Precious Predilections

Tag: healing

  • 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!

    20180414_230319

    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)

     

  • Unveiling Hidden Figures

    Unveiling Hidden Figures

    The movie “Hidden Figures” took me on a roller coaster of emotions that I am not sure I’ve come down from.  Many [many] years ago, I was a budding engineer interning at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, FL who later turned down an offer to work as a long term engineer there.   At that time I had no idea of the premise of being a “hidden figure” in my career.  I was naive. Hopeful.  Trusting and hanging on to every word of those in authority; predominantly  the older, white men who were my managers.

    This derivation of mixed emotions comes from the simple, yet complex idea that things which are hidden are searched for intentionally, or remain hidden for a long time; only discovered by happenstance.  I honestly celebrate the healthy exposure that this movie has brought African American women in the science fields, yet my heart and life experience wrestle with the reality that any leader who chooses to unveil hidden figures in any industry must pay some cost.  It may cost some a bruised ego.   Others some of their influence.  Still others the very position that they may have aspired to or felt entitled to for years.  Truthfully, this is a cost that some are unwilling to pay.

    ***SPOILER ALERT***

    Choosing to Unveil

    When I re-imagine the bathroom scene where her manager tears down the “Colored Only” bathroom sign with every exertion of strength in his body, I am deeply moved.  Viscerally moved to tears.  I am moved because he had a choice.  He had a choice to leave things the way they were (which was perfectly legal) or to ensure equity for all on his staff at the expense of his social capital and the dissenting opinions of others. I won’t divulge details, but as a women of color who has experienced working on teams and with management who choose to unveil and those who don’t, I will say that I believe this act was far more courageous than depicted.  Now, before we toot too many horns, the most glaring paradox in this movie to me was that these women WERE ONLY unveiled because there was a DIRECT BENEFIT to those who had allowed them to remain hidden for so long.  In fact, the cost became too great for them not to be unveiled.  I mean, we’ve got to get John Glenn to space, right?  By the end of the movie, I joined everyone in celebrating the greater victory for America, but I could only think, the managers cowered because they had to; because they wanted victory so badly.  They DID NOT do the right thing simply because it was the right thing to do.

    I want to honor Martin Luther King, Jr. as we near the end of another #BlackHistoryMonth and highlight the response of Dorothy Vaughan, Octavia Spencer’s character,  who in fact did the right thing because it was the right thing to do. 

    martinlutherkingjrthetimeisalwaysright

    Leaders who Do the Right Thing (as reflected in Octavia’s charachter) are marked by:

    1. Recognition (of others) – She actively worked to recognize the gifts and talents of those on her team even if it warranted a promotion for them and practical obscurity for her.
    2. Innovation – She  developed a new way for those on her team to experience growth so that they were prepared to be unveiled when the time was right.  She risked the very promotion she had longed for so that the entire team rose to another level when she rose to another level.  Great innovation is often accompanied by great risk.
    3. Golden Rule Gratitude – With outward expressions of gratitude, she never delineated from treating others the way that she wanted to be treated.
    4. Hopefulness – She hung on to hope.  Her hopeful vision for the future propelled her and others forward.
    5. Tenacity – She displayed a dogged tenacity to lead and develop others with the influence given.

    There are hidden figures in classrooms, colleges, and places of employment everywhere.  Many systems in society have given visibility to some and not others.

    Today, I am less of a hidden figure.  Still being unveiled and grateful for it.

    One day, I hope it is said of me that I “did the right thing” as a leader; a person of influence.  I understand that I have a beautiful choice.  I will choose to unveil hidden figures when presented with the opportunity. Who will you help unveil today?

    “He must become greater; I must become less.” – John 3: 30, NIV

  • The Suffering Saint

    The Suffering Saint

    Recently, I have spent a lot of time thinking about suffering and my desire to avoid it at all costs.  It sucks to suffer. End of story.  January was laden with suffering and loss for a few of my friends; 3 funerals in 3 weeks to remember the lives of 2 fathers and 1 son.  Grief and sorrow have a way of lingering.    Jesus agreed with this sentiment as reflected in Matthew 26:38, where he stated, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death…”  Again, suffering sucks.  The unsettling truth is that as a follower of Jesus, I should not only come to expect the blessings of God, but with great certainty I should be mindful that suffering is also on the path of sanctification. Difficult truth.  And it sucks.

    suf·fer
    ˈsəfər/
    verb
         1. experience or be subjected to (something bad or unpleasant).
    This fixation on the avoidance of suffering came about after spending time visiting a friend in South Africa, where there is a chasm of classism left from the wreckage of apartheid.  During this visit more than any other, there was an acute awareness of the role that race has played in providing privilege to some and not to others.  As our conversations grew in depth, we both surmised that without even knowing it, we had developed an unhealthy expectation of “entitlement” to blessings as a believer and follower of Jesus Christ.
     en·ti·tled
    inˈtīdld,enˈtīdld/
    adjective
    1. believing oneself to be inherently deserving of privileges or special treatment
    It was almost as if we had said to God, suffering is for someone else, definitely not me. This unspoken paradigm of entitlement can wreak havoc on our faith when suffering arrives.  I then began to ask this friend how she maintained her faith during her most difficult moment when she suffered the loss of someone she loves.  She stated very simply and profoundly to “loosen my grip.”  Loosen my grip on the possessions I have.  Loosen my grip on the relationships that I hold dear.  Loosen my grip on my definition of what my life should be at this exact moment.  The “loosening of the grip” is an expression to hold those things and relationships dearly loved loosely in your hands, with gratitude and knowledge that all those things belong to God.  All of them.

    “Following Jesus wholeheartedly means facing the “most brutal facts of our current reality, whatever they might be” while holding on to our absolute certainty that we “prevail in the end” through his love and grace.” – Rick Lawrence, Jesus-Centered Life

    Perhaps a small part of what makes suffering bearable is our ability to savor what is good in that moment.  Another nugget of truth is that we can’t always see the things that are good in the moment of suffering.  What I learned during my time with my friend is that it is NOT in the overt acknowledgement of “all that is good” that gratitude arises.  It actually arises as we choose to be present with those who are suffering.  Present during the smiles. Present during the sorrow.  Present during the silence.

    I observed a lot of natural beauty during my time in South Africa, but there was nothing more beautiful than the comfort of a friendship that has lasted 13 years.  There was no pretense.  I liken it to the comfort of a good pair of old jeans.  They have holes, they aren’t perfect, but they fit in all the right places.

    I thought my time in South Africa would leave me only longing to ease the suffering of strangers.  That occurred.  I didn’t know that my time in South Africa would teach me in part, how to lament with the suffering saint and also teach me that suffering/sorrow/grief has no zip code.

     

    I want Jesus; fully and completely.  However, I still don’t want to suffer, but if I must, may I do so by leaning into Jesus and loosening my grip on all the things I’ve deemed too precious to lose.

  • Brothers Forgive Me

    Brothers Forgive Me

    This unsolicited request for forgiveness is long overdue.

    This cry for forgiveness is birthed out of a new revelation of the deep and damaging impact of mass incarceration on men of color; men of color like my brothers.  The brothers that I grew apart from long before we grew up because in their youth they experienced the dehumanization and desensitizing that happens upon incarceration.  I have been writhing with grief after watching “13TH” on Netflix.  This sense of sadness and shame that has come at the realization, that, I, your sister, have not advocated for you, my brothers.  My blood.  I’m sorry bros.  I love you bros.  I just didn’t know bros.

    This documentary on Netflix speaks of the loop hole in the 13th amendment which essentially provides a clause for criminals to continue to be subject to slavery or involuntary servitude.  The mythology of black criminology is pervasive in media and culture today, but it began long ago.  It is startling and disheartening how the narrative of slavery lives on in present policies and systems, cloaked under the guise of “criminal justice.”

    “We now have more African Americans currently under criminal supervision than all the slaves back in the 1850’s.”  – Senator Cory Booker

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    In the past, I shied away from watching TV series such as “Lockup” because these shows brought me incredibly close to some of the realities of those I love.  The brutality.  The identification by number not name.  The memories of visitations as a college student and beyond.  Remembering how unsettling it was to be frisked and undergo stringent visitation requirements.  Remembering the joy on your face and your warm embrace when I arrived for a visit.  Remembering the fear that came over me prior to every visit.  Fearing that I would be denied the opportunity to visit you.  Fearing that you were no longer allowed to see me.  Fearing something would always sabotage our brief connection.  And brief it always was.

    As we fast forward to the present, I am ashamed to state that I’ve had the same expectation of many who have no real context of what it means to be incarcerated and that expectation is to simply “move on after release.”  I remember the joy I had upon your release and I also felt quite lost because I didn’t know what to say or do.  At times that feeling remains.  You are an adult now.  And so am I.  You’ve experienced trauma for which I have no context, and sadly, I’ve expected you to simply bear that weight alone.  I’ve also expected you to easily navigate broken systems in our culture that express that although free, you are still not deemed a citizen.  Systems which prevent you from voting, exacerbate the cost of health care, increase barriers to employment, and multiply the cost of higher education.

    Forgive me for not acknowledging your pain.

    Forgive me for not acknowledging your victories.

    Forgive me for not using my voice and influence to not only advocate for proactive efforts that work to prevent young people from experiencing this trauma, but also advocate for young people who have been left to recover on their own after this trauma.

    Forgive me for not asking you how you were doing after release.

    Forgive me for moving on with life and expecting you to do the same.

    I am DEEPLY sorry.

    The physical chains remain in the transport of men and women into incarceration, but the mental chains are just as significant.

    On the eve of my 37th birthday, I am so grateful for lessons that my thirties continue to teach me.  The current lesson is to “keep learning.”  I am learning that my story, our family story is even more beautiful as I see the impression of your collective strength throughout it.   Your journeys have been incredibly difficult.  You guys have all continued to fight to be better men and good fathers.  Perfection is an illusion made for TV; I’ve yet to meet a perfect person.  You all could have thrown in the towel after each rejection post interview.  You didn’t.  You could have complained repeatedly.  You haven’t.  I know that your sons and daughters see you as heroes and so do I.  Thank you for displaying what it means to persevere.

    I am one who advocates for the marginalized; the outsiders, but I have been unknowingly callous to the implications of mass incarceration on our black men (brothers), our communities, our families.  I am still uncertain of how to advocate well.  I don’t know what I don’t know.  I am hoping that you all will become my new instructors.   I have so much more to learn.   So much more to learn from you.

    I love you guys.  Thank you for being gentle and patient with me in my ignorance.  It has taught me to do the same with others.

    Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Ephesians 4:2 [NIV]

  • When the Healer Doesn’t Heal

    When the Healer Doesn’t Heal

    Heart_with_Bandage-512Sometimes I use music to silence the ache of my heart, but there is no song loud enough to remedy the ache I feel when death comes incredibly close.  Death always feels sudden and unexpected; sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t.  In youth and old age, the heart ache is just the same.  What is not expected is the piercing pain that is with you when you rise and prevents you from sleeping.  Causing you to toss and turn with questions you’ve never fully considered until tragedy has made it’s home in your inner circle of friends or family.  No longer a tweetable article you sympathize with, YOU KNOW the victim(s).

    I write about this as my heart has wrestled with what is true and what I feel.  I feel pain, anger, and hurt because I know God can (and does) heal, but He has not in this instance.  How do I reconcile my aching heart with what my mind knows to be true?  A friend is no longer here; a family member will never again give me a warm embrace and tell me that I “need to eat more chicken to put some meat on my bones.”

    As I increase in age, I have intentionally sought to simplify my life (some might call me a minimalist), but somehow it has become more complex.  Somehow in my thirties, trite answers such as, “everything happens for a reason” are no longer sufficient.  This response leaves me with little ability to be receptive to a statement which lacks empathy and seeks to assuage my ache if only temporarily.   This response now seems artificial; like ingredients that shouldn’t be touched.   Artificial when family and friends are dying of cancer.   Artificial when sudden car accidents end the life of the first,  consistent,  positive male role model I ever had.  Artificial when drug and alcohol addiction destroys the life of a young man biologically deemed father,  yet emotionally and physically distant.

    Tragedy has made its home in my heart and it is bitterly painful.  Parts of me want to apologize because of the toll this grief has taken – that’s not going to happen.  This need for apology causes me to desire to tuck away my vulnerability so that my friends and family can behold an apparently “happier” version of myself.  That is not healthy and is no longer my method of coping.  In earnest, I am not sure how long grief will be present, but I have made space for it. I am allowing myself to feel the pain of loss and to cry about it over and over again because this brings some healing to my soul.  When the Healer (Jesus) doesn’t heal physically, I know of no greater remedies than:

    • Those who remain close enough to  listen,  pray,  and cry with me.
    • Constant reminders of the beauty of community and that I do not have to be alone.   I can choose the presence of those that love me especially in my weakest,  most vulnerable state.
    • Those who speak the truth in love.
    • Beautiful memories imbued with laughter.
    • Honestly sharing my disappointment with Jesus who can shoulder it.  No longer waiting for all of the answers to life’s complex situations,  but somehow gaining better perspective of the resurrection and the beautiful gift of eternal life that death gave me.  Learning the spiritual principle of God producing life out of death.

    At the crucifixion, death came when some of the people present wanted healing.   From Jesus’ selfless act a newness of life has been made possible for all.   All can be made new.  Brand new.   Maybe death is more complex than I thought.   More complex than my longing for extended life so that I might personally gain or benefit.   More complex for sure.  I’ve learned how to praise God when prayers are answered as I expected; I am now embracing the difficulty of learning how to do so when they are not.  In order to do the latter, I must remember who the God I serve is…He is just; He is love; and He is a good father.

    My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the LORD. “And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. – Isaiah 55:8 [NLT]