Precious Predilections

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  • New Hope

    New Hope

    Money can’t buy you love, but it can buy you justice. This position is not one for arguing – today’s contention is how to ignite hope in a community that has seen it’s dream of equality shot down decade after decade. Not false hope. Not pipe dreams. So far, this is the type of hope that generations of Black Americans have been given; false premises of being seen, heard, and valued. Unfortunately this view also permeates classrooms. Dreams devoid of hope vanish into thin air leaving it more difficult to breathe for all of us. Gasping for a hope that seems to evade.

    I was unprepared for the reckoning my heart would face when I watched the movie Just Mercy. I read the book a few years ago and was wrecked by Bryan Stevenson’s compelling proposition to be proximate to the poor if you want to see change (in yourself and larger systems). I made moves. Became proximate. But let me tell you, when this book was brought to life on the screen, I could only see two things; black men in my family and the black boys in my classroom. I was unable to shake the reality of how so many of their dreams vanish into thin air early. Historically, the criminal justice system presumes guilt before trial and the classroom deems incompetent before demonstrating capability. As I wept in that theater over and over again at real lives who were deemed to have zero meaning, I asked myself about the power of hope to fuel justice.

    Hopelessness is the end of justice. – Bryan Stevenson

    This movie reminded me of the power of knowing you have someone in your corner fighting for you. The power of knowing that someone believes your life has value. The power of knowing that you aren’t the only one who hasn’t given up hope. The power of knowing what it feels like to receive mercy. The power of proximity to drive empathy-fueled action.

    I have chosen the classroom as a place to restore hope. It is the most difficult thing I have done. It is complex and nuanced. No parent or child is the worst thing they have ever done. Each child I behold not only bears the image of God but also the hopes of their parents; their people. I get that. I know what it is to have the dreams of your family resting on your shoulders. When my students are older, I hope they know how much I fought for them. I hope they know how much I loved them. I hope they know how much I valued them.

    There are lots of lessons to learn throughout the course of a school year, but I hope to infuse students and the families I serve with new hope. A new hope which restores truth to a generation of black and brown children who have been told that they are incapable. All children are capable of learning. All children are worthy of love. This blog is more of a note-to-self. May I always stand in these truths in the classroom.

    “I got my truth back…you gave that to me. Ain’t nobody gone take that from us.” – Walter McMillian [Just Mercy]

  • Forty feels @ Forty

    Forty feels @ Forty

    Most of my birthdays begin with reflection and today was no different. Four decades of life…hard to believe. I often feared not living beyond 34 years of life (age my father died). Today I decided to list forty feelings I have as I enter my fortieth year of life. Here’s to the feels.

    I FEEL…

    1. Alive
    2. Grateful
    3. Challenged
    4. Fulfilled
    5. Hopeful
    6. Joyful
    7. Fit
    8. Whole
    9. Surprised
    10. Unfulfilled
    11. Sadness
    12. Loved
    13. Foolish
    14. Known
    15. Satisfied
    16. Beautiful
    17. Longing
    18. Light
    19. Free
    20. Courageous
    21. Connected
    22. Peace
    23. Jaded
    24. Anger
    25. Content
    26. Accepted
    27. Human
    28. Tired
    29. Unknown
    30. Alone
    31. Purposeful
    32. Deep Loss
    33. Enjoyed
    34. Experienced
    35. Misunderstood
    36. Feeble
    37. Strong
    38. Unseen
    39. Human
    40. Barren

    I don’t always feel capable. I don’t always feel strong. I don’t always feel loved. I don’t always feel known. Today, I am thankful to be in a place where these feelings can safely reside in me to remind me of my humanity and desperate need for God. No longer ignoring heart ache to search for heart joy, but rather embracing both as a sign that I am fully alive.

    Forty feels simultaneously amazing and complex. This is not how I thought forty would look and I’m okay with that. I really am okay with all of that.

  • on the other side

    on the other side

    Imagine what it’s like to be stuck in a reality that dismantles your family, presumes your guilt based on your God-given gear ( I’m talkin’ skin color), and leaves you with a thousand sleepless nights and I will tell you what it’s like to have a Black son, brother, husband, father or friend to undergo the unwieldy American unjust justice system. Key word here is REALITY. For some the account of When They See Us by Ava DuVernay is philosophical and conversations loom around poetic pros and pithy arguments, yet I am unable to escape the striking resemblance to my family’s reality of justice gone wrong.

    So many images from this series are seared into my psyche but none more piercing than that of a pride so deep that produces prejudicial action. This is the stuff of oppressive systems. My stomach turned in knots as I realized that when they (Whites) see us, they remember her (White investment banker brutally raped). How could they not? A judge, who like most, keeps a doting picture of his (White) wife on the bench; a young, White female prosecutor; fill in the _____________. A quick substitution of the rape victim with the face of the one they love and the five black boys on trial are no longer seen as such, but as a wolf pack to protect their loved ones from. This instinctive ability to re-imagine ourselves or a person we love/care about that has been victimized is all natural. Development of my empathetic muscles has come from a place of love through proximity. So, I’ll say it – love differently ya’ll. Love different people from different places of different races with different experiences and I am certain you will no longer see a wolf pack. You’ll see a student, a friend, someone’s brother, a child, a person.

    http://www.glamour.com Atsushi Nishijima/Netflix

    On the other side of incarceration there are parents, siblings, children, friends who experience loss from a system designed to keep so many bound.

    When They See Us not only exposes what happens when justice moves away from righting wrongs to jockeying for power, but also depicts the complex choices of those “on the other side.” It highlights how the pressures of our penal system forces parents to choose between provision and purported protection. Complicated.

    Antron’s dad lost his son trying to protect him. Raymond’s dad would forever regret sending him to the same park where he would be targeted by police. Kevin’s sister is crushed by her 14 year old brother’s tear-filled plea to simply return home and signs a coerced confession. Complicated. Somehow through deep loss and grief, those on the other side are able to beautifully uphold the dignity of those they love. While it is painfully obvious during each episode that whiteness affords many the privilege of a better trial than their Black counterparts, I found a few other lessons embedded within.

    Clinging to normalcy: the return home. The return home is anti-climactic. Fathers unprepared to receive the sons they’ve betrayed by choosing absence on court dates. Sons bravely clinging to normalcy found in the days of old. Holding tightly to the culmination of belongings in a brown paper bag. Dreaming nightly of the return home only to realize that the heart’s deep love must now sync with the awkward moments of freely being present with loved ones as the muscle memory of trauma reminds everyone to restrain affection and the expression of feelings. Trauma makes normal abnormal. We must be gentle with one another.

    We are not okay: lying to survive The penal system can produce a family of pretenders. We all pretend that everything is okay post incarceration. Because how do you even begin to process that all involved have less hope in a justice system that doesn’t value our Black lives or legacy? Korey’s mom would ask him, “What is it like for you in here? Are they treating you okay?” His response was always, “I’m surviving…” or “I’m holding it down…” Responses which are echoed all across America. We may never know the entire story of someone’s trauma. For those that choose vulnerability, let them do so in their own time and in their own way. We must be gentle with one another.

    “I’m just a shadow,” says Korey Wise, one of the exonerated five and victim of horrific beatings. “I’m very empty — 46 years old and empty. At the same time, I’m talking to the kid in me: ‘I got you, baby boy. Nobody can take your story from you.’”

    Real love…I’m searching for a real love…someone to really see me. (cue Mary J. Blige song) It is real love that slowly shifts our gaze beyond bias and towards humanity. Love is less about whimsy, more about choice. It is an outright intention to choose another over yourself. It is sacrificial at it’s core. Consider those on the other side of incarceration (or providing trauma support) and ask yourself, how have I loved them? These parents, children, siblings, loved ones are often left in the shadows. Those who’ve directly experienced trauma and those supporting them need that real love.

    “All I do all day long is LOVE YOU.” — Mother of Antron McCray, one of the exonerated five boys.

  • Chronic Singleness

    Chronic Singleness

    I’ve lived a lot of life as a single Black woman and I’ve resisted writing down these thoughts for a while, but usually in my writing I find solace sprinkled with liberty and saturated with courage. Courage to share that I am nearly FORTY (yep, the big 4 0) and I have spent almost half of those years navigating life as a single woman. This is at times a difficult truth because it is far from my desire or even what I had “planned,” but that’s NOT what this post is about. This post isn’t about the difficult aspects of singleness, it’s about the silent directives whispered to women by well-meaning friends and family to be someone other than their authentic selves to rid them of this thing called singleness.

    The title “chronic singleness” is hyperbolic in nature and intended to conjure up thoughts of potential cures. Why? Because women who are single into their mid-to-late thirties begin to be treated as if their singleness was brought on by their selfishness (clearly they must be chasing a career), insecurities, high standards, or strong personality. In essence, the problem MUST belong to the woman… And of course some might say that all of the aforementioned “symptoms” are curable.

    Here’s where well meaning peeps enter the scene. They begin asking the woman about things she could possibly change about herself to garner the attention of a man. Even recommending that she change her standards of desirable characteristics in a partner to simply look like… “man with a job.” It may sound funny to some, but this is only comical through your twenties. Once you reach your mid-to-late thirties it becomes exhausting. If this sounds personal, it is. I’ve received advise from people I love dearly that varies from trying an online dating app to revealing less of my educational background to appear less intimidating to men.

    I’m exhausted fam. I have been told over and over again that I must shrink back so that the man can shine. Veil portions of my full self so that his presence can supersede mine. Why can’t we both shine together? This exhausting narrative has become awkward as I approach forty. Like, what else can you ask me to do to “prepare” for this mystery man? And why aren’t men being asked the same types of questions?

    Precious moment with my friend’s little one.

    Truthfully, at this stage, people engage me with caution as they see my love for children and family and approach me with uncertainty to ask if it’s okay to pray for my future husband. Or the look on their face indicates that they are genuinely baffled as to the cause of my singleness and long for a day where I will share in the joy of a long term relationship and family of my own. I want to thank friends and family for their concern and care, but I must also request that you all stop treating me like singleness is something to be cured. The longing in my heart persists for marriage and a family of my own, but my life is full today. I am not lacking as a single person.

    I remember the shame centered around this conversation as a woman in my mid-thirties when people who know me unintentionally communicated that I was not enough. A Christian community that idolizes marriage and gives little value to the single person often did the same. I began to embrace the idea of searching for a cure for my singleness; my chronic condition of incompleteness until I realized that I am enough. God’s design of me is COMPLETE. A change in marital status should only add to the beauty of my life as most relationships do. No single person completes another person. Periodt.

    I, like, Ekemini Uwan of Truth’s Table, now hold this desire of marriage loosely. Her post titled, Singleness: My Only Companion, beautifully expressed many of the sentiments of my heart and communicated that I am not alone. Thank you sis. This past year God has shown me the beauty in daily gratitude for every met need. As I said every day last year and will continue to say, “I have what I need TODAY, therefore I will not complain.” This includes not complaining about being single. Each year God adds new relationships to my life when I need them and for this I am grateful.

    When you see a woman in her mid-to-late thirties who is single, don’t offer her your unsolicited advice. Don’t make her feel like a leper because of her marital status. Don’t presume she is lonely or unfulfilled. Don’t even assume that marriage is a desire of hers. Remember, Jesus was single. I never hear anyone speak of his life of singleness with disdain. The Apostle Paul was single and that is never the first thing people mention when speaking about him. Peep this. All I want you to do is LISTEN if singleness is the topic of conversation. It is often more complicated than swiping left or right on an app or “putting yourself out there.” If the woman is a friend, a daughter, or colleague, listen to her heart when she shares it. Pray for her to live fully and freely in her singleness. And lastly, if she does desire marriage, pray for contentment in the longing. I believe she will benefit from those prayers. I know that I have. Life is full of unmet desires and yet God faithfully meets every need.

    But godliness with contentment is great gain. – 1 Timothy 6:6

  • Neighboring Fear

    Neighboring Fear

    How has fear become my neighbor? Close enough to be a predictor of behavior, yet distant enough for me to ignore when discomfort arises.

    Have you ever experienced a fear so great that it paralyzed you? A fear so magnificent that you felt powerless to respond and instead, you ran? I have. Two weeks ago I learned through an experience that fear not only keeps you from purpose, it keeps you from humanizing. Fear can make us irrational.

    Embarrassingly, a few weeks ago I had the opportunity to respond to a person’s need and comfort them after something pretty traumatic happened; trauma that I induced. Now, pause the tape. A rational  response by me would have been to provide comfort to a “fellow neighbor” in need, but I didn’t. My feet were so mired in fear, that I irrationally did nothing. Press play. I did nothing. Nothing to comfort. Nothing to support. What I did do repeatedly in the moment was conjure up a myriad of reasons why “not responding to my neighbor” was the best idea. I have since made amends with that neighbor, but this life experience left me keenly aware of the power fear has to dehumanize others. The more salient lesson is that I am not exempt from such dehumanizing behavior. A humbling and indelibly heart gripping moment which is unforgettable.

    Fear is rarely disruptive on the grand stage of life, but it lives in the mundane decisions happening minute by minute. It resides in our decision to ignore the outsider and choose our “known friends” repeatedly. It breathes in our decision to avoid eye contact with the marginalized or homeless. It contaminates our ability to see beyond external, often, superficial differences. Fear comfortably rests in our desire to remain comfortable in this life. No new relationships. No sacrificial giving of time or resources. No need to learn about another’s culture. No need for diversity of perspective or life experience.

    As a Black woman, I look forward to the month of February because I’m most hopeful that it will afford me the unique opportunity to enter into conversations with people who are otherwise guarded on conversations of race. Then fear moves into the neighborhood… hello, neighbor…

    During Black History Month, one of the most palpable things a non-person of color might fear is a meaningful discussion surrounding racialized systems which privilege some and prohibit others. Fear of being labeled a racist. Fear of not knowing what to say. Fear of saying the wrong thing. All valid concerns, yet, without such discussions, my history becomes dumbed down to a single speech, a rescued slave, or a heroic conductor. This history, my history, LIVES in the fabric of our education system, the socioeconomic strata, and undoubtedly in me. Black History, which is also American History, has somehow been re-categorized as a single month within the year where people of color can liberally speak of and celebrate their story. A story laden with triumph, not just tragedy. Fear supports an ethos of separate, but equal because of it’s irrationality.

    Fear and love elicit visceral responses. Fear freezes. Love frees.

    – Precious Jones

    Vocabulary.com says that something visceral is felt in the gut. A visceral feeling is intuitive – there might not be a rational explanation, but you feel that you know what’s best.

    I’m not certain that we can live our lives entirely absent of fear, but, I do believe the more we choose love, the more we’ll find ourselves likely to respond to our neighbors in the way that we desire to be responded to. A personal prayer of mine is to love others well and I am still learning how to do this when fear is pounding on my door, demanding re-entry. How can you evict fear and invite love into your community this February? This year? This lifetime? These are indeed the same questions I am left pondering.

    There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. – 1 John 4:18 (ESV)

  • Keep the Change

    Keep the Change

    I see the depth of my humanity at the intersection of my darkest secrets and greatest hopes.  At times I am secretly afraid and yet deeply hopeful. Teaching has unearthed a myriad of emotions.  It has been a place where great joy and great need have collided.  I believe I’ve needed the presence of students much more than they have needed any lesson I have taught them.

    Living this dream has been nothing I expected and everything I’ve hoped for.  I didn’t expect exhaustion or gaps in communicating with those I love.  I didn’t expect to see the beauty in becoming a reflective practitioner. I didn’t expect to treasure sound feedback as much as I do.  I hoped for joy filled days.  I hoped that I would not be the only teacher in the room; that I might learn profound truths from the mouth of babes.  I hoped that my discomfort would point me to Christ.  I hoped that I would grow personally and professionally; both have occurred.  A memorable student-led lesson that impacted my personal growth occurred on the first day in the classroom.

    InkedMTR Class of 2019 Residents-Vision Prep-0020_LI

    “Are you nice?” – 5th Grader somewhere in Memphis

    On the first day of school I was full of nerves; all kinds of nerves and this student “had the nerve” to question my kindness?  I should be nervous, right?  It was my first day as a teacher.  However, the candor with which this student spoke during my initial encounter with him was refreshing and taught me a lesson in token vs. true relationship.  My first day attire was thoughtfully chosen. I “carefully” selected a colorful blazer and shirt which I thought wouldn’t cause me to appear too uptight that kids wouldn’t approach me or  too casual that I wouldn’t be taken seriously.  Clearly the student could not easily decipher the type of teacher I was and therefore decided to ask.  Truthfully, his sweet candor never left me.

    As adults, quick, unfounded, judgments are made upon initial encounters, and rather than finding out more about that person (as this student attempted to do), token relationships are established.  True friendships are established as we seek to know and be known by others.  Tokenism selfishly prompts us to hold on to a relationship based on what it can provide us and only access it when it has some direct value to us.  It says, “I’ll use this token when I need it.”  It has little care for the token itself, only what it can provide.  Tokens are cheap and so are token relationships.  The first day of school encounter has guided my interactions with students and adults in a new way.  This student has encouraged me to seek to know others and allow others to get to know me.  This knowledge doesn’t imply depth, but rather an earnest attempt to connect with others in an authentic way. This posture of connection with others has caused me seek to humanize others.  It is the start of every conversation and every prayer. Game changer.  This student taught me a lesson in empathy.   For 2019, ya’ll can keep the change.  I’m not in search of tokens.

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    As a self-proclaimed late dreamer, my professional growth as a teacher has revealed itself through expressions of love.  I thought my first day in the classroom would be love at “first day,” but it wasn’t. In short, it didn’t feel like love, but it felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.  And maybe this is love; not explicitly a feeling, but a knowing.  A deep knowing that you are safe and that the reciprocation of the love that you’ve given will be returned without judgement.  I have been loved well by a few in this season. These beautiful expressions of love have undoubtedly reminded this caterpillar that it was made to fly.

    There is a love that liberates and a love that feels like it’s always been free.  I choose freedom.  – Queen Sugar

    Teaching has been the realization of an unspoken dream.  Dreaming doesn’t actually feel “dreamy” and comfortable, but I do feel ALIVE!  Is it possible that in the dreaming I feel more human?  Does this awakening of my humanity define what it means to really live?    Living in the tension of hopes and heartache.

    Dreaming is defined on www.dictionary.com as an aspiration; goal; aim.

    To dream is to hope.  To hope is to live.

    I now dream of teaching students more than math.  I dream of teaching them of their inner and outer beauty.  I dream of teaching them how to navigate a world which doesn’t always affirm them.  I dream of teaching them to fly.  Fly, babies, fly.  When loved well, I believe flying is the only option.

    Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life. – Proverbs 13:12

  • Village People

    Village People

    “You’ve been here a LOOOOONNNNGGG time, Auntie…”  – my 7 year old niece

    And by “long time” she means that I’ve been in Orlando longer than 5 weeks.  Of course, children her age have a skewed concept of time generally leading to hyperbolic expressions of events.  Her tone was sweet and endearing as she described my return home from South Africa after a 3 month stay; this account was quickly met with bewilderment as to why I wasn’t allowed to stay as I had intended.  She didn’t understand why my plans had changed.  There was joy and sadness in her voice.  Joy as we laughed and played together, but sadness because she knew that something “felt broken” in her auntie and there was seemingly no remedy in sight.  I realized in that moment the depth of my village.  It’s deep y’all.  So, this blog is one of gratitude.  Gratitude to my village.

    “It takes a village to raise a child.” – African Proverb

    I’ve been a “village person” all of my adult life.  I’ve had the opportunity to be a part of the communal support system of nieces, nephews, cousins, and children in the various cities I’ve lived.  I adore being a part of the village.  The village isn’t just something we can benefit from as children.  I’m learning, “As an adult, it takes a village to really live.”  There are things that my friends provided that my family could not.  There are thoughtful ways that my family supported me to remind me that I am more than what I do.  I am family.  The warmth of my niece’s presence and her hand-written notes with God at the center that say, “We love you God,” remind me not to take for granted her place in my village.Niece Art

    Without this village, I would have floundered upon my return from South Africa.  Instead, I’ve been able to share my disappointment with my niece from the vantage point of a diamond, not defeat.  I want my nieces and nephews to know that they can do hard things.  They can try new things and succeed.  They will also try new things and fail.  But, they must try.  Their village is strong.

    In the last 6 months I’ve experienced very high highs and low lows.  I’ve cried.  I’ve lamented.  I’ve laughed.  I’ve dreamed.  I finally dreamed.  My village came through as I took deep breaths and acted with new courage imbued by faith.  I was no longer a reservoir in the village, I had become a recipient.  This transition has brought me face to face with my need for village people.  I am thankful for the expanse of people in so many different places that I know are a part of my village and I theirs.  Thank you all for your prayers, texts, meals, couch-surfing opportunities, and encouragement.  Thank you for allowing me to do hard things; to live freely.  This freedom has allowed me to throw off yet one more chain.  The chain that links my identity to what I do has been thrown off!  What does that look like for me?  Well, I’m glad you’re interested!

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    When I envision myself really living in freedom, it takes me to a place where I am most myself; when I am teaching and in the presence of children.  Therefore, I will no longer hesitate to make moves to make this a reality.  I’m moving deeper into the village!  I’ve accepted an offer to be a resident in a teacher residency program in Memphis while completing a Master’s in Urban Education.  I’m excited to become a teacher after this year of residency.  Teaching is hard work, but I can think of no other space where I will be more alive.  I am certain there are beautiful exchanges I will have with the community of Memphis as we learn from one another.  Memphis, here I come!

    Some might describe my journey from engineering to education as steps backwards, but I would describe them as the most courageous and invigorating steps forward.  When I stand in the classroom, I know I will not stand alone.  I echo the words of Maya Angelou in saying, “I come as one, but I stand as 10,000.”   As my heart enlarges for the vulnerable and marginalized, I am compelled to do things I’ve never done before to see justice lived out in a way I’ve never seen.

    Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go. – Joshua 1:9 (ESV)