AA

So truth be told, I'm a writer but I never try to because I'm afraid.  Truth be told, I'm a poet, and a designer but again I never try because I'm afraid.  If I tell you how many pieces I've written in my head, I'd be a millionaire.  I think a lot, speak a bunch but not really what I dream.  My mind thinks about things constantly.  Like how I would rebuttal an issue or the many issues I'm passionate about.  I think about how to make things.  I pull them apart in my mind, can unfold an object and rebuild it, find the problems and redo it again.  I think about poetic pieces and different topics to write about.  Honestly, there's nothing more than saying I just don't do it because of fear.

 

See growing up, I wasn't the artistic one in my family.  All three of my brothers could draw and I mean draw well.  They each had their own style but there were good.  I remember a piece my oldest brother did of a horse and you could see the definition of it's muscles.  It was simply done in black ink but what made it extraordinary was that it was done out of 1000's of small black dots, basically pointillism.  You wouldn't know from first glance but getting close to it, you could see his execution, it was amazing!  To the point that it got framed and hung in our home.  Then my second brother, he's the "artsy" one.  He is the "Renaissance Man", he draws and really well, think Avatar but with far more worlds and characters,(Avatar should have been his creation truthfully speaking, he's that good - shameless plug: Absolutely!!!) he sculpts, he writes, he designs, he's flipping ridiculous!  And my third brother, he draws as well, really good with landscapes and child like comics.  So yes, they all had some sort of artistic expression and were really good at it.  They didn't all pursue this as a career but for what it's worth, they are gifted.  

 

As for me, I wasn't the drawer.  My sculptures were truly like the menial gifts a child makes for their mother, and my drawing was solely of simple geometric shapes on my notebooks, lol.  I laugh looking back because that's not where my forte laid.  I love art, but more over pursued it with instruments and even then, I wasn't all that amazing and had to give them both up before anything could really come of it.  I did learn to draw portraits in middle school and that was fun.  For some reason I did alright at that and knew if I had a chance, maybe that would have gone somewhere but again, I let that go.  So as you see my artistic expression wasn't really anything to be doted.  However, though I didn't focus on the arts, I pursued science and I pursued it hard core.  I knew at an early age that I wanted to be a doctor so even before I hit high school I made sure to get into the right classes to set myself up to make my dream come true.  I did everything to the point of taking 2 math courses one year because that was what I thought I wanted.  I still remember my senior year classes because I didn't take the easy route, I wanted to achieve and so I did what any achiever would do and loaded myself up with AP courses: English, Calculus, Physics, and Chemistry.  Note, I would have added Biology if I could but my schedule wouldn't permit it.

 

Anyhow, this was me, the science driven achiever or so I thought.  What does any of this have to do with art, well here's how.  When I went to college, within my first semester I was bored.  Science, though fascinating bored me.  What I enjoyed was communication and I joined clubs like gospel choir, dance, etc.  I joined things that fed into my artistic side and that made me happy but I never thought about pursuing a degree in it, plus because of my background my parents were not going to have it.  It just wasn't what children of West African parents did.  Believe me, it was a battle not worth fighting.  Sadly, I continued in science to the point of convincing myself that studying genetics and going into research would help... though I really liked genetics, I was lying to myself and God knew it.  So what did He do... He literally left me in a place where I could no longer continue college because of family and financial problems.  I came back home not knowing what to do and what to make of my life.  I really hit a brick wall and this time, there was no way around it at all.

 

I worked for over 2 years with no direction and somehow in this time my artistic desires started to arise.  I began writing poetry more.  It started in high school because of one of my English teachers but I continued, secretly while going through college.  I began singing in a Christian group and we would travel to different churches, events, and venues and I l loved it.  I even started a dance ministry for the youth in my church.  Then I remember being at my younger cousin's house one day and she was flipping through a bridal magazine fantasizing about her wedding day and what dress to wear.  As she picked a dress that she liked, out of nowhere I told her why that dress wouldn't be flattering for her body type and what dress would look better on her.  She understanding and simultaneously perplexed simply looked at me and asked why I wasn't in fashion.  That question was the beginning of my reintroduction to the arts. 

 

Such a simple question but I didn't have an answer.  I couldn't give a reason to why I wasn't pursuing fashion.  I was always particular about what I wore and knew what I wanted even at a young age.  I remember dragging my mother from store to store looking for the perfect 8th grade banquet outfit.  I didn't want to be like everyone else.  I wanted espadrilles and a linen outfit.  I think back at times where I wanted something specific, not so much out there but just my own, I had a need to express myself differently and was not satisfied until I accomplished it.  I remember designing my senior prom dress in my mind.  I could see the soft purple color, the mini train, and the flowing chiffon but being disappointed because I couldn't get it made.  So when that question arose, I didn't have an answer better yet, I didn't have an excuse.  What did I do after that?  I decided to pursue my passion and go to school for fashion.  What a 180 degree turn from being a genetic doctor.  Funny though, my mother was down for my cause.  So I moved to Florida and pursued my degree in fashion design and graduated. 

 

See this is all interesting because I now, over a decade later am still just getting to a place to understand and accept more so that I am artistic.  Yes, I have my geeky side and I love that to but exploring my artsy side hasn't been easy.  I've tried keeping it structured and many a times down play it as well.  I tell myself and many others that I like that business side of fashion.  I like the behind the scenes, which I do.  I tell people that I am more business minded, which is partially true because I do see strategies and systems.  I've kept myself in this nice neat box which fits me, my family, my culture, and sadly enough society to believe that I am more business savvy then artistic when the reality is that I am both.  But truthfully speaking, I love the artistic side of me.  It brings me peace.  I'm at home when I'm creating and sewing.  I'm at home writing, journaling, or writing poetry.  It does something to me.  I love expressing myself in an artistic manner. 

 

I've not wanted to come clean with this or really admit this to myself because like I said before "I'm not the artistic one in my family."  However that statement is rendering itself to be a lie and God is patiently showing me this.  Even now as I write, I have memories of me watching TLC and HGTV because I loved seeing the design process, whether it would be a make over of a person or the interior of a home.  It really spoke to me.  I wondered where this artistic person came from in me but it's quite easy to trace, see every year when I was in elementary school and even into middle school my mother would sew a one of a kind dress for picture day and every year I received plenty of compliments from the other kids mothers who just adored my dress and were shockingly surprised upon asking where I got it at, I would reply that my mother made it. 

 

My mother was a great seamstress and still is.  You see, my mother not only sews but she also knits, crochets, does needle point and macramé as well.  And she has a great green thumb.  This drawing to being artistic is not just a matriarchal aspect but it also comes from my father.  He is not so much the drawer by my dad is more of a technical artisan.  He created and designed the blueprints for our house back in Cameroon.  All the furniture in our house in Africa, he designed and got made and just like my mom, he's an amazing gardener as well.  He would grow everything and together because of them, I understood the execution, creativity, and function of a farm.  Plus it helps that both of my parents are excellent cooks.  Whenever my father got a new maid, he would teach her how to cook and not just any meals but traditional Cameroonian meals, which is no small feat, and other things alike.  So this artisan, isn't as far fetched from me as I thought it would be.

 

It's crazy that it took this long for me to realize this but like it says better late than never.  As I grow in my artistic abilities what I have had to learn is that I can create whatever it is I want to create and not have to be like everyone else.  So designing and making jewelry out of Ankara fabric, creating interior home goods, writing poetry, and just writing however I feel is what is great about this because there is no specific formula to art.  That's what makes it art.  It can take on an organic function all its own self.  But what I find to be the greatest thing is that it is a reflection of God because He is the best artist I know.  Just look at the world around us from savannah, to the mountains, to outer space.  It's all art and it's all good.  So though my fear has definitely kept me back from sometime now, I think I'm ready to finally come out of my artistic closet and just say that I am an artist and there is nothing wrong with that.  I feel like I'm at an AA(Artist Anonymous) meeting: "Hi, my name is Fulei and I'm an artist."

 



Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good!

Genesis 1:31a

Core

How do you love the unlovable?  That's the question that has been on my mind for quite some time now.  Honestly and truly how do you because the more and more I look around, the harder it is for me to really be selfless and mean it when I say "I love you", though knowing as those words roll of my lips in the moments I do mean it that instantly I am being shunned, negated, and overlooked.  Better yet, not even considered. 

 

In the wake of everything that has been going on I truly, desire to know how do you love the unlovable.  When you, like me, work a job where you see nothing but disrespect and feel the weight of the black race on your shoulders because to those around you, you are the closest and realest representation of the black nation to them.  How do I reach out and still love them?  How do I love those who say in the midst of such tragedy, what does this matter?  Things like this happen all the time.  What's so different about this?  How do I look them square in the face and still love them?  Or when you see the depths that white privilege has prevailed and still prevails in our everyday lives.  Whether it be, the elitism of a couple who deserves to live as they do, or children who are able to walk out to their back yard onto a lake a kayak because they feel like it, or when a promotion is passed onto someone white, whom you trained and technically still train from day to day because they know someone in upper management though you've been there for 5yrs and have seniority over them.  Tell me how do love them?

 

I'm asking all of this because this is a question that I have been wrestling with for a while now and it doesn't help that our nation has told blacks once again, you don't matter and most of all that you really have no value, no matter what age or circumstance may have occurred.  Nope, "You Don't Matter!!!"  This is what we have to face in this country, loud and clear.  See I could go back and start spouting what accomplishments blacks have had in this country.  The many ways blacks have contributed to make this country to making it into what it is today.  The many walls and barriers that blacks have had to overcome to be deemed as equals in written law.  Even the fact that America for its first time in history had a major monumental moment for electing its first ever black president, now two terms in.  Yes, I can sit here and go further and deeper and retrace steps but all of that pales in comparison to the reality of how America views her black children; unwanted, overlooked, and worthless.  Basically unvalued!  This was stated loud and clear to her babies. 

 

Blacks now in the modern age have become worst off then illegitimate children, no blacks are now late term abortions.  Good enough to create celebration for the sake of life, provide the mother with a feeling of longing and joy, bring others to celebrate the mother and her accomplishments, get lavished with promises and gifts just waiting, how the child brings wealth and status, have the mother feel a sense of euphoria at what is to be expected, even enjoy the small kicking she feels inside but when the reality hits of her life changing forever, the morning sickness because truth is creating and sustaining life isn't easy, having the child press on her bladder in her mind at the most inopportune times, showing her the truth of herself and that pregnancy also makes you dependent, that the child is going to cost money to raise, and that you have to rethink your priorities and stances, then it's too much.  The kicking that once was cute hurts, her backbone on which everything stands upon is sore and even laying down is uncomfortable, her pelvis spreading and shifting makes even the simplicity of walking a chore, the stretching and itching that comes along from this child growing now it's a problem and just like that America decides, this child is too much of a problem, a burden, and will change my lifestyle wants a late term abortion.  America calls the ever delinquent father named Justice and says I don't want this child anymore.  Though they may fuss and seemingly fight, in the end she wins and he gives in to her and it works out best for the both of them.  She got her gifts, wealth, and lifestyle, praises and even the I understand from her friends because it would just be too much.  "You're not in the place you need to be to support a black child, think of the cost and struggle you will have to do through" while the absent father, Justice, agreed and said he didn't have the means to support his black child and made the easy decision so that he wouldn't have to pay child support.  He chose this even though he showed his child off, boast about his mini me and what he said he would do and how he would always be there to protect, uphold, and pass down the values of his parents.  Tell me then, how do you love the unlovable?

 

 

 

 

Expectation

I've been told by others what I am good at and should excel in since I was a child.  I've been told you're great with words, you should teach, you should write a book, you should preach, you should do workshops, you should be in politics, you should do spoken word, you should... and the list goes on and on.  Honestly, I am all of that and none of that at all.  For me, I have a problem when it comes to expectations whether others or my own.  I've lived under this umbrella better yet, weight, of what others expect of me or for me to be and become or even what I place on myself.  Understand, I am a natural achiever, it is how I am hard wired, it's what makes me function as I do.  It's literally ingrained within me.  I do not know how to look at situations or challenges and not see how I or others can achieve or strive to in it.  Literally, my mind is hardwired to see strategies in everything and come up with some sort of solution.  It's me, it's who I am, so package that with having others tell you who you are supposed to be is a recipe for disaster and in reality that has been my life underneath it all.  

Let me back track and even explain why I'm talking about this especially with it being the new year.  I am not trying, just a few days into this year, to be 'Debbie Downer', I am just realizing somethings about myself and want to be honest about where I am in order to move forward.  Just recently because of a situation that took place, my friend and I were out listening to a live band and at one point I zoned out.  She saw that I was not present anymore.  My mind was somewhere else, my demeanor had changed, and my body language spoke volumes.  She, being a friend I can count on, proceeded to ask me what happened and I then tried my best to articulate or formulate some understanding of what had just taken place.  I knew what happened but I didn't know how to describe it.  The best way to label it was, "Questions & Quandaries".  My mind, in that split second of choosing to zone out, starting firing off questions of who, what, when, where, and how.  I was thinking about the future.  I was comparing myself and wondering how can I measure up.  I was questioning my ability, my presence, my purpose all in that small space.  Others that don't know me would not have thought anything of it but my friend did and thank God she did.

See, it's in moments like this that my mind projects expectations, whether false or real, most of the time false, and I start my game of "Questions & Quandaries" and then become very silently overwhelmed.  No one ever knows because I never say anything but mentally, I'm at the front door of whatever the situation is with my bags packed, ready to pick them up and walk out the door no matter what is behind me.  And best of all, I don't look back.  I don't look to see if someone is asking me to come back or if the door is shut or even if it were left open.  In my mind, it's over.  It was too much and I could not deliver so I'm out.  This is my way of running.  I'm not the dramatic, make a scene, scream or shout, or even the walk away looking back with longing and tear filled.  I am simple.  I pick up my bags and keep walking, at times this is the worst way to leave because either others don't know you've left since it was quiet or by the time they realize it's too late and you are way far off in the distance.  Worst off are the times when you don't give the other person a chance to speak or even come after you.  Really, I do this because I don't think I'm worth the hysterics or even coming after.  I've come to believe I'm not good enough and I cannot satisfy or reach whatever expectation has been placed in front of me, so I leave.

This has been my hidden secret, my weight, my shame, my failure.  I have lived with this weight of feeling as though I cannot accomplish anything I set my mind to or that even if I do the pleasure is momentary.  I do not know the feeling of setting and achieving a goal and it being satisfying because to me expectation is attached with disappointment.  As soon as I achieve something, I have 10 more people telling me what I should do next or become.  This has been such a detriment that now I place false expectations upon myself to obtain, that in reality should not be there.  As a young girl, I knew that whatever I wanted to do I could but somehow that changed and got twisted as I grew older. Then more and more I saw achievements as a burden.  The very thing that makes me thrive became the very thing that stripped me of my life.  "You should" translated to "I have to" and it shifted to what I should be when my environment or group of people changed.  I became such an amazing chameleon.  I was everything that others wanted me to be, yet nothing of that at all.  Behind closed doors, I was alone and would reel from the thought of trying to become anything, so I became nothing.  I didn't know who I was.  

For all the crying, trying to  figure out, personality tests, career tests, giftings, and prophecies given I was lost.  More lost than ever before.  Don't ask me, through all of this, how God was able to still keep me sane and speak to me.  Can you imagine living like that?  In church, people telling you what they see you becoming or how God's created you to be.  In school, teachers praising your intelligence and saying you should work at such and such because you will make it "Big", or at home having family tell you "You are the one...", whatever that's supposed to mean.  Everywhere I went, that's all I heard and that's what I received.  I started to become that very thing for each group, a poet, a preacher, a designer, a manager.  I was everything others wanted me to be and felt like an utter failure when I couldn't become "that" thing.  Even in relationships, I started taking on roles that were not me.  I had to think 10 steps ahead.  I had to anticipate and project and not be the nag, not be the bossy one, not be too opinionated, or show anger, I had to defy the unspoken code of expectations.  Yes, I had to be the desireable one.  

These lies and falsehoods were my skewed vantage point.  Taking on things that I never should have, reaching for stars that were never meant to be mine, and projecting a picture of poised personality no matter the cost.  This fake reality was always unraveling, yet I would pick up the string and convince myself that I was wrong for it unraveling and would work twice as hard to rewrap it up so it wouldn't come apart again.  Then slowly, the Holy Spirit would slip a knot out here, and by the time I realized, didn't know what to do. He would cut a string here; pull a thread there and have bundles of thread on the floor, while I tried just holding onto whatever the core of this was.  Prior to that fatal evening of awakening, the Holy Spirit had been working on and revealing so many things to me that when my session on "Questions & Quandaries" took place, I didn't even realize what had really happened.  I was baffled, overwhelmed, annoyed, full of shame, and just wanted to pick those bags up and leave.  I was back here again.  However, this time it was different.  My friend in her way stood there in front of the door looking at me and snapping me out of it, took my bags out of my hand, set them down, closed the door and walked me to the couch to sit down.  She didn't let me leave or better yet, she made me stay. 

Though at times, I had that sudden urge to get out by any means necessary, I stayed.  Somethings, I didn't want to hear because it meant, I had to acknowledge somethings.  It meant, I needed to forgive some people, it meant I had to see the truth and let my ball of thread go.  My security was showing itself to not be secure at all but interestingly enough, I found that in the middle of all that thread, was this beautiful object.  It had a familiarity to me but since it was covered for so long, I couldn't recognize it.  Small but brilliant.  In this moment, sitting with my friend, I could see the Holy Spirit at work telling me, this is you.  Trust me and let me show you who you really are.  What was interesting in all of this was learning that there were no expectations.  You have to understand how this blew my mind, better it shattered my world.  My friend said to me, "You know there are no expectations for you."  Not in a rude manner but in an honest, matter of fact kind of way.  She was letting me know that all I needed was to be myself and not worry about what others think or putting false thoughts of how I think I'm supposed to be.  That night gave me freedom.  It brought a perspective that I had NEVER seen.  So this is why I said I have a problem with expectations.  I don't know how to live up to them but truly I don't want to anymore.  I want what God has promised me as the Holy Spirit said, "Let me show you who you really are... small but brilliant!" 

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart,

do not depend on your own understanding.

Seek His will in all you do,

and He will show you what path to take.

Don't be impressed with your own wisdom.

Instead, fear the Lord and turn away from evil.

Then you will have healing for your body

and strength for your bones."

Provs. 3:5-8





Bundled

So it has definitely been awhile since I last posted anything.  I was in the middle of writing a piece on the Trayvon Martin case and paused and since then have not picked it back up to continue.  A lot has happened in this nation in the past few months and more and more stories have been coming to the forefront concerning race relations.  In different arenas, socioeconomic brackets, and every day living.  I feel as though the Trayvon Martin case opened up a can or worms that has been slowly festering and rotting underneath the hot sun and then slipped into a secret pantry for no one to find but unfortunately for the owner, the ugly truth has revealed itself for what it is... plain ugly and still here.

 

My friends and I have been really digging into what it means to be black in America.  Now this is in itself a loaded question because there are so many takes to what that means and it's easy to become jaded, cynical, and hard hearted to what this means.  In looking at this topic alone you can take it from so many angles, you can look at it from the perspective of music and where the industry is, you can use entertainment and see what has happened there, you can speak from terms of education or lack there of, and you can speak from sectors concerning business, job seeking, to welfare, or even from the stance of being a man versus being a woman.  In the end, there is no one angle to see black life in America and that is where the problem lies as well as the answer is found. 

 

In our deep engaging conversations, we as black women have been racking our brains discussing what happened to the black family, why is it that we are still dealing with an overwhelming sense of racism even in its undercurrents, why race is so different in the north than in the south versus Midwest to west, why our are children not being taught and on and on and on it goes.  And in discussing picking each others brains and challenging one another on our different premises and understanding, an epiphany happened.  We finally understood concerning race relations, the state of Black America, and all that has, was, and is taking place CANNOT be categorized into one bundle.  That is what has happened to us.  We blacks have been bundled together as a group and in that we have been generalized and stereotyped to the point that TV execs have created a formula on how to sell "black life" to the masses and make money off of it, yet in reality there may be some minutia of truth but the majority of what we are fed is not "BLACK LIFE"! 

 

We as blacks have to also accept our responsibility and understand that we have given into the notion of what slavery, colonialism, and the so called American dream has fed us.  That we are not good enough to be known individually or separately because of our ethnic backgrounds.  That black is just that black.  We have  been force fed the lies of Willie Lynch  but have yet to really understand that all this is a lie and not who we are.  I know I am going to catch flack for saying that and I understand that it sounds like I am teaching separatism but the reality is I believe we each as "black people" with our unique and beautiful cultures should have a right to stand up for each of our cultures and backgrounds.  That we should not be blanketed into a general group just because of our skin tone.  In doing so, I feel as though this nation is missing out on a beautiful kaleidoscope that is "Black America". 

 

When we do this we are inevitably saying that who you are and where you come from and whatever rich history you have means nothing.  We've relegated ourselves to just being the same.  My girlfriend explained it best, "...we live in a society where conformity is normal.  And whoever doesn't conform is abnormal.  We want to just be "normal" like everybody else... but that is crazy talk.  Nobody is normal..."  In essence we are not normal and one step further nor are we the same and honestly that is a beautiful thing.  Why should we conform, why should we be normal?  What's the beauty in not acknowledging the very thing that makes you, you and culturally for blacks that's what we have been taught because when you conform you are easily controlled and manipulated.  And we have seen the effects of this for years. 

 

I don't know about you but I love learning about my Haitian friends and their culture and the nuances of how they grew up.  I love learning about my Afro-latinos who look as black as me but speak Spanish fluently, which makes me do a double take and how they enjoy their rich history.  I love learning about my Zimbabwean friend and what it was like growing up in the southern region of Africa and how there is an abundance of land just waiting to be cultivated.  And even too really digging into my African American friend who's family is from the Midwest and the deep south and how that creates such a unique culture; whose family grew up in the midst of segregation and the Jim Crow laws and the steel mill boom.  All of these facets and beautiful stories of rich history get lost when we decide that we are just black.

 

My desire is for everyone's story to be told, for the Trayvon Martin's to be vindicated and not stereotyped just because he was black.  For black life to be valued because it is a life period.  I want to see the cultural differences between Cameroonians and Ethiopians, Haitians and Afro-latinos, Northern and Midwestern Black Americans.  It's when we are able to see our differences that then and only then are we able to really unite and become one.  Yes, there are going to be certain things that cross culturally no matter who you are living black in America but there is so much diversity, knowledge, beauty, and healing waiting to distributed only if we stop insisting that there is something wrong with having a different background and just saying we are all black.  We then fall into the same sin as saying, "I'm colorblind, I don't see color."  The reality is here in America, you WILL always see color, that has been ingrained into the very foundation of this country.  Just read the original constitution of this land if you don't believe me.  The truth is and hear me directly with no mistakes, There is Nothing Wrong With Color!!!  It is what makes us unique and it creates such a beautiful canvas, a mosaic that makes you take time to see the whole picture but look at each magnificent piece and stand in awe of God and His beautiful majesty.

 

The state of Black America is simple, we each individually and culturally want to be seen, understood, and valued and honestly there is nothing wrong with that.  Jesus sees each of us and honors us each in who we are and we are all beautifully different.  Black America it's time we embrace this and use this to really make our voices heard as well as unite under the banner of Jesus's love.

 

9 After this I saw a vast crowd, too great to count, from every nation and tribe and people and language, standing in front of the throne and before the Lamb. They were clothed in white robes and held palm branches in their hands. 10 And they were shouting with a great roar, “Salvation comes from our God who sits on the throne and from the Lamb!”  Rev. 9:9,10

 

We have to see we are different to see we are one.

Reminisce

So I had the most interesting happen to me when I was talking to my roommate about my time in middle and high school, I broke down and started to cry.  Wow, you have to understand, I never broke down before the way I did this night and ever shed tears about my past.  It was interesting, yet refreshing and heart breaking all in one. 

 

When I started at my school in the 4th grade and stayed there til I graduated, it was hell on earth for me.  It really wasn't the pleasant view we like to think of when we remember school or the pretty pictures and great times we had when looking back in our year books.  No, for me my experience was very rough and hard.  The sad thing is that it started off hard for me at a young age as well.  It started off when I was in 4th grade. 

 

Before this time, I was in a private school in Maryland up until 3rd grade and really I had no problems there.  Didn't feel left out.  Had my friends, knew I was different but it was all good.  It was quite accepting.  Then I moved to NJ and that changed.  I went to a very prestigious school.  One that was named after the state college in Jersey and there is where I started to feel what I like to call the gap or invisible distance.  I remember how lavish students were.  I remember imparticularly this one girl who reminded me of Cher from Clueless who would coordinate her outfits with her best friend, color code them and make sure that there were no repeats.  Then I remembered the opportunities and different clubs that there were in order to foster growth, intellect and education.  It was a bit of a mixed place. 

 

Then there was a child celebrity, who if I mentioned, everyone would know I went to school with as well as her younger brother.  It was a truly different world for me.  It was honestly different.  I didn't particularly fit in but I wasn't outright ostracized either.  There it was a balancing act if anything but it was when I moved to my new Christian private school that next year that all hell broke loose for me and things would never be the same.  Within a few days of me starting there, I was nervous, wanted to just figure out my surroundings and take my time to adapt but unfortunately for me I was thrown into the mix without consent and with no choice.

 

My teacher decided to be funny and make a slick comment about my name and from there the verbal abuse, teasing and bullying began.  Her actions gave permission for all my other class mates to make fun of me.  To me, this was a shock and I was totally taken back because up until this time, I never had anyone make fun of my name and I was fine with my name. After this incident and many teasings to come, I hated my name.  I began to not like certain things about myself.  I didn't like telling people I was from Cameroon.  I didn't want to publicly eat my Cameroonian food.  I didn't want to be seen as different.  I didn't want to talk differently.  I wanted to fit in.  I wanted to belong.  Unfortunately for me still until I graduated, I never quite did fit in.  I got along, got by and made it on the edge of just being accepted. 

 

School was very rough.  Having people tease me all the time for my name.  Having a girl question me because of how proper I spoke and made me feel as though something was wrong with me because I didn't speak slang.  I wasn't miss popular, I had to constantly stand up for myself.  I had no one to defend me and I had no one to relate to.  I was forced to become a part of African American culture though I was Cameroonian.  I was forced into living in surburbia.  I barely had any black people yet alone Africans who I was able to connect or relate to in my neighborhood.  Then I was forced into a church were diversity was one interracial couple and my family.  All the diversity I was used to was snatched away from me.  I was different and this time, I felt I was different.

 

School became a place of having to wear a mask.  Having to be strong, having to look like I had it all together.  It became competition.  I had to do well especially as a black girl, better yet an African black girl.  I had to prove I wasn't stupid and that I was able to cut it because all the other pretty, popular black girls were.  I never until my senior year wore my hair out, I always rocked braids but that wasn't the desirable thing.  I didn't have long legs or indian in me to have long flowy hair.  I wasn't a girly girl, I didn't care for the color pink or carry a purse with me.  I liked to be outside and run around.  I liked to keep up with the guys and eat well.  I had an appetite.  What can I say.  I didn't do the prim thing but I could speak well.  I didn't care about barbie's but I enjoyed action figures & sports.  I was cultured.  I knew about America and Africa and Europe.  I loved science and gym, yet this was all thrown back in my face many times over.

 

See I learned quickly, that in order to be accepted you could be smart but you had to be sexy, you could speak well but had to be a class clown as well, you could not like sports but you had to be artistic, you could love sports but you had to be girly.  It was a balancing act and if you didn't fit it, then you were out of luck and that's where I found myself even among the blacks.  I was different, really different and that didn't work so well.  Not in my white Christian school, not in white suburbia, not even in church.  Nope, that didn't work.  

 

For all the oxymorons that I seemed to have exhibited, life became hard for me.  I began to understand, that I wasn't pretty enough.  I had the attributes, I had the body parts but my strong personality and refusal to back down didn't bode to well.  I just didn't understand why people kept picking on me.  I, for the life of me couldn't understand.  I didn't understand why my proper speech was a problem for both blacks and whites as well.  I just didn't get it.  I couldn't understand why my parents choice of lifestyle didn't farewell with others.  We didn't live in some mansion yet it was a problem to know that I had a maid.  We didn't drive the fanciest cars but it was an issue that I traveled to Africa every summer.  The contradictions made life nearly impossible to live with.  

 

What I remember so clearly was feeling alone.  Was feeling like I had no one to talk to.  Was feeling like I had no one to relate to.  Was feeling like I had no one to defend me.  In all my time there at the school, no one did defend.  Well at least not a peer.  The only person I remember ever standing up for me was my 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Episcopo.  She was spanish and she was amazing.  She saw me for me and helped spur me on.  She came to my side when she saw the bullying and teasing I was constantly going through and did something about it.  She took me in for myself and never questioned it but gently molded it to see greatness come out.  She was Amazing and still to this day it brings me great joy thingking about her.  She showed me Jesus.  She showed me she cared and for that I am forever grateful. 

 

See when I was recounting this story to my roommate, I started to cry because this is what I remembered.  I remembered out of my entire schooling career one teacher who made a difference.  It hurt and it still hurts to think that no one had my back or stood up for me.  It hurt to know how alone I was.  It still does, I'm not going to lie.  It hurts to see a little girl not understand why her being different was such a problem and to see her have to constantly defend herself.  Why wasn't anyone there for her?  I honestly don't know.  But it did help her seek Jesus.  It helped her really foster a relationship with Jesus.  Maybe that's why no one was there.

 

I still don't have answers.  High school was not the glory days that people make it out to be.  It really wasn't for me.  If anything those 'friends' I had in high school I don't even talk to.  Once graduation came, institutional ties were broken and severed and life moved on.  Middle and high school to me where a facade, an empty shell of broken experiences.  They did nothing but perpetuate the ignorance and hurt that being different seems to attach itself to in this country.  And worst of all being in a Christian school, as great as the education was the real learning experience was heart breaking.  I can't say that I met people whom I have such a deep connection with.  Nope. I would be lying.  I can't say that there are life time friendships that were fostered.  Nope, I'd be lying again.  What I can say is that I learned.  I learned to let go and trust in God.  I learned that truly God wasn't joking when He said that 'my people perish for lack of knowledge.'  The very place that was supposed to foster hope, bring unity and acceptance did just the opposite.

 

I've never been the person when looking back wished I was back in middle school or high school.  I look back at my life and thank God that I made it through such a rough time in my life.  A time that literally almost took my life.  I look back at the experiences and say 'Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good!  His faithful love endures forever." Ps. 118:1

 

There is healing that needs to take place and I know that but at least for the first time in my life I can be quite honest about this point in time in my life.  It definitely wasn't fun.  It wasn't pleasant.  I don't have to greatest memories of school but in it all God is good because I made it through and I have a relationship with Jesus that I wouldn't trade for the world.

 

 



Rare

 

So in thinking about a lot of things I'm coming to the conclusion that being honest, true unadulterated honesty is very rare.  Think about it, how many people do you know tell the truth all the time?  I don't mean brutal truth that its sole purpose is to hurt but just an adultered, pure honesty.  I don't know too many people like that including myself.  The reason that I started to think about this is because we look for people to be transparent, we say that we want to know the heart of a person, we want to know there deep truths, who they really are and yet we do not live like that ourselves.  Instead we have so many defense mechanisms and boundaries up that we don't know how to truly be honest.

 

We say we want a partner who is honest but do you really?  We say we are all about being real but are we?  We say that we always come with the realness and portray the truth of who we are but do we?  I know for me that this is a hard truth to accept.  I am not exempt from any of this at all.  I am in the same boat with every single person walking the face of this earth.  We as humans do not want honesty.  We want to be lied to and in turn lie to others and that is the real honest truth!  We do not know how to be honest nor do we want honesty because if were to really take a deep look at ourselves and be very honest with how we are we would see the truth for what it is, we enjoy lies. 

 

In the past few months and recently weeks, I've had to do some real digging and had to be very honest with myself about myself and why I am the way I am and trust you me, it was not easy.  If anything, it hurt... a lot!!!  The truth hurts because I see how for so long I've lied to myself about myself.  So really now taking time to have to sit at the feet of Jesus, repent and have Him strip me in order to reveal the real me has been quite painful.  This process is not something that many people even Christians are willing to go through.  I know I fuss and fight back and walk away and ignore and just want to give up at times but it's in those moments that Jesus loves me even that much more. 

 

The reason behind all this stripping and being honest really came down to a simple truth, Jesus wants me to be honest with Him... in everything.  This sounds cliche and we tell ourselves but of course He does and it makes sense but how many of us really go there and are truly honest with Christ?  Not in a disrespectful manner but in a heart to heart.  I know I wasn't.  I know I could be honest with Jesus about certain aspects in my life concerning calling, purpose, ministry you know the things we deem to be 'Christian' in our lives.  Yea, I could be honest about this.  But to be honest about my personal desires, my hurts in those deep places, my short comings and my true worries, nope, I wasn't going to go there and say anything about it.  I was going to deal with those things solo or just put them on the back burner because I felt that they were petty, not important and just plain didn't matter.

 

For whatever reason, these past few months have been the hardest because Jesus has been showing me and telling me that He wants to know about those issues I put on the back burner.  I couldn't wrap my mind around it.  I couldn't understand why He wanted to know about those things and then I was reminded about Ps. 139.  We usually like wearing out this Psalm because of the verse that says I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Yep, we love quoting that part of the scripture because it makes us feel so good but Jesus showed me from verse one: O LORD, you have examined my heart and know everything about me.  Right there!!!  We gloss over this part and it's the very first verse.  I know I have glossed over that verse many times but no longer.  To know that Jesus has examined my heart and knows everything about me, that made me start to understand that He already knows about those backburner issues.  He's always known and it's important to Him. 

 

I don't know about you but this made me think about His omniscience.  He knows everything but not in some overview but in a detailed way.  If Jesus knows the number of hairs on my head that tells me it's an intimate knowing so then where would I get this idea that He doesn't care about my 'petty' issues?  For me it's come from a lot of influences, family, friends, society, racism, church but the real bottom line issue is sin.  It's a lack of humility and pride in me.  I didn't want to tell Jesus and be unadulteratedly honest with Him about those issues.  Since I've grown up in church and a Christian household, I learned and cultivated a style to speak to God but not about petty issues.  It was more important to pray and lift up those who are sick, to preach the gospel, to be in ministry and minister to the poor.  My issues they have no involvement or place in ministry.  I had to get over myself and look to Christ.  I surrendered myself, repented and moved on. 

 

Not so.  Not knowing that those things were still in the back of my mind and to a point where I couldn't get rid of the thoughts.  Where the thoughts would over take me.  Where when I wasn't doing ministry, my mind would go there.  It started to just bring itself up and so I did the church thing.  I prayed.  I cried out and surrendered again.  I told Jesus to take this cup from me and I kept it moving.  Well now, I've reached a point where I can no longet do that.  It's too much and Jesus is pressing me to tell Him.  How can I tell Him that I don't want to be single anymore?  How can I tell Him that what my father said 2 weeks ago is affecting me?  How can I tell Him that I'm scared about being myself?  How can I tell Jesus that i don't feel wanted?  How can I tell Jesus that I still don't feel like I fit in?  How??????  That was my question.  How can I tell Him any of this?  This is petty to people.  This is frivolous.  The kingdom is at hand and that is where my mind is supposed to be.  In ministry.  In souls, in preaching the gospel.  Not in feeling that I still feel like a little girl, not that I'm missing my dad, not that I so desire to have a family.  Nope, singleness is what He has given me and I am supposed to be focused on ministry.

 

My life is supposed to be an open book to Him but what happens when it's not?  That's why I say we don't really like honesty.  Because what we see as surrender and honesty is not what Jesus sees.  He already knows everything about you, so why then do we hide?  Why are we so afraid to just speak to Him about those issues?  My friend put it in a real simple but tangible way.  She said it's like when her son spills a cup of water on the floor and then scrambles to clean it up.  Not knowing that she's there looking and watching and saw what happened.  Then he comes to her and talks to her about all these good things that happened that day and he's just smiling like nothing happened.  She's just waiting for him to say, "Mom, I spilled a cup of water on the floor."  As simple as that is, that how Jesus is with us.  He already knows and He sees, He's just waiting for us to confess those things.  He wants the confession so He can tell you, "I know, I just wanted you to say something."  In that simple phrase Jesus is telling you, He already knew but He just needs you to speak so that now it can be dealt with.  Jesus isn't vengeful and looking to tell you 'I told you so!' or rub it in but to let you know He cares.

 

He cares about the very things you care about.  If it is a concern for you, it's a concern for Him.  God is our father and He wants to be that true father but He can't if you don't allow Him to and this is where I am.  I want God to be my father, the father who cares about my the pain and insecurity I've carried around since I was a child.  He wants to be that father that can hold and embrace you and tell you how beautiful you are even when no one else said anything to you.  God wants to know that you desire to be married and have a family.  He wants to hear that you fear being by yourself.  He wants to hear you say that you worry about your family.  God wants to hear you tell Him what you may consider the silly things, that there's this guy you think is cute.  That you like having a flower garden.  I don't know.  God just wants to hear you tell Him about the truth about yourself no matter how cheesy, deep or petty it may seem in your eyes. 

 

Psalm 139 brings it back, that He knows you better than you know yourself and that His thoughts for you are amazing.  He thinks the world of you but you have to be honest and let Him know how you feel.  I don't always feel pretty, or competent, or put together or even worth it.  But in telling Him these things, I am letting Jesus into those closed off areas and He is slowly but surely healing me.  It takes humility to tell Jesus how you really feel about different things and without pretense.  My biggest issue was to tell Him I don't think I'm worth having a partner because of how I lived.  I don't think that I deserve one of His sons.  And though people can quote book, chapter, verse to me, it really hasn't done anything.  I needed to hear from Him myself.  I needed to know that He says in Psalm 139:17-18 How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.  They cannot be numbered! I can’t even count them; they outnumber the grains of sand!  And when I wake up, you are still with me!  I needed that to really sink into my being but it took me being so honest about who I am and how I feel and then to let it be.  I still have this fear of being hurt once I open myself up to Jesus and I am not going to lie about that because I equate His responses to man but Jesus is not man.  This has been a long, hard journey but I am no where close to the end. 

 

All I know is that if we are really going to live fully surrendered lives then that means we need to be honest with Jesus.  He's standing there watching you spill the water, He's just waiting for you to say so.  I hope that you would be humble enough to just say, "Jesus, I spilled the water and tried cleaning it up myself."

 

 



Weak

I'm weak.  I'm not as strong a people make me out to be.  I mean honestly, I don't know what makes others say that about me.  I am weak and really more so tired!  I hear a lot about people saying they're tired and just need sleep but I'm talking beyond just the physical capacity of being tired.  You know.... that tired that sleep can't seem to fix.  It's that tired where you just don't know what to do.  I've been physically tired because of running around so much, not enough time to get done everything and you just crash.  And then if you've been like me, spiritually tired where your body is fine but your spirit needs some time to reconnect and recharge.  Get things back in order.  But have you ever been in a place where you are both simultaneously?????  That's where I am!  It's a hard place to be in.  You are physically exhausted but you have nothing spiritually to connect you or rejuvenate you.  You feel like your stuck..... you question everything, you question your existence, you question your purpose, you even question your living..... def not an easy spot to be in.  You want for things to change but you don't know how.... You know or at least believe you were made for more.  You just want a straight answer for all the mess and crap you've gone through that has brought you here.  I mean maybe you don't but I know I do.  I want to know the who, what, where, when and why.

It's in these sacred spaces that I have to turn to Christ and look at Him like a little girl just wanting some understanding.  I look up to Him like as though I'm sitting on His lap, with a teddy bear in tow, and eyes big and wide open just wanting to know, why?  Not me screaming why, but a soft whisper.  With tears trailing down my face on either side, not mad or upset just longing.  Longing for an answer that would make sense to everything that is happening.  Then He does something so different me makes me remember my oldest brother, a conversation we had..... it makes me laugh, then like clock work cry.... more tears, He makes me think about mother and how she loves me.... I mean how she sooooo loves me, she would sacrifice and has sacrificed me, how whenever I got home from the hospital she was there with me, her presence casting it's unconditional love on me.... Then He made me think of my 2 closets girlfriends and at times one would just come and jump on me and hug me just because she loved me and how the other one would sit with me and encourage me to live.... to not be afraid and make me smile and show me to just live!  

With tears steadily flowing down my face, I look up and He smiles.  He really doesn't say anything but smiles at me and for whatever reason, it works.  I know it will all be ok.  No matter how tired, how at times I feel like Paul in Philippians where he tells the chrisitians that he would like to die to with Christ.  I understand.  I totally understand.  However, Paul comes back and says that it's better for him to stay and do what God has called him to.  Christ points me back to His scripture and shows me in that moment that though my fears be valid, He's more valid than any of that put together.  Honestly, He reminds me that He loves me.  That I am His child and He loves me.  That alone gives me strength and purpose.  

I am writing this on my front porch where I have been watching people for a good part of the day wondering what they're thinking and really thinking if they know that the bottom line of the gospel is love.  Not all these other things we like to attach to it but simply 'God Loves You!'  I know I constantly forget this... God loves me!!!  This is my purpose it's to show how much God loves His people, His creation, His masterpiece!  It's at these times when I'm purely empty that no matter what questions or misunderstandings and wanting to knows I have that my strength is regained, sitting on His lap, looking up into His eyes, with my teddy bear in tow and see His unconditional Love through His hands, the scars and the look He gives me, telling me, "I LOVE YOU!"