Give up the fight

"It's okay to not be tough.
It's okay to let your guard down and open your heart.
Life teaches us to be callus and argumentative, combative and dismayed."

I was starting this as a poem, like most of my other posts, but a journal entry is much more suitable following today's sermon. I also have not done a journal entry in my personal journal, so I'll go ahead and publicize this one.

"Be a Barnabas" was the title of the sermon. You must first understand the nature of Barnabas and who he was. He was a son of encouragement and a genuine encourager. He was full of love, sympathy and faith. How did he get like this? Barnabas grew up with encouraging parents who spoke life into him, who loved on him and showed him affection. As an educator I see the effects of parenting up close and personal. I can connect all behavior, academic achievement and personality traits back to a child's home life and know what's going on in that house without actually being there. No, I am not a psychologist (though I thought about child psychology in undergrad), merely observant of my surroundings and within my profession. And perhaps I am a bit sensitive to people's energy.

What I have come to know about people is they put out what they take in. Love begets love, hate begets hate and so on. So, in the above line "Life teaches us to be callus and argumentative, combative and dismayed," this is only true sometimes. In fact, it was purely a personal testimony. In the saddest of situations a mother does not hug her daughter ever and she chastises her son without giving him the balance of uplifting words. A father does not show his son affection or he never spends time with his daughter. Domestic abuse, drugs and alcohol plague our communities and fill our homes with depression. And this is the legacy we pass on, the generational curses of nothingness because there is a lack of love, sympathy and faith.

As cognizant adults we have choices. We can choose to be different, we can choose to be happy, and we can choose to stop fighting. God always gives us a door, a buoy, a way out of the chaos. Where there was peace and kindness missing in the home, he sends a Barnabas. A friend who believes in you, a significant who loves you, a mentor who gives you hope. Your Barnabas may come in many forms. Be ready to receive your encourager! Take in all the good energy, because as I said before, love begets love, peace begets peace, kindness begets kindness and so on. We put out what we take in. Choose what you take in. Change your friendship circles, your workplace, your hangouts, etc. Be careful what you allow in your life because you will become it.

Most importantly, be a lover! We have to learn how to love and let people love us. If you don't know how then start here:
-practice smiling and sharing hugs
-accept yourself for who you are
-learn how to forgive
-think positive thoughts about yourself and your life (I think, therefore I am)
-get in touch with your spirituality

This all begins with giving up the fight. Stop being hurt and depressed. Do not suppress old feelings, talk about them, it helps with healing. I don't have this to an exact science, as I am working on it daily, but I do have a Barnabus or two in my life to encourage me through it. They are my friends, Sorors, family members and acquaintances near and far. My circle blesses me and I am able to be a blessing, and "be a Barnabas."

Language

She told a story with no words.
Vast swaying motions fluttered about her face.
She spoke volumes without a sound.

She created a world with silent vibrations.
Emotions lived through actions.
She synchronized hearts with melodic motions.

She drew eminence with her hands.
Profound statements made without a voice.
She made language visual.

Remembering Dr. Maya Angelou

Dr. Maya Angelou was a treasured jewel and she will be missed. She used her words to invoke passion in us. Her accolades go above and beyond in literature, the arts and community involvement. But what I can take from this devastating loss is a lesson in dedicating myself to the pen and my passion since fifth grade. Writing my world and using my words to pursue change or uplift the community brings joy to my heart. I can speak loudly with written words and let them travel across the globe sharing my stories.

The Cage Bird VS. The Free Bird

"The cage bird knew that his door was open

Caged so long he became a morbid token

Of what you lose when you dare not try

When you are afraid that you too can fly

Caged so long he forgot his dreams 

For the cage bird is afraid of freedom

A free bird knows not of fearful skies

He spreads his wings and enjoys the ride

Love is taught between his eyes and his songs fill the world

But a cage bird is afraid to try

Sighs and cries at sunny skies

Love not drawn from inside so he lay in a cage of rage

The cage bird knows no wishful dreams

Timid approach to living things

He knows not why the free bird sings

He is afraid that he too can fly

The free bird shares and lives his dreams

Swarms the earth among living things

Rise to wake with the morning light and can't wait to fly in the sky

The cage bird knows no wishful dreams

Timid approach to living things

He knows not why the free bird sings

He is afraid that he too can fly"

-DeAndra Tanae, circa 2008  

Reflections

I did some self reflecting today. I flipped through my journal and read my thoughts from over the past year. The tables have turned quite drastically and much has transpired. It amazes me how the power of words can paint a picture so vivid and conjure intense emotions though they lay lifeless on the paper. I leaped right back into the moments I described just as if it happened an hour ago. My life is extremely colorful; I wouldn't trade this journey for anything. I will keep all my victories, laughter and wisdom. I will keep all of my heartache, tears and bruises. I embrace every peak and valley, and every ocean and small stream in its entirety.
Thankfully, I write these wonderful occurrences down in my sugar and spice notebook.  During my reflections today I stumbled across November 22, 2013, "No More Flowers." Yes, all of my journal entries have titles. This is the story of my life, why would they not? This particular entry was a poem. I have been intrigued with writing about nature for a while, but especially flowers, the sun and butterflies. Flowers can serve a great metaphorical and literal meaning in literature. I always use both when I write about this beautiful gift of God.

"What happens when the flowers stop?
When their warm embrace loosens and floats away.

No more daisies in the spring or black-eyed Susans bunched around,
And no more sunflowers in the summer.

No more roses in red, white, pink, yellow, or soft autumn orange.
Nothing but the thorns left that pricked my heart.

I cry and melt away as far as I can from the pain
Because there are no more blooming bouquets to brighten my day."

Clearly, this was a valley moment. Even though the flowers stopped for a season, I was able to move on. The tides in the ocean have changed and the sun has risen in a new hour. I decided to buy some fresh, new flowers today and all is well with my soul!

Writer's block

Why'd I stop writing you ask.

You see, I had a severe case of writer's block.
An astronomical something that made my creativity devoid.
It wedged itself in the middle of my flow,
Clogging and slowing the natural occurrences of my metaphoric melodies.
It bluntly halted my hyperbolic references to simple sentences.

You see, I had a severe case of writer's block.
It formed icicles where rhymes spouted freely
And a mass glacier over my zeal for words.
Repetitive thoughts not worth writing down
And a redundant life that brought forth no fruit.

You see, I had a sever case of writer's block.

I let go of my therapeutic remedy.

Out of the mind and onto paper where concepts become concrete;

Emotions released and the heart lightened. 

My favorite past time forgotten
And the joy of sitting in the windowsill with pen and pad lost. 

The words ceased.

I stopped writing.

I had a sever case of writer's block. 

He said, he said

He told me I could not love enough
I could not fill his emptiness
I could not match his pride with my lukewarm affection
I could not love enough with my smiles

Secure hugs were no replacement for insecurities

My love was not big enough in actions
My love was not loud enough in words
My love was not enough

There was a slow leak in the tire and every so often I’d stop at the pump or buy a can of fix a flat
Buying myself some time because replacing tires is expensive
That old car was too expensive to fix, too costly to get rid of, and held sentimental value because I invested my life into it

The mileage was beyond what the odometer could read
Oil was leaking and the car kept overheating
The seats were ripped and the interior stained beyond cleaning
A few broken lights and of course the tags were expired

No insurance
No more romances or innocent joy riding
Love and marriage were not in waiting for a faithless love
No more patience in an unforgiving heart
No sweet sound of laughter and no growth

He told me I could not love enough
I could not be the mother of life regardless of my genetic make up

My love was not big enough in actions
My love was not loud enough in words
My love was not enough

So I put the key in the ignition and jiggled three times
I shook the steering wheel two times and pumped the gas five times before it would turn over
I knew the end was near and I could not sustain it, nor could it sustain me
The engine gave out and I could not love it anymore

(Circa May 2013) 

Triumph

Tenaciously striding through this endangered world, I am a glamorous species of hope with unwavering faith in what I must know. Wisdom bestowed upon me from beyond the highest element of life, and from the lower morsels of human affliction. I dare to dream through it all.
Reclined and looking up to the blues of infinite possibilities, I commit myself uprightly and just.  


1/7/2013