In an art space downtown, young people and old people, and people of all colors, and people with lots of money, people with a little money and those who were standing on the corner begging for money were asked to "speak" to the current state of America.
The long papered sheets of words, left me silent.
In silence and at a loss for words, my attention is diverted to the calendar on my desk, and these words by the poet, author and social activist Nikki Giovanni are there: "Once you know who you are, you don't have to worry anymore."
I flip the page over to December: "Family faces are mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present and future." Gail Lurnet Buckley
And then January 2015: "If you want to do better today than you did yesterday, you simply must believe you deserve it." Iyanla Vanzant
I'm participating in November's NaBloPoMo. Click here for the hundreds of other bloggers participating.
(Day 25)
It was 1977 and a provocative new mini-series was debuting on television. Alex Haley's "Roots" would change the way we would look at, think about, and talk about slavery and race. The day after the first episode, in my small Kansas town, something changed in our unselfconscious way of life. An unsettling something --- a kind of unrest that felt like fiber glass dust began to settle upon us, and with it came a raw and edgy kind of anger, fear, and mistrust.
Over the ensuing nights, watching plantation rapes, brutality, and the disintegration of black families (right from the comfort of our own living rooms), the unrest soon became as heavy as the chains and shackles we saw. It began to feel as though puncture wounds were being inflicted on our hearts and minds and, night after night, small droplets of blood were beginning to surface until one day we looked down and saw that there was a large seeping stain, spreading over our chest like a red bulls eye.
I remember walking down the hall at school and hearing a couple of white boys laughing and joking about the naked slave girls they'd seen on the television the night before, and I was 15 years old and furious. How was it that bare-breasted black women could be shown in prime time without much controversy? And then to have red-necked teenagers snickering and making lewd comments was just too much. Anger, frustration, and tension was the natural outcome of what we perceived as disrespect, ignorance and insolence. And when righteousness, decency, and justice fail to do what they are supposed to do, a thin blue line forms in society, sides are chosen, and sooner or later Ferguson becomes a watchword. And almost always, someone or something --- innocence, trust, honor, friendships --- dies.
In my small town, over the eight days that Roots aired, there were a few fights, nasty notes left on desks and lockers, and quite a bit of name calling. For some it was a shock to be called a "nigger" for the first time, while for others, like myself, it only confirmed what I believed to be true. Our town police force was called in to keep the peace and they did so by becoming a presence in the parking area where the black kids parked their cars. Every so often when we'd congregate in groups, an officer would place his hand on his hip, his fingers touching his revolver and he would yell, "Y'all need to git on now! Git on home or wherever it is y'all go!" And mumbling or cursing under our breaths, we moved slowly to our cars or began our walk home.
After the miniseries ended, that "dust" remained and still does after all of these years. Hurtful words and actions are deeply embedded in those irritating little flecks of evil and they continue to float across the tracks and back again and then on to other towns and cities, landing whenever and wherever they so desire.
"It's not that I'm so smart, it's that I stay with problems longer."
Albert Einstein
I'm returning home from a mini-vacation to, out of all places --- Las Vegas (a bucket list item). Me and four girlfriends (the same misfit group who traveled to Hawaii last year) took in two shows - Terry Fator and Cirque du Soleil's "O", a bit of the culture and some fabulous froufrou cuisine.
It was my first and (most likely) last trip to "Sin City". The lights, the bling, the richest of the rich. Beautiful people clothed in beautiful things. The decadence, indulgence and seductiveness of a city that truly, for real, never sleeps. Escort services and exploitation to the inth-degree and pimps and pumps and girls (daughters) with blank stares - because they no longer remember who they are.
How do you raise a family here, I wondered more than once. And what does God think, I thought. Does He walk among the poor, the needy and truthful? Does He stroll "The Strip" during the midnight hours when decisions of a lifetime are begged for, bargained over and stolen?
Yes. Of course He does.
Just as Jesus did way back when.
This is the second part of a series, "The Hours Left" where we are talking about death, dying and living. I lay claim to no fancy credentials or degrees as I share my thoughts and opinions on this subject. Your opinions, your thoughts and your life experiences are what makes this conversation worth having and whether or not we agree, I believe that it's worth having. What you say, may change the life of the one listening.
So, in my previous post, I asked 'How do we live like we're dying" and I told you that I'd share my thoughts in a few days. But, here's the thing: I've had to re-think, re-write and reconsider my answers (even though I had already written the draft post). This subject is so deeply important that, I believe, lives can be changed and vague or shallow answers simply will not do. Everything within me feels compelled to speak to this with honest compassion, transparency and, yes, even spiritual guidance but, my thoughts and answers have not come quickly, nor easily.
I wish I could say that this conversation will conclude in two posts (like it was supposed to) but I don't think this is possible. The truth is, I want us to talk about this. I want us to share deeply. I want to hear your heart, your questions, your answers and your concerns and the limitation of two posts feels incomplete. Perhaps, it'll be an on-going "Causerie". Maybe, we'll talk a little about this now and then again at another time. I don't know. Or, perhaps, it will turn out to be one of those conversations where we'll soon find out that "less is more" and we'll move on. That's the thing about friends and conversations, right? You just don't know how they will begin or end.
So, let me share with you something that happened the other day.
On Thursday, I received a call informing me that an old friend was in the hospital. "M" has a horrible, debilitating disease --- that with its progression, will eventually end her life. Given the option of a surgery that could prolong her life (though, she would endure long-term minor discomforts and around the clock medical annoyances) or face imminent death, "M" said to me with tears rolling down her face, that she doesn't know what to do.
These are the two questions I asked her: 1) What's the real reason why you don't want the surgery? 2) Are you ready to die?
How do you live like you're dying?
1. Know that what you believe about death and eternity is true. What you believe about death will often determine how you live and as we say in church, know that you know, that you know, that you know. Your life, and ultimately your death, will depend on it.
My friend is holding on to her faith, family and friends to help guide her through this journey.
I took a peek behind the curtain and I've seen that there's more. More to do and more to squeeze my hands around. New creations and things to imagine. Dreams, once deferred by bad choices and unintentional circumstances, are weaving themselves in the corners of my mind like multi-colored cobwebs seen only by an observant eye.
In a conversation with my friend, I said "You know, my life is half over now and there's still so much I want to accomplish." And in a tone that felt like dry toast, she asked, "How many people do you know that are 100 years old?"
I stared at her, then at the ceiling. I don't know anyone that old.
"My point exactly," she said. "You have maybe 20... 30 years at the most."
I have at least 50 more things - big things, little things and in between things - I want to see happen over the next 50... ummm... 20 or 30 years of my life. I still have goals and dreams. And I still believe in miracles.
So, if the Lord says the same and the creek don't rise, I hope to be right here, sharing with you those 50 things as they come to pass.
