An Extraordinary Life

“You can’t achieve the extraordinary if you don’t attempt the extraordinary.”
—Pastor Phillip C. Carr

Yesterday at church, my leadership development pastor, Phillip Carr, challenged the congregation to be extraordinary Christians. He said many of us fight more for the ordinary life we lead instead of the extraordinary life that Jesus Christ means for us to have (1 Peter 1:3; John 10:10). I so related to this, with my recovering judgmental self. You know that trifling, lazy people bother me. And those of us who have the Spirit of Christ have no excuse. So as a high achiever, I was in the amen corner yesterday but felt myself shrinking a bit when he talked about those who are satisfied with our achievements just because they may be better than someone with low standards. Though I’m not prone to compare myself to a low achiever, I find myself—from the pressure of being a strong black woman—settling for that’ll do because what I’ve done is better than most and not so bad for me, and I have a whole bunch more to get done. I was going to do that today, by posting a piece that I really want you to read, but it’s not quite finished yet. But I decided to be extraordinary, better than average, and allow God to use me in that piece. So today I just want you to ponder “An extraordinary Christian is an ordinary Christian who has allowed God to have His way in (her) life” (Pastor Carr). And ask yourself (and tell me in the comments section), “Am I being an extraordinary Christian?”

Copyright 2009 by Rhonda J. Smith

Long Hair War

The following is a comment from one of my readers that I thought was too poignant to just remain in the comment section. It is today’s post. Please give her your feedback and let’s keep the dialogue going.

By Nicole “Nikki” Parker

Nicole Parker used to struggle with women hatin' on her for having long, fine hair. Through Christ, she has been set free!

Nicole Parker used to struggle with women hatin' on her for having long, fine hair. Through Christ, she has been set free!


My hair wars are sort of different, to an extent. I always had long hair. I have fine, thin hair that grows like wildflowers. I didn’t have confidence in my hair. Quite the opposite. Though my hair is fine, I permed (relaxed) it to fit in, and I cut it to make it less obvious that it’s long. I didn’t understand how my hair had anything to do with who I was and so in turn I felt if I walked in a room I should naturally apologize for my long hair, what most people would call “white girl hair.” After I got over the perm pressures about 10 years ago, my hair grew healthier and longer and I would get the same “OMG” and “How long and pretty your hair is” looks and comments. These comments made me feel uncomfortable because the tone wasn’t “You really have nice hair”; they were more like, “I wish I had your hair and you MUST think you’re all that.” So about five years ago for every summer thereafter I would cut my hair to my neck in a bob and that would keep the comments to a minimum except for the initial shock that I even had the nerve to cut off “all that pretty hair.” I never appreciated the hair God gave me because I wasn’t secure in who I was in Him.

I realized my insecurity had nothing to do with my hair, just how I felt about it and what I was trained to believe growing up: that hair somehow defines me and puts me in a typical stereotype of light skinned/long haired females have no depth and are superficial. That is the complete opposite of who I am, NOW, anyway, because people will have you thinking one thing about yourself so much, YOU start to believe it! But when God showed me I can’t take credit for anything, especially the length or grade of my hair, I seriously I had to get a grip and help other women realize that the outer appearance is not even worth mentioning if our hearts aren’t right before God. The battle continues because women are always looking at the next woman to compare themselves to, and it’s not necessary because our eyes should be on Christ alone and then and only then can we accept who we are and that our physical man, including hair, is just clay.

We represent Christ so I’m not suggesting we don’t take care of what He has given us. However, I am saying as women of God we should seek first Him and he’ll take care of everything else. He’ll teach us how to carry ourselves in modesty. He’ll teach us how to be sensitive to others who have not had the revelation yet that the inner man is far more valuable than the outer man. He’ll tell us through the Holy Spirit when we’re tripping and going too far or not far enough. He’s a God that is involved! So with that in mind I can walk around with all of my “long pretty hair” and not feel like apologizing but smiling, representing that the old stereotypes are dead to me because my Daddy told me to love what He created in me and every woman I see with locks, press and curl, fade, bob, waist length, shoulder length, long and flowing, tight curls, afros, etc. It doesn’t matter to Him; it’s our heart he’s after!

Carrier of Life

Last week author Marilynn Griffith visited my blog and talked about motherhood pride. If we’ve ever had those moments when we thought our children were simply stellar, there may have been a time when you couldn’t always say that or there may come a time when you simply breakdown because it seems all your efforts are futile. Marilynn reminded us that even when you train your child “right,” you may be in for a few surprises from them. I wrote the following poem this week for my church’s women’s month to help us remember our God-given role as mothers. The night’s focus was “I Am a Mother,” and as mothers we should always keep in mind what Marilynn said: “(Children) are a gift from God given for your care (and feeding!) until God releases them into their destiny, which is the same as ours–to change the world for Christ.”
Carrier of Life
Copyright 2009 by Rhonda J. Smith

Family Pride

My birth family circa the early '90s: (from left) my sister, Sharon; brother, Curtis Jr.; father, Curtis Sr.; mother, Santranella; and me

My birth family circa the early '90s: (from left) my sister, Sharon; brother, Curtis Jr.; father, Curtis Sr.; mother, Santranella; and me

When I was growing up in the 70s the kids on my block called my family The Brady Bunch because of the harmony in my home. Then in the 80s they called us the Cosbys (or Huxtables) because I came from a home with two college-educated parents who had professional jobs. And like all families, we had certain ways we did things and with those certain things came certain expectations for us and others: Every summer we took a family trip—“Hasn’t every family been somewhere together?”; We insisted that people eat every time that came to our home—“Why didn’t they offer us something to eat the whole time we were at their home?”; “We don’t handle things like that in our family”—“Why did they say that? Their family is tacky!” I can’t even recall the countless times that my mother was proud of the excellence displayed that she placed in us, her children. Whenever she witnessed or heard about one of our successful presentations, she would celebrate us like any proud parent would, but then she would go a little further and say something like, “I know you mine, but you were the best.”

My family dynamics and the words from my mother gave me great pride in my family. I became haughty—if only in my heart and most times that’s where it was—when a grown woman didn’t know how she should dress or what she should say and when she should say it, things that I learned in my family. She would rarely know how I despised her and exalted myself. These thoughts often remained with me (except when disgust would creep onto my face but would never show the depth of what I was feeling). To my mother’s credit, she also taught us to help others who may not have learned what she and my dad taught us. So I would help these unwitting souls, but for me, the pride message was stronger and went deeper. I really didn’t want to be bothered with no trifling women who didn’t know how to act. I wasn’t their mother and didn’t have time to teach them.

As I have grown in Christ, I have put away this strong black woman attitude and have taken on the Christian mantle of the strong understanding of the flaws of the weak (Romans 15:1). The Kingdom of God mindset is for us to remember that none of us was created equal, we are all members of one body that function differently, and we need each another (1 Corinthians 12). Even those outside of the Kingdom were created in God’s image and should be treated with the love and respect given to the almighty creator, Jesus Christ himself. Yes, pride can make you idolize your family, but being renewed by God’s word truly can help you to be a new person (2 Corinthians 3:18). I am changed so I know that God’s word has transforming power.
Copyright 2009 by Rhonda J. Smith

Seeking Your Leaders

Sometimes we don’t know how not to be ourselves. We may immediately speak what’s on our mind, to tell the truth to someone in darkness, even though scripture tells us to be slow to speak, quick to hear and slow to wrath (James 1:9). Maybe it’s not swift speaking. Maybe it’s something good like cleaning the house or paying bills when God would have us do something more beneficial at the time. Or maybe it’s like with me, relying upon my own ability to hear from God. We just do what we do because we’ve always done it that way and it’s easy for us, convenient for us. In these instances God has to step in to help us. This was the case with me.

God made me as one who has a strong desire for His presence through direct contact with Him. Seeking Him for myself has been a strength for me. I rarely seek the direction of authority figures in my life because I haven’t felt a need to. Well, God showed me that I must go to them because they are there to lead me. I knew this intellectually (Hebrews 13:7 & 17) but would not allow this truth to manifest physically. God allowed me to become spiritually weak so that His purpose for leadership placed in my life might be fulfilled. I needed humbling and to recognize that I wasn’t treating my leaders like His representatives. It was natural for me to count on myself.

Like the Apostle Paul, God has allowed me to experience some wonderful things in the spirit. To ensure that I didn’t boast about these experiences (and even dismiss the spiritual effectiveness of my leaders), I, like Paul, had to receive a thorn in my flesh. God knew that Paul’s natural tendency would be haughtiness. He knew the same for me. He sent me the thorn of spiritual dryness so I could seek refreshment from my leaders. And as God would have it, they had words of life and light for me in two areas of darkness that I had been groping in. Spiritual self-reliance—arrogance—is dangerous. Even with knowing the voice of God, as blogger Milan Ford says, it’s always good to still check in with Eli for direction.
Copyright 2009 by Rhonda J. Smith