Monday, November 30, 2009

It's So Hard To Say Goodbye



Last Sunday, my cellphone rang, rousing me from my sleep. It was my mother. My great-grandmother (affectionately known as "MaMa" pronounced "Maw Maw") was dying and not expected to make it through the week. My mom was going to make arrangements for our family (her, my grandmother and me) to travel to North Carolina. I sighed deeply, rolled over and went back to sleep.

For weeks, we had been getting calls about the erratic status of her health. One day, we'd hear that she had been rushed to the hospital and was at the point of death, the next day she would make a miraculous recovery. She was 102 years old, so we had pretty much resolved her dying was bound to happen at some point, probably sooner than later. My mom and I had started to tire of the limbo of it all, but I figured that there was something that she was waiting on, eventually I reasoned that it was my grandmother.

My grandma is the oldest of MaMa's four surviving children (she turns 77 tomorrow). Unfortunately, even though North Carolina isn't that far (45 minutes by plane) from DC, we have never made it down there with any regularity. Last April, our visit was also a sad occasion, the death of my great uncle, Bob. MaMa was lucid then. Very frail in physical form, but her mind and tongue were just as sharp as ever. My grandma would walk into MaMa's room and almost yell at her "It's your big daughter! Do you know who I am?" and MaMa would examine her slowly and then ask "Do you know who you are?", making everyone explode with laughter.

After an exhausting eight-hour train ride, my grandma entered MaMa's house and went straight to her room. "This is your big daughter" she exclaimed, but this time MaMa didn't have a snappy comeback. She laid in bed quietly, her eyes looked like they had been sealed shut. She was always a slender woman, but illness had left her emaciated. My cousin had stopped trying to feed her, only swabbing her mouth with water so she wouldn't completely dehydrate. Her breathing was labored and slow. I knew it was nearing the end. There was no way she would make it through the night.

My grandma and I sat at her bedside. I scanned the wall, because it was hard to watch her struggling for air. Posted up was the poem my cousin Tara wrote and read at her 100th birthday celebration. Above her bed was a neon yellow "Do Not Resuscitate" order. It was too much, but I couldn't move. I wanted to be there. My grandmother looked at me and said "she's already gone", but remembering that the hearing is the last thing to go, I insisted that we talk to her. My mom, trying to avoid it all, busied herself with unpacking. I told her to come into the room. She came, but looked sheepish and said she didn't know what to say to her. I asked her to do whatever felt comfortable and natural.

"I can sing", she said and I told her to do that. She said she didn't know what to sing, so I told her to sing one of MaMa's favorite hymns. She and my grandma began to sing to MaMa, and her breathing got slower and slower. Finally, when it was just my grandmother and I, around 4 am on November 24th, MaMa took her final breath.

I called my cousin Mike, MaMa's primary caretaker, to the room. I told him that she was gone. He cried and searched for a pulse. I went to get my mom and tell her. Crying, he told me to see if I could find a pulse. I touched the bony area around her neck and felt nothing. From there, I went on auto-pilot. I couldn't allow myself to feel, because we had things to do. He gave me the card to call hospice, I dialed and told a perfect stranger that MaMa was gone. I answered all of the questions I could and then set about trying to still myself.

Mike dialed number after number, waking our relatives from their sleep to tell them about MaMa. My uncle, Huck, who MaMa raised, came back from visiting a friend. I told him before he could get through the door. His loud cries echoed in the cold morning air.

As the sun came up, people began arriving to the house, some with tears in their eyes, some calm until they came into her room and saw her. A chorus of wails filled that little house. The pain in there was as thick as the love that held it up and kept it standing. It hurt to watch folks walk in calmly and then leave her room inconsolable. But that's how much MaMa meant to people.

Not only was she the matriarch of our family, but she was essentially the mother to an entire community of people. From what I could tell, there isn't an individual within a 20 mile radius of her home, whose life she hasn't affected.

For me, she raised my mom - and although that upbringing was tumultuous for a number of reasons, it was not absent of love. When I was younger and would come for visits, MaMa was the person who tried to draw me out of my inner world to play with the other kids. Actually, she didn't try, she threatened me with a switch. But that too, was the way that she loved.

I managed to hold it together until I saw the hearse, and finally her body covered with a white sheet being carried away from the house. I stood beside my mom, thinking that I would be able to be strong for her. But the sight made me ache and hurt in a way I haven't hurt since my daddy passed in 2005.

Friends have been calling and texting to ask me how I am doing. Honestly, the past few days have been rough, to say the very least. But, in the same way, it has been a blessing too.

There is a strange comfort in knowing that MaMa passed the way that she did and even that I was a part of it. Growing up in DC, away from my family in North Carolina, I have always felt terribly disconnected. So much so, that I thought her death would not affect me the way that it did. But, in the midst of this, I feel closer to my family than I ever have. I felt closer to her than I ever did before.

When I read her obituary, the part that says that she died "surrounded by loving family members" is true. I know, because I was there. For all of the cookouts and birthdays and holidays that I have missed, at the most pivotal of moments, I was there.

I am still processing so much of what has transpired. But there are some things I definitely gleaned already:

1) We are not in control, God is (and how blessed we are because of that)
2) Family is more important than anything
3) I may not come from much monetarily or by society's standards - but I am a descendant, an heir to greatness.

When Pastor Lowery (who MaMa also had a hand in raising) eulogized MaMa, I was overcome with pride for who she was. This diminutive black woman who feared nothing and no one, who spoke her mind, who taught and gave and lived and loved beyond my comprehension - she is a part of me. If I ever doubt my own strength, my own talents, my own abilities - I need only to think of MaMa, who did not have a third of the opportunities, that I have been blessed with, but with God on her side, always made a way for herself and others.

God bless you MaMa and thank you, with all my heart.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Already Here - Brian Courtney Wilson




This is probably my favorite contemporary gospel song right now. Whenever I think about teaching a Christian yoga class (umm, that would require me getting myself back into a yoga class at some point...lol), I think of this song. Its so soothing.

Let Go, Let God (song)




This song always inspires me.

making room

making room

i am slowly
letting go of
the people
places
things
i was holding on to
so that when you come
my hands are free
to hold yours
so that my heart
is a tranquil, open space
so that you can walk into my life
without tripping over
bones
scattered
and dreams shattered
i am putting them to rest now
letting what’s dead pass away
so that the living can come forth
so that I can breathe
and taste you
like sudden water
where everything was withered and dry
or honey
to make me remember
sweet
I am slowly, surely
letting go
throwing away
casting aside
discarding
clearing out
surrendering
all barriers that could stand between us
i mean,
i want us to be comfortable
so
i am making room

Praise Reports

I just took a moment to read over some of my past posts (as there aren't that many of them, shame shame!!!) and I realized that there have been positive developments on some situations that I have mentioned before.

Remember that co-worker that once irked me like nobody's business? Well, we are still not fast friends, but our relationship is remarkably different than it was earlier in the year. PRAYER WORKS. It is not me. I would like to say that I am forgiving, peace-loving, not easily offended, etc. etc. - but I struggle with holding grudges and flying off the handle at the slightest provocation. You might not catch me cursing or choking folk out, but Lord knows what's in my mind and heart sometimes. Anyhoo, basically after Dr. Weems' sermon, I really began praying for compassion and understanding, both which eventually came. Does he still make off-handed comments? Does he still seek me for "the black perspective"? Does he still come off as condescending? Yes, yes and yes. However, its MY response to him that is different. If I feel he is baiting me, I seek understanding, rather than assume his motivation. Granted, there are days when its harder than others, but those are days when I ask for grace to be able to show grace.

Its worth noting that he is one of the only coworkers I told about the Saartjie Project appearing in the Capital Fringe Festival that actually came to one of our shows. Imagine my shock at his embrace and words of encouragement afterwards! It happened to be the same night that my mom saw the show for the first time and she was beaming with pride (another miracle, as I was really worried what she would think).

I also wrote about looking for a church home and while I still have not found one, I am actively searching instead of just regularly visiting ("dating") other folks' churches or not going to one at all. This past Sunday, I went to Zion Baptist Church and really enjoyed the service. I am not sure if its for me, but I am excited about the possibility of being "churched". My friend who told me about the church heads up the missions ministry and they are currently focussing on domestic violence. I am open to learning more.

I am just really thankful, reflecting back. Its easy to get caught up with dissatisfaction with your current situation instead of thinking about how far you have come, how far God has brought you. I was in church last Thursday (my friend/favorite co-worker, Darryl was preaching his second sermon) and while the pastor was praying about speaking about deliverance, he said something like "you don't even talk the way you used to talk" and I recalled how an ex and I would have really inappropriate after hours conversations over the phone. I would engage in them and feel so guilty afterwards. I prayed over that situation, thinking I would never be able to stop that behavior. Eventually, I was convicted to have an honest talk with my ex about the nature of our conversations and friendship. As a result, this person is no longer a part of my life. While there are times that I miss him, I do not miss the guilt or disrespect I was allowing myself to endure and contributing to.

I am thankful that the sadness of another relationship ending has finally dissipated. I mentioned this person in the post about doing the spiritual art journaling at the Sacred Circles conference. He was the person I felt had awakened love in my heart, but was no longer with me. This year, a series of painful (to me)disappointments with this individual led me to cut off all ties to him. I thought that I would never stop feeling sad and angry about how we ended up, and what I believed to be blatant dishonesty on his part. Nevertheless, through time and prayer, I have been able to let those negative emotions and him go. I realize that he is not God's best for me (nor I for him) and I did not leave the situation empty-handed. There are many hard-earned (and learned) lessons have made me better, not bitter. Also, his absence leaves space for God's best to enter my life, when the time is right.

Another praise report is due for The Saartjie Project and all that we have been able to accomplish in the past year. As I stated above, we were chosen to perform in the Capital Fringe Festival and also traveled to Minnesota to be a part of the Theater of the Oppressed conference, and so much more is coming through the pipeline. I will be posting a promotional/informational clip, as well as a clip of us on the news - you can hear me faintly singing. Its beautiful to grow as a collective and as individual artists. Each of us has something creative and beautiful taking shape - its truly miraculous to see and experience.

THANK YOU LORD!
THANK YOU LORD!
THANK YOU LORD!

Jesus Take the Wheel

So, its been awhile since I have taken the time to write. I could blame it on my spotty internet, I could blame it on busyness, etc. The fact remains that I have not updated this blog in some months now. My original intent was for this to be something I maintained regularly, but unfortunately that has not been the case. One of my worst habits is starting things and not finishing them. I am blessed with tons of ideas, but ideas are all they ever are, as they never materialize because before I can see one through, I am on to the next thing. I guess that's something to add to the prayer list - the fortitude and focus to complete things.

When I was growing up in church, there was a praise and worship song that I loved. It (coming from a bible verse) said "He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it". He, of course, being God. I was struck by the idea that whatever God's purpose was for me (at that point in my life, unlike now, I didn't care what the purpose was) that he would actually plant the seed and watch it grow and blossom. If only I could be as patient as God.

Sometimes, I do myself a huge disservice and compare my life to those around me - friends, family members, and acquaintances who seem to "further along" or more actualized than I am. People who have careers, houses, and families - while I am still unsure of my right livelihood, rent an apartment, and remain single. I think one of the main difference between me and the people I measure myself against is not a matter of luck or good fortune, I think its because somewhere along the way, they chose a path (or accepted the path divinely chosen for them) and stuck to it.

I have never really had a "path". In college, I had no idea what I wanted to study. I knew that I liked writing, but I hated my school's English department, so I opted for journalism. I never wanted to be a journalist, regardless of how many career tests indicated that it would be a perfect fit. Somehow, I ended up interning...alot,all in the communications departments of many nonprofit organizations, most of which focused on women and children. Each placement taught me something new, but nothing that seemed to stick. I had no profound moment where I felt like "this is what I want to do with my life". So the search continued and continues now.

Actually, I am just beginning to enter a place of surrender. A state of praying for answers and finally making space and quiet time in my life in order to listen for them. The title and topic of yesterday's sermon was "Downtime", which basically talked about Psalms 23, and how God makes provision for us to rest so that we can commune (and communicate)with him. Perhaps this period of uncertainty is really a blessing in disguise. I have gotten so frustrated with where I am in virtually every area of my life, that I realize that trying to work in my strength is probably what's working against me. I am completely and totally dependent on God.

If I am honest, I can't complain really, as I have been afforded so many opportunities to try different things on for size. In a recent conversation, a guy I used to date reminded me that I have experimented with alot of my interests. Its true. Last year, I took classes in jewelry making and book arts at the Corcoran, only to find that I am not really into either of them. As a volunteer with YWDEP (Young Women's Drumming Empowerment Program), I have been able to serve, but also begin learning how to play the djembe - something that I really enjoy. All of these "trials" allow me to categorize things as hobbies or career options. My love of accessories had me thinking that I would develop a business making my own jewelry, but my disdain of blowtorches and acid quickly snapped me back into reality. Earlier this year, I took a bellydancing class and recently I completed a 12week Artist's Way group. My next challenge is to take a cooking class - to see if the culinary impulses I have had for as long as I can remember can actually translate into more than an ongoing curiousity. We'll see.

A friend suggested I reread Paulo Coelho's "The Alchemist", which as I remember, focuses on the main character going on this journey to find a treasure that he had all along. I was just listening to Pastor John K. Jenkins of First Baptist of Glenarden on his broadcast about financial freedom. He spoke about being content in where you are knowing that God has given you everything you need. Another friend sent me an article from DailyOM basically said the same thing.

That probably is the case. I am thankful to God, for keeping me in the midst of my confusion, impatience, and doubt. Its so crazy how I can believe God to be the creator of everything (including me), yet not completely trusting how my life will unfold in his care. If I know anything, its that the definition of insanity is doing something over and over the exact same way and expecting a different outcome. So, this post is essentially my commitment to actually "letting go and letting God". Will share the results in praise reports to come.

Peace and blessings,


Nia

P.S.

Attached is "Yes" by the Shekinah Glory Ministry - a song which humbles me every time I hear it.




Thursday, February 26, 2009

Rant

Tuesday night I watched “Very Young Girls” a documentary about the sexual exploitation of adolescents in New York. Their accounts were unsettling, one after the next talking about how they got into “the life, selling their bodies for the profit of some (usually older) man. The pattern that seemed to follow was that the men would approach the girls and masquerade themselves as potential lovers or father – whatever void appeared to be in the girls’ lives. Through manipulation, they would ensnare them...”I love you. If you loved me, you would do this for me” and eventually the girls would prove their devotion by going on the track and down a path they would have never envisioned.

Wednesday morning I was still disturbed by what I’d seen and called my mom to vent. Surprisingly, we had a great conversation. Generally she just tries to change to subject to something more “pleasant”, but this time, she had offered her perspective. Later at work, I was telling a coworker about it and his eyes just glazed over right before he put on his headphones as if I hadn’t just said that the average age of young women entering prostitution is 13. I’m like “DO YOU NOT HEAR ME??? THE AVERAGE AGE OF YOUNG WOMEN ENTERING PROSTITUTION 13!!! DOESN’T THAT MATTER TO YOU???”

Sadly enough, I am not shocked at blank looks, shrugged shoulders, or topic switching when I talk about matters like this. When I started volunteering with the DC Rape Crisis Center, I was so impassioned with all the new things I was learning about sexual assault, gender roles, sexuality, domestic violence and all of the isms (racism, sexism, classism, etc). During my 8 week education, I was completely blown away by all these thoughts and concepts that I had never considered (Gender is a continuum???) and could not wait to share and discuss these revelations with my family, friends, and colleagues. I assumed that for the most part people would be open-minded, or at the very least interested. Imagine my disappointment at the awkward silences and apathy I was met with.

I know I am not the only one who thinks about this stuff. My bookshelves are literally lined with books about women’s rights, transforming rape culture, sex work, and healing from sexual violence. The volume of literature alone proves that there are voices out there. My DCRCC volunteer training group was so large that people had to sit on the floor because there were not enough chairs. With the last two Saartjie Project performances, during our talkback, several audience members comments on the relevance of the show in addressing the issues of the black female sexuality, including the abuses of it for money. So I know the dialogue exists, but only in these pockets – these “feminist”, “womanist”, “intellectual” pockets – so while the dialogue exists, it often feels like preaching to the choir (or sitting in the pews).

My issue is getting beyond the theory/rhetoric and being proactive. I stopped volunteering as a rape crisis counselor, when a particular training session triggered my own memories of being assaulted as a child. Taking time out to heal myself (i.e. get counseling), I fell back from the movement, beyond reading about it. I found a creative outlet for my concerns with Saartjie, but I still want to do more. I want to talk to folk outside of the “pockets”, and compel them to listen instead of grabbing their headphones or turning a deaf ear. I get really discouraged though. I know it is not an easy conversation for anyone, but it is relevant and unfortunately always timely.

More later,

Nia

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Let The Circle Be Unbroken

It is Sunday evening and I am just capping off a huge weekend. On Friday and Saturday, I attended the Sacred Circles conference celebrating women’s spirituality. Held at National Cathedral, the event included an incredible array of workshops and speakers focused on the central theme of “love in action”. This conference was truly a blessing from start to finish. I first heard about it on Kiamsha Leeke’s blog and immediately went to the website. Initially, I was discouraged because of the program cost (close to $300), but I applied for a scholarship and was ecstatic when I received an email from the program staff saying that I had been awarded one.

On Friday morning, I arrived in the midst of confusion and long lines. Many of us had pre-registered, but had not received any materials in the mail (snail or email) to let us know which workshops we were signed up for, etc. When I finally received my name badge ,which had the class codes for the workshops I was supposed to attend, I found that I did not have any of my choices for classes. Then, due to bad directions, I ended up being 30 minutes late to my first session. I say all this not to sound ungrateful, but to illustrate how God works. It turned out that every workshop I wound up with was exactly what I needed.

The first “Inspiration from the Soul” was taught by singer/songwriter, Beth Nielsen Chapman, who has penned many of her own songs as well as hits for Faith Hill and Willie Nelson. When I actually found her class, I scanned the room and wondered if I was in the right place. Although I think country songs are beautifully written, I am not much of a fan. As I walked in, she was talking about the country music industry and I briefly considered leaving and trying to sit in on a class more suited to me. But then, she talked candidly about her husband (of 16 years) death and how she used her music to deal with her grief and I was intrigued (I still find it difficult to write about my father’s death). She sang “Sand and Water” and my eyes filled with tears. The lyrics have a depth that I have not heard in some time. “Solid stone is just sand and water, baby/with a million years gone by”. Those may not be the exact lyrics, and I doubt that merely describing it will do her justice, so please google her. Better yet, if I can find some footage on YouTube, I will attempt to attach it to this message. She would talk about the creative process and then sing a song and talk more about the process and sing some more and I sat on the steps (there were no more chairs) with my pen in one hand and wiping my eyes with the other. Everything that came out of her mouth was literally and figuratively music to my ears. Looking at the notes I jotted down, I still have not processed everything she said (“Grief hollows us out to hold more joy”). But I definitely was inspired to pick up songwriting again. Yes, I write songs. I have written songs since I was in junior high. At one point my best friend and I thought that we would write songs for the likes of Mary J. Blige and Faith Evans. I am not sure when I placed songwriting in the “pipedream” category - probably when I gave up trying to learn how to read music. Color me astonished when a fellow poet who also hears melodies when she writes but cannot read music sang one of her poems with Beth accompanying her on the piano. The result was a song manifested right before our eyes.



That night we heard from Karen Armstrong, who fascinates me even though I still have not been about to get through “A History of God”. She was the keynote speaker and talked about compassion, at one point citing Confucius saying “Look into your own heart and see what brings you pain. Adamantly refuse to inflict that pain on anyone else”. She also spoke about the Global Charter for Compassion that she has been working on. Learn more about it (as I will) at www.charterforcompassion.org.

We also heard from Sakena Yacobi whose quiet strength deeply resonated with me. Her story of getting her education in America and returning to help her people in Afghanistan, particularly the women and children was incredibly inspiring. All the work she has done against the odds she attributes to her faith in God. Even as she had guns trained on her, she prayed for the right answer and not only walked away from danger, but was able to empower those who had been a threat.

The next day, I began by walking the labyrinth and half-meditating as Elizabeth Lesser spoke about emotional intelligence and the power of women. She instructed us to put our hands over our hearts and pat them like babies and realize that our hearts are going to ultimately save the world. Clearly, I was taking in so much food for thought that I did not really get sad about not having a “boo” (as Rev. John Kinney put it today in chapel) for Valentine’s Day.

During my second session “Spiritual Art Journaling”, with Salima Raoui (Moroccan artist and fiber designer), I was invited to take a 5 minute walk in Bishop’s Garden and then meditate on love before launching into a collage project. Beyond, the actual art I made, what I took away from this session was the message Salima gave during our meditation. She had us each visualize a person who had awakened love in our hearts, whether this person was with us or not. She asked us to say the person’s name in our heart and to see him/her. I did and pain filled my chest. She encouraged us to not remember the loss, but the memory of love awakened - what it felt like to be with the person. Hearing his laughter in my head, I smiled to myself and the hurt seemed to fade. “Feel gratitude for this person and your experience. For even if they are gone, the love will always be there”, she said. It made perfect sense and I felt perfect peace.

My last session, “Beijing Circles: A Social Justice Resource for Circles” was lead by Kim Robey, program officer for women’s ministries and leadership development at the Episcopal Church Center in New York was challenging. To run one of these circles is to confront (in conversation and prayer) the nightmares that are taking place in women’s lives across the globe. Sitting in a circle, as a group, we took turns reading aloud from a list of statistics regarding poverty, illiteracy, female genital mutilation, gender based violence, unwanted pregnancies, trafficking, slavery and so on. I felt deflated, exhausted and overwhelmed at the staggering numbers - at the realities that cannot be sugarcoated or ignored. At the end of the circle, as is custom, many of the participants left a sentiment, prayer or intention for going forward. I did not say mine, but right now, it is clarity of how God wants me to be of service in bettering the lives of women and girls - which I already feel called to do.

One way of answering the call has been my work with The Saartjie Project. After church today, I headed over to rehearsal for our next shows which will be on Friday, February 20th and Saturday, February 21st at the Capital Hill Arts Workshop. After Sacred Circles, I was exhausted, but it was important to connect with my own “sacred circle”. The women of Saartjie are all so ridiculously amazing and talented. It is definitely one of the safest spaces, artistically or otherwise, that I have ever been in. One day, when I have not already loaded the page with information, I will speak to the synchronicity that lead to my involvement in this productive/collective and the work that we do. All I will say right now is that it is something that I am profoundly grateful for and proud of. As tired as I am, every rehearsal energizes me - perhaps because I am convinced (and constantly being shown) that this thing is so much bigger that any of us involved.

I am so blessed, just praying (and requesting prayer) that I will receive guidance on how to put love in action using the unique gifts and resources that have been bestowed upon me.

So much still on my mind that I really need to download….

Later.

Love and Light,


Nia

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

When I Put My Weapons Down

Still haven't made it to yoga class, still have not properly meditated or prayed - but I will. I have been doing my Morning Pages. Sometimes I hate doing them. Even though I know they are beneficial and sing their praises, there is something about having to wake up at 6:15 in the morning to start writing or do anything that irks me. Thankfully, the writing does not have to be profound (though I find lots of interesting things when I read back on my old entries), just whatever I can muster, cranky with sleep still in my eyes and on my mind.

I have noticed some progress with the coworker (Thank God!) that I lamented about in an earlier post. He is still irritating, but I discovered that I feel better and more relaxed when I stop working so hard to ignore him. We have shared stories and laughs that I never would have expected. In telling a friend about this change I said "the war ended when I put my weapons down". In dealing with him, I transformed into this person most people who know me well would not recognize - cold, prickly, defensive, and quiet. Somehow, I thought withholding my natural warmth and kindness would make him easier to get a long with. All it did was add fuel to the fire. I know there will be stumbles as the other day, he made the assumption that I could sing (of course all thick black women can sing, of course) even though he's never heard me utter a note and then suggested that I sing a negro spiritual for Black History Month. Dear readers (the two or three of you that are out there) please pray, light a candle, or hold a space for me. We shall overcome!

Monday, February 2, 2009

Radical Acceptance

“Here,” she said, “in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it. They do not love your eyes; they’d just as soon pick em out. No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them. Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face ‘cause they don’t love that either. You got to love it, you! And no, they ain’t in love with your mouth. Yonder, out there, they will not heed. What you scream from it they do not hear. What you put into it to nourish your body they will snatch away and give you leavins instead. No, they don’t love your mouth. You got to love it. This is flesh I’m talking about here. Flesh that needs to be loved. Feet that need to rest and to dance; backs that need support; shoulders that need arms, strong arms I'm telling you. And O my people, out yonder, hear me, they do not love your neck unnoosed and straight. So love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it and hold it up. And all your inside parts that they’d just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver–love it, love it, and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet. More than lungs that have yet to draw free air. More than your life-holding womb and your life-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.”


Above is an excerpt from one of my favorite books, Beloved by Toni Morrison. In the book and the movie, this part is always makes me emotional in thinking of how much people war with their bodies, how much I have warred with my own. Will write more about this, but just wanted to actually put it on my page as a reminder.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Because laughter is good for the soul, I present to you....

A Nation of Tribes

So I really love Rev. Dr. Renita Weems. She is pretty much who I want to be when I grow up. Smart, sassy, spiritual...and outspoken. I discovered her while poring over some books in the Black Studies section of the MLK Library. I was looking for literature on women in ministry and came across her book , Showing Mary (which I still need to read and purchase). I am not sure what I was going through at the time, but her words seems to speak directly to my heart. Not too long after, I decided to find out more about her on the net and ended up reading her blog, Something Within. This woman is soooooooooooooooo on point. If you ever get a chance, go to the blog, find some of her books...find out about Ms. Renita...She's no joke!


I was delighted today to listen to her preach today at Howard's Rankin Chapel. Her sermon came from Luke 22:24-33 and correlated with communion, but also a struggle I am currently dealing with. She spoke about how right after communion, Jesus's disciples began to have a dispute about who was the greatest among them. She talked about dispute in the context of where we are in the world - how there are so many factions, calling us "a nation of tribes". She said that we are more drawn to our idealogies than what actually matters and consequently are divided. We only gravitate towards those who look, think, and act like us.

In hearing her words, I started thinking about how a particular situation has unfolded in my life. I have a coworker who I am not fond of (euphemistically speaking). His very being grates my nerves. From the moment that I met him, I have found him rude and condescending. Whenever he speaks to me, it seems like he is baiting me for an argument rather than making an attempt at conversation, and even then the topics are racialized (i.e. "You're black, what do you think about this?"). Rather than correcting him or conceding to dialogue with him, I ignore him. Even though he sits right next to me, I tune him out. For so long, I have thought that was the appropriate solution. In my heart, I know that its not. In my heart I know that I should be kinder, that I should show grace, that I should hear him or at least be honest and tell him when he's been offensive. Those things would probably be more mature than telling anyone who will listen about how much I hate his guts. But alas, its been easier to just dismiss him as being "different" and "wrong".

At a point in her sermon, Dr. Weems said that there is one thing to have a dispute, but its literally an entirely separate issue when there is a "spirit of disagreement" which she says is demonic. I had never thought about it that way, but it makes perfect sense. Some days, even before he has an opportunity to open his mouth, I already have on my screwface just waiting for him to piss me off. My whole attitude and mood shift when he is around. My body tenses up. Its like I am preparing to do battle even though I am not even clear what the war is about.

As these gleanings came to mind, so did a very clear picture of this person that I have made my adversary (I jokingly call him my "arch nemesis"). Seeing him and thinking of all the negative things I have said and how horribly I have acted towards him made me really sad and convicted. Suddenly, I saw this person who I perceived as an enemy as my brother - someone who deserves a lot more compassion than I have ever shown him. I was surprised to feel tears streaming down my cheeks as I saw him. Before today, I was always able to justify my anger towards him. As I am writing this, I just want to release all the nasty feelings and start with a clean slate.

I committed this situation to prayer awhile ago, but not from this perspective. I am curious as to what I will see/how I will feel tomorrow morning when I get to work. I will report back.

Dr. Weems also spoke briefly about homosexuality. Apparently someone read her blog and took issue with what they assumed was her saying that homosexuality is not a sin. According to her, its not for her to judge anyone, that's God's job, as she does not have a heaven or hell to put anyone in.

Amen and Amen.


It brought me back to the "Trials of Ted Haggard" documentary that I finally got a chance to watch last night. I honestly did not pay much attention to this scandal when it was fresh and new. I think at most, I may have said a quick prayer for his wife and family and just wrote him off as another fallen religious leader. Maybe I am desensitized so much that these kinds of situations never really shock me anymore. Leaders are human first and humans make mistakes. Oversimplification, perhaps...but, that's how I feel.

Nevertheless, watching and listening to the story and how it unfolded has me incredibly sympathetic towards this man. I mean, I absolutely cannot imagine walking a centimeter in his shoes. And this whole situation brought him a deeper understanding of the words he had been preaching for so many years and how that even having lost everything, he is better off now than he was. I'm just like...wow.

When I was searching for a pic of him to upload, I glimpsed an article about him admitting to a second affair. I just sighed. I probably will not read it. I am less into the tawdry details than wondering how he persevered. Whenever I hear anything like this, my general question is "how do you survive this?"

Anyhoo, being in church felt pretty good. The music was better than I expected and it was not too crowded. I heard that when Jeremiah Wright was there the Sunday before inauguration that Howard pretty much had to open every possible viewing space to accomodate the crowds that came to see him. I may return to chapel next week, but I hope to do some research on local churches soon. I might just check out the service at All Souls Unitarian Church. We'll see.

I have nothing to say regarding the Superbowl, beyond the fact that I opted out of a Superbowl party to update the blog and get some rest. Signing off to do the latter.

Love and light,


Nia

Saturday, January 31, 2009

So it Begins

This is the blog I have always wanted to write (and have tried several times to do so). My earlier attempts arose from a dual need to implement a daily writing practice and have my words read by whoever, essentially as a means of breaking out of my “creative” shell. But, today as I was doing my Morning Pages (more on those later), I realized that I finally had something worthwhile to write about: my spiritual walk. Spirituality is the thread that seems to run through every aspect of my life, every thought process, everything that interests me. My favorite topic/subject is love and every “what do I want to do when I grow up” dream revolves around “building the beloved community” - a concept that I am still trying to wrap my mind around.

So, I am not a preacher, teacher or even a theology student (though I am considering divinity school). I am just a very imperfect 28 year old who fumbles and thankfully is the beneficiary of a whole lot of grace. This blog is not intended to evangelize or convert anyone to any particular religion. I can’t do that, because I am really still trying to figure it all out myself. I have lots of questions - so this also is not an instructional guide.

What I will do is tell you about this journey, my insights, my struggles, my wild successes and epic missteps . Ever the bibliophile, I will share what I am reading and the impact it has on me. Movies, music, the occasional provocative societal issue that strikes a chord or nerve. The YouTube clips that just have to be shared….those are the only things I can promise… and that I will be honest and attempt to update on a weekly (I want to say daily, but then that would negate the whole honesty bit) basis.

So far my practices include Morning Pages (a tool of The Artist's Way that have you do 3 pages of free writing first thing in the morning) meditation, and yoga. Unfortunately, as great as my intentions are, I can be really lazy and downright defiant about doing any of these. Nevertheless, I can definitely feel their absense when I go too long - so tomorrow, Feb 1st, I start back again. I am teaming up with my Aunt Sandy to do the The Artist's Way, I will section off 10 minutes (baby steps) a day for meditation and I already have my gym bag packed for a hatha yoga class at the gym down the street. This blog is also a tool of accountability!!!!

The other practice is going to church. I have been passively looking for a church home because I like the experience of fellowship, love singing, and need the words of encouragement to get me through the week. We are living in some CRAZY times, so if I ever felt the need to be in the presence of the holy, its now.

Tomorrow, I plan on going to Rankin Chapel to see Rev. Dr. Renita Weems, whose blog, Something Within" is definitely an inspiration for me. I love her writing and I am looking forward to hearing her speak.

That's about it for now. If I can figure out how to do it, I will embed the YouTube of India Arie singing "Back To The Middle". The lyrics don't necessarily coincide with the blog, but somehow it feels right. The title definitely speaks to where I am right now and I guess, where I am trying to get to.

Love and light,


Nia