Archives for November 2020

Due to Covid-19 Happy and I will not travel to Nanna’s for the holidays. Nanna is 75 and at high-risk to contract the virus even from the most well-meaning gestures of love. I miss seeing her but I love her too much to risk putting her precious life in jeopardy.

I need her alive.

So Happy and I will stay in LA, where the Covid numbers are on the rise. We will stay home and Facetime our family as an act of love instead of running the risk of polluting vulnerable family and friends with weak immune systems.

Real talk: The pandemic has made me reevaluate how I demonstrate love.

I use to be so adamant about ”seeing” Nanna during the holidays. I thought that if I organized my life around coming home once a year to be in her physical presence she would take that to mean I love her.

I was wrong.

Love is caring more about the people–Nanna, Aunt Dorothy, my cousins Donna Major, and Freddie, Mario Jessup and William, and all Nanna’s people who adopted me as their own–than doing what I want.

Be very clear: I WANT to go home for the holidays.

I miss banana pudding. Donna always lies about making it, only to break it out the day AFTER thanksgiving so we don’t have to share.

I miss being razzed by my cousin Mario about SOMETHING! He and William tease me about whatever they can find that will get on my nerves: my hair, my weight, not cleaning my plate and throwing good food away.

I miss messing up the hymn we sing before we go around and individually give thanks that EVERY year NOONE knows the words except the elders.

I miss getting into screaming matches over the interpretation of various passages in the Bible with all the reverends in the family (especially Juliette and her husband.)

I miss the tall tales from my cousin Bobby, who has cancer. I miss the robust laughter of my cousin Nelsen as he tells me how much he loves me and how much he enjoys my posts on IG. He reads every one.

But what I miss most of all are the hugs.

I miss being touched by people who love me.

So if I had my way, I would be on the next plane out of dodge with Happy in tow. But if I did, I’d be putting the very people who loved me back to life when I had just gotten off the streets and Nanna took me to my first family Thanksgiving dinner in real danger. So as an act of love, I’m staying home.

The death toll is rising in America. There are more COVID cases than there are beds for in the hospitals. Doctors and nurses are exhausted from the sheer volume of infected people.

So as we adapt to this new reality of face-covers and socially-distanced holiday seasons, I encourage you to be safe, stay home and love your family by putting their health first.

You never know. Your willingness to love from afar could save your elders or high-risk family members’ lives.

I’m not being pessimistic; I’m being realistic.

I love you too much to not ask you to evaluate how you celebrate the holidays. Truth be told YOU could be the one who gets infected from a family member who doesn’t show any signs.

So if you can: stay home.

Here are some memories from my family on Thanksgiving. Just looking at them floods my heart with warmth and joy. I will let these feelings be my hug this year. I am grateful to be so loved.

Dear God,

Forgive my unbelief.

I feel like a hypocrite.

You have covered me before I was born.
You had my father stand for my life while I was conceived.
You put momma in jail to protect my life.

You have protected, provided, & held me close all the days of my life.
Before I inhaled, you loved me.
You chose me.
And you have walked with me through every furnace I have experienced.

You have healed every wound – flesh, mental, emotional – self-inflicted or experienced.

You have given me success very few people on the planet will ever achieve.

You have given me beauty for ashes as a lifestyle, Lord.

I trust you with my life.
But I don’t trust you with my dreams.

Please forgive my unbelief.

I have more faith in what I can see than what you say to me.
I have more faith in what I know than your promise to me.
I have more faith in teaching than writing as my livelihood.

I am such a coward, Lord.

I don’t believe I can make the same kind of money as a screenwriter/creator/producer that I can & have as an internet marketer/mentor/teacher.

I think it will take years to even get in the game.
I think I don’t have connections to get seen.
I think I need to teach while I learn.

I don’t trust that I could just write.

That my voice, my point of view, my words are just as valid as my teaching.

Just as impactful.
Just as powerful.
Just as lucrative.

And then I think, am I being proud?

Am I so attached to what I have accomplished I don’t think I shouldn’t have to start over in a new industry with different rules of engagement? Am I asking for a shortcut?

Should I shut down all I have built over the last 10 years online & get a teaching gig & just write until I sell a show/series? Get offline & just focus totally on breaking into the entertainment industry, which is designed as an apprenticeship model?

See. My mind goes right to teaching at a university again to supplement my dreams.

THAT’S what I am calling my unbelief.

That’s my distrust in you, God.

I trust I can make a living as a teacher in some capacity.
I don’t trust I can make a living SOLELY as a writer/creator in Hollywood.

Help me, Lord.
Heal my unbelief.
Heal my distrust of you.

I trust you with my life, but not my dreams.

I KNOW you love me.
I KNOW you have your hand on me & always have.
I KNOW you will never leave me or forsake me.

But I don’t hold my dreams the way I hold my needs.

You have ALWAYS provided for me – on the streets, school, success.

But those things/spaces/times are essential to staying alive.

They have nothing to do with fulfillment and impact.

I guess I’m saying I trust you to take care of my needs, not my wants.

And yet, you have been whispering in my ear since I was a child, I can help people stop hurting. Television was what I saw with each whisper. But I have never had the courage to try.

From then to now, I don’t trust you with this.

Please heal my unbelief.
I desire that Abraham faith.

I keep seeing this image in my head: Abraham walking with his young son Isaac up the hill to make a sacrifice. Isaac says, “Where is the sacrifice?” & Abraham says without missing a beat, “The Lord himself will provide.” He trusted God so much that he placed his most beloved son on the altar, lifted his knife to sacrifice Isaac without zero questioning or doubt.

At the last moment, God stopped Abraham & supplied a ram for the sacrifice instead of Isaac.

I don’t have this level of trust with you, Lord.
I don’t. Not about my dreams.

So I pray you to heal my distrust in you.
I will keep doing what you tell me to do: I hired the scriptwriting consultant. I have put myself in the script anatomy class. I have also put myself in the pilot writing lab.

I have bought books & have started reading the first one.
I am watching the pilots & breaking down the 4-6 acts in each of them.

I am doing what you say, Lord.

And while I don’t trust you with my dreams, I do trust you to heal my unbelief… & at some point, I will trust you like Abraham.

I trust you to tell me what I need to do, what I need to study, what songs to listen to, what Bible verses I need to memorize to release unshakeable trust in you with everything.

Not just my survival but my Calling.

I trust you to heal my unbelief. My distrust in You.

You are my God.
And I love you with all that I am.
Thank you for loving me just as I am.
Flawed & fickle.

Thanks for hearing me out.
For understanding.
For drawing me close to you.

You love me specially.

Thank you for growing me, spiritually.

You are so good to me.
I don’t know why you love me so good.
But I am so grateful.

In Jesus’ name.

Amen.

I’m trying to relax.
Into the future.
My mind keeps dragging into the past.

8 minutes & 43 seconds.
Nooses.
Lynchings
Tar & feathering.
Black men casterated for being accused of looking at a White woman.

Now…

18% of Black Men
56% of White Women
voted for a value & belief system that keeps killing us.

There’s a part of me that’s deeply hurt.

Some how I feel betrayed.

It’s foolish. I know.
I thought after George Floyd was murdered in front of the world & we marched together…

I thought that meant White Women understood what Black Women have been saying since 1619.

I feel foolish.
Tricked
Bamboozled.

Black Masculinity was born in the belly of White Supremacy.
I can see they value what White Men have positioned as success: money. Position. Power.

At the cost of others.
Including their lives.

White women, sisters really.
Chose White Supremacy/White Privilege over gender equality.

Black Women.

We march for everyone.
We stand for those we love.
We vote in service of an equable world.

But who stands for us?
Marches for us?
Vote so life doesn’t have to be so very hard on us?

Not the majority of White Women.
Not a percentage of Black Men.

Black Women: we are the sacrifice.
For centuries we have been the blood sacrifice at the alter of equality.

It’s hurtful to see how very little we are valued & supported.

Yet it is sobering to be in reality about how little we are valued as humans.
As wives.
Mothers.
Sisters.
Aunts.

Atlanta. Philly. Detroit.
When Trump says the votes should not be counted that had him loose the election…

What he is really saying…
Black Women votes are invalid.
That our vote, our voice is null & void.

That’s what voter fraud means in the mouth of White Supremacy.

91% of Black Women voted Democratic.

& while White Men
The majority of White Women
& a sizable percentage of Black Men hate Black Women
& are dead set against us having equal rights
& a powerful say in the country
we sourced the free labor force to build…

Be clear:

We will not be silenced.
Not then.
Not now.
Not ever.

We have allies.
People of all races, worldwide.
Who value Black Women.
We are not alone.

Our power can not be contained.

Who else is getting ”prayed up” for the upcoming election and results? I don’t know about you, but I’m trusting God to do God. Whatever the outcome, I’m leaning into the everlasting arms of the great ”I Am.”

While I was doing my prayers last night I felt Spirit lead me to Joyce Myer’s devotional, ”Trusting God Day By Day.”

I felt peace hug me.

As I was checking out, these other two treasures revealed themselves: ”Worry Less Pray More: A Woman’s Devotional Guide To Anxiety-Free Living, ” (you know this one fits me!) and ”Prayer Journal For Women.” The last one has space (trim tab) to write in it along with quotes.

Simply put: I trust you, Lord.

I do not worship at the altar of fear.
You are my God. I traffic in Spirit, not in the flesh.

No man.
No President.
No political party.
No voter suppression.
No militia.
No sheets.
No threats.
No intimidation.
No I uncounted ballots.
No lynchings.
No pepper spray.
No whips.
No tar & feathering.
No rigged SC appointments.

NO WHITE MAN PLAYING GOD–
will I EVER bow down and worship at his altar of hate and fear-mongering.

I trust you, Lord, with it all.

KNOWING that no matter how it looks, the outcome, or how I may or may not feel, you ALWAYS give me beauty for ashes.

Fear and faith cannot occupy the same space at the same time.

I worship at the altar of faith.

In Jesus name,
So be it.
So it is.
Ase.
And amen.