The only way to truly do this wrong is to not do it at all. So here I am, taking my own advice—showing up, even if it’s imperfect. Because what’s the alternative? To keep my thoughts to myself, trapped by the idea that I need to fit into some imaginary mold? As my nephew used to say at the beautiful, ripe, polite age of 2, ‘No, thank you, please!’
“Your will and mine be one,” I prayed! I didn’t know what I was praying for exactly, but I knew it’d be good. And yet again, here you are doing exceedingly and abundantly!”
Grief goes where I put it, just like anything else. When I set my water bottle or keys down and can’t find them later, they’re lost. But grief is different. Sometimes it’s exactly where I left it. Other times, I wonder, ‘Where did my grief go?’ and feel like I’ve lost it. So now, I choose where to place my grief.
The very thing that they said they would never do is actually the best thing that could happen to them. Have you ever wondered why it is that the things you said you would never do are the best things that have happened to you?
The more I realize how very big You are, the smaller I know I am. How small my requests, hopes, and dreams are to an infinite, unending, abundant God!
When we align our honesty with truth, we step into a place of authenticity and divine connection. In that space, God’s love covers us, and we begin to live in freedom. The truth may feel heavy at first, but it is always lighter than carrying the weight of what we try to hide or ignore.
It’s crazy, isn’t it? That in a world full of hatred and negativity, people dare ask a bright light to turn down. Asking me to be less joyful is, at its core, self-centered. Instead, I submit to your consideration: why are you offended by my joy?!
Here I am, in my bed… I saw a tragedy waiting to happen—uneaten tomato chunks and sauce flying everywhere, including on my sheets and comforter. Noooo! Anywho, the blood on my mattress and the impending doom of tomato sauce on my sheets got me thinking, ‘What is it about the color red? Surely there must be a sacred secret lurking about, something to do with the blood of Jesus!’ And then, I explored it. The blood of Jesus was never meant to be easily washed away. It was meant to stay—to cover us, protect us, and remind us of a love so deep that it could not be removed.
The truth is also simple, though: I am now who I once needed. I didn’t post or share my blog because I first needed to practice being courageous. To say the things I need to say without worrying whose eyes are reading what I’m saying. This blog is my heart on the screen! It’s my deepest prayer, darkest valleys, greatest hopes. It’s sharing my deep longings that yet remain to be fulfilled. This past year has been a practice run of can I really do it? Can I say the things?
I, along with two Black women—one with 20 years of experience and another with over 20—were all pushed out. We were forced into silence. Our voices didn’t matter to those who had the power to hear them. As a Black woman in Amerikkka, I’ll say this: Black and Brown women are often fired for no longer being a “culture fit.” Interesting, isn’t it? We were hired because our excellence preceded us, and yet months or years later, we’re no longer a fit? If (White) folks were truthful with themselves first and with others, are Black and Brown women not a “culture fit,” or are you simply racist or prejudiced?
