'Be anxious for nothing..." ~Philippians 4:6

Sunday, May 30, 2010

FOR THE LOVE OF LIBERTY

It's Memorial Day weekend. 
For some, it means a picnic and a day off. For others it is a sober reminder of the sacrifices made by innocent individuals as they embraced military causes--some just, some deceptive. 
In spite of how they were treated in their own country, many Black people chose to serve anyway. 
My own Dad served aboard many ships, and aircraft carriers including the icebreaker, the USS Edisto. Many military personnel of color thought their service would surely change the way they regarded. Many, by default, acquired enemies abroad in addition to the more insidious enemy at home. Still, they served. 
The documentary, "For the Love of Liberty" is an excellent chronicle of the history of African Americans in the armed forces. It is a must see for every American--especially those who insist that Black people have made little or no contribution to the maintenance of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Another treasure worth obtaining is Gail Lumet Buckley's book "American Patriots".

Visit http://www.forloveofliberty.org/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbuhrWfpTOE&feature=youtu.be

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riley_L._Pitts

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Calvin_Rogers

http://www.blackpast.org/?q=aah/johnson-hazel-w-1927

http://www.amazon.com/American-Patriots-Blacks-Military-Revolution/dp/0375502793

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

IF YOU COULD SEE YOUR CHILD'S WALL...

Dear Clueless Parent,
Your foul-mouthed, immature kid is a regular on facebook, twitter and myspace. Your bathroom has been photographed more than the Statue of Liberty. Based on the poses, it seems that all your kid needs to complete their online look is a pole and a thong. 
Your little spawn is making a complete mockery of your parenting skills, your church, your pastor, and their school. From the looks of the sentences written, you may be paying for summer school and a tutor. 
Since everybody else on the internet has access to your kid's online activity, you may as well take a look, too, and see if you can even recognize your little darling. You will no doubt recognize your house, if not all of the people who occupy it while you are not at home. What's that? You don't want to invade your child's privacy? Oh. I see. Your kid's status was right. You don't care, or have a clue.
Obviously, your kid thinks that "private" means "invisible". Intervene before your kid screws up his or her educational or professional opportunities all in the name of harmless fun. Stop trying to be a hip friend and be a parent. Your kid is a kid, so cluelessness is understandable. You're an adult. Act like one, and be the hero that your child needs. 
Whatever you are doing that keeps you too busy to pay attention to your own child, is one activity too many.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

NETWORKING?


Advertising and networking is one thing, but bragging to get a rise out of, or to compare oneself to others is unattractive, if not a little sad. If one's activities are honest and of value, one need never competitively align oneself with others. 
Be the best you, that you can be. Show God that you're making good use out of what He gave to you. That way, when someone with better skills comes along, you won't wear yourself out trying to topple them off of the pedestal upon which YOU placed them. You will enjoy what you do so much more when you stop competing--especially considering that there will always be someone who doesn't like, or won't validate what you do. You will enjoy what you do so much more when you stop competing and checking to see who is, or is not looking and approving--or who's envious. 
Constantly monitoring the reaction of one's perceived enemies is a waste of time. Constantly acknowledging so called haters is suspect, too. THE enemy and YOUR enemies will always wish that you would fail miserably, or go somewhere and die. Face it. We all have social networking "friends" whose sole purpose is to keep tabs on everything you write, and report back to people who are too computer illiterate to stalk you themselves. (Not convinced? Post that you're really sick or something, and check the responses)--- but even enemies have their OWN business about which to attend and aren't always preoccupied with you.

Spite and competition combined, are counter-productive motivators, and rob the joy and satisfaction out of what one does. Everything is not a game, so stop playing--especially if no one else is on the field cheering or opposing. Bragging and boasting under the guise of networking is a little sad. No matter how big-time one's activities appear to be, if God doesn't acknowledge or approve, one may as well go sit under a tree and stare at the grass. 

Let the work you've done speak for you. If it has any worth or impact at all, God will be glorified, and others will gladly share it--and you can put your own horn back in the case.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: YOU'RE UNIQUE, AND THAT'S OKAY


The status read, "Some people were born to be set apart. Accept it!" 

It was a bold declaration, but it seemed that the writer was convincing herself more than others. 
She had resigned that being unique was okay. 
The writer continued, "I'm just different, Don't fit in nowhere. Can't do everything. Its lonely sometimes..."

I empathized with her. 
It is discouraging when your intentions, motives and actions are questioned. It's disheartening when you want to be of assistance, and are rejected. 
It's sad when you want to help, and are pushed out or away. 
There's an inclination to question, or beat up on oneself; to take things personally and become offended. 
Unfortunately, unresolved offenses can breed a hard heart, arrogance, offensive and defensive behavior and speech, or complete inactivity as a person tries to recover from the realization that they are not embraced, included, needed or wanted.

Most people simply desire to be a part of a community. There's a need to belong; to be accepted. When one finds oneself on the outside looking in, it may be a bit of a shock to find out that the air outside is actually fresher, cleaner and more conducive to one's continued growth and survival. 
"Inside" may get more hype because of the "in" crowd, but "outside" is actually where one will have room to flourish. 

Fitting in may appear to be appealing, but can be as restricting to one's freedom as shackles, chains and bars. 
Even if the writer's statement was made out of sadness or a need to affirm herself, it was still true. Everyone will not, should not, and can not fit "in".

The Bible even endorses being different. 
Jesus said, "As thou hast sent me into the world, even so have I also sent them into the world. And for their sakes I sanctify myself, that they also might be sanctified through the truth." John 17:18-19

In Leviticus 20:26, God himself says, "You are to be holy to me because I, the LORD, am holy, and I have set you apart from the nations to be my own."
Here's David's reminder in Psalm 4:3, "Know that the LORD has set apart the godly for himself; the LORD will hear when I call to him."

Paul boldly and without apology, celebrated his distinction: "But when it pleased God, who separated me from my mother's womb, and called me by his grace, to reveal his Son in me, that I might preach him among the heathen; immediately I conferred not with flesh and blood..." Galatians 1:15-16

I wanted to reply to the writer just to encourage her that, although she may feel lonely sometimes, there is never even a fraction of a second when she is alone. If I could talk to her right now, I'd tell her:
That "lonely" feeling is understandable, but can also be a great barometer of the atmosphere. 
Ignore competitions that you didn't know you had entered. 
Pray for people who are so insecure that they indiscriminately hurt others who they mistakenly think are coveting what they have--whether it be material things, position, or other people. 
Don't ever dumb yourself down, fail to act, or forfeit opportunities. 
Other people's evaluation of you, criticism of you, and inability to see your worth is their problem.
Don't ever settle just to fit in. 
You’ll know when it's time to separate yourself, because God won't allow you to get comfortable in places where he doesn't want you to be. 
You have great discernment, and He expects you to use it to know just what is, and is not good for you.

Old people used to say "Birds of a feather flock together". 
Your own spirit will testify of your discomfort when you try to fit in with, or appease others. 
Never ignore your own instincts. 
Definitely do not mistake warning flags and whistles as celebratory symbols. 

You're not going to fit in every place, and you're not supposed to. There is not a single thing wrong with you. Your uniqueness is a blessing. You are neither naive or silly. You know exactly what is good, right, and proper and what is garbage. 
God doesn't want you everywhere, doing everything, and appeasing everyone--He just wants you to do what he called you to do. 
He will take care of your comfort, safety and security. 
Have faith that he will continue to do it.
You know it already, but here it is again--you are never alone...Keep shining your light. Where ever God places you is where you belong, and he will provide everything that you need to thrive.

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: “SWAGGER" AND OTHER RECYCLED WORDS





Before you adopt a new 
way of defining yourself, find out what the term you've chosen really means, and decide whether or not you're either exchanging integrity and dignity for stupidity and self-sabotage. 
Find out if you're exchanging one title for another one that means the exact same awful thing.

It's sad enough to badmouth others on purpose, but even more ridiculous to badmouth yourself and not even know it. 

No words are "just words".
Proverbs 18:21 says, "The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit." 

Matthew 12:36-37 says “But I tell you that men will have to give account on the day of judgment for every careless word they have spoken. For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned”

Just because something sounds hip and trendy, it may be wise to check it out thoroughly before proudly applying it to yourself. 

There are words that have garnered affectionate places in our vocabularies, even after having been labeled the dregs of the word society. 
Calling someone a "nigger" or even "black" used to be grounds for a fight. 
“Bitch" used to be reserved for those who handled our four-legged friends. 
"Ho" was a directional word, and the addition of an "e" on the end, meant there was  some yard work to do.
 "Dope" used to refer to illegal, addictive narcotics, but these days, it's what every new song or beat hopes to be. 
"Wifey" sounds cute, but just isn't a compliment. Does any woman, who desires to be married, merely aspire to be wife-like? She may be excited to be "Number 1", but does a woman really want to be on a list that implies there is a Number 2...or 3? Of all of the deluded chicken-heads in the harem, is it complimentary or a source of pride to be the one a man might consider marrying? 

Oh, yeah. "Chicken head" used to mean just what it says. The head of a chicken. Today, it refers to an immature, needy, silly, desperately infatuated, girl groupie. 

I suppose it's a good thing when a word or phrase gets a pardon, is recycled, and becomes respectable. Unfortunately it takes some people a long time to catch on. Some people never do, and cringe at the thought of having to regularly hear disrespectful words that conjure up violent memories of a shameful past.

There's another term that is tossed around like free candy, by people who I'm sure haven't done their homework--or maybe they have, and are actually proud of their air of superiority. 
The word of the hour is "swagger". I didn't know that it was an actual, existing word, so I checked the dictionary:
SWAGGER- to conduct oneself in an arrogant or superciliously pompous manner; to walk with an air of overbearing self-confidence; boast; brag

I recall a Dr. Seuss story called "The Big Brag" that would knock the wind out of everybody's swag.

Is it possible to be proud of being annoying? 
That can't be good.

Monday, May 17, 2010

WAKING THOUGHTS: LARGO HS REUNION CHOIR CONCERT


I had such a good time yesterday singing with the Largo High School Reunion Choir. Listening to young voices always reminds me of my own youth- when I began singing, how much I always loved music, the affirmation of church mothers, the impact of harmony, and the advantages and pitfalls of showy gifts.
The choir was fantastic. The soloists were superb; their crystal clear young voices not yet affected by life and its uncanny ability to give extra credibility and emotion to the words of a song.
The kids were so friendly and gracious. I felt a little old every time I heard "Miss Vanessa" but not in a depressing way. I was actually happy to know that home training and respect were still alive and well. It was so nice to applaud them, talk to them, and encourage them. I was especially happy to see Tara Thomas. I didn't know that she had attended Largo High School. She was a part of the alumni contingent of the choir--and the little tot who used to call me "That Goin' Up to Yonder Girl" so many years ago at Bethlehem Baptist Church. She now has a child of her own and has grown into a beautiful young woman.
Jeremiah Murphy has done a tremendous job leading the choir over the last 21 years and it showed. There was an entire choir of Largo High School alums in the audience who, for whatever reason didn't participate, but were only too happy to join their classmates for the finale song "Total Praise".
I was on my feet a lot yesterday. It was just too difficult to just sit there as each subsequent song seemed to get better and better. The young lady who sang "Perfect Praise" was amazing! I managed to remain in my heels until the end, but quickly and deliberately donned the flats for the walk to the parking lot.

This morning I'm paying for the snack choice I made late last night, and my extended stay in the high heels. I'm actually amused by the subtle changes occurring as I get older. I remember when there would have been no flats stashed in my purse, and the heels would have been higher. I remember when I wouldn't have been so exhausted when the concert was over, and would have gladly tried to catch the end of another activity, or would have spent hours eating and laughing at whatever restaurant was still open. I suppose all of my sleeping and waking thoughts were confirmed by author Darryl Pinckney's words:

"Once upon a time, the young would put the elderly on rafts and float them out to sea.
I think of that when I'm out walking and can't keep up with the younger guy ahead of me simply because my stride no longer has the same elasticity as his.
He disappears into the next block, his scalp full of essential oils.
Overnight I've become the age of my college students' parents, if not older.
One girl in class said, "Molly," and I didn't know that that was slang for a drug. Thirty years ago, I would have.
In my head, I used to be hip.
I had friends who were hip, and I tagged along.
But all of a sudden, I can't even stay out late.
Just this past New Year's Eve, I heard Patti Smith at the Bowery Ballroom.
She was great, and she's still hip because she has no fear of the young.
But a while after midnight, I was desperate to be on my way home to the cozy sounds of my radiators.
My hipness card expired a long time ago.
I can't speak the night's language anymore.
Downtown, where the condos and restaurants are now, I see the vanished landscape of dark clouds and abandoned corners.
I've become an old head who says, "in my day."
It's one of the most tiresome things you can be in New York-- formerly hip.
Then I must not forget that like everyone, the hip also went out to find someone to stay home with.
Home life is a consolation of the formerly hip.
Staying up late, but not too late, on another New Year's Eve with that someone met one smoky night 20 years ago isn't hip, but it's cool by me."

Saturday, May 15, 2010

SATURDAY THOUGHTS: WORDS

Before you adopt a new way of defining yourself, find out what it means, and decide whether or not you're exchanging dignity for stupidity.

It's sad enough to badmouth others on purpose, but even more ridiculous to badmouth oneself, and not even know it.

No words are "just words".
"The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit". 
~Proverbs 18:21

I looked up the word "swagger" in the dictionary. 
I didn't know it was an actual word. 
Here's what Mr. Webster had to say:
"swagger- to conduct oneself in an arrogant or superciliously pompous manner; to walk with an air of overbearing self-confidence; boast; brag"

Wow. That can't be good.

Believe what God says about you. It's smarter and safer.

Never allow the bad behavior of someone else to change who you are.

I wonder if the thoughtless, offensive behavior toward everyone, a person encounters ( a.k.a "keepin' it real" or "This is just who I am"), is the result of years of being offended by just a few critics?

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

WAKING THOUGHTS

There are some things you DON'T have to do, or put up with, and your Christianity is in no way impacted by your decision. 
You ARE a Christian, and it is primarily attributed to the finished work of Christ on Calvary--not whether you jump through man-made hoops toward man-made martyrdom. Some so-called mandatory requirements have nothing to do with the cause of Christ. They are just strangling, imposing, binding forms of foolishness and selfishness that used to have another name- SLAVERY.
What other people think you are SUPPOSED to do has no bearing on what must be done. You don't want to believe it, but there are a lot of people watching you and hoping that you fail. Every time you stand up after being knocked down, you annoy the hell out of someone. Keep standing. Hell is a good thing for people to rid themselves of.
Watch what others do when they are confronted with the same crap they expect you to wallow in. They don't bother! Learn that lesson. People expect you to do what they refuse to do, are too busy or unconcerned to do, and then seek to make you feel guilty for finally seeing the light.
You are in a competition that you didn't know you'd entered, and with the most unlikely people. Their greatest delight would be to see you out of the running- and here you are thinking that you have so little! Wake up! Get up! You have an enemy who could care less about anything other than annihilating your faith.

No. Every task is not going to be enjoyable, but deliberately putting yourself in a position to get your face slapped, butt kicked, or heart trounced is no longer acceptable. Do what you can. Always check your motives. Operate heartily as unto the Lord, but do not allow yourself to be bound or gagged by those who neither appreciate nor celebrate you. Some people get a kick out of being oppressive. Abusive people need others at their disposal to ridicule and hurt. Don't be a volunteer for your own destruction. Guard your heart against every imp that tries to make you feel that there is something holy about subjecting yourself to the tormenting behavior of others. Contrary to popular belief, words have just as much a damaging effect on the body's system as an actual weapon. Don't be a hermit. Don't become reclusive, but for the sake of your well-being, protect yourself.
Don't go around looking for fights or picking up crosses, but recognize the need to keep your own heart and mind as healthy as possible. Don't doubt your discernment. The enemy knows that you see him, who he has tried to, and has successfully used to harm you, and he is highly disturbed by it. Keep shining that light, and don't you dare be the one to put it out. Keep shining it-- not in judgment, but as a way for others to see Christ.
Flee fault-finders, argumentative, critical, combative and angry people. They are positively draining to you and serve no purpose except distraction. No. You don't need people who will agree with everything that you say, or only flatter, complement and applaud you, but purposefully surround yourself with those who will affirm and strengthen you.
If there is any tearing down, don't let it be from within as a result of the tearing down from without. Appreciate your sensitivity. Embrace your sense of compassion and desire to serve, but a door mat you are not. You are not paranoid. You see and hear exactly what God wants you to see and hear--more reason why the enemy is furious. Let people say whatever they wish. Avoid the need to defend yourself. Being disliked is not fun, but it's a reality. Don't play with those who hate you. Pray for them, but don't give them an inch. Ignore people who consider themselves experts, but don't know what they heck they are talking about. Their opinions don't matter at all. Always check the sources of information that comes to you in the form of advice. Don't waste time.
Speak up firmly, and with assurance when it is necessary. Be silent when it is required. Love people. Please God. Being a peacemaker is one thing. Being a punk is another. Fear is not your friend, and there are some instances where you simply have to care less about what is going to be said or done after YOU say what, at long last, needs to be said--and you can still be nice about it.
God doesn't miss a trick. Let him handle the tough stuff. No. On second thought, let Him handle everything. Reconcile that some things will NEVER change. Stop asking why, and re-evaluate your responses to avoid having to re-learn lessons.
Take care of yourself. You have work to do.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

SUNSET THOUGHTS

There are those who value you and what you do. Thank them.

Refrain from volunteering your face to be slapped. When it becomes clear that you do not fit in, you'll stop trying.

Do absolutely nothing with information to which you are not supposed to be privy.

Stop wondering why. Some things are what they are. Either deal with them or don't. Choices are often costly, but one has freedom to make them.

"Celebrate those who celebrate you" doesn't sound nearly as selfish as it once did. As a matter of fact it makes astoundingly perfect sense.

Don't doubt your discernment. You see exactly what you see. It is the job of the enemy to make you think you're paranoid or hallucinating. He is still a liar and a loser.

Do what you can; beyond that know your limitations.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

THE NEVER-ENDING ADVENTURES OF CHILDHOOD ON MOTHERS' DAY









Parenting is not a part time job. 
Even on days set aside for celebration, the tasks of mothers and fathers never end. 
Today provided yet one more reason why the job of a parent is never done, and sometimes, the celebrations of parenthood have to take a backseat to the adventures of childhood.

My little sister rushed my nephew to the emergency room at Fort Washington Ambulatory Hospital this afternoon. 
Apparently, Mothers' Day was the day that he decided to see if he could stand up on a kitchen chair. He couldn't. He and the chair ended up on the floor. 
The chair is fine. My little nephew, on the other hand, got a ride to the hospital, and some $50.00 Neosporin for his attempt at being an acrobat.

While taking her children to honor her own mom, a friend, and one of my and my late Mother's favorite former students, heard the sound of her child being struck by a car. That same child had spent the better part of the day saying, "Happy Mothers' Day!" as if he'd forgotten he had said it the first hundred or so times. 
She'd been to her church—two services—and was going to spend the remainder of the day celebrating with her family. As she had done so many times before, she parked across the street from her mother's house. Two of her children, in their excitement to see their grandmother, managed to cross the street as she was retrieving her mom's gifts from her car. The middle child, who is 7, didn't make it. She said, all that she heard was the impact, and the sound of a speeding vehicle. The driver left the scene.

When my daughter and I arrived at the hospital, my friend was still wearing a flower in her hair. Her son had been stabilized, and was having x-rays taken. Her husband was sitting on the floor or the hospital, which, fortunately wasn't particularly busy. 
As we approached to greet them, she managed a smile, and said almost in the form of a question, "Happy Mothers' Day".

My Dad told me that Moms Mabley had a comedy routine about traffic safety. He said that Moms reminded the audience of the habit that parents have of directing their children to watch the lights. 
Moms said that lights never killed anybody. We need to tell our children to watch the CARS.

I get it, Mystery Driver. You were speeding, realized that you struck a child with your car, said a few expletives and sped off...or maybe you WEREN'T speeding, but were in a vehicle that you neither purchased, nor had permission to drive...or maybe you didn't see the child, and thought that you hit a dog, a cardboard box, a deer...or maybe someone had a gun to your head and told you not to stop. 

Look. I'm trying to understand, and also stay keenly aware that none of us truly knows WHAT we will, or won't do in any given situation.
So, Dear Mystery Driver, I'm kind of happy that my friends don't have the name and face of a person with whom to be angry. I'm glad that she had the presence of mind to get her child safely to the nearest hospital. What you missed, when you drove off, either out of fear, or just a complete lack of compassion, was the anguish of a mother--on Mothers' Day no less-- the frantic ride to the hospital as he screamed, "It hurts! It hurts!", his bewildered little brother and big sister, and the pain and recovery the child and his family are now facing. 
NO little kid should have a broken fibula and tibia and a head injury on ANY day, but for the injury to occur on Mothers' Day just makes it that much more heartbreaking. 
Fortunately he's young and resilient. Fortunately Greater SE Community Hospital is no longer the butt of jokes. Fortunately, Children's Hospital is one of the finest in the nation, and sent its gleaming ambulance to transport the child to even more capable hands. Fortunately a mother and father have a strong marriage, strong faith, and intense love for their children so that they could adequately comfort each other as the doctors and nurses did their work.

We all have places to go, people to see and things to do, but for the sake of every one and every thing that has to cross a street, slow down people. Seriously. Residential neighborhoods are not speedways. 
Look out for the children, because they are not always looking out for you. Their attention is on where they have to go, and they're usually going very fast.
We all need to be more attentive where the children of the village are concerned. It infuriates me when I see a mother who seems to be oblivious to the actions of her child or children. SO WHAT if there are 12 other people in the vicinity. It does not exempt you from the primary responsibility of attending to your own kid. 
No one should have to alert you to what your child is getting in to if you are in the room! Say something. DO something. Yes, kids will be kids, but if you have one of those kids that is making the village hearken for the days of a good old fashioned woodshed... If you don't want anyone to say ANYTHING to your child in the form of correction--then YOU correct, attend to, discipline, clean up after, and control your own kid!

Almost every day I hear some mother cursing at her child to "Come on! Get your little ass over here" Well Mom, you may be weary, worn and tired, but if your little darling had long legs like yours, and MAYBE if you'd think to hold your child's hand, or even push your child in a stroller, they could very easily keep up with you.

My child is an adult. I so remember the falls and scrapes and bruises when she was a child. My recent memory of her lying in a hospital bed after a car accident, came rushing back today. You just never stop being a mom. Your connection to what other moms are going through is so keen. Maybe its because you know that grace prevailed so much in your own experience. You want your own child safe, whole and healthy, and you want that for other moms, too. When there's an accident or tragedy, with someone else's child--whether you know the parents or not-- you feel it.

I phoned my big sister to update her. She told me that she has instructed her grandchildren not to move or touch the car doors until the car is parked, she is out, and has instructed them which side of the street to cross, and when. Even when children are in a familiar environment where their freedom of movement shouldn't pose a problem, we still have to be ever vigilant and even firm, if it means saving their little lives. Children and adults alike have to recognize that a moving vehicle is not a toy! It amazes me when I see people defiantly sashaying in the street in front of cars and almost daring drivers to stop or yield. God did a fine job creating us, but he did not equip us with bumpers. Some people seem to labor under the misapprehension that people are always going to do the right thing, behave the proper way, or respond favorably. Some arrogant pedestrians need to wake up. Every driver, as was proven today, is not equipped with good sense, morals, good judgment, good eyesight, reflexes or quick reaction time. There are people behind the wheels of vehicles who have criminal records, serious psychiatric histories, or no license to drive. Pedestrians may have the right-of-way, but it would seem that one would rather be alive and wrong, than dead and right. There may very well be a human being OPERATING the vehicle, but what if the vehicle malfunctions? It should always occur to a pedestrian that every vehicle on the road may not be equipped with the best anti-lock brakes--or any brakes at all. You may see a car, but the driver, operating the vehicle barreling toward you, may not see you. The driver may have every intention to slow down or stop. Question is, "Can they"? No. "WILL they?"

I'm still getting updates about little Maurice. The doctors at Children's are going to try and manipulate his broken bones back into place as an alternative to surgery. Fortunately his neck and head seem to be okay, but there's a nasty bump marring his cute face. I think the most powerful sight today was that of his father standing beside his hospital bed. Thank God for men who are committed to being there- consistently- for their children.

I felt better as my daughter and I left the hospital. I'm glad that we were able to go and be of some kind of comfort to our friends. And yes. I'm praying for whomever stuck little Maurice Hall today on Galveston Street, SW. I'm not angry and praying the King David "sick 'em, Lord" variety prayer, but just praying that the driver be comforted, too. He or she could be an inherently good person who is just afraid, badly shaken, and beating up on themselves right this minute. The continual state of not knowing the outcome of one's own actions can be tormenting. Right now, hours later, they may be wondering as they close their celebration with their own mom, "Did I accidentally kill someone's child today?"
I'm praying that the good, that God is excellent about gleaning from every situation, is revealed to my friends.

It's been quite a Mothers' Day.

Friday, May 7, 2010

TREASURES











I'm spring cleaning again, or should I say, spring rearranging. My daughter told me to stop moving around things that I didn't like or want. One large piece of furniture would suffice in the room, but I managed to put the two pieces side by side so that they don't make the room appear crowded. I'm not sure what possessed me to do that first thing this morning, but I'm glad I did. One of the pieces really was a little too dark for the living room.

I love finding things that weren't necessarily lost. I found the oil pastels and was happy to take them with me to the wellness center yesterday. My new elderly friends created lovely pictures with them. It only made me look through the rest of my art supplies to see what I can share with them the next time I go.

I found the postcard that the late Lois Mailou Jones signed for me years ago at The National Museum of American Art, more old writing and poems, my patent leather wedge heeled sandals, photos of my maternal grandmother, and a lovely black and white photo of Mommy holding Lisa on the day I brought her home from the hospital. I wish she could see Lisa. She wanted me to be a lawyer. She'd be so proud that Lisa has chosen law as her vocation.

My niece is going to her senior prom tonight. It was nice finding pictures of her when she was a little girl. I wish Mommy were still alive to see her, too. I'm sure Mommy would have stayed up until late hours making her prom dress. I found everything else, I suppose I should find the digital camera. I know it's around here somewhere...

Thursday, May 6, 2010

ALWAYS PRAY

A day has been set aside for the nation to pray. 
Oh, if every prayer being said this day would be said in faith, and not in the form of a cleverly crafted speech, or flowery poem. 

There are so many needs. God has already told us to ask. He has promised his presence. He is faithful. His promises never fall short.
Perhaps, like the apostles we find ourselves asking the Lord why it is that we aren't successful in performing the greater works he said we could do. Why is it that we aren't so accustomed to seeing miracles that they are almost passe?

I prayed for myself today. I prayed for the lady who was doing 40 in the left lane of the SE Freeway. I prayed for the family of the DC police officer who has apparently decided for himself that he no longer wished to live. I prayed for the family of the young people in our city who seem to be so enamored with violence, that they would shoot one of their peers on a bus in broad daylight. 
I always pray for my daughter as she makes her way in this world with confidence, clarity and a fortified trust in God. 
I prayed that people would have patience. As I left Reston, decided to take the beltway, and hooped off on the BW Parkway, I noticed there's construction everywhere. 
I prayed for the people in Nashville, and since I follow @newearthquake on twitter, there's more shaking going on all over the world that we don't always hear about.

There's so much hatred, so much strife, trouble and grief everywhere, yet with faith in Jesus Christ there is a hope and a peace that I simply can't explain. 
Talking to God is so reassuring. He is a good friend. He consistently blesses our land, and it just stands to reason that we would want to please him. A national day of prayer is lovely, but the conversation doesn't have to end when the sun goes down.

"...Now, my God, may your eyes be open and your ears attentive to the prayers offered in this place." 2 Chronicles 6:40

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

TUESDAY THOUGHTS: TEACHER APPRECIATION


Martha Jackson Jarvis noticed the shape that my piece was taking before I did. 
She stood over my shoulder and exclaimed, Aah! Africa! Is it Africa?” 

Maybe I was too close to it. 
I was just happily manipulating the clay, and feeling safe to play and experiment in the calm, pleasant, informative space she’d created. When it emerged from the kiln, I was stunned. There was a method behind the glaze results. There was science. I wanted to know how to achieve it again. She made me care about the details. There was a left-brained side to Art. 

At Howard University, I embraced it for the first time. I realized it didn’t have to be a betrayal of creativity. It didn’t have to be intimidating, difficult, or  scary.

There are some people you long to meet because you've heard so much about them. They inspire you to want to pursue great things, be better at a task, care more. 
When I graduated from Notre Dame Academy on my way to Howard University, I so wanted to be a student of the late Lois Mailou Jones. I was so disappointed to find out that after about 47 years of teaching, she decided to retire the year that I entered college. Fortunately, she made frequent visits as a guest lecturer, thanks to some of her colleagues and former students--who were my teachers.
Too often we are unable, or tragically too late to tell someone just how much their lives and life's work has touched our own.

This week is designated "Teacher Appreciation Week". I'm very grateful to have been instructed by some of the finest educators, and most delightful human beings in the world. They were not only good at communicating and sharing their areas of expertise, but demonstrated a genuine concern for their students. Their approach was parental as well as professional. Their office doors were always open. They shared their Art, their resources, their tastes in music, cuisine, apparel, books, their travels, wisdom, their ideas, and had great expectations for their students. 
Someone told me that college professors would be aloof and uncaring, and that in college, I would be on my own. They lied. My professors were accessible, sacrificial, and kind. They had dreams for us. 
They didn't hesitate applauding us when we we performed well, and correcting us when we we fell short. They were genuine, helpful, humorous, and hard working. They helped shape and inspire my Art, and enriched my life--and their own artwork was, and still is spectacular. 
Today, I'm delighted for the opportunity to publicly thank:

Martha Jackson-Jarvis -for encouraging me to explore a medium that I'd previously avoided. I will never forget her daily calming presence, pleasant disposition, knack for experimentation, and strong work ethic. When Winnie Owens Hart (whose incredible body of work always left me in awe) went on sabbatical, you were there to pick up the mantle.

Winston Kennedy- for words of affirmation, calm, clear, and concise instruction, patience, and providing skills that enabled me to succeed a few years after graduation in my accelerated apprenticeship with engraver and print maker, John Gerhold.

Jarvis Grant- for walking us all through the wonder that is photography in such an enjoyable, humorous way, and teaching us how to "see differently". Thank you for guiding us to appreciate the design and beauty in the details of objects and places in the world around us that most people take for granted.

Lila O. Asher- for challenging my intense aversion to all things mathematical, and reminding me that precision and the use of technology is not an enemy of Art. I will never forget the walking field trip to the morgue...: )



E.H. Sorrells-Adewale- (one half of my Senior year advisory team, with the great Starmanda Bullock) Ade, you were our resident philosopher and, along with the late Lucille Malkia Roberts (our mother figure), and Albert Michael Auld (introduced us to The Islander, rotis and cola champagne), the inspiration for the manner in which I taught. 
Because of you, I endeavored to eliminate the "extemporaneous BS" that frequently relegates Art to a lower rung on the educational totem pole. 

The HU "Design" team helped me to inspire another generation of Art literate individuals for the almost 16 years I taught at P.R. Harris Educational Center. Thank you, Ade for taking time out of your schedule to visit my classes there. You couldn't tell my students that they hadn't been to Africa that day, AND had met a superstar!

Frank Smith - "Blacks In The Arts" was early in the morning, but a wonderful start to the day! Your presentations were delightful, NEVER boring, and introduced us all to individuals we otherwise would have never known. You taught us that it was perfectly okay to experiment and take chances with our work. You broadened our knowledge of those who were artistic greats...every day a smile...every day an affirming greeting. Thank you.

These remarkably gifted and talented individuals, in addition to Professor and master painter Alfred J. Smith (Encouraged me to draw more, and on a larger scale..."Get some GOOD paper and use something other than a No.2 pencil! ), 
Dr.Tritobia Hayes Benjamin and Dr. Raymond G. Dobard (Brilliant minds! When they lectured on Art History, I wrote down ever word), 
Doris Colbert (loved her drawings, grace, and calm disposition), 
Kwaku Ofori Ansa and Skunder Boghossian (walking wisdom, and masters of symbolism), 
Chi Chong Lee (inspired the thought of teaching art to children), 
the late Jeff Donaldson (Great lecturer! Introduced me to cranberry juice, appreciated my calligraphy, and encouraged me to never throw out a good piece of corrugated cardboard), 
and the late great sculptor Edward Love (the reason I like Gil Scott Heron and NPR), helped to make 1978-1982 some of the happiest in my life. 

At the former Howard University College of Fine Arts, my teachers demonstrated in word and deed that our artistic vocation involved so much more than making pretty pictures. 
Thank you all for unselfishly pouring so much into us, and promoting an honorable, valuable, positive and productive way to communicate feelings, ideas, moods, and experiences.
















 

Monday, May 3, 2010

MONDAY THOUGHTS: IF YOU CAN'T FIND ANYTHING GOOD TO SAY...









I have lots of time on my hands today, so I sat down and listened to almost every track. It was an auditory assault, and I stopped at track 6. I don't like laughing at singers. I did chuckle, though. 
I repented shortly thereafter. 
Payback can be a dog, and what goes around usually comes back around like a really big, vicious dog.

I couldn't listen any more. I just sat there scratching my head. Some people are either extremely bold, or deeply deluded. 
I felt so badly. 
Did no one have the guts to stop it before it began? 
Studios are in business to make money, I suppose, and shame on the studio that took hers.

I thought about "I Love Lucy", and one of the funny exchanges between Lucy Ricardo and Ethel Mertz:
Lucy: "Now, Ethel, give me one good reason why I shouldn't sing the lead!"
Ethel: "You can't carry a tune."
Lucy: "Well! if you're gonna get petty about it!

The music was lovely, but the vocals were, well, painful. 
The whole time I listened, I was thinking of all of the other people who I thought could do the songs such glorious justice. 
Maybe that was it. Maybe the singer is supposed to be a songwriter. The lyrics were fantastic! Not trite or obvious, but powerful and relevant. 
The voice, however, was killing them- and not in the good, hip way that musical folk use the word "killing" these days.

Her goal was to make a gospel music project that appeals to Christian listeners. I'm a Christian. I'm also a listener. But I appreciate Art, and there are principles and elements that go into the making of what I believe to be good art. 
One's belief system can certainly be the motivating force behind a decision, but it can't be the sole basis for following through. There has to be some talent or divine intervention, or special anointing in there somewhere.
 
There should be at least a remote recognition of one's true calling. 
We can do a lot of things that we're capable of, but the question is should we, and are we qualified? Further, should we expect others to approve? 
Whether it's food, a performance, or the behavior of a bratty little kid, I can't say that something is good when it is not.

Art is subjective. As quietly as it's kept, even Christian music is art--subject to constructive and often destructive criticism. 
I'm not going to be roped into endorsing something just because it happens to mention biblical principles and truths. 
I can read my own Bible, choose the music I like, and avoid being hammered by poorly executed music that just happens to be about the Lord. 
Everything that purports to be God-centered, does not do an admirable, effective or acceptable job of representing him. 
Attaching "God" and "Jesus" to a thing doesn't insure the audience, tolerance, or appreciation for it--nor does it increase the value of it. Junk that is manipulatively created for self-serving purposes, and packaged in the name of Jesus, doesn't devalue Jesus in any way--and it is still junk. 
Fortunately, his name isn't that easily tarnished in my book. 
My Dad was right. Sometimes you have to, "Take the word, and let the goat go".

You just can't come out and say, "I'm sorry, but that sucked". 
Well, at least I can't. 
I mean, I guess I could, but it wouldn't be nice
I hate being such a wuss sometimes. 
I just don't like hurting other people's feelings. 
Maybe it's because I so carefully guard my own heart, and have only recently learned the critical role that words of affirmation play in my own life. 
We are quick to ask what others think, but do we really want to know? People want you to back them up, "support" them, agree with them, and if you don't you're a "hater", or not "with" them, or you don't "belong" to them. 
That little boy in the story "The Emperor's New Clothes" is truly one of my heroes. Sadly, though, not everyone appreciates or welcomes the truth. What have you lost, then, when the truth you speak means the end of a casual, serious, or working relationship? Should speaking the truth be such a chore or a deal breaker? 
Should just telling the truth be so difficult? 
Should you care if a stranger decides you're awful for being honest?

I dread being asked for my opinion, especially when it is my approval and endorsement that is really wanted. 
"Who am I?", I ask myself. 
When did I get highly qualified to judge another person's artistic offering? 
What difference should my two cents make? 
Didn't I have a sign in my classroom that read, "ART IS ANYTHING YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH" just to encourage every child that their work was valid just because they did it? 

I'm no well-connected super producer with deep pockets. 
I'm just one person with a functioning pair of ears. 
My ears won't allow me to lie, though.
I suppose there is something to be said for sincerity, determination, and following one's dream. She got off of her duff, researched studios, hired musicians and background vocalists, and produced an entire album. What am I doing? I've been hibernating since the Kennedy Center's "Joyful Sounds Across America" events wrapped. 
I'm sitting here looking like Miss Jane Pittman, wondering who to write, and complain to, about the cereal box of overabundant flakes, and eerily absent honey oat bunches and almonds. 
I took out the trash today. 
Whoopee. 
She's set up a webpage to promote her project.

*SIGH* 
I'm only one of the several strangers she's aggressively solicited via twitter to review her project. I won't burst her bubble. I can't. 
I'll go back and listen, and try to find at least one good thing to say. 
I won't criticize her effort. 
I think I admire her persistence and work ethic too much.
 
Someone WILL like it. I don't have to. 
I wish I could, though.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

SATURDAY THOUGHTS: GETTING OLDER

The piercing music had to have been in here somewhere. 
It wasn't. 
A carnival-like medley of songs including "London Bridge Is Falling Down" tore through the afternoon silence like a knife. 
It wasn't a phantom television or radio. 
It was coming through every open window, loudly and painfully clear. 
Every ambulance siren should be so loud.
 
I followed the sound to the living room window, and looked out. 
It wasn't a malfunctioning car alarm. 
It was the ice cream man--or should I say the ice cream lady in a minivan. 
The minivan hatch was lifted, and she was selling from the back of the vehicle, as the music blared. Could she get away with that anywhere else in the city, or is the "unmarked ice cream mini-van lady" only indigenous to east of the river?

I remember when the ice cream man wore a crisp white uniform and hat. There was either the spanking clean truck with two shiny silver doors on the outside, or the top loading freezers inside that held yummy frozen treasures. 
Be it Good Humor or Tasty Freeze, the sound of the ice cream man was welcoming and happy. 
We would hear the bells, scramble for our spare change, and run joyfully outside.

Today it was just noise, and instead of scrambling for spare change, I scrambled for my cell phone in case I needed to phone 911. 
I don't know when, but at some point the sound and look of the ice cream man got a make-over.

I love ice cream, but I guess, I'm not 7 any more...lol

SATURDAY THOUGHTS: POETRY PROMPT---THE VILLAGE IS SILENT

The Village is silent
It used to speak boldly
Now, it nurses the wounds
Inflicted by some of its children
It NEVER used to be abused before
It was revered; adhered to
Now, it's told to mind it's "damned business"
It is, nonetheless, concerned

It stopped watching, because it's too sad to see
It knows how things could be
The direction could have been changed long ago
The action stopped
It used to be what the village was good at
Now, it's so eerily obvious

She's out there; 
He's out there
She's having fun; 
He's taking chances
She's really in danger; 
He's really in danger
And no one in the village is saying a word

What would help?
A mother's love?
A father's presence?
An aunt's advice?
An uncle's old stories?
A grandmother's wisdom?
A grandfather's plain talk?
A teacher's caring?
A mentor's objectivity?
A good talking-to?
A swift kick in the too-tight pants?
A belt for the pants that are deliberately falling?
A rude awakening in a hospital?
Another, 
another, 
another funeral?

She speaks, and her words are mumbled; slurred
His language of choice is abbreviated and profane
Her laughter only surfaces to ridicule and mock
It is grating and loud
He is neither articulate, nor polite
Just defensive and combative
Her once bright eyes are dead, behind expensive frames
The value of their attire helps neither of them
She appears much older than her years
He is still wet behind the ears
They are manipulative, yet obvious
She has confused sexy with nasty
Feminine with whorish
Hip with ignorant
He has confused his genitalia with a weapon
His seed as confetti
His brilliant mind, as a liability
Her peers are takers and hangers-on
His peers have sold their souls
Their peers have ascended to a higher level of pathetic

While she's throwing up her hands in places she's too young to enter
While he's forcing others to throw up their hands or die
The hands of those who could have helped are down
Joined in performative prayer, or nervously wringing

Those who surround her, indulge her
Those who surround him, call him a man
"Man of the house" actually, is he
Until he encounters real men, who neither value, nor love him

She is the butt of jokes
The subject of gossip
The poster child for what not to aspire to be
He is never expected to come home
And rarely sees anyone like himself when he does
There is no love

She is out of control
He is out of control
They are now "other people's children"
They used to be ALL of ours

The Village shakes its collective head
It looks the other way
No one is bold enough to say
"Little girl, little boy, WHERE are you going dressed like THAT?"
"Little girl, little boy, WHERE are your manners?"
"Little girl, little boy, WHO do you think you're talking to?"
"Little girl, little boy, go sit down somewhere!"
"Little girl, little boy, do your your homework!"
"Little girl, little boy, go to class!"
"Little girl, even chickens have breasts and thighs."
"Little boy, even dogs procreate".
"Little girl, little boy, THIS doesn't concern YOU".
"Little girl, little boy, LISTEN!"

At first glance, their images translate: 
"Carefree and fun"
"Youth and silliness"
Look again, and they scream:
"Sadness and despair" 
"Hardness and indifference"
"Loss of innocence"
Pleas for help, that they don't even know they're making

They don't know how far they have fallen
They brag that they have no guidance
They DID, early on, but no more
Maybe it's the reason for the silent screams for help
In the form of a daily, global sideshow
Designed to declare their right to privacy and independence
But only revealing how little they really know
They don't know that NOTHING is private anymore.

The Village knows that, one day,
Their acting out will come back to terrorize them in the form of:
A rejection letter
A public scandal
A missed, coveted opportunity
OR a little girl, or little boy who looks just like them

How far it will go, is uncertain
Each new image and message proves
They are really "out there" now
The village USED to see it, advise, and correct
Today, no one is caring, or watching
It's harmless fun
It's a phase
No one is teaching, or guiding
Not even in their own homes

The Village seems to be indifferent
Only reminiscing now of its glorious past
Of rescuing little girls and little boys from themselves
But it still has hope for them
Maybe, one day, they will grow up- INSIDE
Maybe, one day, they will see themselves
And realize that there's nothing attractive
About the way they carry themselves
Dress themselves
Pose themselves
Or present themselves in word and deed

The Village knows it's not too late
Is there no one left to respect in the circles of some of our children?
Is there no one to emulate?
Is there no one qualified to offer anything except contempt?
Maybe the little girls and little boys are not the ones
The Village needs to address
It's true
She IS only a child
He DOESN'T know any better
They are not the MIRRORS
They are the shameful REFLECTIONS
They are the manifestations of what they live.
They have absorbed it well
They have proven that they CAN learn.

The Village now directs its inquiry squarely where it belongs
Not at the school
Not at seat of government
Not at the police
Not at the church
But at the HOME

Now, the Village speaks:

"How does one watch one's own go to hell
While directing others to varying degrees of heaven?
What is one doing that one doesn't even see?
How does one not ask for help?
When was wrongdoing EVER rewarded and defended?
How busy can one be, that one's own child slowly descends
Into an abyss of utter foolishness
And one does not, WILL not
Or simply feels powerless to pull them out?
Is it because one was left to wallow oneself?
Did one hit rock bottom once, too?
Did one once curse The Village, too?
Is one counting on God to provide a repeat performance of Amazing Grace?
Is one now praying an old prayer that one formerly mocked?
Is one so self-absorbed with one's own pursuits?
Or does one simply not care?

Why should The Village shed a tear?
Why should The Village lie awake at night?
Dear Villager, why do you care?
Since you do, say something anyway.
SAY something.
Keep saying something!
Better for someone to be angry with you today
Than be the subject of the silently read obituary
At The Village church, tomorrow