beautiful meal and space for gathering.  She was not about to let them ruin it for her or for us.

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She was a woman who never stopped smiling.

I’m amazed by her restraint, and inspired by the way she always chose love.

I want to give that same gift to my kids and my family.

I’m planning what I’m cooking this year.

My kids have never seen a jello mold.  This may be the year that changes.  That jiggly delight just might find itself a place on my table.  Some old things are worth resurrecting.

And I’m planning what I’ll say.

“Hey kids, want to read a story?”

And.  My sister has this hilarious game.  Telephone pictionary.  Great for a crowd.  Directions here.  Might play that, too.

There’s a time and a place for everything, it’s true.

But Thanksgiving is about making a joyful noise, not an angry or fearful one.  And about making memories that will still be sweet for a long, long time.

***

I’m praying for love, words of love, sweeter than honey, and more savory than turkey, and sweeter than music, to grace your lips, your ears and all your gatherings.

Pleasant words are a honeycomb, Sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.  Prov16:24

Election Year Blues. Courage, My Friends!

I’m in the middle of NaNoWriMo.

That’s “National Novel Writing Month” for the uninitiated.

It’s a wacky thing where a bunch of overachievers get together and attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in one month.  It’s an average of about 1667 words a day, give or take.

Today is “bear day.”  If you get stuck, write a bear scene into your story.

So.  I need to get back to my bear scene, but I wanted to quickly say something about the election, because it just seems like I’m floating down the River Denial if I don’t.  You know the one.

All I have to say is this:  Fear has no place in the election booth.

Whatever you’ve heard about either candidate, their cronies, their taxes, their past, etc.  Whatever you’ve dreamed, whatever leaders have said around you.  Please, don’t take fear into the voting booth with you.  Our country was not built on fear, but on the great vision of a few brave men.  Moving forward for any people will always look like that.

Take courage.  Take hope.  Take heart.

And vote from there.

Oh, and, whoever you’re voting for, you might think about asking for a paper ballot.  Not out of fear, but out of wisdom.

God bless America.

***

Be strong and of good courage; for you shall cause this people to inherit the land which I swore to their fathers to give them. Josh 1:6

One Nation Under…Creepy Clowns?

Last week, I asked my teenage daughter what she would do if she saw a creepy clown.

We were walking near our house.  The neighbor’s dumpster rested on the sidewalk in front of us, open and tipped on its side.

I said, “Like right now.  If you saw one.  What would you do if you saw a creepy clown crawl out of that dumpster?”

“Kick it!”  she said.  And we laughed.

I defy you to have this conversation and not laugh.  There is something both upsetting and hilarious about this trend.

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“Ok.”  I said, “But what if it were the neighbor, just in regular clothes, and he crawled out of the dumpster?”

“Oh. I would walk around him.”

I’m concerned about the safety of our citizens wearing clown masks.  Their lives are at great risk if my sweet and gentle daughter is ready to assault a clown  just for crawling out of a dumpster.

***

A friend of mine actually saw a creepy clown last year.

I’ll tell you what happened.

She and another woman were walking alone in a park after dark.  Not long after they arrived, they noticed a man in a creepy clown mask stalking them in the shadows, mimicking their every move.  The women were terrified and left the park.

Ok.

Scary, right?

Now.

Let me tell you the same story another way.

The two women went to the park.  It was after dark, but there were lights in the park.  Also, it was Halloween night, so lots of people were around.  They noticed a group of three teenage boys standing together at the edge of the playground.  One of them had on a clown mask.  That kid saw the women walking and said something to his friends.  He started following the women from across the playground.  If they walked, he walked; if they stopped, he stopped.

The other woman had a small pistol in a fanny pack on her hip.  She had her hand on it, ready to unzip and fire.  My friend was worried for the clowns’s safety and called out to him.

Her voice is funny when she recalls how she said it, kind of charmed and tolerant, the way you would ask a toddler if they were having fun playing in the toilet.

“Awwwww, hi!” she said, “Are you being a creepy clown?”

The boy stopped and tilted his head to one side and walked away, back to his friends.

The situation was diffused and the two women went on with their walk.  They did not call the media or the police or post about it on Facebook.

The story did not go on to have any creepy clown baby stories on the internet that day.

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The first version of that story is intentionally creepy.  The second version is still cringeworthy, but it is not sensational.

The media does this to us constantly, tweaking a story to pull out the most provocative elements, whether in regard to politics or race issues or creepy clowns.

And, sometimes, we do it to each other.

***

As of today, in reality, the actual reported creepy clown incidents are very few.

And there is absolutely no truth to reports of clowns hurting or luring children into some dark and scary woods.

Most child predators try to bribe kids with things they like, like candy.  Or puppies.  And it is common knowledge that many children are afraid of clowns.

No disrespect to the Tennessee Highway Patrol, but seriously.  As if any kid would go to these guys???

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At the time of this writing, out of over 40 states this fall, only two reports of creepy clown assaults on an individual in the U.S. are actually confirmed, and those involved a tenth grade student and an adult.

And get this:  the vast majority of arrests associated with creepy clown sightings have not been of people dressed like creepy clowns, but of those people who are lying about seeing creepy clowns.

***

What is going on here?

The last few years have seemed to hold more terror than we are used to.

Whether it’s true or not (and it appears in many cases to be false.  Look at this article on the declining rate of gun violence, and this one for the lower rate of other assaults in the U.S.), we are on high alert as a society.

International and national tension.  Election year stress. Our country finds itself in a time of cultural change in many areas, and most people fear change as much as anything else.

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We are heightened.

It makes sense that culture would come up with a scapegoat, something to diffuse the anxiety.  And clowns have always served this purpose.  Broken the tension. Lightened the mood.

People can talk about #ifisawaclown in a way that they can’t talk about #ifiseearefugee or #ifhilarywins or #iftrumpispresident, and on and on.

The conversations we are afraid to have with each other are infinite.

Enter the creepy clowns.  A universal thumbs down.  Something we all can agree on.

But here’s the problem.

The more that people perpetuate the rumors and the myth of the creepy clowns,  the more the myth will grow.  And the potential of something bad happening, to clowns and non-clowns alike, increases as the hysteria rises.  Mobs are notorious for terrible decisions, and clowns are not known for wisdom.

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Remember that scene in Prince Caspian, where Edmund thinks of his fear in the steaming ocean, and the fear comes to life?  A giant- kraken like monster wrapping itself around the ship as the sailors look into the fanged mouth of death.

All thanks to Edmund’s fear fantasy, manifested.

***

It’s a strange thing that these kinds of fears can be self-fulfilling prophecies.  

I pray that the hysteria dies down before someone else gets hurt.  I pray we can find peaceful and brave ways to face the real issues.  That we can call up in our collective selves a certain amount of tenacity and grit and strength that would make our grandparents proud.  That we can find ourselves unified as one nation with a common goal for good.  And just drop the clown thing already.  

Amen.

NOTE:  I was contacted by a reader after publishing this post.  She wanted to let me know that there were three confirmed clown attacks in Detroit.  In the name of integrity, I am including that addendum here.  That brought the number of confirmed attacks to five rather than two.  The basic message remains the same, however, that creepy clowns are not the threat that is implied by the amount of media attention they have received of late.

And just to check, I looked up the number of assaults yearly in Detroit.  The last year on record at citydata.com shows 9,191 assaults.  That’s an average of 25 assaults in Detroit every day.  Which confirms the point of this post–assaults by clowns are extremely rare.

The masks stand out and make clown attacks seem more prevalent than they are.  They are something we can identify, which is simultaneously creepy and reassuring.  We can identify the clown.  It’s the psychopaths that we interact with on a daily basis that we can not identify.  Much easier to just focus on clowns, however erroneously.

For the Underdog: Interview with Chikk. {FREE DOWNLOAD}

A life well lived is encouragement and example to the rest of us.  A vision at Lady the Fearless is the feature of different courageous women and true brothers from time to time.  In that vein, I’m happy to give you the FIRST of many interviews and biographies today, with the incredible singer/songwriter, Chikk.
Already a K-Pop songwriting star in South Korea,  Chikk is rising in the LA music scene.  She is a passionate professional.  And a lover of God.  And my dear friend.
I interviewed her with five short questions this week, and I think you’ll relate to her story and be inspired.  She is a powerhouse of energy, and is vulnerable and honest about the challenges of creativity, emotion, work, life, and faith.

And follow this link for a free download of the song as a gift from Chikk.
Be energized, encouraged, and enjoy!!!
***

LADY:  Chikk!  I love this EP! So amazing. Thanks so much for being here today!  Can you start by sharing the inspiration for  the song, War, and the rest of the album?

CHIKK:  There were so many inspirations behind War.  One huge inspiration was actually Rick Joyner’s book, The Final Quest.  It changed my perspective on what type of War we were, and still are, really fighting.  My song, War, is about the fight against darkness, the fight for Truth, and the fight within self.

LADY:  Of course, there is no way you could have known in advance what would happen in Dallas and around the country in terms of shootings and racially charged protests immediately before the scheduled release of War. How do you feel about the song War being born into the current atmosphere?

CHIKK:  That’s a great question!  I could have never predicted that within 3 days of each other, our country would go into such mayhem & the release of War would fall within that same week!  I believe Dallas was only a reaction to other actions.  Baton Rouge’s Alton Sterling and Minnesota’s Philando Castile were the immediate actions that led to the Dallas reaction.  At first I was scared out of my mind! I didn’t know if I should even put it out anymore… But after doing research on the events and the history that preceded these events, I knew it was God.  And I also knew it was bigger than me.

LADY:  What is your prayer or hope for anyone who listens to this album?

CHIKK:  I hope and pray that whoever listens to this song, and the EP when it comes out, hears VICTORY! That they hear a voice that has overcome the darkest of moments, a voice that now stands in the redeeming Light.  I want anyone who hears this to KNOW that they are worth it!  That they are good enough, and if anyone ever tries to tell them different, instead of backing down or giving up, they will rise! They will start a War unlike anyone has ever seen before. That they will fight with their knowledge, with their pain, with their rejection, and with one of the most precious weapons we could ever use, forgiveness. This project, this song, it is “For the Underdog,” which is the title of the EP, set to release this fall.

Can you share a few of your favorite lyrics and where you were when you wrote them, or any other outstanding memories of songwriting for this album?

Some of my favorite lyrics! I love this question.

And all the talk about you’re not good enough. Forget about all of your broken hearts, because I bet…It was good for the both of us

It’s a lyric that reminds me that none of the hurt was in vain. It was all working in my favor, even when I couldn’t see it.

I wrote these songs in my car actually.  I either started them or finished them in the car while working a job to make money & live. During that process, I was ready to give up on my dreams altogether. It just seemed too hard to keep going, but I did. And I’m so glad that I did! This project was birthed from a place of pure confusion, shame, doubt and low self esteem. So I would have to say my favorite moment, was when I no longer felt ashamed. Doubt had left and I loved every single part of myself. I wondered what had happened, to change all of this.  And it was because I had told a part of my story.  I didn’t know it at the time, but I was healing while I was writing.  And now I look back in amazement at it all!

LADY:  What does fearlessness look like for you?  And what do you do to grow in courage and to fight fear in your career, life, and faith?

CHIKK:  Fearlessness for me, is accepting that you will have fears. Strange right? I find that I am more courageous when I have made peace with my fears. Anytime I deny myself of the reality of being human & having real fears, I shut down. Or I run. Looking whatever it is I am afraid of, in the face, is the first step to me being fearless. It takes the fear from my mind, body and soul, and puts it in front of me. Now I have no attachment to it. Now I can strategize how to overcome it. I can not overcome fear, until I let go of it. I can not let go of it, until I admit I am actually holding it.

Never Shaken: Thoughts on The Media and the Dallas Shooting Tragedy.

For one second last night,  I was afraid to walk through my neighborhood.

My husband wanted to take me to dinner.  There are several restaurants close by, so when we go, we usually walk.

But for one second, I felt glowing white.

Like a ring on a bullseye.  Shoot here.

When I recognized the way my mind was wandering, I was so mad.  Mad at the situation.  Mad at myself.

Bullies make me mad.

There are many bullies in this world, but, today, I think the biggest bully is the media.

I’m not even convinced the young man in Dallas shot those officers.  “I want to kill white people?”  It just seems too convenient.

Whether he did or didn’t, I guess the point is that I don’t believe even half the news I hear.  I don’t know anyone who does.

And yet, it just rolls on and on.   And we keep watching.

And we know we are being manipulated.  And we keep watching.

We absolutely need to deal with issues at the roots.  Especially as the church.  Every voice needs to be heard, and there is no doubt that there is work to be done.

But the endless irresponsible newsreels are not helping.  They are bullying us into a corner.

I was encouraged to hear of a report on NPR that most people interviewed are sick of the sensationalism and ready to turn it off.  They just haven’t turned it off, not quite yet.

The headlines always seem to disintegrate.  From simple facts to screaming emotion.  Anything for ratings.  Anything to keep the audience reaching for one more view.

In the Dallas headlines, today, I see words like “division, fear, and terror.”

It is a tragic thing.  The victims deserve our honor and our grief.

But division?  Fear?  Terror?

That’s not news.  That’s bad prophecy.

Honor and grief and even outrage are part of this process.  But, division, fear, and terror–these are my choice.

Not to diminish the pain in Dallas in any way, but tragedy happens every day all over the world.  Why should the media dictate to me what my emotion is supposed to be today?

I will not let the media tell me that I should be anxious and worried today.  I will not let the media tell me that my world view should be different today, and then change again tomorrow, based on the ever-shifting sand of ratings.

I don’t allow anything to tell me that I should be anxious and worried on any day.  Why give the media special power or authority over my emotion and my state of mind?

Unity and love.  Deep solutions.  Conversations.  Voices heard.  Changes made.  These will not happen in the climate that the unchecked media will create.

I did walk to dinner with my husband last night.  “If  I die, I die,” I thought and put on my lipstick and marched out the door.

And strolled through crowds of beautiful people.  Every possible expression of Divine Creativity.  Every imaginable shade of skin, every impossible color of hair.  And we smiled at each other and said hello.  And we ate together.  We broke bread together.

I could have stayed home.  I could have changed my plans.  I could have missed a great night enjoying the people around me.

As a friend of mine says, there really is only one race.  The Human Race.  Breaking bread together.

***

I pray we can get the facts we need and filter them through the eyes of love.  I pray we know when to turn off the news and ask The One Who Made Us what He has to say about it all.

I pray we do not let ourselves be bullied, by media or any other thing.

I pray we are filled with the courage that passion can bring, passion for something bigger than our own personal safety or desires.  And do what it takes to see real change.  I pray for miracles.  We are catalysts for miracles.  I pray we focus on love and are willing to look inside ourselves and do the hard work that has to be done. 

Surely the righteous will never be shaken;
    they will be remembered forever.
They will have no fear of bad news;
    their hearts are steadfast, trusting in the Lord.  Psalm 112:6-7