Inconvenient Children (via Musings of a (Recovering) Strong Black Woman's Weblog)

Posted on July 7, 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

Yesterday Nathaniel, my 2-year-old, asked me 20 times in rapid succession for grapes. I’m not exaggerating because I decided to count as I was in the process of getting them for him. I could only laugh at his little demanding self. I laugh to keep from being overwhelmed, even as I’m on my way to another of his doctor’s appointments. The little bugger’s allergic to so much. With all the demands of motherhood, I remembered this post and know that it is a privilege to be a mom.

Some months ago my friend Renee was telling me that I must watch "La Vie en Rose," the tragic biopic of French chanteuse Edith Piaf. She went on describe that this heartwrenching tale would grip my soul and make me want to pity and rescue Edith from the brothel, street and circus (literally and figuratively) life she lived throughout her life. I watched the movie this morning. Shuffled from parent to parent and place to place for convenience sake … Read More

via Musings of a (Recovering) Strong Black Woman's Weblog

Define Strong Black Woman (via Musings of a (Recovering) Strong Black Woman's Weblog)

Posted on July 2, 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

What do you think?

I began this blog with some thoughts on whom the strong black woman could be. I questioned whether I myself was one. Some of you in your responses classified yourself and family members as strong black women. Others of you said you thought she was overrated and had even shifted your thinking about who she is or should be. What I want from you now are clear definitions of the term strong black woman. What does it mean to be strong? Is the strength … Read More

via Musings of a (Recovering) Strong Black Woman's Weblog

The Old is New Again

Posted on June 30, 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

“The Old is New Again” or “It’s New to You” could be the theme of my blog for July, depending on how you have been following this blog. While I’m taking a break from blogging, you will still get some posts, some reposts, from a few of my more than 200 entries that I have written over the course of this blog. Even if you have been with me since the start in 2008, you may not have read every post. And those who just began following Musings, it’s likely you didn’t go back to see all that you missed. Either way, the old will be new again or it’ll be new to you. See you with fresh content in August.

Daddy Legacy

Posted on June 20, 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

My Dad, Curtis Anderson Sr.

My brother, sister and I each thought we were my Dad’s favorite, at least he made us feel that way. And he could do so easily because each of us had a defining part of him. I included the legacy he left each of us individually and collectively in the following poem titled Legacy:

For (From) Dad (Curtis Anderson Sr.)
A tribute to his life
December 5, 1937-May 15, 2005

We have fuel.
He gave it to us. Tied it in a box with a knot. A wonderful gift that can’t stay put, won’t stay put. It’s legacy.

Power igniting our lives, flowing through veins, embracing our pain, keeping us sane, giving us the ability to make decisions, to be ourselves.

We have fuel.
He gave it to us, to change the world, rock its course with radical wisdom to take care of business, to raise our voice, to do our part.
It’s legacy.

It runs through Curt, shaping his body and face, using them on the basketball court, the baseball field. Adorning his compassionate heart with endless love for others, giving him an inquisitive mind, a manhood like no other.
It’s legacy.

It streams through Rhonda, making her nonchalance normal, her nappy head natural, her lover of learning necessary and writing a must, and taste for ethnic culture cool.
It’s legacy.

Springing forth from Sharon in the power of her preaching, in her strong-willed demeanor, in her being a deep thinker, in her insistence in believing, in her need to touch lives no matter what the cost.
It’s legacy.

We have Curtis Anderson Sr. legacy. We have taste buds to remember his cooking, brilliant minds to continue his teaching, hearts for others to share his thinking, his love, and re-ignite hope in others. We will walk his legacy, wear his legacy, and talk his legacy with pride and joy.

He was a giant who walked softly in the garden of our lives. And we simply adored him.

By Rhonda J. Smith
Copyright May 19, 2005

Divinely Poetic

Posted on April 2, 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

Poetry—the measured language of emotion; the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts—Dictionary.com

April is National Poetry Month, celebrating all things poetry. This is what I plan to do this month, beginning today, Good Friday, the day that Christians recognize Jesus’ suffering and crucifixion for the sins of humanity. I recognize Jesus Christ as God, the savior, my savior, but today I also recognize Him as the ultimate poet, the one who personified delivering “the measured language of emotion,” his whole life being “the art of rhythmical composition,” displaying love to the fullest.

From before the beginning of time God had plans for me (Ephesians 1:4-6). These plans included living forever in concert with Him then people interrupted this plan, messed it up for all women and men, when they ate that forbidden fruit. They had to depart from His presence, separating all of us from Him, but God never dismissed us from His ultimate plan of life with Him. The people broke the connection and only He could make the connection again.

A bull couldn’t do it. A goat or bird wouldn’t do. Not a lamb or an ordinary man. Only Jesus, perfect God and perfect man when He came to dwell on the earth solely to redeem humanity back to Him (John 1:1, 14). Only he could devise a plan, set it in motion and see it through to its fulfillment. His virgin birth, His sinless life, his death on the cross, paid the price for humanity’s sins that we may live at peace with Him again and forever. “For God so love the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16). Christ’s sacrifice—a plan from elevated thoughts (of God Himself)—is the measured language of emotion, a rhythmical composition that gives me pleasure. That is pure poetry.

I am happy today because of the poetry of Jesus. He simply could have said, “Come back to me” and we would have been redeemed. But the price was blood, His very own shed because of His great love for us. That’s some beautiful poetry.