I am my own worst critic. This is a good part of the reason I do not blog as often. The other part, Life, requires no explanation. If I feel like I’ve missed the mark somehow, I refrain from publicly sharing what I have written. In essence, I have created a standard that has become impossible to uphold as consistently as I’d like, for whatever reason. Lately however, I am finding that waiting for perfect to act, write, move, speak, or simply make a decision is a great disservice to myself and to a lesser degree, to others.
I am so pleased to bring you this post! In it, my eldest daughter River, age 7, reviews a beautiful story called “The Girl with the Magic Hands” by Nnedi Okorafor. Nnedi rightfully earned the 2012 Black Excellence Award for Outstanding Achievement in Literature (fiction). Her novels, listed in their order of publication, include: Zahrah the Windseeker(2008 winner of the Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature); The Shadow Speaker(winner of the CBS Parallax award and Essence Magazine Literary Award finalist);Akata Witch (An Amazon.com Best Book of 2011); and, Who Fears Death (2011 World Fantasy Award for Best Fantasy Novel, 2012 Kindred Award).
I went to pick up my four-year old daughter today from her preschool located inside a community church. I had a relatively good day trying to be reflective and more available and open to Spirit, and less distracted by the noise of social media or the news. So you can imagine my reaction when I learned of today’s horrific news that a 24-year old gunman opened fire at an elementary school claiming lives too many to count without streaming tears of helplessness. I must be dreaming.
It seemed surreal as I stood there zipping my baby girl’s jacket, adjusting her barrette which I apparently clipped too tight this morning. I could hear the chilling words from the chief reporting parent, as well as the words of the other mothers chiming in to confirm what they had also heard, but I was hearing all of this for the first time. None of it made sense.
I am sure that finding meaning in all of this was on the minds of all the parents and grandparents gathered to retrieve their children, but it was too early to contemplate. What will parents tell their children about their murdered friends, classmates, neighbors, or even siblings?
I stand away from Connecticut, but still know that tragedies like these seem to be hitting closer to “home”. Violence is quickly becoming a growing trend, and our most vulnerable are often the victims. In this case, it was children and courageous teachers who seem to be working in hostile times instead of developmental classrooms. Please someone, tell me I am hearing wrong.
I loaded my girl into her safety seat and then my heart sank. I looked back at her more often than usual, to make sure that she was still there, safely buckled and intact where I left her. I needed her fully awake and present. I needed to see her eyes. I looked for comfort and assurance beyond their glimmer. I needed to hear some more incessant pleading, and annoying requests. I don’t mind them, nor do I complain today. I needed to hear her.
My heart grows heavy with the knowledge that there are parents, not too far from here, who will not have the same privilege this evening. Instead, grief and an overwhelming sense of incomprehensibility await them. Though we who stand outside of their community empathize, we’ll mostly go on about our business, while their realities will be forever altered. I pray that one day these families will find the strength that they need to carry on, but in the meantime, as they search to find meaning, I hope that a comforting touch, a deeply pressed hug, and the openness and sincerity of community will tend to their hearts and homes during a very difficult time. This is my hope.
We may never find the words to describe this condition which seems to plague folk determined to carry out violence for whatever selfish, angry reasons they have, but I pray that our response will be one that will help these families find meaning in this. But I am not sure anyone can. I trust that in time we learn to trust, hope, and just breathe again.
I’m thankful to be in this country. There are many freedoms and opportunities here that can’t be enjoyed in many places around the world. I’m especially thankful for the principles of democracy and freedom of speech. Most of all, I am profoundly thankful for friends who challenge me in love, spirit, and truth. Whether we share the same party or political ideas, religious/ faith beliefs, ethnicity, class, or sexuality, they know that our common interests are greater than our ideological differences.
We fundamentally want the same things, but may have a different vision for getting there. Ultimately, my true friends know that my heart is good. They hold me to a higher standard, yet still respect my freedom of thought as an important tenet of being an individual, and being an American.”
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I shared the above post with “friends” on my personal Facebook account today, and upon receiving initial feedback, I felt led to share it here. I am cautious about my use of the word “friends” because I know that this descriptor doesn’t always capture the magnitude of my relationships on Facebook; nonetheless, many of us connect in this way as a result of several, separate connections and networks that ultimately bring us together. This fact alone should present an opportunity to further open up and get to know each other better.
Without a doubt, there is incredible energy, both positive and negative, about Barack Obama’s reelection to office. I will be the first to admit that in all of my excitement and running comments during the debates and then again while the results trickled in, I never once thought that any of what I said could be interpreted as anything other than excitement for my candidate of choice. I would be naïve, however, to ignore the fact that this nation is divided, though by all accounts, Obama’s win was a decisive one. Still, I am hopeful about our country’s ability to galvanize behind our common experiences and heart convictions.
I also hope that, if nothing more, this opener sparks a conversation that gets us to a more communal space where diversity of thought and experience is encouraged, valued, and respected.
I could not wait to be done with my everyday duties to run home to clean. That’s right, I really couldn’t wait to get home to clean. I don’t usually get that excited about cleaning, but this particular day was different. Some call it domestic bliss, but I’d like to think that it was bigger than that. Growing up, I would always hear my grandmother say “cleanliness is next to godliness”, and my interpretation of that, simply put, was that God would not be pleased if I, or my surroundings, weren’t kept clean.
I seemed to have missed the greater significance of my grandmother’s lesson. Havoc seemed to have taken ahold of my house. There was no denying I would have my work cut out for me upon my return. Sure enough, waiting to greet me was a laundry basket full of dirty clothes, a freshly laundered pile on a dining chair, toys on the floor, and filthy dishes on the countertops. The place was one hot mess! Everything sat right where I left them.
Let me be clear; leaving my home in such disarray is not my usual practice, and this organized chaos was no case of negligence. I decided a while back that if I cleaned every single time a space needed cleaning, it would be all that I would do. For some reason, today was different. I was invoked to clean by a more profound, spiritual contemplation. The song “Get Your House in Order” by Dottie Peoples, came to mind, though my impetus to clean was not about religion nor the imminent return of Jesus coming from her plea. Yet, its first two lines: “Get your house in order, do it today…Get your house in order, do it right away” were haunting and petitioned me to attend to the mess that lie before me with unparalleled urgency.
I think that this urgency had more to do with my conscientious effort to adhere to some life goals that included getting my house in order. By “my house”, I’m referring to not just that physical space, but that mental and creative space on which all else is based; that space that allows me to be my best and most authentic self. I’ve been trying in earnest to make sure that more of my energy and attention is focused on those life goals, and aligned with what I say is truly important. Additionally, I’ve had some quiet confirmations on purpose, and an increasingly unapologetic stance about what I believe is the need to have things in order, and not have life haphazardly manage me.
Some of that inspiration came from a Twitter feed, by founder of Urban Cusp, and columnist for Washington Post, Rahiel Tesfamariam. Being that I don’t Tweet often or regularly, it is no coincidence that I encountered this profound deposit. In it, Rahiel emphasized the importance of being prepared, or getting ready, so that when discernment comes and the right people and situations are actually placed in your life, that you’re ready to take action.
So, as I wipe down counters and sweep the corners, I am more mindful that even these mundane tasks have a much more esoteric meaning. As I stand at the kitchen sink, my hands fully immersed in hot, soapy water, scraping hardened cake batter from my youngest daughter’s “kitchen experiment”, I am mindful that this act of cleaning is not so much about cleaning, as it is about “cleansing“. In that space, I am overcome with an uncanny awareness that I am safe, fed, loved, healthy, and steadily moving to be more aligned with what I call Spirit…God.
This quiet “scrubbing” time was what I needed to reflect on stripping away what is no longer needed. This “cleansing” time just felt right! It was part and parcel of the bigger goal of paring down those meaningless assignments and activities that take up far too much of my precious time (Basketball Wives, anyone?).
What I now know is that getting my house in order allows for Life-generating pursuits. Eliminating clutter provides room for internal clarity, which makes discernment less arduous, and lends to a deeper introspection about what needs to be done. It also helps to let go of old “things” that are no longer welcome. Old things only make it more difficult for us to receive new insights about blessings that await.
So, the next time I hear Dottie Peoples crying out for me to get my house in order, I’ll look around and see. Will I have reverted to the disorder that characterized my physical space or will I hold on to this new orderliness? This is the challenge. So…let’s hope I don’t hear that song any time soon!
Oh, how I’ve missed delivering my essays and prose pieces to you, but I have good reason. Really, I do! Our family recently relocated from the South Suburbs of Chicago to a suburb just outside Philadelphia earlier this summer. Couple that with homesickness and the ensuing emotions and activities that come along with relocating, it seemed that I only managed to eke out some poetry.
Well, I’m pleased to report that my immediate family is finally all together and we’re as settled as we’re going to be…for now. The kids are in new schools, hubby gets to come home to me every evening, and both the home and bed are warmer. Additionally, I’m learning to make peace with change being a constant, and doing my best to avail myself to this new season and the challenges and opportunities that might be in store for me. I’m not sure where I first heard the saying “Happy Wife, Happy Life”, but whoever authored it was spot on! Our whole house is in order now that its Commander-in-Chief is happier.
Speaking of Commander-in-Chief, did you realize that we’re only two months away from voting for ours? The GOP wrapped up its convention last week, and this week’s Democratic National Convention confirmed that this race will be intense, and right down to the wire. Regardless of what side you’re on, or even if you’re undecided, I’m sure you’ll agree that this race is likely to get even more contentious as we head into November.
The job of mothering is done by more than mothers alone. This year, I’ve learned that motherhood is but one aspect of womanhood.
This weekend, I’ve had my fair share of Mother’s Day greetings, and I’ve exchanged the greeting with any woman who appeared old enough to be a mother without stopping to think about whether these women were mothers or not. I never even thought to ask! (Shame on me!)
Last time I checked in, I Breathed. It’s 2 a.m., and I lie awake, restless, courtesy of a loud, rolling thunder, fretful lightning, and a steady downpour just outside my bedroom window. Mother Nature is anything but nurturing right now.
These early hours are particularly unsettling because I’m thinking about just how much growing up I’ve had to do. I’ve had to confront Continue reading »
Under this thin veil of a sheet
My body feels bruised, battered, and beat.
Worn down by the hardest fight of my life,
I can but barely breathe. Continue reading »
The other night, our family sat down to watch The Wiz.
I had never truly watched The Wiz. Now, before you get all indignant on me, I had a few good reasons. For starters, we did not own a television. I was still living in my native country of Dominica in the West Indies and by the time I arrived Continue reading »
I am my own worst critic. This is a good part of the reason I do not blog as often. The other part, Life, requires no explanation. If I feel like I’ve missed the mark somehow, I refrain from publicly sharing what I have written. In essence, I have created a standard that has become impossible to uphold as consistently as I’d like, for whatever reason. Lately however, I am finding that waiting for perfect to act, write, move, speak, or simply make a decision is a great disservice to myself and to a lesser degree, to others.
I went to pick up my four-year old daughter today from her preschool located inside a community church. I had a relatively good day trying to be reflective and more available and open to Spirit, and less distracted by the noise of social media or the news. So you can imagine my reaction when I learned of today’s horrific news that a 24-year old gunman opened fire at an elementary school 
I could not wait to be done with my everyday duties to run home to clean. That’s right, I really couldn’t wait to get home to clean. I don’t usually get that excited about cleaning, but this particular day was different. Some call it domestic bliss, but I’d like to think that it was bigger than that. Growing up, I would always hear my grandmother say “cleanliness is next to godliness”, and my interpretation of that, simply put, was that God would not be pleased if I, or my surroundings, weren’t kept clean.
