Tag Archives: Strong black woman

Tabs on You

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Some habits die hard and follow hard lessons learned along the way. I know I will be strong until the day I die. That is not a habit; it’s a God-given benefit, but some ways that I display my strength are what need to die. My eyes opened to this last week when my ears peaked with panic when I heard my middle child screech “Mama, where are you!?” My 4-year-old asks me this just about every time I leave the room. He wants to know what I’m doing, why I’m doing it and when I’m coming back. And, when I’m deep in contemplation or just sitting, being quiet and chilled, my husband often asks, “What are you thinking?” He wants to know if I’m okay.

I get it. They are both concerned. My 4-year-old is checking on his physical safety, asking questions to help him deal with his separation anxiety, and my husband is checking on my mental safety, wanting to make sure that I don’t drown in my deep thoughts. But I want to go where I want to go and think what I want to think without having to share my whereabouts and what I’m thinking about. I want my own walk and my own thoughts, still yearning to be independent in ways that I am now interdependent. I have learned to not get aggravated by their “intrusions” and examine my desire for seclusion, and I have concluded this: I don’t want my natural inclination to become my spiritual inclination because with God my walk is not my walk and my thoughts are not my thoughts, at least they shouldn’t be.

My family keeping tabs on me helps me see how much of my past is still my present, those things I need to shake loose. When they remind me of my interdependence, I am in prime position to remind myself of my dependence on God. And that makes their asking so much more worthwhile.

How have you struggled with letting go of independent ways now that you are interdependent? How, if at all, does your natural inclination reflect your spiritual inclination? Please, tell me what you think?

Contemplating Sickness & Suicide

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When you come to dark corners and they’re the end in your mind, do you make the end complete by bowing out of projects or consider bowing out of life? I’ve done both when the mantle of strong black womanhood was just too much, when other people’s demands let me know I had not enough to handle what was expected of me.

Erica Kennedy

I’m reflecting on that space today after I learned of the death of a sister-writer, Erica Kennedy, 42, a woman I never met, can’t say I ever read her words, but her life and now her death have impacted me. Her cause of death is not known publicly though various writings intimate suicide, brought on perhaps by depression or mental illness. I’m sad that Erica didn’t have what she needed, be it friends to talk to or medicine to take or something else, to help her cope in this life. Though another precious life is gone, I thank God that Erica’s death has sparked conversation about black women and depression and suicide. And for Christian women, we have the possibility to discuss more freely and without condemnation our struggles and that we need to go deep with Jesus so He leads us to our proper healing (which may include doctors and medicine). And we must always share our eternal hope in Jesus so others may receive salvation on this side of life and forever be with Him after death.

My One Thousand Gifts List

#621-630
The sun shining on my face
The pool of water making waves in the parking lot
Being led to join the A Holy Experience Gratitude Community
Meeting a white mom of an adopted black girl seeking me for guidance
Making great headway with laundry
Eating fruit in the bed with Nate and Justus
Justus and Nate attacking me with love
The boys loving going to the playground
Nate asking me to push him high in the swing while Josh swings himself high and Justus says “wee”
God protecting us at the name of Jesus from a car accident that seemed inevitable

Just Be Faithful

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I want to send out notes, thinking of you and thank you, and buy gifts whenever I feel moved. I want to cook elaborate dinners, take the boys to the park every sunny day and not yell at them at all. I want to wear fancy suits, sharp shoes and give a dollar to those needy passersby. I want to rise early daily, mop my floors weekly, have a getaway monthly, take a longer trip quarterly and plan the family trip to wherever we want to go in the world.

But sometimes I send up prayers and give oral thank yous, make lists of gifts, cook what’s easy to fix, spend some sunny days indoors or in the backyard, say ‘please forgive me,’ wear what’s in my closet, give a nod and ‘I’m sorry’ to most needy passersby, get up whenever I can get the body to rise, spot clean and vacate to another room or another world in books.

Sometimes you get to church at 11:45, have just enough clean plates for the dinner meal and have to tell the raw truth when they ask you how you’re doing. That strong black woman mantle is too heavy to carry and nobody should expect you to carry it anyway. “Now, a person who is put in charge as a manager must be faithful” (1 Corinthians 4:2). God only asks that we are faithful, that we do the best that we can—truly our best—and if that is less than our best in another less busy or less lean season of our lives then that is the best for now. And that is always enough, at least in the eyes of God, the only ones that matter, and for that I am thankful.

My One Thousand Gifts List

#551-560
A nap
Completing my book proposal
Supporting Christen by attending her play
Flynn being a hands-on dad, including today bathing Nate and Justus
Flynn cooking
Forman Mills having good deals
A productive and stress-free day
God’s grace for getting the boys and me ready for church
Christen’s faithfulness in helping me
Flowers and a card from Tabitha

Crying Out

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What Do You Think? Wednesday

For weeks her eyes have been hollow and face sunk in; she has creases at the mouth, greasy hair and ashen skin. She has a brood of children, a reportedly hands off husband of a father and too many responsibilities to name. One day without a word to anyone she left our home schooling group, left a crying preschooler, an anxious toddler and half a dozen older children without a clue to where she went. One mom speculated she needed a break, that she just left to get a breather and could only do so with this type of great escape. When she returned, to my knowledge, no one asked where she went or why she left without a word. I only said, “I wondered what happened to you. You left and didn’t say a word.” She told me she went home, talked to some workers there, never saying she was sorry she left the way she did or thank you for caring for her concerned children. I was offended and decided to have little to do with this woman, but when she came to our group the other week I wish I had said something then.

She came with 70s style track shorts on top of a thick pair of holey dark tan pantyhose that contrasted with her white skin. I wondered “What would make her think it was okay to wear pantyhose with shorts? What would make her think it was okay to wear not just pantyhose, but pantyhose with gaping holes?” Her pulling at and trying to minimize the holes let me know that she knew holey hose were not okay, but was this the only way she could get the help she needed? Was drawing attention to herself in such a loud way the only cry she knew to make. Still, I said nothing. I let her holey cry go unheeded, too afraid to step into her world, get into her business to care for her. But I didn’t let that chance pass me by when a medical office worker gave me more than instructions for my mom’s lab visit. She poured out her soul right in the waiting room, emotions spilling right on the desk and onto me about caring for her dying mom and losing her brother to brain cancer just a few months before.

She cried, sad and angry at her siblings for being absent, coming only to the funeral and not coming around since. She cried right there with a blaring TV, unfiled paperwork and ears captive, listening. “I gotta be strong for my kids,” she said, not able to wipe her tears fast enough before the next well flowed. I told her to let go of that strong black woman demeanor, to get some counseling and grieve fully and as long as it takes for her to feel whole again. And I told her when she could do so without sinful anger to talk to her siblings about how she feels, leaving no room for bitterness to break her but for her attempt at reconciliation to help make her whole again. I prayed for her, told her my name and left knowing that she, nor I, would ever be the same.

When you encounter someone who is clearly crying out for help, how do you respond? What, if anything, would you say to my homeschooling group mom? Please, tell me what you think.

Special Obligation: Remember Your Identity

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This game they play never changes, but my son Nathaniel gets scared every time. He’s three and stocky and throws his weight around on Joshua, my 9 year old, and on Justus, my 2 year old, not knowing his own power. I call him my “chunky monkey” and this is when the throwing stops and the leaning into me begins. Hearing “chunky monkey” makes him want to cuddle and kiss, to rest from the rest of the world; the sound of love comforts him. He knows that Mama loves him, all of him, and he rests in that. But when he and Joshua, at Nathaniel’s prompting, play the game of ghost, there seems to be nothing I can say to get Nathaniel to not be afraid.

Sometimes Joshua covers himself with a blanket. Other times he simply presents himself to Nathaniel with increasingly loud and longer ghost sounds: “Oooo…Oooooo…Oooooooo.” And every time Nathaniel comes to me with some expression of fright. Always running to me crying or on the verge of tears he says, “I’m scared,” “It’s a ghost,” or “Joshua scared me.” I tell him, “It’s Josh. See. It’s just Joshua. You know who he is. Why are you afraid?” Then I know the answer because we grown (recovering) strong black women do what Nate does too.

We recognize the devil or someone’s flesh in operation and we get afraid. We don’t cower like Nate, but instead of resting in Jesus—allowing Him to fight our battles, we gear up and do our own bidding. We, out of fear of being conquered, seek to fight our own way. We, so deft at making a way and saving the day, move out of fear. We forget who the enemy is; we forget who God is; and we forget who we really are.

• Satan is defeated (Hebrews 2:14).
• God is defeater (Revelation 1:18).
• We belong to God so the victory is already ours (1 Corinthians 15:57).

I said the victory is already ours. Sometimes we have to wait on a word from God to make a move or know when to be still or keep our mouths shut or when to follow our gut. We have to let God tell us what to do in that new moment because the old instructions just might not do (Remember Moses striking instead of speaking to the rock—Compare Exodus 17:5-6 to Numbers 20:7-12). We can’t let our enemies’ sounds and appearances make us fear to strike instead of speak. Sounds and appearances are just costumes of the weak used to fool us into thinking we’re weak. We cannot be fooled, can’t afford to be fooled to fight with our flesh. Doing so negates our best—our God-given power to navigate and squash the mess that comes our way. We have an obligation to remember who the enemy is, remember who God is and to remember who we are. This is how we live a victorious life and free from the demands of fear.

What has fear caused you to do? What do you do to remember who you really are? Please, tell me what you think.