Tennessee - A Short Story by Afrika

Tennessee

            I hadn't seen the sun for three days.  At first, the rain was a welcome change, since Montgomery County had gone so long without it.  I enjoyed sitting on the porch with my little sister, Danielle, watching the lightning dance around the countryside, and falling asleep to the sound of thunder.  Eventually, however, I got tired of jumping over puddles and cleaning mud stains off of my clothes. 

            By Friday morning, the sky was finally shades of purple instead of grey.  Miller's Ridge was about half a mile from my house and it was the best place to watch the sun rise, so I crept out of the house, being careful to tiptoe over the floor boards that creaked.  I walked out to the ridge by the maple tree and lifted myself into the canopy so I could watch the blues, pinks and oranges of the sun peek over the hill. There was nothing like the beginning of summer.

            When I returned to the house, my family, including Uncle Junior, was crowded around the table about to eat breakfast.

            "What are you doing here?" I asked Junior, smiling.  "I wasn't expecting you for another couple of days."

            “You know I'm always full of surprises, Nicole.  Come over here and give your uncle some sugar.” 

            I waited for Junior to take one more drag from his cigarette and place it in the ashtray before I hugged him.  As usual, he smelled of Champagne cologne and his embrace was strong.

            “How’d you get down here?  I didn’t see the Cadillac out front,”  I teased, as Junior finished his smoke.

            “Tyrone, Marcellus and them got the Cadillac.  They already at the club, checkin’ things out.”  Junior walked over to Mama, who was bringing breakfast in from the kitchen.  Mama looked a lot older than she really was, mostly because, as with the Lord, every day was like a thousand years.  “Izzie, Nicole is pretty much a woman now, huh?“

            “Pretty much  isn’t the same as fully grown, Joseph.”  Mama refused to call him Junior, because she insisted that people should be called by their given name.  Junior had tried to make the point to her, several times, that he was Junior -- Joseph Givens, Jr., after grandpa -- but changing Mama’s mind was like changing a car tire without a jack. 

            Junior directed his attention back to me.  “So whatchu got planned for the summer, Baby Girl?”

            “Not much.  Just hanging around here, I guess.”

            All the food was on the table, and Daddy was just about to stick a forkful of eggs into his mouth when Mama reminded him that he forgot to bless his food.  Daddy nodded, and continued to eat.

            “A beautiful girl like you should be spendin’ her summers with someone special,” Junior said.  “What’s happenin’ wit Ronnie Jordan?”

            “He’s looking for work,” I said, blushing.

            “Don’t come in here filling her mind with that street garbage, Joseph,” Mama said.

            “When you gon’ ease up on me, Izzie?  It’s like I can’t ever open my mouth witout chu jumpin’ down my throat.”

            “Joseph --”  Mama started, but Junior turned away from her.

            “William, I’ll see you later.”

            Daddy got up from the table and asked Junior to stay, but Mama had succeeded in making him feel unwelcome -- again.   

            I locked the door behind Junior and watched him walk down the road.  His skin was like dark brown sugar, and his walk was just as sweet.  There’s a kind of strut a man has when he knows he commands attention.  Junior had been that way even before he left Clarksville ten years

before, in the summer of ‘55.   Tennessee had never been Junior’s scene, so when his friend Tyrone called to let him know about some jobs in Harlem, Junior packed up and used what little money he had for a one-way bus ticket.   Working in Harlem gave Junior the status he had always wanted, and although it developed in the world of  drugs and guns, I couldn’t help but admire him.

            After having worked the streets for less than a year, Junior had enough money to buy, and enough skill to manage three night clubs and after-hours food joints uptown.   By the time he was twenty-three, Junior hired a few managers to run things in Harlem while he spent the summers with us in Clarksville -- visiting family and managing Junior’s Paradise by the Cumberland River.  At the end of each summer, at least one family would pack up and follow him back to New York.  That’s why Daddy started calling him the Chocolate Messiah.  Everyone admired Junior because he wasn’t afraid of anyone -- a luxury that those of us who still lived in Klan occupied territory could only experience vicariously for the three months he was there.

            Later on in the week, Ronnie and I walked over to Junior’s to check out the scene.  The club was in a one-story brick building, with a green and red florescent sign outside.  Junior’s Paradise was written in script, and the windows were draped with black curtains.  “If you don’t pay to party, you don’t get to see anything, either,” Junior had said.  I think he even had a sign made up to that effect posted near the entrance.  The area around the bar was dim, and Seduction was practicing.

            “They already have a guy playing the sax,” Ronnie said, “and he’s really good.”

            “Yeah, but so are you, “ I said.

             “Hey, what’s goin’ on, y’all?” Junior asked, as he got up and hugged us both.  When he backed away, his jacket opened, and I saw the .38 in his shoulder holster.

            “You takin’ care of Miss Aphrodite over here, Ronnie?”

            “I’m trying to.  You know she’s a handful, Uncle Junior.”

            “Yeah, but she’s a beautiful one.  Ain't that right?”

            “Sure is,” Ronnie responded, looking over at me and smiling.          

            “So what may I do for yall?”  Junior asked us.

            “I want to play for Seduction, so I want you to hear my sound.  You got a second?”

            I knew Ronnie could play because he was holding a saxophone the day I met him.  It was my 

first day in fifth grade, and we were learning about music.  The racial climate was still very charged, so Ronnie and I were left in the corner fiddling with our instruments while the rest of the class was lectured on how they were expected to tolerate us little negro children.  That kind of thing went on all the time, where the teacher would talk to the rest of the class like I wasn’t even there, and it always made me nervous.  It didn’t seem to bother Ronnie at all. All he could see was that horn.

            Mama had told us all about how Reverend Jordan’s grandson was coming to live with him from New York City, and I was probably the only one in the whole school who was happy to see Ronnie.  It got lonely being the only colored child in fifth grade.  That day in class, as I was sitting next to Ronnie, with my little flute shaking in my hand, he looked up at me, smiled that smile, winked at me and held my hand.  I had never left his side since. 

            Ronnie added something special to his performance that day.  He picked up his saxophone and whipped up a mixture of jazz, blues and slow-drag tunes something powerful.  As he played, I could hear the words of the songs in my mind, but it was much different than listening to a voice.  I could feel the sound throughout my whole body -- in my feet, hands and everything.  My skin tingled as if Ronnie were touching me, and I almost felt dizzy.  I closed my eyes and let the music carry me for a while.  I didn't open them until he finished.

            "My God, boy!" Uncle Junior said.  "Where did you learn to play like that?"

            "My father taught me when we lived in Harlem," Ronnie answered.

            "Get out of here.  I didn't know you used to live uptown.  Did your father play in any clubs?" Junior asked.

            "Yeah, he used to play in Small's”

            "What's his name?"

            "Sammy Jordan."

            "You gotta be kiddin’ me!"

            "Yeah.  Did you know him?"

            "Yeah, I knew him.  It was all about Sammy Jordan when I first moved up there,"  Uncle Junior responded, lighting a cigarette.  "Now you know I already got Jesse on the sax, but he’s a tenor.  You could play alto if yall don't mind workin’ together."

            "Mind?  No, I wouldn’t mind.  I've been dying to play for people.  I want them to know my sound."

            "Do you think Ronnie's good enough to play in the city?" I asked.

            "I most definitely do.  The band already got they set ready for tonight, so you should come back tomorrow after church to get wit Jesse."

            "Cool."

            Reverend Jordan was sitting at the kitchen table with Mama and Daddy when I got back home.

            "What's going on, Daddy?" I asked.

            "The Klan tried to bomb the church while your Mama and the Reverend were leading a prayer meeting this afternoon."

            "Did anyone get hurt?"

            "No, praise the Lord," Reverend Jordan said, "but we might not be so lucky next time."

            "Daddy, are you going to tell Uncle Junior?" I asked.

            "Child, we need to pray," Reverend Jordan said.

            "Reverend's right, Nicole," Mama said with her head lowered.  "The Lord is our redeemer."

            "Come on, Mama. Where is God when the Klan is trying to burn the church down?"

            "Nicole, that's enough!" Mama yelled.

            "Nicole has a point, Izzie," Daddy said.  "Perhaps yall need someone looking over things at the church."

            "William!"

            "No one has to get hurt, now.  Just someone to make sure that no one falls into harm's way.  The Lord says to be wise as serpents and harmless as doves.  Pay attention to what came first."

            Reverend Jordan picked his Bible up off the table and told us to pray about the situation.  I felt bad for shouting at Mama, but I wanted her to be stronger, and I didn't like how much she depended on the Reverend.  It was already rumored in town that Mama and Reverend shared more than just a spiritual relationship, and her spending so much time with him didn't help any.

            After a really great set on the Fourth of July, Ronnie came down from the stage, took my hand, and lead me toward the back of the club. 

            "Where are we going, Ronnie?" I asked.

            "Uncle Junior’s office."

            I closed the door behind us.  Ronnie turned on the lamp on the end table as we sat on the black leather couch, and he just stared at the ground.

            “What’s going on, Ronnie?”

            "Do you ever feel like running away?" Ronnie asked.

            "All the time.  Do you?" I asked, curiously.  "I mean, I know your grandpa's kind of strict, but I thought things were okay."

            "Yeah, Grandpa's cool and all that, but I'm tired of Clarksville."

            "Do you remember much about Harlem?" I asked, as I moved closer to him. 

            "I remember that it was fun.  There's nothing to do here.  I don't hate it, but I don't want to get stuck here, you know?"

            "Well, we won't be here forever."

            "I don't know, Nikki.  I don't think I can stay here any longer."

            I knew it.  He was planning on leaving with Uncle Junior, and this was to be goodbye, or something like it.  "Ronnie --"

            "No, listen Nikki.  I been thinking about this a lot, and I want us to go to New York with Junior.  I know it's a big step --"

            "Wait, you said 'us,' like you want me to go too?"

            "I don't just want you to go with me.  I want to you to be my wife.  I mean, I love you and if you'll have me, I want us to get married and go to New York and live there."

            "Ronnie --"

            "I'm not finished.  I told your Uncle that I wanted to marry you, and so he let me do some jobs on the side so I could get this for you."

            Ronnie pulled a little black velvet box out of his pocket and opened it as he got down on one knee.  I had tried, in vain,  to hold my composure the whole time.

            "Nicole Marie Givens, I love you.  You've been my best friend for as long as I can remember.  I know you'd be giving up some things that are really important to come away with me to New York, but I promise to take care of you.  I just want you to please be my wife."

            He slid the ring gently on to my finger and kissed my hand.  "Will you marry me, Nicole?"

            "Yes, Ronnie.  Yes, I'll marry you," I exclaimed and hugged him, getting the side of his face all wet with my tears. 

            Suddenly, I heard sounds like firecrackers, and I got excited, because I thought the fireworks show had started by the river, but then I heard the horrified screams.  The firecrackers were gun shots.  I looked out of the window to see if we could escape that way, and that’s when I saw the hooded men running off into the woods. 

            “Ronnie, look!”  I screamed.  Ronnie's eyes turned a shade of crimson that I had never seen before.  "What are we going to do?"

            "I'm going out there."

            "No, you can't!  You'll get shot!"

            "What do you think's going to happen to us if we stay in here?"

            "Oh my God," I screamed, when I heard the next three shots.

            Before I could convince Ronnie to flee with me, the office door burst open.  It was Uncle Junior.  He was out of breath and he had blood stains on his face and shirt.

            "What happened?"

            "No time for questions, girl!  We gotta go," Uncle Junior yelled. 

            The three of us ran out of the empty club to where Tyrone was waiting with the car, past the burning cross and the three hooded bodies lying on the ground -- the hoods more red than white.  I knew better than to ask any questions.  I just jumped into the car with Uncle Junior and Ronnie.  Tyrone had moved into the passenger seat, and Uncle Junior drove off as I snuggled up with Ronnie in the back seat.  I didn't say anything for a while, even as we passed the Tennessee state line.

© 1998 Afrika Afeni Mills

The Plans I Have: Prologue

Prologue

Note: This may change once I receive feedback from the review group re: when is best to introduce this element of the story.  

"Daddy, how come we're taking this train?  This isn’t the way home," Subria asked, totally unfamiliar with the train station.

"Don’t worry, Subria," Steven said without making eye contact with her.  "The train is coming.  Just hold on."

A few minutes later, Subria saw the D train pull into the station, and at first it put her at ease, because this was finally something that she recognized.  This was the train that her family always took to out to Coney Island beach in the summer. Under normal circumstances, Subria would have enjoyed the train ride.  She would usually sit on her knees with her candy-sticky fingers pressed against the windows, enjoying the smell of the beach that came in through the train doors the closer they got to Coney Island.  It was so exciting to look out at the roller coasters and the water, and to see all the people lined up in front of Nathan’s.  But then she remembered that it was not summertime.  It was a cold December evening, and she felt nervous all over again.  Subria glanced over at her father repeatedly looking for a sign that everything was okay, but he wouldn’t look at her.  

As they got closer to Coney Island, cold gusts of wind blew into the train car at each stop.  Just as her feet were starting to warm up, they arrived at the Coney Island – Stillwell Avenue train station.  It was the last stop.  Instead of heading to the Astroland Amusement Park when they got off the train, they went in the other direction toward the housing projects.  

"Daddy, where are we going?" Subria pleaded.

"I just have to stop by and pick something up from my friend.  I need you to stay out here and wait for me."

"But Dad . . ."

"I won't be long."

Before Subria could protest any further, her father disappeared into the dark courtyard of a set of buildings.  Subria closed her eyes, and dug her hands deep into her pockets.  By this time, it was snowing steadily, and she could barely feel her toes.  

The year before, a kid in her second grade class was bullying Subria.  One day after school, the boy punched her, and since she didn't know how to fight, she just ran home in tears.  Subria told her father what had happened as soon as he got home from work.  The look of anger on his face both scared and comforted her.  Steven told her that he would meet her after school the next day, and true to his word, he was standing right outside the building at dismissal time.  He asked her to show him who this boy was, and when she pointed him out, Steven scared the boy so badly that he never bothered Subria again.  She hadn't felt that safe again in a long time.  Where was her knight in shining armor now?  Subria would've given anything for a pair of ruby slippers.  

"Are you lost?" a hooded man asked, approaching Subria.  She couldn't make out his face, and she froze.  

"I’m not supposed talk to strangers," Subria said, backing away.

"It’s okay.  My name is Phillip," he replied.  

Phillip was about the same height as her father, almond colored, with locks of black curly hair falling from beneath his hood.

At first, Subria felt nervous about this man talking to her, but as she listened to his voice, she began to feel strangely safe.  She didn’t walk back toward him, but she stopped backing away.

"I don’t know where my dad is," she said, shivering from the cold, and fighting off tears.

"Here," Phillip said, taking off his coat and hooded sweatshirt, placing the sweatshirt on Subria, and putting his coat back on.  "There's a police officer over there.  How about if I take you over to her, and she can take you someplace where you'll be warm?  Then she’ll call someone in your family to come get you."

"Okay," Subria said, taking his hand hesitantly and walking alongside him. 

As the police officer opened the car door to let Subria in, Subria looked up at Philip curiously. "Thanks so much for helping me, Phillip."

"It was my pleasure, truly," Phillip replied.

"Oh, I need to give you back your sweatshirt, " Subria said, beginning to take the sweatshirt off.

"No, you keep it," Phillip said, smiling at Subria.

As Subria slipped back into the sweatshirt, she noticed what was written on the front.  At first glance, it seemed like a team sweatshirt, but instead of a team's name, it said, John 3:16 in dark blue and gray block letters.  

"Bye Phillip," Subria said, embracing him before getting into the police car.

As the car pulled away, she looked out of the back window to see if she could still see Phillip.  He was standing on the corner, and she waved at him.  He smiled at her, and then seemed to disappear into the darkness like her dad did . . . but something was very different about it.  She looked toward the buildings where her dad had gone, but there was no sight of him, and she folded herself up on to the back seat and cried.

After Subria’s mom picked her up from the police station and put her to bed, Subria crept into the hallway, and waited until the light went off in her mom’s room.  She took her blanket, and tiptoed out of the room down into the kitchen, carrying the little sock monkey her father bought for her when she turned seven.  Her father had named the monkey George, because one of his favorite things was to read Curious George stories to Subria.  She opened the shutters and sat down on the window seat.  The wind chimes that her father hung up outside the window rang gently in the soft wind.  No one was on the street, as was usually the case when it snowed.  She loved how the snow looked as it danced around the street light, and on the street before the cars and buses had a chance to turn the snow all black.

Subria opened the window and pulled up the screen.  The snow had formed a little wall that didn’t fall when the screen was lifted.  That’s how she wanted to be . . . but she wasn’t.  With her father gone, she didn’t feel strong at all.  Subria scooped the snow up in her hand, squeezed it into a ball, and threw it down to the street below.  She closed the screen, window, and shutters, and bundled up on the window seat.  She held George as tightly as she could as she finally fell asleep hoping in vain to hear her father’s key in the door.

© 2010 Afrika Afeni Mills

My Favorite Books

1. Mama Day by Gloria Naylor - My mom gave me this book, and it connects me to her family, since I didn't have the pleasure of meeting her mom.  She died the year before I was born.

2. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy by Tolkien - Dishon and I read this aloud to one another on our date nights.  All 1,000+ pages. 

3. The Harry Potter Series by J. K. Rowling - Dishon and I also read the series aloud to one another on our date nights. She was obviously heavily influenced by Tolkien, and is a fantastic writer. 

4. The Divergent Trilogy by Veronica Roth - I am intrigued by dystopian books, and I like watching the main character navigate the factions of her society, even though she displays an aptitude for more than one, and the fact that there's something happening behind the scenes that we discover with Tris. 

5. The Help by Kathryn Stockett - some folks told me that they didn't like the book or movie because they felt it supported stereotypes.  I didn't feel that way at all.  I LOVED this book, and I don't know if it was more because I experienced it as an audiobook, and the readers were amazing, but I truly, truly enjoyed this story.  Maybe it reminds me of the cross-cultural connections I made an an undergrad after growing up in a predominantly Black section of Brooklyn.  Everyone has a story, and the interweaving of those stories is powerful.  I love the bravery of the women who told their stories, and Skeeter's courage as she aligned herself with the side of truth and humanity in a society where that perspective was violently discouraged.  Powerful stuff. 

6. Before the Mayflower by Lerone Bennett, Jr. - this was the text of my African American History class in 10th grade, and I learned quite a bit about the contributions of Africans and African Americans - all the things you don't find in traditional texts. 

7. The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander - I learned quite a bit about the injustices of our criminal justice system, which really shapes the work I'm doing at Discovering Justice. 

8. The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series by Alexander McCall Smith - I LOVE Mma. Ramotswe and Mma. Makutsi's adventures.  I love learning about Botswana, and I wish that HBO would've continued with the series featuring Jill Scott and Anika Noni Rose.  It was wonderful. 

9. Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your History Textbook Got Wrong by James Loewen - this also shapes the work I do with Discovering Justice.  It's so important to teach kids the truth about history so they can really be empowered to be change agents. 

10. Whatever it Takes: Geoffrey Canada's Quest to Change Harlem and America by Paul Tough - when I think about my work in education, and even the education of our own children, I enjoy hearing about how communities have been holistically transformed.  My parents grew up in Harlem as well, so it's special to me. 

11. The Autobiography of Malcolm X by Alex Haley - my parents knew Alex Haley, and we have pictures with and autographs by him.  Although I am disappointed about the plagiarized section of Roots, I loved learning about Malcolm X.

12. The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd - I loved the connection the main character had with African American women.  Similar to my enjoyment of The Help. 

13. The Twilight Series by Stephanie Meyer - so many people hate on this series and the movies, but I really enjoyed both, and was definitely on team Jacob.  I did find Bella to be a bit too brooding, but I liked the story, and I like how the author included some elements of Native American culture, which is very underrepresented, and nearly invisible in most mainstream literature. 

14. The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory - I'm not really sure why I was so intrigued by this book. I enjoyed it before the movie came out.  Intrigue, drama, history, exploring how a woman works to establish agency in a male-dominated society - all very interesting. 

15. The Invention of Wings by Sue Monk Kidd - I loved this historical fiction novel which tells the story from the perspective of an enslaved, yet empowered, African-American woman named Handful (I can SO relate to that nickname!) who was connected with Denmark Vesey, and Sarah Grimke, a southern abolitionist who I definitely want to learn more about.  

Flesh: Bringing the Incarnation Down to Earth by Hugh Halter

For many years, I have noticed a major disconnect between the Christian church as Jesus established it, and what Christianity has become, especially in American churches.  It bothers me that so many Christians don't go any further than letting people know what they're against, and viewing Christianity as merely a set of rules to follow.  I longed to come away from legalism, and find true Christ followers who could mentor me as I learned to live like Jesus.

One of the first resources I was blessed to find was The Tangible Kingdom: Creating Incarnational Community by Hugh Halter. After reading this book, I began to understand more fully what it means to be missional and incarnational.  In his most recent book, Flesh: Bringing the Incarnation Down to Earth, Hugh explores how transformational it is to come away from what has become "churchianity," and learn to truly live as Jesus modeled for us.

I enjoyed how Hugh broke down the order of how Jesus came to us and outlined the book in the same way: Incarnation - Reputation - Conversation - Confrontation - Transformation.  He asks in another section: "How does it make you feel to think about a God who longs for you and traded in the life of His Son so that every aspect of your life could be redone, renewed, redeemed?" This is a very different perspective from what I grew up learning about God, and is in line with what the Bible teaches.  I especially appreciated the chapter called Spiritual Vertigo: Reorienting the Spiritually Disoriented.  After being spiritually battered for a long time, what Hugh shares is helping to me to see God as He is, and not through the flawed lens of a religious perspective that bears the name of Jesus, but not His nature.

A little over a month ago, my husband and I started a bi-weekly online Bible Study called Enjoying Christ, which is named as a tribute to another spiritual mentor of ours who first started us on the road of thinking of Christianity differently.  We're planning on reading Flesh with the group because we believe that it will be a blessing to those we fellowship with.  I praise God for how He's using Hugh to remind us about how Jesus intended for us to live.

Empire State of Mind

This is an article I wrote that will appear in a Grace Communion International publication in June . . .

I am not surprised that my husband became a church planter.  Dishon was giving the sermonette on youth day when I met him.  What does surprise me is that I don’t live in Brooklyn.  I am a Brooklyn girl, through and through.  Ask anyone who knows me, or look at the wallpaper on my Twitter page.  We live outside of Boston, but unlike my husband, I am not a Red Sox fan, and when we went to see the Celtics play the Brooklyn Nets in a pre-season game, I had my Brooklyn T-shirt on under my jacket (which I never unzipped, because Boston fans can be a bit intense).  Being from Brooklyn, and a product of the Hip Hop generation, Jay Z’s Empire State of Mind song (the clean version) is like my anthem.

After the Worldwide Church of God underwent major doctrinal shifts in the mid-90s, Dishon and I wanted to learn more about mainstream Christianity.  We belonged to a Baptist church for a while, and we were heavily involved in ministry.  Once we found out we were pregnant with Serena, we sought out a more multicultural church experience.  We briefly tried a megachurch, but at the risk of sounding like Goldilocks, it was just too big.  We spent seven years in a Pentecostal church in Boston, where Dishon served as the Youth Pastor.  We moved from Boston to Randolph, and around the same time, a friend posted a link to Called to Be Free on Facebook, so we began to look into Trinitarian theology.  It was like finding the perfect wedding dress, and in a way, like coming home. 

Being a church planting family has been a very interesting journey.  From 2010-2012, I worked as a Literacy Coach and then K-5 ELA Director in our town, which is where we’re planting.  I felt more connected to the community then, because I saw the faces of the children we wanted to reach every day.  My position was cut last year, however, and now I’m working as the Curriculum and Instruction Director for a Boston based nonprofit organization.  It takes more creativity to stay connected, so, for example, I take advantage of the time we spend sitting next to other parents at Cairo’s basketball games and participating in our town’s Amazing Race.  I also continue to serve on the Recreation Board and the Board of Trustees for our library. 

Maintaining balance is also challenging.  Until recently, we were meeting in our home, so our weekends have been packed with getting the house ready for church and hosting the meeting each Sunday. 

Dishon is a bivocational pastor, and he works from 10-6 downtown Boston, which enables him to take the kids to school, but it also means that he gets home after we’ve already had dinner, and he’s not as available as he’d like to be to help with afterschool activities.  Our weekends are so jam packed that doing “normal” things like having a sleepover are really difficult when our Sunday mornings are filled with getting ready for our celebration service. 

At the same time, church planting is very rewarding.  I read the local newspaper with a different eye as a planter, looking for opportunities to show love to our community.  We were able to host a college student from Korea during our celebration service when he was studying abroad in the Boston area.  Each time we have a community dinner, and I see people connecting meaningfully with people they never met before, it feels worthwhile.  Within the next few months, Dishon and I will be facilitating a series of marriage workshops for the community, and I look forward to seeing how God will reveal Himself there. 

As was the focus of Dishon’s sermonette the day we met, “. . . all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” I’d have to agree wholeheartedly.  I still have an Empire State of Mind, but it’s God’s Empire as we join in His mission, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Monday Blues?

It was hard to get up and go to work this morning.  Don't get me wrong - I love my job.  I haven't felt this professionally satisfied in far too long, but still, I am sad every. Sunday. night!! We usually watch AFV together as a family, and that makes me laugh.  We also watch Once Upon a Time, which I find intriguing.  The kids go to bed at around 9, and then Dishon and I usually watch The Good Wife, if it's not a rerun, but by then, I feel pretty melancholy.  I go to sleep with a long sigh . . .

I love weekends.  I love the freedom of waking up when my body wants to.  I love pancake breakfasts, and laughing with Dishon and the kids.  I LOVE naps . . . I love leisure and our weekly Saturday date nights, and special meals and desserts.  All of that is the good stuff in life . . . Watching this weekend go was harder because I was home for four days (Snow Days!), and we lost the hour with Daylight Savings Time.

Then Monday comes along, and I'm trying to get myself out the door by no later than 7:20 so I can catch my train (this morning it was 7:23, and I almost missed my train.  Not a good start to the week . . . ).  It's hard, but I do what I can to make it less so.  I have the You Version app on my phone for my daily Bible reading, and there's now an audio option, so I can have the passages read to me as I read along, which I enjoy.  I forgot my Ludacris, very cool headphones this morning (Boo!), but I keep a back up pair of regular headphones, so I can still listen if I want (Yay! :).  I have TONS of songs on my love songs playlist (I LOVE R&B love songs, ballads, and jazzy Gregory Porter music), and that always cheers me up. In fact, I have to fight off singing out loud on the train.  Sometimes it's too hard, so I mouth the lyrics, and maybe sing a little low.  If not too many people are around me, I sing a bit louder.  I dance along with the music, and I don't care who's watching, so that makes me feel even better.

This morning, I was thinking that, as much as I miss being a stay at home mom like when the kids were younger, there's a lot that would be missing from the world if I didn't leave the house.  Fewer people would have the door held for them, and one less person would smile at the guy giving out the Metro at South Station . . . things like that.

So, Mondays aren't so bad.  I have a rich, very satisfying relationship with my heavenly Father, Savior, and Guide, an amazing husband, two phenomenal children, my health, laughter, joy, a home, a car, clothes and shoes that I like, extended family whose love is so supportive, entertainment, good food, cool co-workers, and an enjoyable job.  I really, really can't complain.  I'm going to try to greet Sunday nights and Monday mornings with the smile that makes me Joyspirit.