My Grey's Anatomy Finale: Side Eye at April Kepner

I truly enjoy watching TV and movies. It's one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes it's a challenge for someone like me - someone who is not legalistic about what I will and won't watch, but who is also disinterested in crass, vulgar, gory things. There's enough of that to navigate through in real life, and I don't find it entertaining.

Also, as a Christ follower, it's important for me to be to be thoughtful about and considerate of the things I allow myself to see and hear. It's important to me to be protective of my heart, mind and spirit, and to model for my children how to do the same . . . so sometimes, I'm like, Miss me with that Game of Thrones. No judgment against those who like it. I think Winter is Coming is one of the bombest catch phrases of modern times, even though I have no idea what it means. From what I've heard and read about it, though, it's just not for me, and I'm good with that.

Sometimes, when I hear someone talking about how funny or good something is, I try it out. I like to know what's up, and I experience FOMO just like anyone else. Sometimes I'm pleasantly surprised, and feel like that wasn't so bad . . . But more often than not, I just end up feeling uncomfortable, so I tend to not watch most R/TV-MA rated things. There was a period of time where I was able to watch a show I wouldn't typically watch through a service called VidAngel. The service allowed viewers to select the content we'd prefer not to see/hear, and that content was edited out. The service is in beta, though, and I got tired of waiting for episodes to load and missing seasons. Patience is not always in my wheelhouse.

I was troubled by last week's episode of Grey's Anatomy. It's not like I haven't been exposed to Christians being made fun of and portrayed as silly, out of touch, judgmental, one-dimensional, unintelligent, etc. (i.e., Ned Flanders on the Simpsons, and a recent plot line of Superstore which focused on ridiculing one of the characters because she believed in angels). Some of those  who are followers of Christ in name only make it too easy to make fun of the Christian faith, and those of us who practice our faith in alignment with the teachings of Jesus are often collateral damage. I get it. Take the folks who claim to follow Christ who believe that it's not okay to read/watch Harry Potter because "it encourages witchcraft" but think it's fine to read/watch The Lord of the Rings although Gandalf is also a wizard. I find that type of hypocrisy maddening. I thoroughly enjoy both The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter (I believe that J.K. Rowling was highly influenced by Tolkien - just look at the Nazgul and compare them to the Dementors). Those folks get on my nerves, too.

But there was something different about last Thursday's episode of Grey's Anatomy. I've been watching the show for years, and even binge watched it again over the Christmas break. April Kepner has never been my favorite character, but it was nice to have someone on the show who identified as Christian, even though she practices her faith differently than I do. There are not a lot of well-developed, observant Christian characters out there in TV land. But wow with this last episode! 😡

So basically April's character endured the loss of her child and the demise of her marriage with her faith tried, but ultimately, seemingly in tact, but when faced with a young man who had taken Matthew 5:30 a bit too literally, a 12-year-old Black boy who was the victim of an unjustified, lethal police shooting, a domestic abuser who died as a result of his own rage, and the death of her former fiance's wife, her faith crumbled. Really?

I guess the argument can be made that her faith was never quite deep to begin with. She mentions Job in her narration of the episode, but doesn't mirror his, ". . . though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him" faith (Job 13:15). I guess someone with her transactional perspective on a relationship with God was bound to crash and burn (I do what I think to be good things, and God should give me what I want versus I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us [Romans 8:18]). But to misrepresent scripture, to misconstrue Jesus' quoting the words of David while on the cross, to say that the trials of Job were merely a bet between God and Satan as if God finds our suffering to be entertaining . . . that is not an accurate representation of the God I know. God who put on flesh and died one of the most awful deaths imaginable because of His deep, all-encompassing love for His children.

Notice I said the God I know . . . not the God I think I know. God is as real to me as any person. More real, actually, and I've been through some stuff. To see a relationship with God regularly treated with such callousness, disdain, and ridicule . . . It bothers me.

I have grown accustomed to not being truly seen, understood, not being valued, being thought of as naturally less intelligent, being made fun of, being minimized, etc. As a Black person in America. As a woman. And also as a Christ-follower. Thankfully, I don't find my worth in what people who don't really know me say about and think of me.

For Christ followers, the Bible is not "just stories." Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior. I live to worship the eternal Godhead - Father, Son and Spirit. The reality of their Triune relationship gives me life, purpose and irrepressible joy! I just wish that people who want to make statements and/or share opinions about the Christian faith would really take the time to understand The Bible for themselves, or spend time really listening to mature Christians without forming opinions based on what someone else says or thinks . . . and definitely not cracking jokes about the Christian faith based on the foolishness, ignorance, and misrepresentation of some who claim the name evangelical without truly embodying the meaning. Folks don't have to agree with or adopt the same beliefs, but disrespecting what people believe is not okay.

I'm sure the entertainment industry will continue ignorantly hating on the sacred text and beliefs of Christ followers. Whatever. I'm done with giving my time and attention to something as it disrespects something that means everything to me. So long, Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital. I'm all set. That minstrel Christian stereotypical representation is fake news. But when I think about Jesus . . . My soul cries Hallelujah!!! Don't get me started, Yall! 😉

#LittleMeToo?

I've been thinking a lot about #MeToo lately. When I first started seeing it on Facebook, I reflected back on my life to see if I should also update my status. I imagine most women did the same thing. Assault and harassment are very serious issues, and I didn't want to update my status if it didn't really apply to me. At the same time, I wanted to make sure I wasn't suppressing anything or in denial.

My initial thought was that I've never been assaulted. Not in the way I think of assault. Not what you see on Law and Order SVU and on the news. But I didn't feel completely sure. Something was blocking me from moving beyond that initial reaction, though there was a splinter in my mind about it.

I wondered (and I'm still wondering) how #MeToo might be impacting women who have been assaulted in the way I do think about it, and who have not talked about it with many people or anyone at all? There are no trigger warnings on these #MeToo posts. What if someone has buried it deep within and far away, and then these #MeToo posts pop up all over their social media feeds with their well-intended, but dangerous shovels, exhuming all that horror and making their news feeds feel as unsafe as they were when it happened?

It definitely exhumed things for me. Things I'd rather not think about. Things I very rarely talk about, and when I do, it's only with a select few. Things that tempt me to shrink and feel shame. Things that steal my words and strangle me. Things I wish I could completely erase from my mind. There's something that resonates in me when I read #MeToo.

What if a teenage neighbor boy catches you and his little brother being curious, and then the little boy's brother tells you to show him what you were doing? What if you remember feeling dirty and scared - like live kiddie porn? What if, later on you're told, before going to another neighbor's house, not to let what happened with the other neighbor happen with this neighbor? What if you feel ashamed . . . like what happened was your fault, but you hadn't even lost your two front teeth yet? Do you post #MeToo?

What if you act on this same curiosity with a relative half a year older than you, and that relative threatens to tell your big sister what you did if you didn't do everything he said? What if your parents weren't there, and this torture lasted for six weeks of your summer vacation while you were staying out on Long Island with other relatives you barely knew? What if you did everything he told you to do for SIX WEEKS, and then he told you he'd tell your sister anyway? What if you cried, and shook inside, and begged him not to tell, and then he told her something else in front of you . . . something benign, and then looked at you and laughed while your sister looked at you confused about why you were so afraid? Do you say #MeToo if you were only six when it happened, and the relative was not much older than you?

What if you're checked regularly to make sure no one has touched you inappropriately, but so much has happened behind closed doors while they played Bid Whist and Spades, and nothing the eyes could see would tell anything about it at all? 

What if an older male relative asks you and another young relative to massage his thighs, and it feels creepy and weird, but you're a little kid, and you don't know that you can say no?

What if you're in junior high school, and after recess every day on the way in from the yard, the boys run through the crowd of students squeezing the girls' butts and laughing? What if you don't want it to happen, and it makes you so uncomfortable to be touched like that, but no teachers are ever watching, and no one ever does anything to stop it?

What about if you're 15 and then 18, and you're told about about the sexual assaults of loved ones, but you have no one to process it with you? What if you witness someone else's damaging response, know that it's so wrong, but don't know what to do because you don't know what the right response is? What if you have to hold it silently? Just hold it, even though it feels way too heavy? What if you feel horrified, and surprised, and sad, and scared, and confused, and soul-achy, but you have no where to put it? No one to talk to about it? What if you are left wondering, "If this happens to me, will I have to be quiet about it, too?"

What if you confide in a loved one as you're seeking guidance about a friend's sexual secret, and instead of supporting you, that loved one threatens to report your friend to the pastor if she doesn't turn herself in, even though doing so would result in your friend being suspended from church, and expelled from the "Christian" college you attend? What if it felt like an assault, and what if you felt complicit, even though that was not your intention? How do you recover from equipping a loved one to violate a friend? When you feel like a paralyzed bystander who unknowingly provided the weapon your loved one threatened to use to destroy her? In this case, would the person post #ItWasMe? How do you feel ever feel safe around that loved one? How do you ever feel safe to open your mouth again?

What if a male co-worker more than twice your age invites you to come out to lunch while you're working as a magazine intern, and he walks you over to a secluded area near the United Nations, and places his arm around your shoulder without asking you? What if it goes on for a long time, and you're sitting there, wanting him to stop, feeling immobilized and numb, so scared that this may not be where it ends even though you're only yards away from a busy Manhattan street, but no one can really see you from where you are? What if it does end there, and you feel like you dodged a bullet, but you shouldn't really say anything about it because you feel like maybe it was your fault because you asked him for all of those extra office supplies to take back to college with you? Thinking that if you tell, maybe your loved one will think you need to be turned in, too.

What feeds shame?
What nourishes it?
What makes it grow?
Secrets. All of those secrets.
Being afraid to speak them.
What do perpetrators always say?
Shhhhh . . .
Don't tell!

But nothing life giving grows in the dark. 
Forget being quiet!
Speak!
Tell!
Cry!
Scream!
Publish your blog post!
Throw the curtains open and let the light in.
No one who means you well requires you to keep a cancer inside you.
No one who means you well would want to see you crushed beneath that weight. 
It'll be so bright that it will ache at first . . .
But when your eyes adjust to the light you were meant to live in,
You'll be okay.
You'll be able to breathe.
You'll be free.

Sometimes I'm in Texas (Ambassador College/University)

Me in front of Daisy (or Bluebonnet?)

My college doesn't exist anymore. When the Worldwide Church of God's doctrines shifted to mainstream Christian beliefs in the mid 1990s, many of the members left the denomination. The loss of the financial support from the departed members resulted in Ambassador University closing a couple of years after I graduated. My school's campus in Big Sandy, Texas now belongs to the International ALERT (Air Land Emergency Rescue Team) Academy.

I started reminiscing last night after hearing about Tom Petty's passing. A friend posted some of the lyrics to Mary Jane's Last Dance on Facebook last night ("Oh my, my, Oh hell yes . . ."), and wow! It took me back!

I can't take Serena and Cairo to visit my old school like other people can take their children to see their old schools. But sometimes I'm in Texas.

Sometimes I'm walking down to the convention center for my work study job with the Shipping and Receiving department. I'm in the office talking with other students about how I can make a little money selling my plasma (which I did once to buy hair for braids 😧, but I digress . . . ). We're making popcorn in the old school popcorn machine, and singing along with Rosco Martinez as he sings about Neon Moonlight.

Sometimes I'm walking down to the equestrian, thinking about things and looking at the horses.

Sometimes I'm in Longview, running across the highway to the movie theater with my friends, hoping to catch a movie and get back to the shopping trip bus before it leaves. 

Sometimes I'm piled in a car with nine other people going to Whataburger.

Sometimes I'm at Pizza Hut drinking from those red cups or in the Winn Dixie parking lot belly laughing after pranking my friends.

Sometimes I'm at a dunk contest, beaming because the best dunk was just dedicated to me.  

Sometimes I'm singing with the other Black women at the Operation Philia tribute to the Black men on campus.

Sometimes I'm running from the fellas who are trying to take me to the Barn Dance jail.

Sometimes I'm putting on a fancy dress, getting all cute for the Sophomore Banquet or the Senior Ball.

Sometimes I'm listening to Little Texas sing My Love, and I'm singing along, completely surprised by how much I like some country music.

Sometimes I hear the tornado alarms, and I'm in the storm shelter waiting for the all clear.

Sometimes I'm shaking the snack machine in the lounge because it kept my money and didn't release the chocolate chip cookies.

Sometimes I'm jumping up and down on my bed in my dorm named after Azaleas, being silly with my friends, and almost getting hit in the head with the ceiling fan.

Sometimes I'm riding my bike across the airstrip down to Lake Loma, pausing, and taking deep breaths of air fresher than I've ever breathed before.

Sometimes I'm in Texas.

Sometimes I'm in Texas in my mind.

You've Got to be Carefully Taught (Education for Liberation)

I spent the last couple of days with my coach colleagues at BetterLesson, and it was so amazing. I work from home most of the time, and I usually see my colleagues in the Boston area on Thursdays. Some of my colleagues work remotely from New Jersey, Montana, North Carolina and Texas, and starting with Coachapalooza at the beginning of the school year, we meet quarterly for our own professional development and time to connect. The time we spend together feels like magic.

At each of our quarterly gatherings we've been leaning into culturally responsive teaching and learning work - defining the work, identifying and unpacking biases, and exploring specific ways to support our teachers with cultural awareness and appreciation, family and community engagement, and with helping students to become socially and politically conscious and to take action against injustice. The work is hard, and the work is great. It helps me to stay all on fire like William Lloyd Garrison talked about.

I've never seen South Pacific, but I've heard of the song You've Got To Be Carefully Taught. The lyrics stayed on my mind the night before the first day of our retreat last week, so I knew I needed to share it with the team as we thought about what learning experiences we'd want to create for ourselves and students if we were still classroom teachers following the tragic, yet not novel, events in Charlottesville. 

You've got to be taught to hate and fear
You've got to be taught from year to year
It's got to be drummed in your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught

You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made
And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade
You've got to be carefully taught

You've got to be taught before it's too late
Before you are six or seven or eight
To hate all the people your relatives hate
You've got to be carefully taught

This is so true! Kids don't naturally hate other kids. You put kids together, and their natural inclination is to play - tag, hide and seek, build sandcastles, jump rope, splash in puddles . . . and they don't become hesitant until someone introduces the idea of separation. And even when society/people try to force kids to separate, some kids connect anyway. The Romeos and Juliets. The Other Side by Jacqueline Woodson is a powerful picture book which tells the story of Clover and Annie who become friends in a segregated community.

While kids have to be carefully taught to be fearful of others, the opposite can also be true. Kids can be carefully taught to let go of fear, hatred, prejudice and ignorance. I believe that's where schools and teachers come in. That's a big part of why I do the work I do.

Hatred and ignorance, stereotyping, prejudice, racism and xenophobia are prisons. The prison walls are invisible to some, but they are very real. We are placed in these prisons as children, all of us by the inequities built into American systems and structures from the very beginning, and some of us even more so with the baggage we receive from our families. Some family baggage has us in minimum security prisons, and some of us end up in supermax. As children, we don't have any say in the matter. Genuine relationships with and learning about others across differences (race, culture, gender, socioeconomics, educational experiences, neighborhoods, religions, languages, opportunities for travel, etc.) offer us a kind of parole.

Some of us refuse to be institutionalized, and choose to exit the prison of hatred and ignorance boldly. No recidivism for us. Some exit with curiosity. Some with confusion (when you don't know you've been in darkness, the light can be painful). Some with anger about being put in that prison to begin with. Some choose a halfway house because they're not quite ready to leave all the way. And, unfortunately, some choose to stay in prison, self-imposed life sentences, choosing to live in hate and ignorance, and trying diligently to imprison others. Those who choose to stay imprisoned are loud. Many are in positions of power. Many are all over the internet. They create flyers like this.

My faith tells me that we are all created in the image of God (Imago Dei). My faith tells me that God values diversity by nature of the fact that there's so much of it in this world. My faith tells me that God is love. I believe that love is far stronger than hate. I believe that love wins. Those of us who choose love HAVE to be louder, stronger, bolder, and we must have more stamina. We need to be brave. We need to be willing to be uncomfortable. We need to be willing to hear, do and say hard things. We need to let people know that they are in prison, and we need to offer a loving hand to those who no longer want to be. Jane Elliott offered that hand to the children in her third grade in Iowa after Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. If you haven't already, you can see what she did here: A Class Divided, Part I and A Class Divided, Part 2.

Jane Elliott had her path, and we have ours. Find your traveling companions and let's go!

The Window (Washing Dishes)

I walk Rabbit on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday mornings. I love walking Rabbit - that's true. I don't love waking up at 6 AM to do it. My Fitbit vibrates letting me know it's time to get up, unless my bladder beat my Fitbit to it. I lay there, kick my leg up on my Yogibo body pillow in denial, sigh, pull off my covers and get my old bones up out of bed. "But Afrika," you might say . . . "you're so young, still. You don't have old bones!" Tell my knees that! Achy, achy, achy all the time.

One of my first stops in the morning is to the kitchen sink to wash out Rabbit's food and water bowls before replenishing them both, and that's when perspective kicks in.  I see beautiful things out of my kitchen window while I'm washing her bowls. Do I love making mortgage payments? Nah. Being house poor isn't fun. We're not building equity anywhere near fast enough for my taste . . . but life is about more than money. Washing the dishes in front of this beautiful view reminds me about what's important. One of the best times to listen to God's voice is when you're doing mindless things like washing dishes.

You can't see it so well from the picture, but outside the window is our deck.

But the deck is SO old, and the paint is peeling, and it's not the best deck at all!
So? It's your old, flaky deck. When you lived in New York, and up until October, 2005, you didn't have a deck.
But that old, busted grill is out there, too! 
Yeah, and it was a gift. You didn't have to pay for that grill, and when you're ready, you'll throw that one away, and get a new one. Be thankful for the time you were able to use it. Remember when you lost power for several days and had to grill your food? You appreciated it then, right?
True . . . but Rabbit broke my bench, and it's just sitting out there. 
Well, I know that wasn't your favorite thing that happened, but it was old, and when it's time, you'll get a new bench, and it'll be great.
Hmm . . . those bluejays are pretty cool. We've been seeing so many birds at the bird feeder lately. I like that.
Me too! And did you see those cardinals?
Yes! What a beautiful shade of red! And now that you mention it, those squirrels look like they're having so much fun.
Yep. They're not worried about a thing. Just running and jumping from branch to branch.
And I'm noticing that there are lots of different types of trees outside. What types of trees are there?
Pine, birch and sassafras. 
Sassafras is fun to say.
It sure is! You see those tree trunks?
Yep.
You're strong like that. I made you strong like that. I'm thinking of something I said before that one of the disciples wrote down. You know what I'm talking about?
Matthew 6:25-24
What does it say?
Let me see . . . it says, "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ [Y]our heavenly Father knows that you need [these things]. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself."
You okay now?
I'm good. 
Enjoy your walk with Rabbit, and when you think of it, write down what I said so other people can read it and be encouraged.
Will do. Thank You, Holy Spirit.

 
 

Missing Rabbit

I didn't think I'd ever have a dog. When we lived in Boston, our lease prevented us from having pets. When we moved into our own home, I discovered that I had developed an allergy to dogs and a thousand other things after my pregnancy with Cairo.

So many people tried to tell me that I should get a hypoallergenic dog, but when I did my research, it turns out that there is no such thing. Whenever I was around dogs - didn't matter what the breed was - I ended up having a hard time breathing.

I tried to convince myself that I didn't want a dog. I had grown up with mostly cats (adopted from the ASPCA in NY mainly to keep the mice at bay), and had only had two dogs. And even then, Blazer and Brownsville were only part of our family very briefly. I didn't have to have a dog. I have a wonderful husband, amazing kids, and a dream job. Life could be just fine without a dog, right? 😩

But it wasn't . . . so I prayed. I was willing to even try allergy shots if that would help. We filled out an application with Survivor Tails Animal Rescue (Adopt - Don't Shop!) and looked at the pictures of the dogs available for adoption. And then there was Rabbit. I fell in love with her picture, and our whole family connected with her immediately at the meet and greet. I sniffed . . . pet her . . . sniffed . . . she licked my face . . . no tightness in my chest. No wheezing, no itchy eyes or throat, no sneezing, no congestion. After asking, seeking and knocking, there Rabbit was. No side effect but pure joy.

Some would say that finding Rabbit was just me figuring out what breed of dog I don't have an allergic reaction to. I can't . . . no, I won't walk through life without faith in God after all that God has done for me!! I'm about to do a hallelujah dance right now just thinking about God. I believe that God answered my prayers - especially considering that I still have a reaction to every other dog I'm around.  Rabbit is my miracle dog, and I'm missing her while we're at camp.

Dear Rabbit:

I hope you're having a great time with Emilia, Nathan and Mabel. I wish you could come with us to camp, but I think with us being so busy and staying at Leever Lodge with so many other people, it wouldn't be fair to you :(.  I'm so thankful that you get to stay with friends who care about you.

When Daddy and Cairo dropped you off, I wonder if you thought you wouldn't see us anymore. I wish there was a way to make sure that you knew that this would be just like when you stayed with Dawn's family. Remember we came back then? We're coming back this time, too!

I wish you like looking at screens, because I sure would FaceTime you, but we've tried that before, you're not really into technology :).  I packed all of your favorite things, hoping that you'd somehow feel connected because you had a lot of things to remind you of home, our rhythms and routines. your bed, your jacket (in case it rains), baby carrots, Greenies, Benebones, SmartBones, your ball, even a new squeaky, flat goose (has to be flat so you have to work harder to dismember it!), and a three page letter for Emilia and Nathan so they'll know all about you.

If my heart could speak to your heart, here is what it would say:

I love the sound of the tags on your collar as you come down the hallway to see me when I wake up in the morning.

I love going on walks with you. Even though you sniff EVERYTHING, I love watching you investigate and discover. You help me to pay attention to things that I typically don't see.

I love snuggling on the couch with you. You're SO heavy. I don't think you understand that you're not a lap dog. But when you lay on me, I feel so loved. I hope you feel loved, too.

I love how fiercely protective you are. 

I love when you jump up on the bed and keep me company in my room.

I love how you look at me and how affectionate you are. Nothing else like it.

I love watching you do scoot butt (zoomies)- usually with Cairo. He's your turn-up buddy and although we fuss at him when he gets you worked up, I think it's really funny 😂.

It drives me crazy, but you sure are a powerful advocate for what you want. If we're working out, you lick/waterboard us while we do yoga, or lay your ratty skunk or snake across our necks. You're such a nut, but no one can accuse you of not letting your needs be known.

I think it's hilarious that you lick Cairo's knees, and for SO long while we eat dinner. I guess he's a tasty boy, huh?

I love how goofy you are. You can make me laugh so hard on my most challenging days.  

Have so much fun! Remember how much I love you, and I'll see you soon!

Love always,
💖Mommy🐾

Beach Day (Letter to My Mom)

Dear Mommy: I'm so sorry that I'm going to miss your beach day next weekend. Although I'm so grateful to have the opportunity to volunteer at New Heights Camp again this summer, it's at times like these that I wish I could teleport 😔.

I haven't been to the beach in a long time. Dishon and I sat on the beach a bit when we were in Puerto Rico, but sitting on the beach isn't the same as being at the beach. Not like how we used to when I was little. What I remember about those beach trips is feeling excited, like the sand was too hot for my toes, and finding out that I could take the heat, feeling like the water was too cold and the jellyfish were too scary, and finding out that my body adjusted to the ocean temperature just fine, and I could avoid the jellyfish. The beach means freedom, relaxation, warmth, fun, walking on a shifting and uncommon, sometimes hot, sometimes cold, sometimes sharp surfaces, and realize that you can adjust faster than you think . . . and experience a kind of timelessness where the sun seems to hang high in the sky forever. 

Mommy - my first home . . . my First Lady . . . You had just turned 24 when you gave birth to me. When I was that age, I had been married for a little less than a year and I was about to start graduate school at Boston College. I had decided to become a teacher, and I was also working at Boston College to pay for my tuition. Dishon and I were living on Commonwealth Avenue down the block from the school in a tiny, tiny apartment with a miniature stove and fridge . . . no closet in our bedroom, and our elevator had that old school gate that you had to pull closed before it would run. In your early 20s you are in the midst of deciding things, and becoming, and I wasn't really sure how the chapters of my story would unfold. Did you feel like that, too, then? Excited and terrified? Bold and scared at the same time? Life is like that, huh?

Some chapters of our lives have made me hold my breath without noticing at first. I was scared when Daddy called to tell us about your diagnosis. His voice didn't sound right. I've heard him sound like that before. You, too. Something like how it sounded when I found out that Ronnette was gone. It was a little too close to how I sounded when I called to tell yall that Dee Dee was gone. Too close to how the words of your text sounded in my head when you wrote that Benjeem was gone. He said you didn't want to talk. Your voice is like a trumpet - strong, certain, compelling - what am I supposed to do when that sound is muted? What do I hear then? What do I do then? Wait . . . keep listening . . . it'll come back. Not muted, really. Just paused so you could catch your breath. Moms have to put their oxygen masks on first. 

When I look back over our stories - individually, and where our lives have intersected - God has been so good! He has made everything beautiful in its time . . . All of our plot lines, valleys and mountains . . . the resolution has always been good, and it always will be.

I was so glad to hear about your prognosis. Felt like I could breathe again. In my heart, I know you'll be just fine. You are my Warrior Queen. Fearless Defender. As the date of your surgery approaches, I pray that your beach day is all that you want it to be - relaxing, full of stories and laughter, connecting and listening and sharing. I hope you have a wonderful, joyful beach day where you not only have fun, but remember that you're stronger than you even remember. Know that I will be there with you in spirit. I always am. As much as I enjoy creating word pictures, there aren't enough words or colors in all the world for me to let you know how much I love you, Mommy.

After I'm all done with camp, and you've recovered from your surgery and returned from your cruise, we need some major hang out time.  We have no where near enough pictures together! We must fix that with a bunch of selfies.  There's so much I want us to do together. Let's make plans. Let's write. Let's sing. Let's lay around, watch movies, eat cookies and just be.

Love always,
💖Baby Girl💋