30Layers30Days

Waiting For Morning

11/21/2017

Your heat kicked on with a forceful blast of 82 degree air shooting through your vents. Your candles were lit and gospel music was playing through your Bluetooth speaker set.

You were praying. Worshiping. Surrendering.

It had been a long time since you allowed yourself the time, and space to pray. You were so consumed with anger for God that you didn't want to talk to Him. You barely wanted to acknowledge His presence since, for so long, it felt like He'd been absent. You wanted to ignore Him and everything He previously told you about His plan for your life. This night, though, you needed something different.

Being mad at God wasn't yielding you any results different than the ones that got you in this downward spiral, anyway. The only direction you could think to go was toward Him; so you did. You filled your apartment with the sound of worship and ushered your heart into a spirit of praise and thanksgiving. You started by thanking God for all He'd done. At first you started with a generic thanks, "thank You for life, health, and strength." You then got deeper, "thank You for the love and support I've been receiving during this trying time in my life." The more you thanked God, the more you thought of to thank Him for, despite your year being full of tragedy and mourning (something only definable by your own standards).

2017: Get the Hell On was the title of this year's memoir. You were determined to turn it around. You finally got out of your own way, and knelt at the feet of The One who could make it all better. "Lord, please send the morning." The time was 11:42pm. But, you knew as soon as your 6:00am alarm rang, you'd be new. You'd be restored. You knew that, as soon as the sun peaked through your blinds the next day, your pain would be washed away. You had hope in that much...at least.

Morning came and went. You felt no different. You were still angry. Still broken. You expected a miracle to happen as the sun rose, and were quickly reminded: not today.

So here you are, another day, another night, another moment, waiting for morning...again. Another morning. Another try. Another attempt at healing and wholeness and growth. Another attempt at redemption and restoration. Praying today but waiting until tomorrow to feel it. To hear it. To see it. To experience it.

Morning is neither a day nor time.

All the times you prayed for better tomorrow's, you hadn't realized that the tomorrow you were hoping for still rested in today.

Morning is a state of mind. It's a state of being. It's a recognition. It's a peace. It's an aura. Morning is with us every time we choose to look toward the light instead of resting in darkness. Morning is with us every time we decide to crawl through the pain. Morning is with us every time we decide to get up and fight another day; choosing not to be consumed by our circumstance, but to live above it.

Many of us get lost in the thought that morning is a place in time. That we have to wait until the sun rises again. That we have to sit still until the the top of the year, or the first of the month. Few of us recognize that morning is wherever you make it -- in the middle of the night, the second week of October, or 2:00 on a cloudy Thursday afternoon. Morning is the moment you decide to reawaken yourself, and find the joy you've been praying for. Morning is the point in which you accept God's will for your life, and adorn yourself in armor suitable for this type of battle. Morning lies within you, not in time, or days, or Earth's movement around the sun.

You're told in church to just wait for morning. That you may have to endure for another moment, but morning is merely hours away. Sis, morning is right here. Right now. Morning is the decision you make to be better. To do better. To feel better.

So next time you pray for morning, don't rush to bed. Don't count the hours. And, don't just wait for the sun to begin peaking through your blinds. Instead, use that very moment to declare morning over your life, and recognize when it has already arrived.

• 0 Comments

• Share:

30Layers30Days

Untitled.

11/26/2016

Life has a painful, gut-wrenching way of putting sh*t into perspective. It has a way of knocking us down after we've fought so hard to stand; to bring us back to our knees either in fear or surrender. It cares nothing about our time, our desires or our plans. It delivers the messages it's meant to when it sees fit, with no concern for our emotional, physical or mental well-being. It does, it says, it is, whatever the hell it's meant to be, at the moment it's meant to be it, and then it's done. It ends. It's over.

In the short time we have, we're beaten over our heads for our obedience and our mistakes. For the good decisions and the bad ones. For living the way we dream, and for sometimes falling short. But in all of it—all that life hands us to consume as wildly and boldly as each breath—we're taught to take it. We're taught to digest it. To hold it, as effed up as it may come, and to trust that we can make it through. To trust that we've been equipped to handle the damaging realities we've been forced to accept.

To swallow death, disease, and depression. To respond to hatred, anger, and injustices. To make acquaintance with insecurities, brokenness, and heartache. To affix ourselves to the burden of unbearable pain and the uncertainty of tomorrow's torture—all while, maintaining the minimum level of hope that'll allow us to crawl into tomorrow.

We're not uplifted, we're numb. And tired. And hurt. We're sad; and the encouraging words aren't enough in this moment. Some of us are ready to sink to the bottom of the bathtub, bubbles lining our foreheads. We're ready to inhale near the bottom of the porcelain. We're ready throw in the towel. We're tired of fighting a battle we feel that we're constantly losing. Tired of taking two steps forward and five steps back. Tired of being told to 'tighten up' and to 'be strong'. Tired of getting unsolicited advice from people with closed minds and uncompassionate hearts.

So many of us are sitting outside on the ledge of the 15th floor, gazing at the dreariness of the night sky, relating it to our dimming light. We're clenching on to the railing beneath our palms, frightened by the envisioned feeling of concrete beneath our swinging feet. We're tired of this life but equally tired of being in this place—on this ledge—yet again. Battling between the reality of jumping and the ideology of hope. We're lost. We're afraid. We're diminished.

...but then the moonlight peeks from beneath the night's clouds and, again, reminds us that despite the darkness surrounding our existence, life is beautiful. That, our light is still shining. And, that we are equipped to handle it.

• 0 Comments

• Share:

30Layers30Days

Rather Not Know

11/17/2016

I’d rather not know the battles I’ll have to endure on this journey of mine, because I’m sure if I did I wouldn’t take it. I wouldn’t step foot out of this bed knowing the demons I’d have to fight on any given day. I wouldn’t move a single muscle if I knew how my enemies planned to take me out. I operate better by faith. By trusting God’s knowledge and the path He’s already laid out for me. Knowing that when I don’t know, it’ll put full control in His hands, instead of my own. 

I’d rather not know the pain I will experience, or the heartache approaching my door step, for fear that I’ll run from it. I want to live. Live hard. Live boldly. And I know that if I knew what this life would bring—what living would mean—then I wouldn’t live at all. So I’d rather not know a thing; no matter how often I beg God to tell me, or how frequently I complain about the uncertainty of the future, I would prefer to keep it that way. 

I'd rather not know the whens, hows, or whats. I'd rather just endure. Because living to experience, rather than avoid, is much more fulfilling. It's much more liberating. It provides me with the growth I long for, and stretches my faith and obedience in ways knowing never could. I'd rather not risk my spirituality and the course of my future; risk my stories and the art I use to tell them; risk losing my test, and thus, my testimony by knowing. By having all the answers all the time. By reading minds and seeing the future. I'd rather not. 

We work our whole lives in anticipation for great things to come. We do our best work when we want the best results—even when we don’t know what those results will be. We wish for change, transition, growth; and face the reality that those things come through trials. They come through disruptions and discomfort. They come through depression and outrage. Through the inciting of emotions that force us to think differently, we become different. And these things are not possible without uncertainty. Without obliviousness. Without surprise. 

I don't want to be scared out of my future, or worried out of my blessings. I want to walk blindly, into the arms of a knowing God who'll handle every task necessary as a result of his omnipotence, while I follow in agreement to a life I couldn't have ever imagined, in a world that I may have destroyed had I journeyed alone because I knew. 

So I'd rather not know. 

They say ignorance is bliss. To that I agree. 

• 0 Comments

• Share:

#TEATIME

How I Heal

11/10/2016

1. Desire to be healed

2. Pray

3. Believe/Faith

That's what I wrote down as I studied biblical principles of healing. After my most recent breakup, I was ready to get the process started. Ready to get over the rough patches and the resurfacing of the hidden parts of myself, introduced in these last 2.5 years.

Though, embracing the great times, I was ready to move on. To embrace the new, great times, with a new great being, all while acknowledging that I must heal first. Heal from the pain, the insecurities, the arguments, and from it being the most amazing love of my life, despite the rumble and tumble we’ve put ourselves through. A love that stretched us and strengthened us in ways I’m sure neither of us could’ve imagined. And, while longing for this love of transition and growth to last, it just wasn’t—to no fault of mine.

I wanted to heal because I didn't want to be weighed down by the hardship of a broken heart. I wanted to heal because love is too precious to let bitterness ruin it. Love so pure. So unconditional. I experienced that and I want it again. So I know, with such a request, I must enter with a clean slate. Completely cleansed, restored, and renewed.

I started my healing process by deleting phone numbers and social media handles. I thought it would be easier to rid myself of him completely, like I had done in all my other relationships. I wanted to erase the trace of him from my life; but it was hard to do that with the smell of his cologne lingering in my apartment, and the prints of his fingertips still etched into my skin. I knew this process would be hard—he was my best friend, knew all of me, and loved me in spite of it—but I didn’t think it’d be impossible. How many times did I have to block him in order for me (or him) to stay away?

Weeks passed and we still occupied restaurants together, churches together, and miscellaneous events geared toward our blackness together (Greek events and rallies to name a few).  I kept calling him for my biggest celebrations and my biggest mistakes—and he, me. The healing that I needed wasn’t happening because I was still (emotionally) involved. He was still there. How can I heal with his presence still wrapped up in mine?

God said: “heal now,” and I struggled to figure out how. I made up in my mind that no matter what my situation was, how often we continued to talk, or how many outings we had, I was determined to work through it—to heal—for me.

I realized that sometimes healing happens in the middle of the situation you need healing from. It happens in the middle of the sidewalk while the rain is pouring down. It happens during the car ride and the many difficult conversations. I didn't want to welcome healing during those moments. I wanted to heal my way. In my space. On my own. I wanted to heal away from him. But somehow, we kept reconnecting. We kept being friends. And, God...God wanted me to heal...now.

My biggest heartache, caused by my most meaningful love, needed to be healed in the very presence of that love. I recognized that part of the healing I was longing for—trying to chase down—was in the friendship we forged.

How do I heal? Through revelation. Through strength. Through consistency. I heal in a direction of growth and prosperity. I heal with my mind, eyes and heart on my healer. I heal constantly. Because as life happens, so should healing. In and out of situations; over and over again.

I heal through the utter desire for healing, through the prayer I need to get it, and the faith I need to believe it's already done—whether the situation is over, or I’m right in the middle of it.

• 0 Comments

• Share:

30Layers30Days

The Next Puzzle Piece

11/11/2015

The next puzzle piece will be the weird one. The one with 4 outputs and only 1 input. It's going to be a piece that doesn't even fit this puzzle. A piece that'll have to be forcefully placed next to the piece that seems to match closest. It'll be the one bright piece. The piece that isn't even shown on the front of the box. 

It'll be the piece that doesn't even make sense. The piece that must've accidentally been put in the box. It'll be a loner piece. An individual piece. It'll be the piece I hold onto closest because it'll indicate another puzzle is somewhere. It'll mean that the gloomy storm puzzle sitting on my table isn't the only one available. It'll mean that there's one with vibrant colors and a sunshine. The next puzzle piece will be the most important one. It'll be the one that starts the next puzzle. The one that'll connect all the other brighter pieces together. It'll be the piece that starts my next chapter. 

Life is made up of infinite pieces. Pieces we avoid picking up. Pieces we'd much rather leave in the box, or leave spread across the table. Pieces we'd prefer to walk by without acknowledging; without finishing. But when you find that one bright piece, that one happy piece, that one piece that offers a ray of light and a sense of hope, you hold onto it. You hold onto that piece until the other ones like it follow. You hold on to that piece and anticipate the other equally bright pieces to come along. Because not all puzzles are dark and gloomy, and not all of its pieces are either. 

I suppose I'll go place this last piece into this gloomy puzzle, clear it from my table and check under the sofa for the next piece. The happy piece. The piece that'll start the next puzzle of prosperity. 

The next puzzle piece is around here somewhere - I just know it. 

--
The above is written in support of All The Many Layers' #30Layers30Days writing challenge. 

• 0 Comments

• Share:

#TEATIME

My Gift, Your Gift

11/08/2015

I typed until my fingers hurt. Until page 15 turned to page 45. Until my stomach started growling reminding me that I hadn't eaten in 6 hours. I was in so deep and had no interest in stopping. Not even my blistered fingertips and empty stomach could stop me.

I labeled the table of contents, checked my references for the hundredth time, literally, and saved my document. Satisfied with my work I noticed that research wasn't the only thing I was good at - writing was. While it's always been a hobby of mine, it wasn't until the completion of my 116-page thesis that I realized I was good at it. I realized I was passionate about it. I realized it was a gift. 

My gift, your gift. 

I was always told the best gift is to give, and as I took a wild dive into my purpose at the same time I was writing my thesis, I realized that was for the use of someone else too. My research, my findings were all to help someone else. Someone who's work relied on my conclusions. I learned before fully entering the real world that whatever I'm to do, I should give back. My work should be meaningful to someone other than myself. I should impact someone's life; make it easier somehow. Back then I had no idea how that'd be possible, but now it's more evident than ever. 

My gift, your gift. 

I used writing as that give-back. I used it to provide tips for people to make life easier. I used it to create content and draft newsletters for others. Then I tapped into God's purpose for my life, and began using it to empower. To uplift. To restore. To help. To highlight. To express. To inspire. 

So while my gift is writing, my gift to you are these words. The ones that share some stories and some encouragement. The ones that spew some realness. The ones that give you full access to my life and my truth. The ones that help you tap into your own truth. The ones that serve to explain how you feel when you can't muster up your own [words]. The ones that help express those feelings to someone else. The ones that are inspiring, loving and nurturing. The ones that hopefully force you become a better woman by identifying your true queendom. 

I typed until my fingers hurt. Until post 17 turned to post 95. My thesis is done, but my purpose is just beginning. 

And that is my gift to you. 
---
The above is written in support of All The Many Layers' #30Layers30Days writing challenge. 

• 0 Comments

• Share:

#TEATIME

The Closer, The Better

11/02/2015

"You're closer now than you've ever been," my mother repeated to me as I complained about college finals.

At the time those words weren't at all what I wanted to hear, but now those words are perfect. They replay in my head more rhythmic than before. Like a chant. Or a song. Or the soundtrack to my life.

"You're closer now than you've ever been," I repeat to myself as I click clack away at these keys. I say it every time I log into this site, or think of a new idea. I'm closer now that I was in February. There are people, and organizations, and community leaders, and bloggers who now know who I am - who now know what DEAR QUEENS is. I'm closer now than I was with Polished Perceptions, or Z Talks, or my very personal, very uncensored Tumblr account.

"You're closer now than you've ever been," I say aloud as I think back to the mess I used to be a mere three years ago. I think back to my own battles with self-love, identity and worth. I think back to the bad decisions and bad hangovers. I think back to the bad outfits and badder hair days. I think back to the bad mouthing and the bad relationships.

I'm closer to Christ now, than I've ever been. I remind myself of that every time I think of how this purpose was revealed to me. I reference that every time I pray before I react. I inhale those words every time I think of how my decisions and behavior will impact His kingdom and my entry into it. I look to Bible verses to guide me through situations, and look to God to lead me to my next moves. I talk less and listen more. I open my heart to His guidance and His desires, rather than my own. I sing to Him and cry to Him. I speak to Him - not always to ask for things - but to show my gratitude. I worship Him. I shout for Him. I cry for Him. I believe in Him. I'm closer.

I'm closer to me now, than I've ever been. I've identified myself with my own metrics. I've defined myself with my own guidelines. I've sulked in solitude and came out from the dark enlightened. Filled with love. Filled with promise. Filled with an identity that I hadn't had an interest in tapping into before. I've grown into me. I've become a me I'm proud to wake up to. A me with meaning. An unapologetic me. I've tapped into my power. My beautiful womanhood. My beautiful flaws. I'm closer.

I'm closer to love now, than I've ever been. I'm feeling it. I'm wallowing in it. I'm jumping in it's puddles and giggling with each splash. I'm welcoming it into my life and giving it back. I'm sharing it. I'm enjoying it. I'm play wrestling under the covers with it. I'm uncovering it. I'm doing things I've never done and saying things I never thought I'd say to it. I'm happy in it. I no longer neglect it, but realize that to keep it growing it must be watered. It must be nurtured. I'm nurturing it. I'm trusting it. I'm in it, deeply. I'm much closer.

And, this is the best closeness I've ever experienced. The most important proximity I could ever welcome myself to. The best warmth I've ever felt. This closeness is perfect. I know this must've been what my mother meant. That while literally I was closer then, than I'd ever been, this is true closeness. Being closer to resolution. Closer to triumph. Closer to joy and peace and wholeness. Closer to completion. Closer to it all making sense.

I'm closer now than I've ever been - and tomorrow I'll be even closer. The closer, the better. 
----
The above is written in support of All The Many Layers' #30Layers30Days writing challenge. 

• 0 Comments

• Share: