This morning was a rocky morning, I spent a lot of time trying to convince myself to just get there. I spent the morning rushing to get somewhere I have waited my whole life to be. I pulled up and they were also waiting on me. The last one to arrive. On time but later than I wanted to be. In the midst of my rocky morning, I had a few displays of loves not just from my friends and family but from God. I had one friend remind me to be me, and have fun, I had a brother hug me and tell me he loved me, any parent of a 17 yo boy will tell you what a miracle that is. My daughter looked at me as I was dropping her off at school and took a second to let me know it was going to be ok and that I could relax. I had an email saying I was loved and even as i was praying away my anxiousness in the car, the Kaneshow happened to play a recording of DMX praying before one of his shows. Now, I'm not saying his voice calmed me down by no means, but no matter who says it the name Jesus will change some things in your spirit. I've spent a lot of my day going over the mistakes I've made, but over and over again, things would happen to remind me that I am loved, I am highly favored and I am made in His image so I am good. Sometimes we miss an opportunity that we were sure was made for us, sometimes we blow the one chance we feel we had to make a difference in our lives. Sometimes things don't work out the way we want them too, need them too, expect them too. But in all times ALLTIMES we are loved, we are loved we are loved. In all times, we are exactly where we are supposed to be at that very moment in time. At all times all things are working for your good. In ALL times God is.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Thursday, April 18, 2013
But God
20 years ago today, my sisters Rasheeda and Rashawn were born. I don't remember much from that day. 7 months later Rashawn passed away. They had both spent most of their lives in the hospital, in the NICU, Incubators, we had to scrub our hands and put on masks before we were able to see them. When they finally came home, Rasheeda first then Rashawn we had to keep a pristine house, boxes of antibacterial scrub brushes were everywhere, selective friends and family were allowed in the house. I would watch them in their crib, astonished that 2 babies so different in size could actually look so much alike. Rashawn was much smaller, but she seemed stronger. She wasn't as lazy as Sheeda. She held her own bottle which was half her size, she was holding her head up first. Sometimes, Rasheeda would lean over too far and fall on Rashawn, and start crying, I noticed that it wasn't the fall that would make Sheeda cry but the fact that Rashawn would Pinch her whenever she would fall on her. I KNEW me and Rashawn would be very close, she was determined even at 4 months. Her stature would not be an obstacle but a blessing.
I don't remember much from the day they were born, but I have very clear memories of visiting them, of going to the hospital, the nurses, the food in the cafeteria, Luckily I don't remember their doctor but I know I met him. I also remember the day she died. It was my mother's birthday, Rashawn had a procedure so I had to spend the night at my friends house, it was a week day. I decided to get my mom a very nice fake rose for her birthday. I could only afford something from the dollar store, so I made up some story about it being a forever rose so she wouldn't realize it was from the dollar store. I remember, instead of spending the night i was picked up and taken home. No real explanation. I remember sitting on the couch as my mother walked in holding Rashawns blanket, she was crying from the worst pain I have ever seen. I was scared. My family was all around, helping her get to bed, making her a plate of food, a drink, a joint, anything to help numb the pain and all I did was stand there holding my brother's hand. I don't know when I started to cry. I know i was in my room alot after that. Cousins evading my space and helping my cope. I remember feeling guilty because I ate all my food and wanted seconds. Some said "Well, you must be ok you didn't lose your appetite" they didn't say it as a put down, they were genuinely happy that i was ok. But the guilt was still there. Later on the funeral was being planned and I was still just in my room and a few people came up to talk to me, hug me give me a kiss. They would also remind me to be strong form my mom and brother. They needed my help and since I was old enough (11) the best thing I could do was keep it together for my family. I tried my best. After the funeral my mom would go to the grave site everyday and stay for hours. She would sit and talk to Rashawn, watch the kids play across the street and laugh and cry. I think that was her therapy. Sometimes I would go with her, just for support. Eventually she got better, she didn't have to visit everyday, she moved on still missing her child but able to function more and more in society.
As fate would have it the other day I ended up in front of the hospital where my sister died. I have actually avoided this hospital for 20 years. If I'm in DC and I get a familiar feeling, I instinctively turn the opposite direction. However, a few Sunday's ago God would place me in front of this hospital, unprepared for what happened next. My family was with me but they were both sleep in the car. I drove up to the hospital and got out, prepping myself to do something outrageous, to break a window, or punch a wall, or nurse, to scream I HATE YOU at the building, but sane people don't that type of stuff so I got out the car, looked at the building and drove home, crying to myself. The next morning, it all became clear to me, I had never allowed myself to go crazy. My sister dying had such an impact on my life but I never noticed. Sometimes it's the silent things that have make the biggest disturbance in our lives. Over the years, I have unsuccessfully most times, attempted to keep it together. I'm strong, I look at things practically, and objectively. I let myself cry as needed but not at all excessively. I have an unhealthy connection to the best friends i had when i was 11. I haven't talked to these ladies in years, and I still call them my best friends. I know at least one got married and I was not on the invite list, and I was genuinely hurt. Again, I haven't spoken to them for years. BUT somewhere in my heart i still held on to her as if she was my forever friend. I realized that I don't go to the doctors enough, nor do I take my daughter enough. I also realized I purposely look a mess when i first meet people, in hopes to keep the shallow people away. Right after my sister died, people in school that didn't like me, were giving me hugs, and cards and saying sorry. I was so annoyed by their pity that i began to lash out. I didn't want to me treated differently I wanted to be treated the same. I wanted to blend in, so for about 15 years, all I wore was variations of black. I didn't notice it at first but my whole wardrobe was black with a pop of color. I even stop asking my family to do my hair, i didn't care to be noticed or pretty or anything. I just wanted to keep my friends and help my mom. I also realized, my depression which i began treatment for last year, after a bad adoption situation (save that for another blog) was really all about my sister. The feeling of another baby that wasn't mine being taken from me didn't start the depression as i thought it simply reactivated a sadness that had been in me for 20 years. I was reliving the inability to do anything, the staying strong for the friends and family that got attached so they could heal. I was the same 11 year old little girl that was trying to keep it together and stay sane so everyone else would be ok. the difference was, they didn't need me to be ok. Like the people I was mad at in Middle School they were just waiting for me to do the natural thing. To be sad, and mad, and grieve, instead I said "it's ok, guys God is in control." BUT GOD!
God, allowed me to go to that hospital, because he has a plan for me. He allowed me to go to the beginning of my pain to show me it's time to call a hurt a hurt. He allowed me to go there so I can allow my friends to help me. SO I can say out loud I didn't want to get out of bed today, but my best friend sent me a text that said I love you, so I did. He allowed me to see what I've been missing so I can no longer be numb. So I can feel the good and the bad. So I can say Ouch and Hallelujah. He required me to face my fear, so I can say shut up I'm not scared anymore. Being hurt is not the end result, it's simply a by product the ending is healing. Always. I know it doesn't make much sense, but after that trip I realized, my Sister's death had a purpose. To heal us. My mom at the time was in a very abusive relationship. My sisters death I think gave my the courage and strength to say no more. If she hadn't died, I may not have made it. I might have had to die for her. I don't understand God's plans but I starting to trust that He really knows what He's doing. So Today I say I love you & Happy birthday Rasheeda & I Miss you & Thank you Rashawn.
I don't remember much from the day they were born, but I have very clear memories of visiting them, of going to the hospital, the nurses, the food in the cafeteria, Luckily I don't remember their doctor but I know I met him. I also remember the day she died. It was my mother's birthday, Rashawn had a procedure so I had to spend the night at my friends house, it was a week day. I decided to get my mom a very nice fake rose for her birthday. I could only afford something from the dollar store, so I made up some story about it being a forever rose so she wouldn't realize it was from the dollar store. I remember, instead of spending the night i was picked up and taken home. No real explanation. I remember sitting on the couch as my mother walked in holding Rashawns blanket, she was crying from the worst pain I have ever seen. I was scared. My family was all around, helping her get to bed, making her a plate of food, a drink, a joint, anything to help numb the pain and all I did was stand there holding my brother's hand. I don't know when I started to cry. I know i was in my room alot after that. Cousins evading my space and helping my cope. I remember feeling guilty because I ate all my food and wanted seconds. Some said "Well, you must be ok you didn't lose your appetite" they didn't say it as a put down, they were genuinely happy that i was ok. But the guilt was still there. Later on the funeral was being planned and I was still just in my room and a few people came up to talk to me, hug me give me a kiss. They would also remind me to be strong form my mom and brother. They needed my help and since I was old enough (11) the best thing I could do was keep it together for my family. I tried my best. After the funeral my mom would go to the grave site everyday and stay for hours. She would sit and talk to Rashawn, watch the kids play across the street and laugh and cry. I think that was her therapy. Sometimes I would go with her, just for support. Eventually she got better, she didn't have to visit everyday, she moved on still missing her child but able to function more and more in society.
As fate would have it the other day I ended up in front of the hospital where my sister died. I have actually avoided this hospital for 20 years. If I'm in DC and I get a familiar feeling, I instinctively turn the opposite direction. However, a few Sunday's ago God would place me in front of this hospital, unprepared for what happened next. My family was with me but they were both sleep in the car. I drove up to the hospital and got out, prepping myself to do something outrageous, to break a window, or punch a wall, or nurse, to scream I HATE YOU at the building, but sane people don't that type of stuff so I got out the car, looked at the building and drove home, crying to myself. The next morning, it all became clear to me, I had never allowed myself to go crazy. My sister dying had such an impact on my life but I never noticed. Sometimes it's the silent things that have make the biggest disturbance in our lives. Over the years, I have unsuccessfully most times, attempted to keep it together. I'm strong, I look at things practically, and objectively. I let myself cry as needed but not at all excessively. I have an unhealthy connection to the best friends i had when i was 11. I haven't talked to these ladies in years, and I still call them my best friends. I know at least one got married and I was not on the invite list, and I was genuinely hurt. Again, I haven't spoken to them for years. BUT somewhere in my heart i still held on to her as if she was my forever friend. I realized that I don't go to the doctors enough, nor do I take my daughter enough. I also realized I purposely look a mess when i first meet people, in hopes to keep the shallow people away. Right after my sister died, people in school that didn't like me, were giving me hugs, and cards and saying sorry. I was so annoyed by their pity that i began to lash out. I didn't want to me treated differently I wanted to be treated the same. I wanted to blend in, so for about 15 years, all I wore was variations of black. I didn't notice it at first but my whole wardrobe was black with a pop of color. I even stop asking my family to do my hair, i didn't care to be noticed or pretty or anything. I just wanted to keep my friends and help my mom. I also realized, my depression which i began treatment for last year, after a bad adoption situation (save that for another blog) was really all about my sister. The feeling of another baby that wasn't mine being taken from me didn't start the depression as i thought it simply reactivated a sadness that had been in me for 20 years. I was reliving the inability to do anything, the staying strong for the friends and family that got attached so they could heal. I was the same 11 year old little girl that was trying to keep it together and stay sane so everyone else would be ok. the difference was, they didn't need me to be ok. Like the people I was mad at in Middle School they were just waiting for me to do the natural thing. To be sad, and mad, and grieve, instead I said "it's ok, guys God is in control." BUT GOD!
God, allowed me to go to that hospital, because he has a plan for me. He allowed me to go to the beginning of my pain to show me it's time to call a hurt a hurt. He allowed me to go there so I can allow my friends to help me. SO I can say out loud I didn't want to get out of bed today, but my best friend sent me a text that said I love you, so I did. He allowed me to see what I've been missing so I can no longer be numb. So I can feel the good and the bad. So I can say Ouch and Hallelujah. He required me to face my fear, so I can say shut up I'm not scared anymore. Being hurt is not the end result, it's simply a by product the ending is healing. Always. I know it doesn't make much sense, but after that trip I realized, my Sister's death had a purpose. To heal us. My mom at the time was in a very abusive relationship. My sisters death I think gave my the courage and strength to say no more. If she hadn't died, I may not have made it. I might have had to die for her. I don't understand God's plans but I starting to trust that He really knows what He's doing. So Today I say I love you & Happy birthday Rasheeda & I Miss you & Thank you Rashawn.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Last Night I had a Dream
Last night I had a dream that I was standing around with some church family, we might have been visiting a hospital or something similar. As we were standing, My Rev. happened to look at me and noticed my sullen state, and told Ms. Candace (one of my favorite members) "Figure out whats going on and let me know what you need" Ms. Candace then came over to me and gave me one of those side hugs and asked very cordially "How's your mother doing?" I looked at her and started to cry, as I searched for the words to answer her question, Then she said, "Ok, then Where is Granny Vines?" I then began to try to explain that she wasn't coming but I was crying too hard. I continued to cry harder and harder unto the point I woke myself up. I was so confused at first I just kept crying and as the haze of sleepiness wore off I realized that my dream had uncovered some issues that I was unwillingly having to deal with.
Yesterday, Elder Vikki Johnson wrote on her Facebook Page "I had a dream last night that I believe is for some of you. It seems like people & things are rapidly "disconnecting", shifting around, or being removed from your life. Surrender to it. Stop trying to "hold on" as God is making room in your life for what's coming. The HIGHER you go, the lighter & more flexible you need to be to maneuver in your life's purpose!" This was for me very coincidental because the day prior I had a friend tell me she was feeling disconnected from me. She gave her reasons which I will save for another post and though I disagree with her I respect them and after some time to think I decided to just be me, and let God control the rest. So when I saw the above message I KNEW it was God telling me to let go and move along.
So I started my Sunday in high hopes. I knew I would miss church because of my daughters basketball game but I set a side a few moments of prayer made some breakfast and proceeded with my day. We had a great basketball game, though my daughter wasn't feel well. She spent most of the game sleep in my lap. We decided after to game to go visit my grandmother. My daughter wanted to hang out, so it took her a few hours to realize that she was sick and needed to lay down, she slept most of the day but the rest of us had a great time. It was a full of playing cards and laughter, we ate hot dogs and beans and talked. I had a few questions I wanted to ask her but I couldn't find the nerve so I just listened and tried to sneak the questions in the conversation, to no avail. As we were beginning to leave My grandma remembered that she recently found a letter my father wrote a few months after my birth admitting his paternity. I was overcome with gratitude that a young man back in 1982 would adopt me at 3 months old as his own. In my moment of clarity I asked my first question, "Grandma, if Toni and I were to get married would you come?" She replied quickly and in certainty "No, I will not" I reminded her that she had said the same about my cousins wedding, and we both went to that wedding, but she said again "No, I'm telling you now, I'm not going to be there, I wont come to your wedding"
Initially, I felt sad. Sad that I couldn't be what she wanted me to be. Sad that I disappointed her. I was sad because I had already decided that part of my wedding plans would be to honor her somehow or at least thank her publicly. I was sad because as my therapist so awesomely explained her approval means a lot to me and the fact that she clearly does not approve of my relationship really hurt my feelings. We talked some more about less touchy subjects and finally we left. Toni and I talked briefly about grandma's decision in the car ride home, but I decided secretly I wasn't going to worry about it. I would just do whatever God told me to do. Sad or not.
When we got home, I prepared my daughter for bed and she started crying cause she just didn't feel good. She didn't enjoy feeling so crappy and she wanted her relief sooner rather than later. I looked down at the mini me in pain in front of me and simply said "I know it sucks". I didn't realize it then but I had just spoken to myself. So later that night when my sobs of disappointment woke me from my deep sleep I reminded myself that I made a decision to let it go! Why then are you still crying? The problem was I didn't know how to fully let go. I thought I had, but when you wake up in the middle of the night crying it may be an indication that you need to deal with something. As the sun rose and the sobs started to ease I began to realize what I missed in my letting go was allowing myself to grieve. I had not given in to the grief of unfulfilled expectations. I had let go but didn't allow myself to cry over the lost.
So today I thank God that last night I had a dream. A dream that allowed me to voice those things that I wanted and let go of the things I can't change. I thank God for the dreams. The dream of me and my future wife in a paid for house sending our children to school. The dream of my brother making the dean's list and graduating magna cum laude. Dreams of debt free living. I didn't know I needed to dream but I'm very grateful to God that last night I finally did.
Yesterday, Elder Vikki Johnson wrote on her Facebook Page "I had a dream last night that I believe is for some of you. It seems like people & things are rapidly "disconnecting", shifting around, or being removed from your life. Surrender to it. Stop trying to "hold on" as God is making room in your life for what's coming. The HIGHER you go, the lighter & more flexible you need to be to maneuver in your life's purpose!" This was for me very coincidental because the day prior I had a friend tell me she was feeling disconnected from me. She gave her reasons which I will save for another post and though I disagree with her I respect them and after some time to think I decided to just be me, and let God control the rest. So when I saw the above message I KNEW it was God telling me to let go and move along.
So I started my Sunday in high hopes. I knew I would miss church because of my daughters basketball game but I set a side a few moments of prayer made some breakfast and proceeded with my day. We had a great basketball game, though my daughter wasn't feel well. She spent most of the game sleep in my lap. We decided after to game to go visit my grandmother. My daughter wanted to hang out, so it took her a few hours to realize that she was sick and needed to lay down, she slept most of the day but the rest of us had a great time. It was a full of playing cards and laughter, we ate hot dogs and beans and talked. I had a few questions I wanted to ask her but I couldn't find the nerve so I just listened and tried to sneak the questions in the conversation, to no avail. As we were beginning to leave My grandma remembered that she recently found a letter my father wrote a few months after my birth admitting his paternity. I was overcome with gratitude that a young man back in 1982 would adopt me at 3 months old as his own. In my moment of clarity I asked my first question, "Grandma, if Toni and I were to get married would you come?" She replied quickly and in certainty "No, I will not" I reminded her that she had said the same about my cousins wedding, and we both went to that wedding, but she said again "No, I'm telling you now, I'm not going to be there, I wont come to your wedding"
Initially, I felt sad. Sad that I couldn't be what she wanted me to be. Sad that I disappointed her. I was sad because I had already decided that part of my wedding plans would be to honor her somehow or at least thank her publicly. I was sad because as my therapist so awesomely explained her approval means a lot to me and the fact that she clearly does not approve of my relationship really hurt my feelings. We talked some more about less touchy subjects and finally we left. Toni and I talked briefly about grandma's decision in the car ride home, but I decided secretly I wasn't going to worry about it. I would just do whatever God told me to do. Sad or not.
When we got home, I prepared my daughter for bed and she started crying cause she just didn't feel good. She didn't enjoy feeling so crappy and she wanted her relief sooner rather than later. I looked down at the mini me in pain in front of me and simply said "I know it sucks". I didn't realize it then but I had just spoken to myself. So later that night when my sobs of disappointment woke me from my deep sleep I reminded myself that I made a decision to let it go! Why then are you still crying? The problem was I didn't know how to fully let go. I thought I had, but when you wake up in the middle of the night crying it may be an indication that you need to deal with something. As the sun rose and the sobs started to ease I began to realize what I missed in my letting go was allowing myself to grieve. I had not given in to the grief of unfulfilled expectations. I had let go but didn't allow myself to cry over the lost.
So today I thank God that last night I had a dream. A dream that allowed me to voice those things that I wanted and let go of the things I can't change. I thank God for the dreams. The dream of me and my future wife in a paid for house sending our children to school. The dream of my brother making the dean's list and graduating magna cum laude. Dreams of debt free living. I didn't know I needed to dream but I'm very grateful to God that last night I finally did.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Crap Happens - Have a nice day
I have been putting this post off for at least 2 weeks. I've had a hard time finding a way to get out all my thoughts and feelings on the subject without this being a 12 page dissertation on unexpected events and crappy lives. Out of anger at recent events in my life I was unable to verbalize all I wanted to say in a way that was interesting and uplifting. Then I spent a few days with one of my brothers, and this morning it all made a little more sense so I'm going to try again.
Growing up my life was somewhat normal, or at least I thought. I was unaware of how abnormal my life was. I might be the only person that could watch an after school special or sit through D.A.R.E. presentations and think, "Wait, what? That's not normal?" I think I am the reason we had those assemblies, the teachers and staffs wanted to make ME aware of how abnormal my life really was. You realize they don't have them anymore? Because I'm fully aware of what crazy is now! It's ok, your welcome.
My first brother came around when I was 9, we were solo for a few years until my mother had twin girls. One of the twins died at 7 months. My mother took self medicated to deal with the grief for a few years then my baby brother was born soon there after she had the last baby girl. 5 kids 3 girls 2 boys. (Side note: A few years ago I found out I had a sister by my birth father she's a few years younger than me. So I actually have 3 sisters. Though I only grew up with 2)
My mom and I were a good team, she worked, I cooked. I took care of the kids, she paid the bills. Not very complicated always but hard nonetheless. We went through a lot, and still do! We haven't spent a Christmas or any holiday together in at least 3 or 4 years. Some years ago, the baby girl was diagnosed with Lymphoma. I'm happy to say she proceeded to kick cancers ass & now she's a cancer survivor at 15! We have a web of baby daddy drama so hilarious that Maury himself would need a power point presentation and diagrams to fully understand. Growing up 90% of the stuff in our house was either broken or modified somehow, when I say modified think duct tape and paperclips. I remember when I went to the store to buy furniture and appliances for my first apartment, thinking, Wow - I never had a new Microwave, coffer maker or even a working can opener. Can you imagine my 14 year old self opening 4 cans of chef boy r dee with a knife? Life was hard, but comical!
The Bible says a merry heart is good like medicine, and I truly believe laughter kept us out of therapy all those years. At night we would put on plays & musical productions for my mother. One of our favorite scenes was one from Lion King. Do you remember close to the end when Timon and Pumba tries to sneak Simba back to Pride rock? They dress in drag and do the hula? Yep, we remade that better than any Broadway play! I would also do small private scenes for my mother before bed, such as but not limited to: standing in line, being a tree, Old lady walking, and mowing the lawn - I think being a tree was her favorite!
Somehow in the midst of the crazy, (trust me there was LOT of crazy, domestic violence, drug abuse, molestation, you name it we dealt with it) we all have come out somewhat "normal" we have clear visions of who we are, we love and respect our parents (known and unknown) we tend to give more than usual to the unfortunate, we love each other and fight for each other, we cry together and laugh a LOT. After talking to my brother this weekend I realized we all understand and accept that bad things happen, so you might as well have a good day. Not only is it a waste of time crying of spilled milk, it's a LOT more fun to laugh at the way it fell down and the person who dropped it's face when it happened!
These past weeks have been hard, not just for me but it seems like for a lot of people around me too. Deaths, money woes, sicknesses and lots of questions to God about situations. All I can offer is prayer and the assurance of these Three things, 1. $hit happens, it has to. It's not personal, it's just crap. It's going to happen again. You will be ok. 2. There is not only a reason, but a GOOD reason for it! When my sister passed away my mother listened to a Zhane song frequently that says everything happens for a reason. The Bible goes a step further, Rom 8:28 says: And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.& 3. Understanding the reasons are not as important as you may think. God is Sovereign, He does whatsoever He wants when and how he wants.The Word says in Ecc 11:5 As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things.
I can't begin to tell you why the crap happens, I can't explain 9/11 or Katrina, I can't explain why babies die on mothers birthday's or why fighting the men that beat my mother was a pass time of mine for a few years in my life. I can't tell you why nor do I understand, what the hell cancer or asthma or heart disease are even needed for nor why they are not yet cured. I don't know why old people or kids or nice people die. I don't know. What I do know is there is a GOOD reason. I also know, it's typically a waste of time to try to figure out said reason & it's much easier to just trust there is a good reason.
Nobody said it would be easy (and if they did they lied) but I promise you there is a good reason and great outcome from it. Whatever it is. I promise you. So, clean up the milk, laugh at the situation and have a great day/week/month/year/life. Crap happens & God loves you, now have a nice day.
Growing up my life was somewhat normal, or at least I thought. I was unaware of how abnormal my life was. I might be the only person that could watch an after school special or sit through D.A.R.E. presentations and think, "Wait, what? That's not normal?" I think I am the reason we had those assemblies, the teachers and staffs wanted to make ME aware of how abnormal my life really was. You realize they don't have them anymore? Because I'm fully aware of what crazy is now! It's ok, your welcome.
My first brother came around when I was 9, we were solo for a few years until my mother had twin girls. One of the twins died at 7 months. My mother took self medicated to deal with the grief for a few years then my baby brother was born soon there after she had the last baby girl. 5 kids 3 girls 2 boys. (Side note: A few years ago I found out I had a sister by my birth father she's a few years younger than me. So I actually have 3 sisters. Though I only grew up with 2)
My mom and I were a good team, she worked, I cooked. I took care of the kids, she paid the bills. Not very complicated always but hard nonetheless. We went through a lot, and still do! We haven't spent a Christmas or any holiday together in at least 3 or 4 years. Some years ago, the baby girl was diagnosed with Lymphoma. I'm happy to say she proceeded to kick cancers ass & now she's a cancer survivor at 15! We have a web of baby daddy drama so hilarious that Maury himself would need a power point presentation and diagrams to fully understand. Growing up 90% of the stuff in our house was either broken or modified somehow, when I say modified think duct tape and paperclips. I remember when I went to the store to buy furniture and appliances for my first apartment, thinking, Wow - I never had a new Microwave, coffer maker or even a working can opener. Can you imagine my 14 year old self opening 4 cans of chef boy r dee with a knife? Life was hard, but comical!
The Bible says a merry heart is good like medicine, and I truly believe laughter kept us out of therapy all those years. At night we would put on plays & musical productions for my mother. One of our favorite scenes was one from Lion King. Do you remember close to the end when Timon and Pumba tries to sneak Simba back to Pride rock? They dress in drag and do the hula? Yep, we remade that better than any Broadway play! I would also do small private scenes for my mother before bed, such as but not limited to: standing in line, being a tree, Old lady walking, and mowing the lawn - I think being a tree was her favorite!
Somehow in the midst of the crazy, (trust me there was LOT of crazy, domestic violence, drug abuse, molestation, you name it we dealt with it) we all have come out somewhat "normal" we have clear visions of who we are, we love and respect our parents (known and unknown) we tend to give more than usual to the unfortunate, we love each other and fight for each other, we cry together and laugh a LOT. After talking to my brother this weekend I realized we all understand and accept that bad things happen, so you might as well have a good day. Not only is it a waste of time crying of spilled milk, it's a LOT more fun to laugh at the way it fell down and the person who dropped it's face when it happened!
These past weeks have been hard, not just for me but it seems like for a lot of people around me too. Deaths, money woes, sicknesses and lots of questions to God about situations. All I can offer is prayer and the assurance of these Three things, 1. $hit happens, it has to. It's not personal, it's just crap. It's going to happen again. You will be ok. 2. There is not only a reason, but a GOOD reason for it! When my sister passed away my mother listened to a Zhane song frequently that says everything happens for a reason. The Bible goes a step further, Rom 8:28 says: And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.& 3. Understanding the reasons are not as important as you may think. God is Sovereign, He does whatsoever He wants when and how he wants.The Word says in Ecc 11:5 As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things.
I can't begin to tell you why the crap happens, I can't explain 9/11 or Katrina, I can't explain why babies die on mothers birthday's or why fighting the men that beat my mother was a pass time of mine for a few years in my life. I can't tell you why nor do I understand, what the hell cancer or asthma or heart disease are even needed for nor why they are not yet cured. I don't know why old people or kids or nice people die. I don't know. What I do know is there is a GOOD reason. I also know, it's typically a waste of time to try to figure out said reason & it's much easier to just trust there is a good reason.
Nobody said it would be easy (and if they did they lied) but I promise you there is a good reason and great outcome from it. Whatever it is. I promise you. So, clean up the milk, laugh at the situation and have a great day/week/month/year/life. Crap happens & God loves you, now have a nice day.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Application Process
So for school I needed to write an admissions essay... this is not something I'm used to. I decided to be transparent with this blog SO I decided to add it here. Let me know what you think. Thanks!
It was 7 am we had only been in New Orleans for about 5 hours, it was a long ride from Baltimore but the smell that just hit me made the trip the best idea ever. I was hungry, well I was always hungry but for some reason the smells that wafted through my Aunt Mildred’s house made a new hunger wake up in me, I needed to know what was going on. I decided sleep would come later, I needed to find the culprit. . I grabbed my best friend Sammy, my teddy bear-dog, and began my journey to find the smell that will evidentially change my life forever.
I walked through the house using my nose as a guide like a blood hound on a chase. Sammy and I arrived at the kitchen, what I saw was a bustle of activity. The kitchen had become a dance floor, 2 people dancing around but not even looking at each other. When my aunt would go up my cousin would go back, on at the chopping block one at the oven. Bending, turning all in the kitchen. I had only ever seen one person in the kitchen at a time.
I would watch my grandmother or my father cook, often. My dad would talk to himself the whole time, often eating the food as it cooked and getting very happy with the outcome. He would also make a mess of the kitchen until the last few minutes when he would wash everything. My grandmother was a much quieter cook. She would hum or sing if not fuss about the goings on in the other rooms of the house. She wouldn’t taste her food as she cooked she had full confidence in her sight and memory. She knew what it would taste like cause she had made it a million times before. If it was something she wasn’t sure she would call her sisters and they would walk her through it. If either one came into the kitchen while the other was cooking, it was like WW3. They would fuss each other out, and kick each other out the room. Often you heard "I don’t bother you when you cook don’t bother me when I cook". And I would sit and watch and take mental notes waiting for the chance to try a recipe or walk around the kitchen talking to myself, or on the phone with my granny getting a recipe as I cooked it.
This was totally different, the dance and the smells were totally foreign to me. They worked in silence adding things to each other’s pots when the other wasn’t looking. Ever so often looking up and winking at me with a smile. It was magical. Sammy and I sat in awe. With a smile and deep breathe the dance was over, the last pan out of the oven. A quick scan around the kitchen and finally my aunt yells "Breakfast!" I watched as my cousins and distant relatives complete with Bed head, PJs’ on and Eye crust in their eyes file in line one by one to eat good food and sit down, as I start to get up and get in line as not to miss out on the awesome my Aunt looks at me and tells me "Sit still, the cooks eat last sweetheart"
I wanted to cry. I was unsure if it was from happiness or sadness. I was so happy she called me a cook, but I was so sad I couldn’t eat. As I debated the irony of my predicament, my cousin handed me a plate. She smiled at me and said "JR Chef’s get an early plate to make sure everything taste ok, can you handle that job?" I shook my head scared that my voice would escape me if I tried to verbally answer. Before me was a plate of wonder and pure awesome. Fried Fish, Grits, a biscuit with some form of gravy on it, thick bacon, fried potatoes, cheese eggs and few pieces of fruit. Now the tears began to fall. It was so pretty, and I was so hungry. I had never seen these foods actually together for breakfast. I think I inhaled the food. My cousin stood and watched me. one I can up for air, drinking my full glass of milk she said "Safe?" I smiled and said "Yes Ma’am I think so".
After a quick shower and a hateful session getting my hair done, I took my seat by the kitchen I would spend the rest of our trip watching my aunt and cousin cook. Ribs, gumbo, rice and Beans, Fried chicken, Crawfish Po’Boys, even mini donuts covered in sugar. The end of that trip was bitter sweet, I of course was happy to go home see my parents and start tearing up the kitchen with the things I’ve watched for 4 days. But I never wanted to leave. I wanted to sit in my chair and watch them cook forever. But I had to go home. Summer only last so long.
When I got home, I began to cook anything. EVERYTHING! They didn’t all taste like New Orleans. Some were just plain nasty. But I tried. My father would later say "You were always a smarter and more adventurous cook than your grandmother and I, we are stubborn cooks. We do what we know, you like to try stuff you see, or think will taste good. Yes Culinary school will be great for you"
Still I struggled with the idea of being a chef. Even now I’m frightened by the idea of cooking for people other than my family and friends. When I cook I put my love in the pot and on the plate. I try to tell a story and invoke the same emotions I had the first time I fell in love with food. What do you do when they don’t love you back? How can a cooking school help me love people more? I want to learn how to make everyone feel loved. I want to know how food should taste and look, techniques and understand why I cry when I hear about a new recipe or taste an innovative dish. I feel and I know that L’Academie De Cuisine will help me start the journey to perfect the work that started, 20+ years ago in a kitchen in New Orleans.
It was 7 am we had only been in New Orleans for about 5 hours, it was a long ride from Baltimore but the smell that just hit me made the trip the best idea ever. I was hungry, well I was always hungry but for some reason the smells that wafted through my Aunt Mildred’s house made a new hunger wake up in me, I needed to know what was going on. I decided sleep would come later, I needed to find the culprit. . I grabbed my best friend Sammy, my teddy bear-dog, and began my journey to find the smell that will evidentially change my life forever.
I walked through the house using my nose as a guide like a blood hound on a chase. Sammy and I arrived at the kitchen, what I saw was a bustle of activity. The kitchen had become a dance floor, 2 people dancing around but not even looking at each other. When my aunt would go up my cousin would go back, on at the chopping block one at the oven. Bending, turning all in the kitchen. I had only ever seen one person in the kitchen at a time.
I would watch my grandmother or my father cook, often. My dad would talk to himself the whole time, often eating the food as it cooked and getting very happy with the outcome. He would also make a mess of the kitchen until the last few minutes when he would wash everything. My grandmother was a much quieter cook. She would hum or sing if not fuss about the goings on in the other rooms of the house. She wouldn’t taste her food as she cooked she had full confidence in her sight and memory. She knew what it would taste like cause she had made it a million times before. If it was something she wasn’t sure she would call her sisters and they would walk her through it. If either one came into the kitchen while the other was cooking, it was like WW3. They would fuss each other out, and kick each other out the room. Often you heard "I don’t bother you when you cook don’t bother me when I cook". And I would sit and watch and take mental notes waiting for the chance to try a recipe or walk around the kitchen talking to myself, or on the phone with my granny getting a recipe as I cooked it.
This was totally different, the dance and the smells were totally foreign to me. They worked in silence adding things to each other’s pots when the other wasn’t looking. Ever so often looking up and winking at me with a smile. It was magical. Sammy and I sat in awe. With a smile and deep breathe the dance was over, the last pan out of the oven. A quick scan around the kitchen and finally my aunt yells "Breakfast!" I watched as my cousins and distant relatives complete with Bed head, PJs’ on and Eye crust in their eyes file in line one by one to eat good food and sit down, as I start to get up and get in line as not to miss out on the awesome my Aunt looks at me and tells me "Sit still, the cooks eat last sweetheart"
I wanted to cry. I was unsure if it was from happiness or sadness. I was so happy she called me a cook, but I was so sad I couldn’t eat. As I debated the irony of my predicament, my cousin handed me a plate. She smiled at me and said "JR Chef’s get an early plate to make sure everything taste ok, can you handle that job?" I shook my head scared that my voice would escape me if I tried to verbally answer. Before me was a plate of wonder and pure awesome. Fried Fish, Grits, a biscuit with some form of gravy on it, thick bacon, fried potatoes, cheese eggs and few pieces of fruit. Now the tears began to fall. It was so pretty, and I was so hungry. I had never seen these foods actually together for breakfast. I think I inhaled the food. My cousin stood and watched me. one I can up for air, drinking my full glass of milk she said "Safe?" I smiled and said "Yes Ma’am I think so".
After a quick shower and a hateful session getting my hair done, I took my seat by the kitchen I would spend the rest of our trip watching my aunt and cousin cook. Ribs, gumbo, rice and Beans, Fried chicken, Crawfish Po’Boys, even mini donuts covered in sugar. The end of that trip was bitter sweet, I of course was happy to go home see my parents and start tearing up the kitchen with the things I’ve watched for 4 days. But I never wanted to leave. I wanted to sit in my chair and watch them cook forever. But I had to go home. Summer only last so long.
When I got home, I began to cook anything. EVERYTHING! They didn’t all taste like New Orleans. Some were just plain nasty. But I tried. My father would later say "You were always a smarter and more adventurous cook than your grandmother and I, we are stubborn cooks. We do what we know, you like to try stuff you see, or think will taste good. Yes Culinary school will be great for you"
Still I struggled with the idea of being a chef. Even now I’m frightened by the idea of cooking for people other than my family and friends. When I cook I put my love in the pot and on the plate. I try to tell a story and invoke the same emotions I had the first time I fell in love with food. What do you do when they don’t love you back? How can a cooking school help me love people more? I want to learn how to make everyone feel loved. I want to know how food should taste and look, techniques and understand why I cry when I hear about a new recipe or taste an innovative dish. I feel and I know that L’Academie De Cuisine will help me start the journey to perfect the work that started, 20+ years ago in a kitchen in New Orleans.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Enter catchy Title here
May I be honest?
These posts have become really hard for me to write. Not because I don't have anything to say but mainly because I've challenged myself to be honest and some stuff I just don't want you to know! (We are almost at double digits! WOOO WHHOO!)
Lately I have been struggling with a few things. My plan was to write about blog about expectations. Using my daughter and family as a very nice example on how we let our expectations get in the way of our reality. But... my expectation got in the way of my reality. So instead today I want to talk about some personal things. 1. How funny my money is and 2. how iffy my sexuality is. Please trust me when I say, this is a lot harder than I expected.
I have been arguing with God for a few weeks. I keep telling him, Hey I'm an heir I really need some directions, can you please tell me what to do next? His responses have been, well I don't know, He doesn't really "talk" to me the way other people say He talks to them.We don’t really have conversations per say. I’ll pray and then sometimes I just feel different about things or hear a word from different unrelated places that I take as a sign. Sometimes I'll understand something differently than I did before. Like is said not a conversation but communication none the less.
My issue has been that, I don’t know what to do next. I’m very happy to say that during the last few years I have moved from self-hate and guilt over my sexuality to understanding that God loves me. God is NOT disappointed in how I turned out and that I was the only one surprised or upset by my sexuality. I had a warped idea of God's love. I believed it to be conditional. I believed that if I was X, then He would Y, but the truth is He Is. God doesn't change in accordance to our situation or status. God is.
Unfortunately, it wasn't until recent years that I began to understand that truth. It wasn't until recent that I was able to accept the Love God had shown to me not because I deserve it but because He gave it. Though I was surrounded by love and caring family and friends that knew my status I was scared that I was not living up to the promise. I was convinced that like a drunk person needs to get sober first that I needed to get straight first before I did anything meaningful and successful in the body of Christ.
I was miserable. I was too straight to be gay and too gay to be straight. I was a walking contradiction. I was so full of words and love from God but I was too scared to say anything because maybe my gay would fall out and I would lose all credibility. Gay and Christian is supposed to be an anomaly. You’re just not normal. Something is wrong, you must have been molested or raped or hurting inside. You have daddy or mommy issues. Your parents don’t love you enough. I believed by admitting I was gay I was admitting that the enemy had me. I was scared that even if I spoke of my gay it would become truth, and I so wanted it to be a lie. I so wanted to be normal and holy and godly and a good Christian, there was no way I could do that if I were Gay. I was abnormal and not very useful. And just in case you need to hear this, Those are ALL lies from the pit of hell.
After a few talks with my Pastor and even trying to run away from a few conversations with my associate pastor I came to the realization that God is not limited to my holiness or lack thereof. I had to realize that though God is very capable of turning a gay person straight that was may not be the lot he had for me. He wants me to be whole. He wants me to love me so I can better love you. He wants to be ok with whatsoever He decides for my life. The problem comes in when I began to accept myself but I had no idea what to do with myself.
I thank God for my Pastors and friends that prayed for me and helped me to understand the Truth of God. Which is simply put: Cynethia, I love you I love you I love you- God. Gay Straight black or white He loves you. I won’t get into the argument of born gay vs. choosing gay. I won’t bore you with the 7 verses that are anti Gay in the whole bible vs. the many more about loving each other and not judging but I digress.
These posts have become really hard for me to write. Not because I don't have anything to say but mainly because I've challenged myself to be honest and some stuff I just don't want you to know! (We are almost at double digits! WOOO WHHOO!)
Lately I have been struggling with a few things. My plan was to write about blog about expectations. Using my daughter and family as a very nice example on how we let our expectations get in the way of our reality. But... my expectation got in the way of my reality. So instead today I want to talk about some personal things. 1. How funny my money is and 2. how iffy my sexuality is. Please trust me when I say, this is a lot harder than I expected.
I have been arguing with God for a few weeks. I keep telling him, Hey I'm an heir I really need some directions, can you please tell me what to do next? His responses have been, well I don't know, He doesn't really "talk" to me the way other people say He talks to them.We don’t really have conversations per say. I’ll pray and then sometimes I just feel different about things or hear a word from different unrelated places that I take as a sign. Sometimes I'll understand something differently than I did before. Like is said not a conversation but communication none the less.
My issue has been that, I don’t know what to do next. I’m very happy to say that during the last few years I have moved from self-hate and guilt over my sexuality to understanding that God loves me. God is NOT disappointed in how I turned out and that I was the only one surprised or upset by my sexuality. I had a warped idea of God's love. I believed it to be conditional. I believed that if I was X, then He would Y, but the truth is He Is. God doesn't change in accordance to our situation or status. God is.
Unfortunately, it wasn't until recent years that I began to understand that truth. It wasn't until recent that I was able to accept the Love God had shown to me not because I deserve it but because He gave it. Though I was surrounded by love and caring family and friends that knew my status I was scared that I was not living up to the promise. I was convinced that like a drunk person needs to get sober first that I needed to get straight first before I did anything meaningful and successful in the body of Christ.
I was miserable. I was too straight to be gay and too gay to be straight. I was a walking contradiction. I was so full of words and love from God but I was too scared to say anything because maybe my gay would fall out and I would lose all credibility. Gay and Christian is supposed to be an anomaly. You’re just not normal. Something is wrong, you must have been molested or raped or hurting inside. You have daddy or mommy issues. Your parents don’t love you enough. I believed by admitting I was gay I was admitting that the enemy had me. I was scared that even if I spoke of my gay it would become truth, and I so wanted it to be a lie. I so wanted to be normal and holy and godly and a good Christian, there was no way I could do that if I were Gay. I was abnormal and not very useful. And just in case you need to hear this, Those are ALL lies from the pit of hell.
After a few talks with my Pastor and even trying to run away from a few conversations with my associate pastor I came to the realization that God is not limited to my holiness or lack thereof. I had to realize that though God is very capable of turning a gay person straight that was may not be the lot he had for me. He wants me to be whole. He wants me to love me so I can better love you. He wants to be ok with whatsoever He decides for my life. The problem comes in when I began to accept myself but I had no idea what to do with myself.
I thank God for my Pastors and friends that prayed for me and helped me to understand the Truth of God. Which is simply put: Cynethia, I love you I love you I love you- God. Gay Straight black or white He loves you. I won’t get into the argument of born gay vs. choosing gay. I won’t bore you with the 7 verses that are anti Gay in the whole bible vs. the many more about loving each other and not judging but I digress.
So I have spent that last few weeks saying “Ok God, So, I’m cool with being Gay, but now what? Do I get married? Do I do ministry now? Do I start a gay ministry? Do I argue with anti gays? What now? I want to do want you want me to do but I don’t know what that is, so I’ll sit here and wait” Do you know what happened? I realized that God wanted me to do what he told me to do, and just like you I sat and said “And that was what?” I had no clue, what He wanted from me. I had been focused on being ok with myself, I had taken notes when God said, whatever He said when he said it. Doesn’t he know I forgot? I would like a reminder or something!
Then I realized there was one area that I was wanting to trust Him in but I wasn’t fully and that brings me to money. God was very specific with money issues in the Bible. He wasn’t always as clear with other issues. I often reminded Him of this I would pray and say “Hey God! How you been? Good um, you never said, yes or no or the gay thing completely or which marriage is “correct” or if slavery is really wrong or dating only your color or premarital sex – when are you married? When you have sex? Or when you sign the papers? just be real with me, Tell me what I need to do! I want to have kids, I want to get married, so what’s allowed and not allowed? Don’t worry I have my paper today I’ll take notes”
Then, God made clear to me – Pay your tithes. I know what you’re thinking. What? What does money have to do with your sexuality? I was thoroughly confused. Slowly I began to realize this is really about that. See Obedience is better than sacrifice. I need to stop and follow the truths that I’m sure of while I search for answers to the questions I don’t know. I need to do what the Lord said clearly before I ask Him to make clear the murky places.
Pay your tithes Cynethia. No, it’s doesn’t make sense. You make $1100 a paycheck your rent is $1380 and your bills are about $300 a month not including groceries, and don’t forget the money you owe girl scouts, the soccer coach and your overdrawn bank account, yeah and just like I knew you were gay long before you knew, I also knew your finances would never be a mess, so submit and pay your tithes. Take the limits off and see Me work in your finances. OBEY me. Stop worrying about who to marry, what your church will say if you get married, stop worrying about getting pregnant and how that will look to the kingdom stop worrying about all the stuff I have yet to reveal to you, and do the last thing I told you to do. Tithe.
That’s where I’m at. I won’t worry about or try to understand anything else until I obey the commands I know. This may not be a great message of hope and it may be more information than I really wanted to share, but I’ve decided to just obey. It doesn’t always make sense, but I’m trusting that this is about that and that this will help someone somewhere. I pray for God’s blessing over this post and the readers. I pray that God will fix up any and every trick of the enemy to use this for bad. I pray the spirit of fear and confusion die right now as you read this and every time someone reads this and I pray that the spirit of compassion and love will live and thrive in your life. I pray for courage and strength and ways to show God’s radical love to others. I pray for you and I pray you will pray for me.
Thank you for reading.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
MIddle school and such
Control:
1 a archaic : to check, test, or verify by evidence or experiments b : to incorporate suitable controls in <a controlled experiment>
2a : to exercise restraining or directing influence over : regulate b : to have power over : rule c : to reduce the incidence or severity of especially to innocuous levels <control an insect population> <control a disease>
Sometime a few years ago, The princess of Pop Janet Jackson broke away from her controlling father and family and performed what would be the anthem for all 17 and newly 18 year olds! Amidst the keyboard guitar solos and the cabbage patch you had a song about proclaiming your freedom and taking control of your life. In my humble opinion Janet had it right! Join with me as I sing "Controoolll, to get what I want, Controooll, I've got to have a lot, Cooonntrrooll NOW I'M ALL GROWN UP! Whew" Ok I'll just put the link up.
This has been a really hard post to write for me. I'm not really sure why but I'm absolutely tired of learning the lesson so I'm just going to write whats on my minds heart and see what happens. I am going to relinquish control.
The last few weeks I have become a mantra repeating mother telling my daughter "You can only control what you can control, and what can you control?" She had a lot of anxiety about school, some family issues and a new apartment we moved to. I spent most of our time together listening to her issues and reminding her of how little control she had over the situations. And then.
Last week, my daughter started middle school and she was having a hard time making friends. My first instincts were to go fix it. To call the counselor to send a letter to a teacher or something to help the situation. I would give it a little bit of time, and then I would do what a mother does, and fix whatever is broken. On the 3rd day of school, tiredness and anxiety is kicking in hard core, and my daughter starts to cry on our walk to school. She's worried about so much and there is so little we can do.
After a few encouraging words and a hug I left her at school and proceeded my walk to work. I was 3 feet from the school when I started crying. Not just a few tears but hard ugly shaking sobs of despair, anger and fear. I was sad my baby was hurting I was worried that it wouldn't get better and I was pissed off that my phone didn't have the counselor's number so I could call him on my walk to tell him to do his job and help my baby. I was a mess but I walked my daily mile to work, head down crying and praying to God to send my baby a friend or something to last her until I could get up there to fix everything.
When I got to work my coworker and I were talking about our mornings and I shared my worries. She looked at me and said "Cynethia, you can't control it, you have to let it go" I would love to be able to tell you that I let it go then, that I decided to relinquish my control but I didn't. Instead I secretly drafted a plan of attack for the just in case I'm needed situation. I decided not to go up there to fix it but to get my ducks in a row just in case. At dinner that night I was informed that she made a friend, somebody sat with her a lunch. She was content. How ever, this was still not enough for me. I wanted a lifelong friendship for her I had high hopes for her relationships. She spoke very little about these friends but she didn't hate the apartment or school as much. So my plan was to wait it out.
Then today, as I dropped her off at school, there stood 2 little girls, waiting for my daughter. They were excited to see her and they didn't even notice me standing there. They saw each other and started talking instantly. My Daughter left me standing there no bye mom, no hug nothing... she just left me to go with her friends.
I'm not sure what the outcome will be I'm not sure if they will be friends I approve of. I don't even know what type of parents they have. But I do know when and if I relinquish control to the one that's already in control it makes it easier for me to cope. I know that I can't control what I can't control. I used this tactic last weekend when I dropped my brother off to college in Maine (Outside of the 4 hour radius rule I given each of my siblings) I used this when Toni brought home a puppy that I SPECIFICALLY told her NOT to buy. And even with this blog, wanting my posts to be great and interesting, trying to control the events in my life to bring about a more thought provoking post. I have decided to relinquish control. Whatever may be will be. I can only control what I can control.
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