Category Archives: Motherhood

Main Attraction

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A Tribute to My Grandmother, Verlenia Thomas
For her homegoing service—February 22, 2005
She’s a star
Shining real bright
Beyond celestial clouds
Penetrating life
Making light from darkness.

She is there
Watching, waiting, hoping, praying that we get it
Understand the seasons of things:
A time to live and a time to die
A time to build up and a time to break down
A time to straighten up and fly
Fly right
Fly right
Get it right to meet her in glory.

She’s watching, waiting, hoping, praying
Beyond celestial clouds
Penetrating life
Making light from darkness
Waiting to be that angel who rejoices when a sinner becomes a saint.

She doesn’t just want you happy you knew her.
She wants you to know him.
She wants you to know Jesus.
Not a said faith. Not a going to church faith. Not an unsure faith.
A real faith. An intimate faith.
A faith like I know my career.
A faith like I know how to shop.
A faith like I know how to negotiate.
A faith like I know how to hustle.

She wants you to get to know him in the pardoning of your sins
To help you do away with your sins
To walk like her
To walk like Christ.

You’re not too young to do it
Not too old to change
You’re not all right just because you tithe or your name is on the roll.

She wants you to get to know him in the pardoning of your sins
To help you do away with your sins
To walk like her
To walk like Christ.

She was a classy lady, full of grace, a sage, organized, an administrator, great storyteller, a clown, recycler, dollar stretcher, fancy hat and shoe wearer, cook extraordinaire, loyal friend, full of common sense, a tower of physical, mental and spiritual strength. She was all that through God’s grace.

You want some
Come and get some.
Come to Jesus while you still have time.
And when it’s your time you will see her and all her watching, waiting, hoping and praying won’t be in vain.

Copyright 2005-2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

My Mama Said

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Me and my mama

My mama, Santranella Anderson, was quite the philosopher. These are some of the things she said that helped get me over:

1. Don’t be envious of others. Even though I didn’t put these in rank order, I think this may be the biggest lesson that my mama shared with us, her children. She would say, “Be happy you can be friends with somebody who has something you don’t.” This has helped me get along with so many people, including the ones who have been envious of me. I find myself ingratiating them, letting them know we can show love even when we want to hate. And if I weren’t friends with them or they still hated on me, my mama would make sure to emphasize numbers 2, 3, 4 and 5.
2. Celebrate with others. She would always say that we won’t get everything we want so when someone else achieves, celebrate with them. Be happy for them. “It takes nothing away from you,” she would say.
3. Know that you are good but may not always be the best. She had to tell me and my siblings this because for the first few years of life we were at the top of the class. She wanted to squash disappointment and despair before it happened. It worked for me. I had who would become my high school class valedictorians help me in honors geometry because I realized they were the best and I sure wasn’t. Till this day, I seek out the experts and thank God that I can.
4. Treat people like you want to be treated. The Golden Rule was golden in our house and prevented a lot of fights. This rule has also helped me to gain and maintain endearing relationships.
5. You don’t have to live with those people. She would say this when I couldn’t get along with my classmates, teachers or co-workers. Even though I would spend a majority of the day with them, she was letting me know that my refuge was at home. And what a wonderful refuge it was. I was always prepared to face my giants in the morning because I could look forward to coming home.
6. Share what you have. “Never be stingy. Everybody needs some kind of help,” my mama said.
7. Read between the lines. “I can’t stand when grown people can’t tell what’s going on and understand what’s being said by what’s not being said,” my mama would say. “Learn to read between the lines.” She taught us how to observe people’s body language, facial expressions, tone of voice and euphemisms. This tool has been invaluable as a writer, a minister and in all my relationships.
8. Nothing beats a failure but a try. My mama always said and lived up to this. Like I told you before, she has a lot of nerve and often gets what she desires because of this attitude. She wanted us to seek the best and not ever have a defeatist attitude.
9. Be yourself. “I can’t stand no phony people. Don’t be trying to be like nobody else. Ugh! Be who God made you to be. You look foolish trying to sound like or look like somebody else,” my mama said.
10. Walk straight and hold your head up. “Don’t be walking like you are afraid. You aren’t afraid of anybody. Be proud of who you are,” my mama said.
And what anchored all these was her constantly saying, “Trust God.” I’m glad I did trust Him, not just to help me with those 10 lessons but to help me believe that Jesus Christ is the only way to Him. I placed my faith in Jesus as my Savior and Lord in November 1995, not understanding how this salvation worked but trusting God for further revelation. God has shown Himself to me and given me a greater understanding of Him and my salvation. I thank God for all my mama’s lessons, but most of all for the command to trust God.

Copyright 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

Mama Love

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My Mama Santranella Anderson

My mama
My hero to the extreme
She’s had about 10 jobs
Two careers
Three vocations—
Not unstable
She’s just able to maintain that her anthem belter is Frank Sinatra
She does things her way.
From “My Heroes are to the Extreme” ©1997 by Rhonda Anderson

My mama, the “crazy” lady, the one with the wicked laugh
No matter where she goes she leaves an unforgettable path.
Her heart so big and ways so forgiving, her spirit teaches and keeps me living.
From “My Family” circa 1990s by Rhonda Anderson

She moves the earth with style and grace
Especially with that size 26 waist
And 40 hips
And busts so firm
You know the brothas wouldn’t leave her alone.
She was the life of the party
Personality beyond belief
But that all changed.
The crutches came.
From “Crutches” ©1995 by Rhonda Anderson

This is my mama, a woman ever-giving and beautiful inside and out. Don’t be offended that I call her crazy. She never is. But she is crazy: I just mean that she is a lot of fun and likes to laugh and there are few things she wouldn’t try or say. She got a lot of nerve and doesn’t scare easily. She had to be this way. She had three children in 2 ½ years.

Mothering us never seemed to take a toll on her even though she was sickly. She always made life fun for us. She orchestrated our dress up and in-house show times where we entertained her, and she demanded repeat performances when her girlfriends would drop by to say hi or for a counseling session and to eat. We’d have picnics at her bedside when she was too ill to cook us a meal. She’d tell us where to get a butter knife, crackers and peanut butter and we’d snack until my dad got back from work. We always had two cars, but she took us on bus rides and drives in cabs to experience other modes of transportation and other ways of life. And she would often “splurge” on restaurant food and outfits we didn’t need because “we ain’t gonna have it* anyway,” speaking of how fleeting money and other stuff can be. Though she never gave a lot of kisses and hugs but we always felt loved and safe, even when she would drive fast down a deserted path with no hands at our command in her 1972 Blue Chevy. “Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee,” she’d roar as we laughed and said, “Do it again, mama. Do it again.” We’d be on our way to a fashion show practice or dance practice or gymnastics. In later years, we might be going to a baseball or basketball game or some other school event.

She took us places and told us things that kept our heads held high and hearts open wide to others who needed the love she showed us. We didn’t go to church every week, but she laid the foundation for our faith even though hers is “not what I want it to be,” she says. My mama has a few crutches in her life, some needed, some perceived. Despite the lean, I love my mama for giving me life, sacrificing to make it good and paying the price to raise a healthy, happy and whole woman. At 41, I could say a lot more, but in that nutshell you have met my mama, the crazy lady, the one with the wicked laugh, and she is indeed my shero.

*not her choice word

Copyright 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

My Brooklyn Saint

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With a new car and summer job, my time in New York was supposed to be perfect, at least that’s what my friends and others thought because of my cosmopolitan ways. “You’re going to love New York. It’s so you,” they would say to allay my trepidation of leaving my up south city and going east to bright lights in a real up north city. But this 22-year-old girl from Detroit had real culture shock and homesickness when I smelled the garbage in China Town, saw street mayhem in Times Square, looked for my lost car in Brooklyn, and heard I had to work on Long Island and in Manhattan. I was somewhat petrified. Well, a lot really that I talked about cutting my 10-week internship short by eight weeks. I wanted to go home. Instead I called my praying grandmother—again—and she gave me some scriptures and words of encouragement—again—and I felt better for the moment—again, but I needed something more, someone, and I found her the day I ventured to Bridge Street AME Church.

The members smiled and greeted me after the pastor had visitors to stand and she was among them, Ernestine I’ll call her because I don’t remember her name but I remember her. She wore a brightly colored print bubu and black pants complete with rusty blond hair peeking from under a kufi. Probably in her early 60s, Ernestine gave me a wide smile, strong hug, introduced herself and insisted I call her by her first name. I felt warm and was so glad my fear didn’t cause me to stay at home. But after service, I briefly wished I had. Members hurried about to talk to friends, make dinner plans and serve at church information tables. I glanced about as my pew emptied then gathered my things to leave. As I moved slowly down the pew to the aisle, Ernestine waved to me from among a throng and made her way to invite me to spend the day with her. I readily agreed.

We went to her Brooklyn brownstone before she took me to a street fair and a lecture by the famous historian Dr. John Henrik Clarke. As she changed her clothes, I admired her wood furniture, African carvings and paintings, mahogany fireplace and a picture of her mate. He had passed a few years back, a brief illness I think. Now in a summer sweater with her black slacks, she fixed a snack of peanut butter toast and coffee and told me about her “king.” That’s what I remember. She kept saying, “He was my king!”

In that moment, I knew I wanted a love like hers, to love like her, to be in a place where I had no problem reverencing my man. I wanted sweet times and golden memories that would make me shriek “he is my king.” And I have that now, due in large part to Ernestine, a woman confident in her femininity, comfortable with her Christianity and African culture and the strength of her man where she didn’t mind calling him her king.

In New York I did come to love Chinese food delivery, hanging out in the Village and on Harlem’s 125th Street, and going to Junior’s on Brooklyn’s Atlantic and Flatbush. But above all I loved a woman whose name escapes me but the memory of her love for life and her man will remain with me forever.

Copyright 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

Free to Love

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Henry's Freedom Box by Ellen Levine

Today I write about not who I thought I would but about Henry “Box” Brown, one of the most famous runaway slaves of the Underground Railroad because he mailed himself to freedom. Henry has been on my mind because of a statement an old acquaintance made when she found out I was a stay at home mom. Referring to her brief time off with her child, she said, “I was bored. I didn’t know what to do.” I told her that I had heard that before. With others the statement had been apologetic as if the women were sorry they didn’t have the stamina to hold their post at home. But there were no apologies with this woman. With a raised eyebrow, the squint of the opposite eye, and the slow shake of her head, she said, “Go ahead. I couldn’t do it.” Then I thought about Henry and his mom and how they would have loved to be in this woman’s place.

As a boy in the early 1800s, Henry’s master took him from his mother and gave Henry to work as a slave for his son. Henry eventually married and had children, who all were sold away from him. His heart ached for his loved ones but he realized he wouldn’t see them anymore. With the help of friends, including a white abolitionist, Henry decided to ship himself to freedom. He got into a box and mailed himself from Virginia to Pennsylvania. In 1849 he was free from slavery but neither he nor his mom was free to be with their children, something they longed to do. Now I’m sure if my acquaintance had her children stolen from her, her heart would ache and she would fight to get them back, but her attitude conveyed an unwillingness to care for her them in a hard place. And I imagine there are few harder places to care for children than in slavery.

Joshua, 7, has a mouth that moves more than his busy body. And Nathaniel, 2, grabs and seeks to destroy everything in his sight. And Justus, 3 months, needs me for everything. Yes, my children are a challenge, but I’m so glad I can hold them, be around to scold them and to pour into them my values most of the day. Henry didn’t have that. Neither did his mom or wife or thousands of other enslaved Africans. Henry is my hero and so are the other men and women whose families were torn apart but they didn’t fall apart completely. They kept on because they chose to. And we get tripped up over some crying, demanding children who God has granted us favor to have. They weren’t sold or swindled from us like some Haitian children whose parents believed would have a better life if they gave them over to an agency that promised that. I hope we reassess our attitude toward being with our children and are grateful for the privilege to care for them, even in the hard places.

Copyright 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith