During this time of year, everyone seems to get so caught up. There are dinners to plan, parties to attend, gifts to buy. It is so easy to forget and move through these days without spending some time being still and listening. This Sunday morning, I’m up early and listening…to the silence.
It is during these silent moments, when my ears hear nothing, that I hear what I need to hear. It is in the silence that I find clarity. When the world keeps turning, when life continues to happen, I find comfort in the silence. I am reminded of my purpose, and reconnect with my focus on ensuring I’m living up to my destiny.
I fall short. I don’t think I’ve done all that I can do. But everyday that I get that touch and open my eyes, I am given a gift of a new day. This new day means that I can try once again. This new day means that I can continue walking. This new day means one more chance to be. I am chosen; God has favored me and that is the most humbling, beautiful thing I can even imagine. So who am I to not keep on living, keep on being, keep on listening?
I’m listening this morning. And my heart is full. I am in love, and love is in me.
I moved into my new home the Friday before last. Last Sunday, I had no internet so I was left struggling with expressing how much I love waking up to peace and quiet. It’s my favorite thing about Sunday mornings; waking up to the sun shining in the window, bringing with it a promise of newness and peace.
Peace is something you choose, or something that chooses you. It is up to you, however, to embrace it and roll around in it and put it on like a comfy robe. I choose peace this morning. My spirit has been tumbling lately because I’m dealing with another choice I have to make (more on this later), but this morning, I woke up and smiled at the knowledge that peace is right in front of me. All I need to do is grab it and hold it.
My family’s annual Christmas party was last night. I love being with my family; it is the place where I know I’m loved the most. And last night was like any other time that I’m with them…beautiful. I am forever thankful for these magnificent people that through blood or marriage or kinship that I’m related to. I’m an aunt, a daughter, a cousin, a niece, a granddaughter, a mother, and most of all, a friend to some wonderful people. They light my path. They provide my peace. They are my comfort.
This morning, as I enjoy my 2nd cup of coffee with Yolanda Adams sanging in the background of my big new kitchen, I feel peace. That is a feeling I’ve waited on for so long…and all I had to do to get it was to be still long enough to recognize it right in front of my eyes.
Open your eyes to the peace that is there for you to snatch. You’ll be amazed at how well it fits you.
What do you do on Sunday mornings? I know many of us get up and go to church and thank the Good Lord for allowing us to see another day. Many of us take the time out to be still, relishing the last day of the weekend before hitting the hustle and bustle of the work week on Monday.
I use Sunday to reconnect. To look back at the past week and decide what lessons I need to pay more attention to. I think about how I am living my life, and what I have to do to stay afloat in these days. I thank God for waking me up, and for loving me, and for constantly blessing me. I also aim to be quiet. That quiet allows me to breathe and move and be.
When you flitter about, constantly trying to figure this and that out, you miss out on hearing your Spirit direct you. This morning, I did something I haven’t done in a long time. Before I got out of bed, I sat cross-legged and just…breathed. I let the quiet surround me, and I let those inhalations and exhalations release the worry that is always there. In my quiet, I listen for my Spirit to affirm who I am and what I need to do.
The remainder of my Sunday will be filled with football watching and packing and homework. I have so much to do, but I don’t worry. I have full faith that I am in exactly the spot I’m supposed to be in. I believe that God will continue to prepare the table before me. I think that is the true meaning of happy…at least for me. There is nothing in this world that I consider to be out of reach; nothing that I feel that I cannot do. How powerful is that?!
Be quiet. Sit still for a little while and listen. You will always get an answer to whatever is on your mind. And you will continue to move forward to being who you are supposed to be.
We all know the story behind Thanksgiving; I choose to embrace this holiday as a time to be thankful and humbled at all the blessings that I’ve been given.
So I say to you: be grateful, use love as your greatest weapon, and enjoy this time with those that you love, and who love you back.
I wondered how I would mark this occasion. I thought I would just post a video of the song that best described how I feel the morning I wake up to 40. I tried to do a little celebration every day since November 1; I realize that the celebration was really a ruse. I am simply enjoying being alive and well. But being the person I am, I had to do something.
So while watching Black Girls Rock, I received inspiration from Tatiana Ali who wrote a letter to her younger self. The Year of My 40 begins with a letter to my younger self.
Dear Marva,
I love you. I wish that you could see what I see in you. There is such potential, such vitality, such love inside you that I don’t think you realize. I would like to tell you a few things that I think will help you along in your journey…things that I have learned during my 40 years on this earth.
Through all the challenges that you will encounter, please remember that you are strong. Even when it feels as though life is crumbling around you, you have everything in you to withstand the storms and arrive at your destination. Your strength is your strongest gift. Use it wisely and don’t allow anyone to convince you that you cannot stand on your own. You can…and will.
One thing that I’ve learned is that sometimes you have to separate yourself from those who bring you down, no matter who they are. You have a light, Marva…many people are intimidated by that light and try to snuff it. Use Matthew 5:13-16 as your guide and never forget that you are God’s child. He has created you with something unique; pass that gift along to others so that they too may see God in you.
Love will never hurt you. Love doesn’t lie, or lay in wait, or hide from you. Love will find you when you realize that it lives inside you. That companionship that you crave, those times when you feel lonely…remember that you always have family and friends who surround you who pray for you daily. Love comes in many forms; don’t settle on one way to give and receive and manifest that love in your life.
Believe, Marva. Believe in your dreams and believe that you can achieve them. It may not happen when you think it should…God doesn’t follow your timeline. As long as you put forth the effort and trust that God has given you everything that you need to succeed, you will achieve those goals that may seem unreachable. Believe that life is here for you to live it. Believe that you can be whatever you choose to be. Believe that love will lift you higher than anything else you encounter.
Most of all, never lose sight of who you are. Step outside of your box sometime to learn something new about you. Face everyday with positivity. Give all of yourself to those you love, things you are passionate about, and never be afraid to speak the truth…it really does set you free.
You have a road ahead of you that will at times be tough. You will cry and desire and feel alone. You never are. Remember that always and treasure the moments when you smile. Embrace the times when you feel love surround you. Freedom is what you will have by loving who you are, no matter what other’s opinions of you are.
Happy Birthday, Marva. Celebrate by dancing, because sometimes that is the only answer.
Til I die, I’ma fucking ball…who gon’ stop me, huh?!
If you know me, you know that my life has been a series of ups and downs the past few years. I had already deemed this period of my life The Crazy Years, and delighted in the moment, the very moment that I stopped being crazy and came back to myself. Turns out there was an explanation for those tears that never seemed to end, the fights I picked with everyone around me, the weight gain and loss, and the random outbursts of pure anger.
I was, and am, going through menopause.
Imagine my surprise upon finding this out. I’m almost 40 (28 days until The Year of My 40 for those keeping track), so that means that I began menopause about 2 1/2 or 3 years ago. I don’t know when exactly, but if I trace back through The Crazy Years, I can probably figure it out. I wondered during my Crazy Years what the hell was going on, but I simply attributed the changes in my mood and attitude and body to the fact that I had a lot (!!!) of stress at the time. So when my periods didn’t show up, and my weight fluctuated seemingly daily, I didn’t give it much thought. It was only when I came back to myself that I went and saw my gynecologist to make sure nothing was physically wrong with me. I remember being frightened when Dr. G walked back into that cold little exam room and sat down on the stool. She was holding a stack of papers and the look on her face was something like disbelief. I steeled myself for bad news.
Instead, she shook her head and looked me dead in my face and said, “There is nothing wrong with you. You are going through men-o-pause.”
She then shared my lab results with me and showed me pictures from the ultrasound I had taken less than 30 minutes earlier. She took her time and explained what my test results meant and I sat there, shocked. I just kept thinking to myself, I’m too young to go through men-o-pause, right? Facts are facts, I guess. I’m still a little shocked by it, but everyday I think back to The Crazy Years and feel a little bit of relief that I now know what the hell was going on with me.
I have been done having children. The Boy is and will always be my one and only child. The finality of knowing that though, made me a little sad. What if I find that person out there who is just for me? How will I let him know that there will be no children? How do I approach this thing?
The questions still come, but there is also a magnificent feeling of freedom. I am a grown ass woman, whether I like it or not now. Men-o-pause certainly don’t stop no show; it means for me that the coming years of my life will be free of the monthly visitor that I hated to find at my doorstep. It also means that I must pay attention to the signs that my body is given me and take care of it properly.
I have hot flashes now…well, I’ve had them for a while (during The Crazy Years I simply didn’t know what they were). And the insomnia and night sweats have an explanation. Not being able to remember anything has pushed me to make lists for everything. But I’m okay with the changes I need to make. I don’t consider it a burden; it is, in fact, very freeing.
Ultimately, I’m good. Very good. And I feel extremely blessed to be here, 28 days before The Year of My 40. I’m ready for whatever.
As a little girl, I looked at my mother as the strongest person I knew. I was scared to death of her, but as I grew up watching her work hard and handling things, I knew that strength would make sense one day. I doubted that I would inherit any of that strength, though. I was such an introvert and so quiet and to myself that I didn’t believe that strength could find its way past those very tall walls. But it did, and I now understand what it all means.
As an adult, I realize that my mother was not the only strong woman in my family. She was just modeling that which she had observed growing up. So when I look around at my granny, my mom, my aunts and cousins, all I see is the strength that all these women carry. Some may not recognize the power that they have inside, but it is there. It is inherent; one of those things that try as you might, you cannot ignore.
That strength showed up in volumes on Tuesday. Through all of our pain and heartache, that quiet strength could not be contained. It flowed freely between the women in my family. It held our hands and calmed our voices and quieted our spirits when we needed it most. That strength that the women in my family possess helped us to turn our faces to the skies above and pray for peace and justice. That strength helped us to say goodbye, even if we didn’t understand the reason behind leaving.
My mother is still the strongest person that I know, but her name is no longer alone on that list. I’ve added my granny, my aunts and my cousins…and myself. I know that strength that flows through them, flows through me. I know, after all that my life has been through the past few years, that I am stronger than I give myself credit for. I can’t take any credit for it; it was given to me as a gift. A gift that, on Tuesday, tempered the storm that raged inside, and made me grasp that superwoman runs in my family.
‘Cause even when I’m a mess, I still put on a vest with an ‘S” on my chest,
I’m sitting here at my laptop, having my morning coffee while my Chihuahua, Max, taps my arm trying to get me to pet him. It’s about 67° outside, and my computer room is chilly. I’ve got Anita Baker playing in the background, and the rest of my house is quiet. I am enjoying being still.
This is what Sunday mornings should be…easy. Sunday mornings evoke a peace that should be respected and soaked up. There is no running around today, no errands to run, no places to be. Rest and relaxation are on the menu today, and I’m going to take the time to allow Sunday to lay on me and calm my spirits.
My goal for next week is to remain consistent. I want to stand on my convictions, believe that my dream is bigger than me, and walk out on faith that I can achieve and conquer it. Everyone needs a day to restore, reflect, and rebound…this is my day.
My boy turns 16 today. Like always, I’m all in my feelings about it. I did it when Jordyn went to kindergarten, I did it when he turned 13, and I’ll do it when he graduates and goes to college.
I think back to when Jordyn was born. Such a big boy (8lbs, 8 ozs.). I remember my first thought was, “His hands are so big!” But I loved him. Even before I knew him, I loved him. The picture over there is my favorite one. He is 3 months old, and the cutest thing I ever saw. But the picture is more than that of a cute baby; it epitomizes the joy that he brings to my life daily.
I complain. I nag. I yell, I fuss. Sometimes I just want him to go away for a while so I can catch my breath. Between running him back and forth to school and football practice, to never being able to eat my leftovers because he got to them first, I feel a little overwhelmed from time to time. I then catch my breath and remember how blessed I am.
I am blessed because God gave me this beautiful gift to love. I am blessed because even though sometimes I can’t pay Jordyn to remember to take out the trash or clean his room, he is the one bright spot in my life that I can count on. I don’t know what I would do without him…he is my joy.
It’s getting more and more where he won’t need me as much. I see signs of him pulling away, and I feel conflicted. You see, I want him to grow up and experience life. I want him to bump into his own walls and learn the lessons life has in store for him. I want him to fall in love and have someone break his heart, then have the audacity to fall in love again. But I also just want to stand in front of him like the lioness I have been for the past 16 years and protect him from all of that. But I can’t, and I won’t.
My boy is a good boy. He’s mischievous, and quick to laughter. He has a kind heart, and is infallibly generous and polite. Today on his 16th birthday, I look back and remember the baby I once vowed to love and protect. I also look ahead and see that he is becoming the man his father and I want him to be.
The tattoo? Well, the tattoo was the result of an impulsive decision Friday night. My friend and I were attending an outdoor concert and noticed that there was a little tattoo shop across from where we were sitting. During one of our wandering moments, we walked over to check it out.
Once we were in there, I decided why not? Why shouldn’t I do this now? Why wait until November when I turn 40 (which was my original plan)? I was going to get a tattoo, another one, so this opportunity just presented itself.
Now a little history on why I chose the phoenix. My first tattoo is of a butterfly. I got that one when I turned 30. Back then, I felt my wings forming, felt myself coming into womanhood and wanted something that would constantly remind me to spread those wings and fly. Having lived through the past 10 years since that tat, I wanted my next one to say something about perseverance and resiliency. Because that is what I do: I persevere. I am resilient.
So I started researching. And came across the story of the phoenix. The phoenix is a sacred bird of the Egyptians. At the end of its lifespan, which can be as long as 1000 years, it builds a nest that ignites. Out of the dust and ashes, out of the fire, out of all of that trauma, a new phoenix arises. That’s how I feel about where I am right now. I’ve been through the dust and ashes, I’ve been burned, and I have experienced trauma. But everything about me still standing here feels brand new. I see things through brand new eyes, I hear through brand new ears, I feel with brand new skin. I have been reincarnated as a much better, stronger, beautiful version of my old self.
I am blessed, and I know it. I look at this new tattoo and it will forever remind me to rise. It will forever make me think that no matter what life throws at me, I will persevere. It will forever mean to me that I am strong, that I am free, that I am unique. That in itself is a huge gift that I thank God for every day.
The tattoo? Well, the tattoo was the result of an impulsive decision Friday night. My friend and I were attending an outdoor concert and noticed that there was a little tattoo shop across from where we were sitting. During one of our wandering moments, we walked over to check it out.
