The bitter, the sweet

Growing up, I hated my daily dose of cod liver oil.


I would frown as I watch my father pour the liquid. The thick soup would pool and glisten as it sat in the spoon.... 


...waiting to torture my tastebuds. 


The fishy smell, the aspiriny taste, the slimy gooey texture coated my tongue and made me gag. 


Afterwards, I'd always have to kill the aftertaste. 


A mug of fruit punch.


A couple of bites from a chocolate bar. 


A handful of mini-Twizzlers. 


The sweetness would soak my mouth and make me forget about the past nastiness. 


This week was like that. 


At the beginning of the seven days, a moment in a slice of a minute bothered me.


Bothered me to a point where it shifted my mood. My usual placid self felt stretched. 


My mind became a jungle of threads, each thought a different colored cord that curled and tangled. 


That night, I opened my mouth to pray but couldn't say a word. 


I didn't know what to say. 


I just knew the heavy sick unsure feeling that I was sitting in.


Yet it's so amazing how God answers those prayers you never even speak. 


In the center of the week, a good friend poured some things into me that truly caused a lift. 


Sprinkles of sugar crystals

"You're beautiful."

Pearls of caramel and chocolate. 

"You're cool and comfortable."

A dollop of buttercream frosting. 

"And I mean it."

His words made me smile and marvel at how God could know exactly what I needed.

BFF (Part 2)

The sunlight stung my eyes as I gazed off in the distance, hoping to see Ebony's car. 

She's coming. 

We haven't seen each other in a while so she has to come. 

We can never seem to meet up anymore. 

I hope we can become close again.

I hope she's coming. 

Ebony had been my best friend for the past two years. Our friendship was intense. During that time, we leaned on and stuck with each other through much turmoil.

Cheating boyfriends. 

Hospital emergency rooms. 

Failed midterm exams. 

Divorce.  

But, through one event, we were peeled away from each other. It was just for a little while, and I thought we could easily pick up where we left off. 

But when a season ends, there is nothing to pick up. 

In every relationship, in every friendship, people grow and mature and change. 

New interests are developed. 

Perspectives are broadened. 

Backbones are strengthened. 

Sharp tongues are made tender. 

And sometimes that old friendship becomes too small, too big, too too for the new you. 

Maybe that's why God escorts friends in and out of our lives by durations. A person placed in your space to enrich and enhance your life but for a period of time.

Some for a lifetime. 

Some for a half-decade. 

A few friendships are made to last while others are meant to survive for a moment. 

The more I waited though, the more I realized that my moment with Ebony was ending. 

I rocked back and forth on my toes, curling my upper lip to block the pending tears. 

And it worked...until my phone rang. 

"Can't make it....Sorry, maybe another time."

Another time never came.

Lava Lamp

My friend Amy let out a soft sigh as she swallowed her last spoonful of chicken noodle soup. We were eating lunch on a patio, leisurely sharing updates on our lives. It was Amy's turn at the mic, and she had just finished vocalizing a new development with a former boyfriend. 

She plopped her now empty spoon on the table and said,

"I hate him." 

"No, you don't." I soothed. "You hate the situation."

Amy closed her eyes for a moment and let her lips curl into a frown. "I hate this feeling."

I hate it, too.  

That tremble you feel when what was in harmony is now in discord. 

When desires...

....and fears....

...and emotion...

....melt from a solid foundation and ooze down our throats to bob.......up

                                                                                         .....and down.....

like a lava lamp. 

Elements of yourself floating back and forth in different directions...

...and in separate paths...

...but never together. 

B'day

I tend to get pensive around this time of year. 


My birthday.


The change in age makes me think...


praise...


wonder...


anticipate...


reflect...


In the 9,499 days since I've been living, I 

...survived a death sentence predicted at birth.

....created a clothing catalog made up of designs modeled by Betty and Veronica

....began a lifelong love affair with a not-so-secret vice.

....sprayed myself with mace.

....learned the essential arts of tongue rolling, gum popping, and eyebrow arching. 

....became a new creature like this.

....skipped class.

....held a guy's hand.

....got the hang of stepping. 

...found out what grown-ups do all day.

...contributed to a 401K.

...made friends.

...helped friends.

...lost friends.

...buried friends.

...had my heart crushed.

...had my heart warmed.

...gave birth to dreams.

....suffocated fears. 

...made others proud.

...made myself proud.

...learned to love myself...

fancy myself

adore myself

cherish myself. 

I read over the past 9,499 life pages with no regret. 


Looking forward with faith and no fear. 

BFF (Part 1)

It was happening again.

To my right stood Wanda, loudly voicing her displeasure, her nape length ponytail wagging with every word. To my left was Charlotte. Her jelly bean-colored barrettes were clamped over her braids and were as frozen as the frown on her face.

And in the middle was me, trying to figure out how not to take sides…again.

At 9 years old, I was getting my first taste of a relationship where one rules over all, a dysfunctional friendship.

The three of us enjoyed being together. Playing jump rope on the playground. Eating Ellio’s frozen pizza in the school cafeteria. Talking excitedly about the newest toys in the Toys “R” Us Sunday circular.

But eventually, there were times when one of us would do something that would completely disrupt the peace.

Wanda’s peace. 

Maybe we didn’t see Michael Jackson’s latest video. Maybe we had spearmint lip balm while she had cherry. Maybe it was because we didn’t wait for her after lunch. Maybe we liked Pepsi instead of Dr. Pepper.

Whatever the reason, Wanda would complain and usually Charlotte would counter back, resulting in a rip in our friendship blanket.

I would try not to take sides…but I would always end up taking hers.

During recess, I’d walk along the length of the playground with Wanda, half-listening as she complained about Charlotte’s latest act of insubordination. I’d scan the concrete for Charlotte and would finally spot her, playing happily, oblivious to the invisible friction that was rubbing me raw.

But then, as Charlotte probably figured, Wanda got over it. The rip was mended and all was well again.

Until next time.

We were 9-year-old girls who eventually grew into 20-something women and outgrew such things.

But thinking back made me wonder:

What type of friendship can survive when one friend is being held hostage?

Where one friend can’t be free?

A muzzle when you speak?

Pushing your actions through a sieve?

Filtering your desires and your fears?

How can something so essential as being bare, being yourself before a friend launch an assault of insults?

A refusal of attention?

The disintegration of a friendship?

Or was it a friendship to begin with?

Mask

Recently, I met up with a good friend who I hadn't seen in a while. Over plates of crispy fried chicken and serenaded by a classic R & B mixtape, Beth filled me in on the parts of her life I missed: Weddings, births, school, the whole ball of wax. 


While I scrolled through her digital camera of captured moments, I paused at a picture of her nephew with his mother. She beamed as I marveled at how fast he grew. But when I asked about his mother's relationship with Beth's brother, she sighed. 

 "I think they moved too fast. By the time the baby came, he was trying to figure out if he even liked her at all. "

Strong words. 


True words. 


Sometimes, you can get so caught up with a pretty face and a seductive smile, thinking that such a person is going to be a tremendous addition to your heart. 


But though they look good...


though they smell good...


though they feel good...


when all that is gone, will I still like them? 


 Is there more to our relationship than what feels good to my senses?


Get clear eyes. Lust can be a consummate mask.

Throwing stones

It's painful to watch.

Hurts to listen to.

Troubling to read.

Smooth gray pebbles of verdicts. 

Crumbly mud balls filled with disdain.

Jagged caustic boulders thrown...

hurled...

tossed.....

targeted...

at her. 

There are many sides, perspectives, and truths to the Fantasia Barrino situation, facets that are unknown to most. But the lack of complete knowledge hasn't stopped people from making absolute judgments and statements about everything involving her.  

Her lack of morals.

Her talent.

Her beauty. 

Herself. 

It's so easy for us to gather up stones to punish someone who has, publicly or privately, fallen short. 

But the truth is we all have. 

Leave the rocks on the ground where they belong. 
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"If you judge people, you have no time to love them."
- Mother Teresa

Fearless

The younger me was such a scaredy cat. 

Dark rooms frightened me. The thought of monsters made me cringe with terror. Dozens of doll portraits my aunt had displayed in her house made my heart freeze with panic.

But, hands down, the biggest fear I had was the ice cream truck. 

While walking home from school, my sister and I would pass a gated parking lot that contained a white ice cream truck.  Emblazoned on the sides was a red-haired clown wearing a wide maniacal grin. The truck never seemed to move but would sit there, day after day, month after month.

The rumor was any kid who walked by the truck would get taken and never seen again. 

Bad things happened to these kids. 

Scary things. 

So, when approaching the lot, my heart would beat faster, my eyes would grow wider, and my legs would whip past, hoping to outpace the scary girl-and-boy hating clown inside the mysterious truck. 

I told my mother, hoping she would provide some type of protection 

But instead, she said, 

"You have nothing to worry about."

I have nothing to worry about? Did this woman love me? Does she not know that there is a crazy creepy clown inside an ice cream truck? I'm going to get kidnapped the next time I walk by and she says don't worry?

"There's nothing to worry about," she said without a hint of concern. "If there was something serious like that going on, it would be on the news."

Drunk with disbelief, I stared at her from behind my strawberry milk colored glasses and concluded that she indeed did not love me. She was crazy. 

And she was right. 

The more I thought about her reasoning, the more it made sense, the more my fear slunk away. And though I never found out the story behind the abandoned ice cream truck, nothing ever happened. No child was abducted or maimed or hurt. 

It was an unfounded fear.

Being an adult, she knew more than me, and knew that nothing like that could have happened. 

Trusting her and her wisdom took away my alarm.

Most of our fears lie in our lack of control or lack of knowledge about the matter. Wonderful to know that trusting the intelligence and mastery of Jesus can leave us fearless. 

--------

"Since God assured us, 'I'll never let you down, never walk off and leave you,' we can boldly quote, 'God is there, ready to help; I'm fearless no matter what. Who or what can get to me?'"

-Hebrews 13:5-6

Trash

In most downtown cities, homeless people are a dime a dozen. Dirt streaked bag ladies limping past. Fuzzy bearded men clutching empty McDonald's cups to catch a few flying quarters.  A person, man or woman, shrouded in a ratty blanket underneath a bus shelter. They can blend into the background of life, barely catching anyone's eye. 

But this one did. 

One afternoon, I saw a man sifting through a garbage can. He was an older man, around 50. It was obvious he was looking for food. People breezed past him, often cutting a wide turn to avoid any contact with him. But for some reason, he touched a tender part of me. I went into a nearby store, bought some food from a hot bar, and walked over to him. 

"Sir," I said softly. " I have some food for you."

He didn't acknowledge me. I stood in front of him and repeated, "I have some food for you."

But he still didn't respond. As I looked closer at his face, I saw that his eyes were glazed with intent, feverishly pawing through the trash. 

I stood for a few seconds longer but it became obvious that he didn't want the food. Feeling slightly embarrassed, I walked away, leaving him to search for what I was already offering him. 

Months later, God replayed this memory to show me something astounding:

We do this to God all the time. 

When God is handing out abundant and full lives, we ignore it to take part in a fractured conflicted existence.

We say no to healthy loving relationships in favor of toxic dead ones. 

 We refuse His offering of freedom, contentment, and purpose to stay put in our complacent empty niches. 

We take trips to garbage dumps...

We munch on decayed fruit and rotten meat....

We fall asleep on crumbled newspapers and soiled sheets....

Why do we do that when God is giving away,giving away, so much more? 

When He wants to give you so much more than you realize?

More than pause

Ever feel like you're spinning even when you're standing still? 

I sat down on my couch and closed my eyes. I had finally reached the end of a long work day. My belly was full, my house was clean, and my forehead was cool. 

But my mind wasn't. 

Prayer requests flashing red. 

Family issues buzzing like bumblebees. 

Unfocused purpose gliding sloppily around my heart. 

Names and cares of friends pounding on my memory. 

Unfulfilled desires tiptoe as they chant softly. 

Insecurities of every kind boom and clang intervallically.

Behind my shut eyelids is a merry-go-round, twirling at an unbelievable speed. 

It made me want to jump off. 

Shut the door. 

Click off the lights. 

Get away from this life for a bit. 

More than put my world on pause but put my world on 

Stop.

Erase.

Refresh.

----

"In the multitude of my anxieties within me,Your comforts delight my soul."

-Psalm 94:19

Dudes Don't

It's common knowledge that men and women are different. Men have greater physical strength. Women are better at relating emotionally. A man's body is a series of angles while a woman is a composite of curves.

But who knew that even the little everyday things both of us face flow differently?

My coworker Bernard broke it down to me:

Dining

"If I go out to eat, alone or with a guy friend, I sit at the bar," he said.

"What!?" I exclaimed. "You wouldn't sit at a table?"

He turned his head side to side in disapproval. "No, we gotta sit at the bar. Especially if I'm eating alone. If I'm by myself, at least I can talk to the bartender or look at the T.V. If a man sits alone at a table, he just looks sad."

Hmm. "Not even a booth though? If there were four of you...?"

He sucked his teeth as he pondered.

Finally, he said, "Maybe."

Movies

"When I go to the movies with one of my boys, we don't sit next to each other."

I laughed. "Why not?" Every movie I've gone to see, whether it was with a man or a woman, we sat side by side, occasionally brushing elbows as we shared the use of the cup holder/armrest.

"Men just don't. He has to be a seat or two over or up. The only guy I sit right next to is my brother."

Bernard shook out his arm as he finalized, "You need that space."

Beds

When I have guests over, I usually give them my bed while I sleep on my couch or an airbed.

But Bernard shook his head at that.

"Only my mother can sleep in my bed," he declared. "I had a friend of mine come over and I didn't see him brush his teeth once...he can't sleep in my bed."

I was intrigued. "Really? What if a friend of yours had major surgery and had to stay with you. Where would they sleep?"

A handful of seconds passed.

"My couch pulls out. They'll be fine."

I told him," Well, there have been times when I'm visiting a friend where we share a bed."

At that admission, Bernard responded with a blank stare.

"No...just no. Dudes don't do that."

Our differences are indeed amazing.