Role Models

So I’ve been thinking a lot about children.  (You: what’s new?  Me: shut up.)  It’s not about what you think it is.  A girlfriend of mine sent an interview with Harry Belafonte basically ripping today’s Black celebrities for not being activists and great role models in our community, specifically Beyonce and Jay-Z.  My questions:

·        Are they responsible for the plight of the Black community because they have money?

·        Are they MORE responsible than us regular folks because they have MORE money than we have?

·        Why do we give THEM more power over our community than we assume for ourselves?

·        Are they REQUIRED to be role models in our community because they are artists that we support financially?

 

For me, I think it would be NICE if they looked at the community, saw the needs of the community, and tried to fill them, but I don’t think they are RESPONSIBLE just because they have money.  (Maybe because I don’t like anybody to count or spend MY money for me, I don’t like to spend anybody else’s money for them.)  They are singers, dancers, and rappers, not community activists.  They have committed to entertain, not be our role models.  What did Charles Barkley tell us years ago?  “I’m not a phuckin’ role model.”  Be your own kids’ role models because he is not the one.  (Keep it 100 Charles.)

 

I’m feeling like Charles is right.  When I have kids, I want to be their role models.  Me and the people I choose to expose them to.  Sure, they will be exposed to folks I don’t want to influence them, but I want my influence to be so strong that they are not swayed by foolishness.  I want my kids to say

 

“I got my love of science from my mama.” 

“My mama said to treat women the way I want somebody to treat her.”

“There is no other school than Spelman (or Morehouse) for me.”

“My daddy taught me to do computer programming.” 

“My daddy says a real man is a priest, protector, and provider, not a deadbeat so I’m not having a baby when I’m young, dumb, and can’t find a job.”

“My daddy said ‘wrap it up’.”

“My PawPaw taught me how to pray.”

“Auntie Taki got a PhD even after she was married with a child so I can do it too.”

“My aunt Adrienne was an engineer so I want to be one.” 

“Auntie Natasha is taught me how to do beautiful crafts since Mama can’t even glue straight.”

“Auntie Lisa went to business school so I can get my MBA, too.” 

“My aunt Nicole is a lawyer so I can be one too.” 

“Auntie Nic runs 5Ks so I am going to stay fit.” 

“Most of my aunts are Deltas so you know what I’m going to do!” (LOL) 

“My uncle Kenny taught me how to pitch.” 

“My cousin introduced me to the Boy Scouts and now I’m an Eagle Scout.”

“No weapon formed against me shall prosper.”

“I don’t have to take a bunch of BS from anybody.”

“Uncle Nick is a Que but Uncle Maury is an Alpha…so I’m confused.”  (HAHAHAHA)

I do not want my kids to say that Steebie, Karlie Red, or Lil Scrappy from “Love and Hip Hop: Atlanta” (or whoever is on TV at the time) is who they want to be when they grow up.  If they look at Beyonce and think what she does and says as more important than what I and the “village” I have built around them has done and said, I have failed as a mother. 

I’m scared as hell of failing as a mother.  Failing as a wife would be even more devastating (it would impact the husband and the children) but you can work on a marriage.  And it takes 2 for a marriage to work or fail.  Making a mother-child relationship work is all on the mother until the child reaches adulthood, and even then it’s on the mother because the relationship was built from childhood.  Trying to make it any other way puts too much undo and unfair pressure on a child.  I need to get on my knees about this now, before I even get in either role.

 

 

Two Sides of the Same Coin: Hurt Vs. Love

On today’s Strawberry Letter (Steve Harvey), a lady spoke of her hesitation to get involved with a seemingly great gentleman.  You see, she was previously in a verbally, mentally, emotionally, and physically abusively relationship and had a baby by this man.  She got out of the relationship and is currently raising her daughter alone.  The new guy is telling her everything she wants to hear but she feels she is meeting his representative and is nervous because her baby daddy/abuser did and said all the same things but changed as the relationship progressed.  She is afraid of getting hurt again.

Now, it’s easy to say “get over it” and “girl, you have to give this good man a chance”, and, frankly, I want to say it too, but…see, I’ve been there.  No, I’ve never been physically abused (notice I only said physically) but I’ve been hurt.  BAD.  And I’ve been scared to open myself up to anyone else for fear of getting hurt again.  Not just scared…. Standing there with my mouth open looking stupid kind of scared.  Can’t move forward, backward, or to either side kind of scared.  (Please don’t sit there, lie, and say you haven’t been scared, too.  If I can be honest, so can you.)  I’ve even kept dudes at bay that I KNOW I WANTED…and they wanted ME.

You know what the problem is with all this:

You might not get hurt but you definitely won’t get loved.

And who doesn’t want love?  Sure people say they don’t care if they ever get married or have children.  That’s true.  Some people are comfortable being single and child-free.  But I don’t know anybody that doesn’t want to be loved, honored, and cherished.  (Maybe obeyed, too, but you don’t get that without a ring…maybe not even then, especially fooling with women and men who have been handling their own business for a long time.  “You ain’t the boss of me,” says me.)  Everybody wants someone to put them first and to have someone to put first.  Someone to hold their hand in love.  Someone other than their girl to hug (or give them that chest bump and back slap if they are dudes) to congratulate them when they get that promotion they’ve been working on.  Someone to whisper their fears to.  Someone to give “the look” (and you know what comes next…if you don’t, you REALLY need somebody in your life STAT…preferably with a little more experience so they can explain the look and what it means.).

Maybe I’m just romantic.  Maybe I’m stupid.  Who knows?  I put myself out there like a fool for love, risking getting hurt every time.  Marvin Sapp said that everybody is going to hurt you so you just have to find someone who is worth the pain.  Man that SUCKS!  But it is sooooo true.  So effing true.  The one you love the most is the one who can hurt you the most.

So I’m out there again…a fool for love.  Trying to enjoy every day.  Doing my part.  Keeping my expectations reasonable (okay, TRYING to keep my expectations of BOTH of us reasonable).  Fighting fear and paranoia.  Trying to add him without subtracting me.  Holding myself accountable for my behaviors.  Trying to stay honest with myself and with him.  Waiting on enough love to build up so I can fall in without breaking my neck.

There For Me

I have been in my house 15 years this year and I am blessed with some great neighbors that really look out for me.  I try to be a good neighbor to them, too.  (If I hear anything suspect I climb in my tub to peek out of my bathroom window.)  Two weeks ago, the daughter of the family passed away and it was a devastating loss that, even though I was not close to her at all, I felt as well.  Such a young girl.  28 is just too young…

In her program, she had the best pictures of her growing up and of her family.  I was taken aback looking at pictures of her mother.  You see, her mother is now wheelchair-bound and bed-ridden because she has been stricken by MS; she is bent and I’m not sure if she can move on her own.  But on these pictures she is healthy and beautiful…and healthy…and robust…and healthy.  It was amazing to see considering I’ve only seen her in a wheelchair and declining. 

Looking at her, knowing of her condition, makes me wonder sometimes, who would care for me if I ever declined so drastically?  Better question: who would be there if I got sick or was in serious need, period.

Is that something all single people question, or is it just me?  (For some reason, I don’t think it’s just me.)  It’s hard to imagine being alone or to have to count on people who may or may not be available at the time I’d need them.  (Kenny, Mama, and Daddy don’t live here and would have to put their lives on hold to come here and help me.  And they are old and have health issues themselves. Friends have their own families and lives.)  Even asking for help…admitting that I needed help is not easy for me.  Accepting help might even be harder.  My issues, my issues…. When I think like this, I get very sad about my singleness.

Marvin Sapp (my gospel music boyfriend) said in his relationship book (paraphrase): “just because you are single doesn’t mean you are unwanted”.

Hmmm…Really?  Feels like it, sir.  Really feels like it.  Unwanted and uncared for, even.

I realized recently that this is why I was hurt when me and old boy stopped dealing.  I felt wanted.  I felt cared for.  I felt that I would STAY wanted and cared for.  I felt that there would be a constant – not fickle – connection, full of compassion and free from judgment.  And then…POW!   Disconnection.  Devastation.

I felt “if not you, then who?”  Who would want me?  Who would need me?  Who would protect me?  Who would support me?  Who would have my back?  Who would be kind to me?  Who would hold me?  Who would love me?  Who would let me love them?  Fuck it, let’s be honest.  Who would marry me and be the father of my children?  I was lost…completely at a loss, with no answers, with no hope.  I thought I was out of possibility.  I thought I had lost my last and final option.

I would have no one to be there in the sickness as well as the health.  I would have no one that I automatically be there if I needed them, without me having to ask.  That makes me sad.  And scared.

Method of Conception - F U Paul Ryan

Paul Ryan is an idiot.  He’s not the only idiot but he’s a big one.  As we are being bombarded by foolery about rape, incest, conception, and abortion, we get another bit of nonsense from Paul Ryan, the man who may well become the VP of the United States of America.

In an interview (I don’t know who the interview was with but I did hear this with my own two ears), Paul Ryan was asked about abortion.  He stated that he, in fact, was a strong pro-lifer.  Blah, blah, blah.  Interviewer asked if a woman should be required to have the child conceived during a rape and this jackass said something like “rape, or any other method of conception….”  Huh?  ‘Scuze me, sir.  Did you just equate rape with a “method of conception”?  No, really?  Do you think RAPE – a complete mental and physical violation of a woman with long-lasting mental, physical, and emotional impacts – is a “method of conception”? 

Do you REALLY think that RAPE – an act where a woman is taken against her will and forced to perform sexual acts with someone she either does not want to perform these acts with or does not want to perform these acts with at the time – is a “method of conception”? 

Do you SERIOUSLY think that RAPE – where a woman may be beaten, tied up, and gagged, have her body torn from the inside, and that just be her physical scars, for a man to assert his power – is a “method of conception”?

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me if you believe that RAPE – an act where a woman is made to feel powerless, vulnerable, abused, small, unworthy of respect and decency; an act that causes her to question her complicity – did I lead him on? Was my skirt too short? Did I make too much eye contact?  Was I too dismissive? – You believe that THIS act is a “method of conception”?

I’ve never been raped, praise God, but I have enough sense to know that there is nothing “method of conception” about it.  SEX is a “method of conception”.  Preferably loving sex, sex that is intentional in the creation of a life, in conception.  But RAPE is not about SEX.  It is about power.  It is about control.  It is about hatred.  If a rape victim does not get help she becomes infected with the hatred that her attacker carried.

If I wasn’t a Christian woman I would wish that someone would “method of conception” Paul Ryan but karma is a bitch and I have too much going on in my life right now to let more bullshit flow into it because I was acting like the devil.  But I will say this, in some unladylike language: Fuck you Paul Ryan.  Fuck you and your monkey.  Fuck you from every woman that has ever been violated.  Fuck you from every woman that knows a woman that has been violated.  Fuck you from every woman that is vulnerable (that’s all of us, you jackass).  Fuck you from every man that has had to love a violated woman back to mental and emotional health.  Fuck you from every man that has had to suffer the consequences of another man’s crime.  Matter of fact, just fuck you, period.  And the horse you rode in on.

Sex Made Me Ugly

Sex made me ugly.  Really.  It really made me ugly.  How, you might ask?  Well, here is the story.

I have had many droughts in my life.  Times when I haven’t dated anybody, much less slept with anybody.  (Lawd, I’m so glad my daddy doesn’t know I write this blog!)  2010, and maybe even some of 2009, was such a time of remarkable dryness so I decided I would not take birth control pills because of my migraines.  (Estrogen drops cause migraines.)  Well, I met somebody…and I wanted to get a little bit.  So I had to get back on the pill and change my hormonal make-up again.  No big deal, right?  Wrong.

My face broke out so bad I looked like I was 13 again.  My jaw line looked like I had a beard of pimples.  And when the pimples went away (for a minute and a half…because they came back…and back) they left black spots.  Not “hyper pigmentation”. 101 Dalmatian spots.  On my forehead too.  I looked like a damn leopard. 

And then that joker broke up with me.  Left me heartbroken and UGLY as shit. 

This was early 2011 and I’m still fighting with this acne and these fucking leopard spots.

I got a facial a few weeks ago and was informed by the esthetician that our face was basically a map of our body.  The forehead showed what was going on in our bowels.  (If we had acne our bowels were not clear; we were constipated.  There is truth there but I won’t go into my tummy troubles.)  The jaw line and chin showed what was going on with our hormones.  I thought back.  Got dammit!  It was those fucking birth control pills I started taking to get some from my boo in 2010 that caused all these cursed problems.  Made me ugly as shit.  Cost me about $1000 in chemical peels, foundation, concealer, prescriptions, and facial products to try to fix…and I’m still not “fixed”.

So now you know how sex made me ugly.  If I would have said no to giving up the booty I wouldn’t be so ugly or broke.

One Is The Loneliest Number

I’m in a weird place.  I’ve been alone for a long time but right now I am actually lonely.

Isn’t that a sad word?  Lonely is a word that makes me think of someone completely alone, with no one in her life.  Completely alone, with no one to call in good times or bad.  Completely alone, with no one to visit or invite over.  I’m not completely alone but I do sometimes feel like I am imposing when I call unless it is great news, being mindful of family time and children’s bedtimes, or feeling funny when I want to visit but haven’t been invited over.  I feel like I’m in the way and I worry about overstaying my welcome.  (To be fair, that is my own issue because I don’t like it when people come to my house without calling first so I would never do that to anybody else AND I have open invitations to folks’ homes that I most like to visit.  I just don’t exercise the option.)

I feel like I’m the only person without someone in their lives.  Of course that is being dramatic because, although I have no one romantically, I am surrounded by friends and associates.  I want someone in my life romantically and I want a family.  I don’t want to be the odd-man-out.  And I often (more often than not, honestly) feel like the odd-man-out.  Like one of these kids is doing his own thing…and that kid is me.  I feel unattached, that I have to stretch real hard to reach out to touch someone who might be able to grasp my hand in a time when I’m in need of support.  Even those people who are more than willing and able to be there as strong support for me. 

People don’t understand why I don’t like to do long distance relationships but I need access to the man I’m dating.  I need a hand to hold, a chest to lay on, a literal shoulder to lean on, a smile to see…on a random Tuesday.  On a bad day.  On the day I get a promotion.  On the day I have a fight with a friend.  On a day when my legs are on fire from spin class and I need to be rubbed the right way.  (Sorry I just heard a little Johnny Gill this afternoon.)  I needed that hand, chest, shoulder, smile, and rub this week when it was revealed to me that someone I thought was a friend – a good friend – actually wished me GONE from our joint space.  And I feel very vulnerable right now and I need some validation and confirmation that it is okay to feel hurt but that I am okay.

I’m questioning myself in a lot of ways right now.  Questioning my motives for moves that I am considering and things I am avoiding.  Moves like actually picking up and moving from Atlanta…and I’ve been here for most of 21 years…and I’m deathly afraid of change.  Not sure if I want to leave my company because of personal dynamics and the fact that I no longer feel emotionally safe or if I am just ready to make a career change after 14 years.  Not sure if I want to move back to my hometown because at least I will have family around or if I really think it is a place I can be happy and successful and thrive.  I will be the odd-man-out and unattached in a way there too but I can move around enough to avoid being sad…I think…I hope.  At least I know I can trust my family to have my back and I wouldn’t feel funny going to my Daddy’s house when I felt like looking at him.  And I’d be close to Mama…and I have a key to her house so… LOL!!  Have been thinking about adopting a baby but not sure I want to be a single mother.  No, I KNOW I don’t want to be a single mother, but I’m wondering if this is on my mind lately because I want to have someone in my life so I’d no longer be lonely.  Someone that is MINE.  (If that is not selfish I don’t know what is.)

I’m rambling but that is how my mind is going.  Random and rambling.  That’s why I haven’t posted in a while.  My mind is jumbled.  And yes, I have been taking my meds.

What Is For Me.......?

A few days ago, I was at dinner with my trainer and she basically told me to give it up – my hopes and dreams of having kids – because I am too old.  There was a whole conversation going on so, no, it wasn’t random.  Now, of course I was cool and prayed on the inside and smiled on the outside.  That’s the right thing to do right?  Pray and declare that I am going to have what is for me?  I really, REALLY believe that a husband and children is for me…but what the hell do I KNOW, really?

I know that I don’t KNOW shit.

I keep saying – and BELIEVING – that God knows the desires of my heart and that if I am faithful He will give me what I desire.  I’m trying to be faithful.  I really am…TRYING.  But am I succeeding? Am I doing the right thing? (Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him and He will direct your path.  Proverbs 3: 5-6)

I know that I cannot EARN God’s favor and grace.  It’s just that – favor and grace – freely given, not because of anything I can or cannot achieve.

Right?

You know, I want a husband.  I talk a lot about a baby but that is because that is really more time-dependent as I am 39 and definitely not something I cannot do without some male, um, energy.  A man is necessary to have a baby but I want a man who will be FOR ME.  A good father, yes, but a GOOD HUSBAND, first and foremost.

But what if by waiting for a husband I will miss out on having a husband AND a baby?

I really do not want to be a single mother…on purpose.  I don’t think it will be fair to a child or even, hell, to me.  I don’t think I’m enough to be mother and father.  That’s not self-doubt or self-deprecation.  That’s the truth.  Now, one day I may feel differently but as of today, I want to do it with a husband.  I want a family.

Why won’t God reveal His will to me?  Why won’t He tell me what is for me?  Oh, probably because He doesn’t answer to me?  (Yeah, that’s pretty much it.)

It’s so hard not to get anxious and afraid, no matter what I say.  Most days I’m good but sometimes I get a little wobbly in my confidence.  (Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 4:6-7)

Times like this I really want to call my First Lady.  She would know what to say, tell me what to read, help me to pray.  She understands because she has what I want.  I know it’s not perfect but check this out:  In church, Pastor said that he prayed that God equipped him with the kind of love that she needed.  (I would have cried if I didn’t kind of know the teenage I was sitting next to. I did get a little misty eyed but I held it in because I’m not a punk.)  I hope God is equipping the man He has for me with the kind of love that I need…and that He is equipping me with the kind of love that he needs.   I pray God is equipping me with all I need to be a Proverbs 31 WIFE.  I’m ready to do my part.

Sister Wives, Sister Girls

I’m reading a book called “Mighty and Strong” and the underlying theme is polygamy.  I also watch Sister Wives on TLC.  That show is also about polygamy.  They are interesting in that they give a peek into a lifestyle that most of us would never experience because it is purely (supposedly) religious doctrine and, let’s be honest, would never go for even if it was not a religious concept.

Me, myself, personally – all three of us – say hell to the naw, Bobby, to the lifestyle that includes:

·        Sharing my husband in ALL ways (yes, you and I ARE on the same page…lies and confusion)

·        Sharing MY money, not just with my husband and our kids, but with my sister wives and their kids  (On Sister Wives, I get the impression that all the money goes into one pot and it gets distributed however regardless of who put in on it… and some of them don’t…lies and confusion)

·        Not having access to my husband unless it is my turn (ha! More lies and confusion)

·        My children not having access to their father unless it is our turn (I will say this.  If they live on a compound, like the ones we see on TV, this is probably not an issue, but on Sister Wives right now they live in separate houses so the father doesn’t see his kids every day…that’s more than lies and confusion; that’s that BS.)

·        Having to live with how many other wives he marries (On Sister Wives they supposedly help choose or cosign on the new wife but I’m not sure if that is 1. True or 2. How all of the husbands do it…again…lies and confusion)

·        Being “sealed” to a man on earth and in the afterlife (that is the religious part so I won’t comment)

So you see a lot of polygamy, for ME, is lies and confusion.

But isn’t polygamy just man-sharing, and don’t we have an epidemic of THAT in our society?  Sharing whether we know or not. Seeing him only on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday when you know he has a lot more free time.  Having a baby with him but only getting a few dollars and diapers but still some excuses for why he’s not over there changing them.  Letting him stay with you because he doesn’t have anywhere to say (really so he won’t be able to have any other women around…don’t lie).  Wondering why his phone is always on airplane mode when he’s with you (I heard that on Steve Harvey the other day!  I didn’t know people did that!!).  Letting him get away with having a side piece or (*gasp*choke*cough*) BEING the side piece.  Giving him 6 months to get rid of all his other women (heard that on Steve Harvey too!  Where they do that at?!?!?).  Rationalizing that it’s better to have a piece of a man than no man. 

Or lying to yourself that nothing is going on.

Oh yes, I’m telling on myself with some of these.  I’m naïve sometimes and I really want to think the best of people, even to my own detriment.  If you’ve read enough of these you should have picked up on that.

All right, confessions over.  Now what are we going to do about it?  Don’t ask me.  I just said I was a punk!  I need advice too.  What I promise myself, though, is that if a dude is not doing his best – or what I think his best should be – I’m calling him out.  And I’m making some stuff clear from the rip, especially that I want to TALK more than text.  (Yall know the dude who only texted me got the boot, right?)  So we’ll see.  As usual, I’ll keep you posted.

Note: I was told that this is one-sided but I figure that since this is my blog I can say what I want. What say you?

Reflection of Me

A woman chooses a man that reflects how she feels about herself. 

A man treats a woman how he feels about himself.

That’s some good Word right there.  Yeah, I got that from Pastor Jones this morning.  (Why does that man ALWAYS kick me in the face?  Because he loves me?)  All I could do was nod my head and admit that he was talking me.  Yes, indeed, he was talking to me.

You see, you can tell how I feel about me by the dude I was dating at the time.  When I am feeling good about me, I will date a man that meets my requirements, in other words, meets most of my list, treats me right, and receives my affection without misusing me.  When I feel like crap, that dude can treat me like crap and I will ask what I am doing wrong.  And have the audacity to cry the ugly cry when he breaks it off with me.  Side note: Why do I always let dudes break up with me, even knowing that I “been needed” to break up with them…and then have my heart broken over it?  (I am real educated but I guess my schooling, as my grandmother calls it, does not apply to my love life.)

I have to get that part of me together.  My self-esteem that is.  I need to feel good about me all day every day.  So many people see me as great (LOL) that I SHOULD, even if I’m just living off the glow of their shine, but there are times when all I see are the negatives…bad skin, gut that is out of control (in my opinion), hair that needs some perm in the back and some scissors and clippers STAT…etc.  But if I just sat down and really INSIDE myself I’d see my true self…and I’m good.  Better than good.  Actually better than great.  (All right I need to quit before I get stupid!) 

The truth is that I’m blessed internally and externally, intrinsically and extrinsically.  I have a blessed reflection.  I reflect God-is-good-ness.  I reflect grace.  I reflect mercy.  I reflect internal beauty.  I reflect external cuteness (LOL).  I reflect humor.  I reflect hope.  I reflect anticipation.  I reflect self-reflection.  I reflect try-my-best-ness.  I reflect make-up-word-ness (LOL).  Now I just need to find the man who compliments, complements, and reflects me.  And that man has to love himself so much that he can’t do anything BUT love me.

Message to My Future Child - July 13, 2012

I really enjoyed writing my Message to My Future Husband.  One day I plan to give it to the man that God has for me.  Earlier today I said that I would revise it but I think I’m going to go with it as is.  As it came out in the moment.

I was thinking about who else I needed to “speak to”.  Who else but my future child?

I have been waiting on this day my whole life.  The day I found out that I am going to be a mother.  Your mother.  To say that I am happy would be an understatement. Would diminish the feelings of joy that I fell right now.  When you feel your first bit of pure joy you will understand.

I don’t yet know if you are a boy or a girl so I don’t know what to call you yet.  Your father and I will work on that!  For now, we will just call you our joy.  I’m sure by the time we know your sex we will have fought over your name (I’m sure I will win!)  I’ve already picked out my girl’s name.  He has already picked out his boy’s name.  We just haven’t agreed.  Until now we never really had to.  But because of you, our dear sweet baby, our joy, we will.

Having you will change everything in our lives and we are so excited at the gift of parenthood.  We cannot wait to hold you, to look in your eyes.  I wonder whose eyes you will have.  Whose nose you will have.  Whose mouth you will speak and laugh from.  Whose sense of humor you will capture.  Whose athleticism you will claim.  (I hope you have a lot more than I do!) Whose interests you will share.  Whether you will like to read or write.  I am sure you will be the best of us.  We hope to show you how to be the best you can be.

Knowing that I will be your mother makes me want to be better than I am today.  I owe you a perfect mother. Unfortunately I won’t be able to give you a perfect mother – she does not exist – but I hope I am able to meet every one of your needs and provide you many of your wants.  I pray to God that I lead you through your lifetime with a great example of personhood.  I pray I teach you to put God first, that God is love, and that love makes the world go around.  No, life is not a fairytale but we need love to live and I love you already. 

I prayed for you before you were a twinkle in my eye.  God formed you in His family before He placed you in ours.  He has a purpose for your life and I am commanded to help you achieve this purpose.  I will do everything in my power – with God’s help – to help you become the man or woman that God wants you to be.  Your father and I come together in this vow to you.

My joy, I look forward to meeting you.  In the meantime I will be careful so that you grow healthily in my tummy. 

With love,

“Mommy”

(and “Daddy” too)

A Good Thing

Pastor Jones did it again…gave a word that stepped all over my toes.  (I’m glad I had on my Chucks and not some cute pumps or I might not have been able to walk out of service.)  He preached on my FAVORITE scriptures (and others):

Proverbs 3:5-6 “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not on thine own understanding.  In all thine ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your path.”

Verse 6 is my birthday verse (3/6 being my birthday).

Here is where Pastor broke me off something (paraphrase): “Stop praying for a husband.  Pray that God makes you a wife.” *crickets* Huh?  Don’t I need a husband to be a wife, Pastor?  Of course that is not what he meant.  He meant a Godly wife, the “good thing” that a man finds.

So, clearly I have been praying for a husband.  We know this. God knows this.  And clearly His answer has been “not yet”.  (I’m trying sooooo hard not to ask “why not?” or to say “HERRRRRRRY UP” because I know that neither will make God do anything that He is not ready to do.)  But what I have NOT been asking is “God what is it that I need to do or become to be the kind of wife that you want for the husband you are preparing for me?”  I haven’t prayed for God to make me a wife.

Honestly, I don’t even know what ALL being a wife means.  What ALL is expected of the “good thing”?  I’m real clear that I want my priest, protector, and provider.  I’m very clear that I want the head of my household, the father of my children.  And I say I want him now.  But am I ready for him?

Am I really, REALLY ready to be a wife?  A Godly wife.  A wife that submits to her husband…even when I don’t agree with what he wants us to do.  Am I too independent?  Am I too unorganized and junky (probably)?  Am I selfish?  Am I too accommodating?  Do I compromise too much or not enough?  Do I have enough to offer?  Do I pray enough?  Do I praise enough?  Do I trust enough? 

Who do I really lean on?

Am I a “good thing”?

I know that I will be praying from today on that God shapes me into the right man’s “good thing” and that I enjoy the transformation process.  I know it won’t be easy.  I know it won’t be painless.  Shoot, nothing has been easy or painless yet so I can’t imagine anything will all of a sudden lighten up…not when I am asking for more work and focus.

I must ask God for wisdom, trust and lean on Him – not self, friend or family – and walk in the path that He sets me on.

Message To My Future Husband - June 26, 2012

Marvin Sapp has a page on FaceBook that I subscribe to and look forward to getting messages from each day.  He has a note that he puts our called “Message to my future” where he writes – obviously – a message to his future.  Mostly, I would say, he is writing to his future wife as his wife recently passed away.  Recently he asked “us” to write a message to our future.  I can’t remember what I wrote but I want to write a short note to my future…husband.

“I love you.  You are the love of my life.  You are worth the wait.  You are worth every tear and every peel of laughter.  Every prayer and plea.  Every song and sacrifice.  Every moment of confusion and every moment of clarity.  Every heartbreak and every triumph.  Every promise broken and kept.  Every hour of grief and every second of joy.  Every step with my head held high or back bent low.  Every move that I have made that has led me to you.

“You are a gift from God.  A gift that he made just for me.  And he made me just for you.  I will spend every day for the rest of my life trying to make every moment you have spent before now worth you waiting for us to be prepared for one another.

“I pray that the God that brought us together will strengthen us every second, minute, hour, day, month, year, decade, and century…til death do us part.  I pray that He keeps and protects you.  I love you and am yours forever.”

On My Toes

Have you ever had somebody not just step on your toes but kick you dead in the mouth with your mess?  Today, for me, that person was Pastor A.T. Jones, Jr. of Impact Worship Center.  Pastor called me out (with love, of course) and made me ask myself some questions and, frankly, I’m not sure if I’m going to like the answers.

Pastor said that there are 3 types of problems that we face: problems from God that are meant to prepare us, problems from others that are meant to provoke us, and problems from ourselves that are meant to prevent us.  Prevent us from receiving God’s promises.  (Ouch.  Get off my toes, please, Pastor.  I think you might just be talking about me and my mess.)

Hmmm…. What promises have I been believing God for?  There are many but you know that I’m believing God for a husband and a family.  (The definition of family is a little “wobbly”.  We’ll see what I’m offered and then I’ll decide if that works for me.)  And I’m believing God for a new and better job.  To be honest, I’m wondering why it’s taking so long. (Sorry God for questioning Your perfect timing.)

I’m wondering if I am in a period of preparation, provocation, or prevention.  Probably all 3.  I don’t do anything half-way.  I’m all in, all the time.

I was talking to my cousin the other day about how sick I am of having my feelings hurt by people that I really invest in.  (Maybe I need to be a little more selective of who I invest in.)  I told her that every time I get hurt I wonder who it is that I hurt.  Who am I getting payback from?  (I’m thinking no one since it’s usually me that gets the boot.  Why no one recognizes how fly I am really confuses me.)  Maybe I am getting prepared.  Or am I doing something to prevent or block my own blessings? 

Well, let’s see… I’ve been mourning over a relationship that wasn’t with a man that wasn’t ever mine, losing time and energy and faith and strength and self-confidence and mental and physical health.  I have allowed grief and anger to consume me when I should have been focusing on how God took him out of my life….instead that clearly he was only in my life for a reason, not intended for a lifetime.  I’ve been suffering some overwhelming self-loathing which is extremely unattractive.  Who wants a woman that doesn’t love herself?  And that’s not even going into how I am NOT diligent about looking for that new and better job that I desire. Damn, I have been a hot mess. Yes, I would say I’ve been in my own way.  (Yes, Pastor, I DO like the taste of your shoe polish.  Kick me in the mouth again so that I might delight in it once more.)

Whatever is going on, I’m feeling confident that all that it will all work out.  I just need to stop and listen.  And obey.  And stop trying to “make” God tell me what I want to hear.  (I have a list of things that I want to respond YES to but He just will NOT ask me to do them.)  But I am going to act as though the things I want are around the corner.  (Or try to with as much confidence as I can!)

I’m not going to plan my spring wedding but I might buy a new dress for my next date. ;-)

Freaks Come Out At Night

When was the last time anybody talked about Bill Bellamy?  It’s been a minute, right?  Well, I watched (some of) a stand-up that he did the other night and I remembered that he was actually a funny brother.  No, he’s not Kevin Hart, but I literally LOL.  I wish I could have laughed my ass off so I could avoid dieting and going to the gym but, alas, that didn’t happen.

A part of his routine was about being a freak.  Trying to figure out where he fit on the freak scale.  He talked about joining in on a sex chat online as “Cat Daddy” who attracted “Miss Kitty” (meow).  His freak “offerings” included pouring hot popcorn butter down her back and letting the kernels fall into her booty and pouring Apple Jack milk down her back and letting the cereal chunks fall in the crack of her booty.  (Cereal chunks in your ass!?!?!?)  Yeah….no.  Not freaky.  Kinda gross.  Definitely not sanitary and hygienic. 

(Do freaks think about hygiene?  Does the fact that I thought about hygiene mean that I am low on the freak scale?  Yes?  Oh.  Well, I DID think about where I was on the freak scale.  I’m not going to tell you what I came up with.  (I’m embarrassed.  LOL!)  But I did come up with some ways to, uh, make “adjustments”.  Will not include cereal and milk though.  I am lactose intolerant.)

None of this will happen any time soon because I’ve decided to attempt celibacy…again.  I’m trying to live right.  It’s easy to say that I’m going to keep it to myself.  It might just be easy since I don’t have any options right now.  (That’s both good and bad.  Who doesn’t WANT options?)  No temptations.  No reason to pull out my tutu and 4 ½” heels.  No reason to come to the door in…. Wait, I’m not talking about all that…unless you have some creative ideas you’d like to share.

It Don't Matter If You're Black or White...Really?

I signed up on www.chemistry.com a few weeks ago.  It’s kind of attached to match.com so my profile transferred then I had to answer a few more questions to develop a “personality profile”.  I’m a Negotiator.  That means I have good people skills and some other stuff.  I can receive that.  There are other personality types but I can’t remember them all.  When they make a match they show how the two personality types would gel.  It’s rather interesting.  I wonder if it’s bullshit but I’m trying to be positive rather than pessimistic.

I went on one date.  I’ll call him Al.  Nice guy.  Cute (of course…we know I’m shallow).  Successful.  Owns his own business.  Must not have like me enough because he hasn’t called me since we went out.  Oh, well.

(Oh!  I went out with someone from match.com, too, before him.  He was nice, too.  Nice looking.  The issue was that he refused to call me.  He wanted to text all the fucking time.  Even though I told him a bunch of times – A BUNCH OF TIMES – that I liked to TALK not text.  Fuck it.  I stopped dealing with him.  I’m 39 years old.  I want a grown A woman relationship.  I want to communicate like a grown A woman. Period. Dot.)

But back to chemistry.com.  What I am finding is that they are matching me with a gaaaannnnnggggg of white dudes.  I mean, more white dudes than black dudes.  Now, I don’t know how I feel about that.  I don’t know about dating white men.  That’s real talk.  My brother is involved with the most wonderful woman he’s ever met in his life.  She’s white and I don’t care.  I don’t see her color.  I see how she treats my brother and his kids….and me.  We’re TIGHT.  I love her like my mama gave birth to her.  So clearly I’m not against interracial relationships. But am I ready to (cue dramatic music) cross the color line?  I don’t know.

I started reading a book “Is Marriage for White People?” (I think I have the title right.)  In the book, the author suggested that black women are the less likely of all to get married and a part of the reason is that we limit ourselves to black men.  We don’t branch out and give other races a chance.  We hold out for that “good black man”, emphasis on the black.  (Or maybe the emphasis is on the MAN.  You know some of us don’t put emphasis on the GOOD.)  Let’s not get into the conversation about all the other requirements we have – like love the Lord, have a job, love his mama, etc.  That will change the subject.

You know black men keep their options open.  They date any and every race, color, and creed.  Enough said.

So, what do I do with all these white men that I’m being matched with?  Do I delete them as soon as I see “white/Caucasian” as their ethnicity?  What about when I see their blue eyes?  Do I look at them the same way I look at brothers?  Hold them to the same – EXACT – requirements as I have for the brothers?  (Now don’t get me wrong, if they don’t have “Black/African American” on their list of “What he’s looking for” in ethnicities, the get deleted immediately.)  Do I contact them or do I wait for them to contact me if they are interested?

Hold up!  I just asked the same thing I would have asked about brothers.  Maybe the situation isn’t so different if I just look at them as men rather than white men.  But can I really do that?  Is being single, holding out for a good black man a reasonable thing to do when there might be an “other” that meets every need and want I have?  Is it possible that some “other” will give me that feeling that I get when I see that brother across the room?  Is it possible that some “other” could actually love ME like I want, need, and deserve to be loved?  Is it possible for some “other” to not see me as black, but just as a woman?

Shit, I’m probably as afraid of being rejected by white men as I am by black men.  Probably don’t want to set myself up for double the rejection and bullshit.

We’ll see…. I’ll keep you posted.  Of course.

Never Satisfied

I’m one of those broads that is never satisfied.  Mostly never satisfied with myself.  Sometimes it’s real and sometimes it is negative self-talk that makes no sense.  I’m honest about my own dishonesty.  I just don’t know it’s bullshit until it’s after the fact. But whatever.

Today I’m not satisfied with my weight.  It’s 6 in one hand, half dozen in the other.  The scale says ugly things about me so I’m just going to stop talking to it for a while.  My gut…Lawd Jeebus, the gut is so out of order that I wouldn’t even let anybody see me nekkid.  (Well…maybe….)  The booty is still proper.  I don’t want to lose too much of that because I want to have enough for folks to look at when I’m walking.  (Yes I do put a little something extra in the walk when a brother is walking behind me.  Give ‘em a little sum’sum to look at.)  Thighs need some work but all I need is a skirt to the knees and a few calf raises and I’ll be just fine from the waist down. 

Skin needs a lot of work.  I was doing sooooo well and then bam!  My skin erupted like violence.  I would be insulting my grandmother if I said I was ugly but Stevie damn sure ain’t singing “Isn’t She Lovely” to my ass right now.  I’ve been wearing makeup every day to make me feel better – look better, feel better – but I need to do something about this shit STAT.

So where is all this self-criticism coming from THIS TIME?  Could be that I’m man-less and I think that nobody is going to want a fat, pimply broad.  Could be that I went out on a date and he never called me again.  Could be that I’m looking dead at turning 40 and I’m sick of dealing with the same shit over and over.  Could be that I’m a shallow bitch.  Could be that I don’t FEEL good about how I look.  Could be that I know that if I don’t like the way I look I won’t really be as confident in myself as I should be.   Insecurity is about as sexy as bitterness.  As in NOT sexy.

Truth is, I am dabomb.com.  If you don’t believe me, ask my friends.  I’m surrounded by people that affirm me.  I am LOVED and respected.  I have people that lift me up, tell me that I’m wonderful, and make me feel good about myself.  They give me energy when I’m running on fumes.  They encourage me.  They motivate me.  They kick my ass.  They leave me alone when I need “me” time.  They tell me what I need to hear…and sometimes, what I want to hear (sometimes it’s okay to lie). They love me when I don’t love myself. 

Hell, I need to call somebody right now and hear something good about myself.