I’ve decided to participate in the A to Z Challenge for the month of April. This is the first time that I’ve done the challenge and I’m excited. I will try to limit my posts to once a day to coincide with the challenge so that you are not bombarded. But, please bear with me.
The challenge will run through the month of April. Check out how you can sign-up to participate and be on the lookout for my theme reveal next week.
The A to Z challenge is scheduled to run through the month of April. You can sign-up now through April 1st here: AtoZ Challenge
I have a confession. I’ve struggled with forgiveness for so long. I told ya’ll about what my therapist said about how I gave my dad grace and not forgiveness. So, here I am feeling somewhat guilty because it has been 3 weeks since my dad called me. He called me on my birthday.
The first time in 34 years. Do you know how disappointed I used to be each and every year? But, God. Each year got easier. I realized that it just didn’t matter to him.
Until 2018. I guess it did matter. He called and left a message saying Happy Birthday.
I haven’t returned his call. I made up excuses. I had some real stuff going on and real health issues that took priority. But, I haven’t called him back. Why?
I honestly don’t know. I think I am just struggling with my feelings for him. So, I’ve been trying to catch up on some blog posts. Forgive me for my delays. Muddling through emails, throwing myself back in work and then I read two posts about forgiveness. I stopped.
It was as though God was speaking to me. Talking to me. Telling me to push forward and understand where I’m at and decide where I want to be. To talk to him and to let him know. The truth.
I declined to do so. Me and God don’t always see eye to eye, but I know that in the end His word is forevermore, no matter how stubborn I am. So, I pushed his voice to the side and kept it moving. Until Chris Weatherly posted this:
This particular Saturday morning, I’m looking at my 2-year-old son playing with puzzles. He looked at me and said: “Mommy, this is too hard, but I got it.”
All parents have read about bed or morning routines. Even Daniel Tiger and Elmo have this covered. My family has always believed in the power of words or confessions. My mother confessed to my sister every morning: “You are the head and not the tail, above only and not beneath.” I believe (& think my SiSi would agree) that these words resonated in her mind when she wanted to throw in the towel.
Every night we pray for my son to be thankful for family, friends, and provisions. But additionally, I pray (out loud) for my son to be strong & brave. I never saw that world as a scary place until I became a mother. These glasses of parenting put a filter on everything as terrifying. Most importantly, I know the world will be unkind to a young black man. The joy he has today is delicate and needs to be preserved. I want to protect him, cover him, shield him… but I know I can’t. I can only pray that he always finds the strength to be joyous, strength to trust God and Strength to be brave enough to keep moving forward when the world will feel cold.
I guess, I never meant for this reflection to be so emotionally heavy. I am generally not that type of writer, but out of your heart flows the truth. Take the time to speak life over the children your world. Nieces, nephews, God-children, neighbors, & friends every child deserves to hear that they are loved and amazing.
Southern Fried Mommy
This post was shared by Southern Fried City Girl. I love her blog. She’s one of the newer blogs that I discovered and I’m happy to share her work. She’s a wife, a mom, a woman of faith and everything in between. Go follow her at her wonderful blog called: Southern Fried City Girl
He appears before you when you least expect it. The embodiment of your heart’s deepest longings, you are enchanted. Like a Siren luring her victim with her song, so too are you caught within Death’s grasp. You greedily drink his words from his goblet, so tender and sweet. Enthralled by his promise to fill the void, you are intoxicated by his poison.
Ever so gracefully, the phantom whisks his prey onto the dance floor of twilight’s masquerade. You notice not the talons that dig deeply into your flesh, for you are bewitched. A veil he places over your consciousness, which you gladly accept. Numb to the wounds inflicted are you, as you dance this dance with Death.
Ensnared in his clutches, you desperately cling to idle promises. Weary you become, as your light slowly begins to fade. Once a star burning ever so bright, now a mere ember you are. A shadow of your former self, you feel your spirit drifting away. A mere shell you have now become, and you are dying.
You are drowning, engulfed in despair. Yet, as you struggle to lift your head above the water, you manage to catch a glimpse of the phantom behind the mask. Choose to release yourself from his enchantment, for you hold the power. Give not into his sweet illusion, for it is merely a mirage. I beg you, ignore not the phantom’s true identity. For by doing so, you will be given a kiss from Death.
This post was contributed by Feather from Beyond The Light. I stumbled on her much by coincidence as she found me in October when I did my Domestic Violence series. An incredible woman who is also a survivor of domestic violence who wishes to break the silence that shrouds survivors on a daily basis. She knows that there is hope that we can break the shackles of domestic abuse together. Check out her blog: Beyond The Light
Please don’t think I’m creepy but I can’t help it.
She moved in last week and I have been watching her almost every single morning. It’s not like I go out of my way to do it. Her bedroom window and balcony is directly in line with my French doors and even though there is quite a distance between the two houses, I still have a good view from the kitchen island as I drink my coffee.
She has wrecked my morning routine. After having breakfast with Nate and then sending him off to get ready for the day with niñera Alma, I used to spend that time meditating. But instead, I am observing her, wondering where she comes from and for how long she will stay at the Wilson’s rental home. I am intrigued and not just because she is cute. And curvy in all the right places. There is just something different about her.
In the morning, her black curls suffer from a serious case of bedhead and she glides around barefoot in some kind of over-sized T-shirt, starting her day with a large mug of coffee on her balcony and looking out into the distance until it is empty. What she doesn’t realize is that we are having coffee together.
When she is through with her coffee, she disappears for a while and reappears with a towel wrapped around her wet hair, a bathrobe hugging her body. She turns on some music but never loud enough for me to decipher what is actually playing. A smile on her face, I can see her dancing and twirling, from her bedroom to the balcony and back. I chuckle as she brushes her teeth and suddenly stops to use her toothbrush as a microphone mid-balcony. She never glances around to see if anyone is watching her and even at the odd occasion when joggers pass by at that early hour, she doesn’t miss a beat. She waves, they wave back and she continues dancing.
She doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. And just watching her somehow makes me happy. I am more than intrigued and haven’t felt that way for a long time, probably since being with Nate’s mother.
I know that she isn’t a regular tourist or vacationer. Dressed quite chic and her wild curls tamed into a tight bun, she would disappear into the back of a black town car at 8am and resurface around 4pm.
Where is she going with nothing more than a fashionable purse everyday?
Since I have been spending full days in the studio on the east side of the house, I see the same town car pull up to the main community gate and so that’s how I know she gets back around 4pm...It’s not like I am some creepy dude with no life next door. But that’s what you were thinking, right?
From the heavenly scents coming from the Wilson’s house around 5pm everyday, I know that she is a good cook. Concoctions that required buttery fried onions, freshly diced tomatoes, pungent herbs…Definitely a woman who can handle herself in a kitchen and likes real food. And from the healthy curves she has in all the right places (I said that before, didn’t I?), I can tell that she appreciates a good meal. She isn’t one of those I-will-just-have-a-salad kind of girls, she is a meat and potatoes/rice and beans type of woman. A woman after my own heart.
I noticed a few days ago that she takes walks on the beach at sunset, adorned in workout clothes and ear plugged into her cell phone tight within her grasp.
I need to meet her and somehow invite her over for Christmas dinner with us.
And that’s when I decide to take Nate for a walk before his bedtime to accidentally on purpose bump into her.
I have a lot of thoughts. Conversations occur. People ask for advice. People share things about their lives. I overthink the conversation, advice, or experience, and voila! A thought occurs. So, I jot it down in my notes section in hopes of writing about it on a future date. I have 221 notes on my phone. I figured the future is now lol. Here’s my first one:
I’ve listened to how my male friends talk about women and how they interact with them. I also listen to and observe how women interact with men. Sometimes it’s different.
Men don’t treat every woman like she’s their future wife. They don’t treat every relationship like there’s an impending wedding. Men seem to know which women are so-called “wife material” and which ones are not ready to commit. Consequently, they seem to treat each “type” of woman accordingly. Now, I’m not saying this…
Can you be a blessing this year? To our veteran’s? My sorority has partnered up with Wreaths Across America to fund raise for wreaths to be placed on the grave sites of the fallen soldiers. We will be placing wreaths for the fallen soldiers on Saturday, December 16th at U.S. Soldier and Airmen’s Cemetery in Washington, DC and we need your help to reach our goal. Our goal is 100 wreaths.
Last year was my first year volunteering at this ceremony. Munch and I attended with my sorority sisters and I have to tell you that I was honored to be a part of such a beautiful tradition. I thought Munch would be scared, but he wasn’t. He grabbed the wreaths and put them on the headstones wishing each fallen soldier a very Merry Christmas.
This year we will say the names of those that have died serving our country as we place a holiday wreath on their grave site. We want to cover as many headstones as possible and with your help we can do so. Can you please share this post on your social media feeds? Can you please donate wreaths? You can donate a wreath through our page by clicking here: Wreaths Across America
I truly thank you and appreciate each and every one of you. One wreath for one headstone is $15.00. If I can get 100 of my followers to purchase a wreath we will meet our goal. Can you help?