New Year's Day...Everyday

Ahh...the dumb things we do to bring in a new year.  Get drunk and high out of our minds, only to be nauseous for 6 hours of the next day.  Sleep with a...uh...less than deserving person, only to hope for mutual confidentiality.  Shoot our guns in the air, only to pray that the cop a block over doesn't ask any questions.  Get $100/month gym memberships that last 'till February.  Get engaged to break up in June.  Some of us even go to church for a good show before doing all of the above.  All this, only to wake up in the exact same state...even though the Roman calendar told you that you have a new start.

vs. The Community

On Sunday, December 15, an 11 year-old girl was physically assaulted by a 16 year-old boy in a working class North Richmond, Virginia neighborhood.  When the mother of the girl notified the police about the incident immediately after, she was told there was "nothing they could do" and they did not send an officer.  Only after several adults from both families confronted each other did the Richmond Police Department respond...and they did twice..with a different pair of officers each time.  Through all this, no one was arrested, including the boy that started it all.  During the second and final visit, one of the officers inquired as to why this conflict hadn't been resolved.  The father of the 11 year-old girl responded to the cop, "if the first policeman would've done something, we wouldn't even be here.  But this 16 year-old smacks my 11 year-old daughter and y'all don't do nothing.  What am I supposed to do?"

The Art of Protest

These days are the labor pains that indicate the birth of something epic.  They are excruciating and difficult to breath through.  Sometimes they are pulsating, sometimes they are sharp, but they are always present.  They're here because local, national, and global corruption is close to boiling over.  The smell of restlessness is pungent  from a frustrated people, being fully receptive of the subliminal and deliberate information supplied during this age.  Poverty is used for intimidation...or suppression...or elimination.  The obvious threat of violence is as high as ever, but assumptions of biological control and restrictions on various freedoms are making the peasants anxious.  And even the democratic process is subject to bribery and political influence.  This air is of revolution.

Growing Between Thorns - Issue 1

Ahh...the great walk down the aisle to let the world (well, at least everyone who was at church that day) know that you're going to give your life to Jesus Christ.  Folks all clapping and smiling at you; praising God and stuff.  You're getting all those tight, sincere-feeling hugs.  Even the pastor that did that sermon just for you gives a firm hand shake and prays for your immediate success in life.  Who wouldn't join a church after all that fanfare?  Why not get involved in every ministry you can that the church offers?  It is the blessed thing to do.  Until you find out that those people who were congratulating you weeks earlier actually aren't heavens' angels; they actually are human beings.  And they too are the kind who are jealous, who lie, and who are manipulative.  It ain't that blessed now, huh?  The 'I love God but I can't deal with church folk' starts to make perfect sense...aaaannnnd it's time to exit stage left.

Secret Blessings

Although it's rare, the mid-March cold that's cracking Weldon's skin is bitter and relentless.  Strolling from corner to park to alley, his weariness isn't just limited to his physical status.  After months of experiencing this rock-bottom phase, it's now taken root in his spirit.  This is not the ideal time to be homeless and hungry, however.  With spring coming in a couple of weeks, there won't be  many community dinners or meals where the fortunate can "give back" until November.  And in this unseasonably freeze, Weldon's options are few.  Expressway exits are more productive than getting chased out of McDonald's because of asking for water.  So Weldon waits on the good Samaritan while being fully aware that most of them don't show up until Thanksgiving.

The All-American Charity

4:33 a.m....Sunday morning...before dawn...prayer.  For the past two years this has been Marsha's desired routine; have prayer at home, hours before the first service of her church begins at 8, then get her and her children ready to arrive at the facility by 7, and then dive head first into the tasks that the church day brings.  As 2:15 p.m. rolls around she's holding on to her last strand of energy after a spirited worship experience...that she did not get to participate in.  Because of her intercessory prayer, youth program, hospitality, and media team commitments, her "worship and praise" session happen at her home; and she only hears a sermon when she can get a recording of it.  But on this day, like any other Sunday, long after the pastor heads home she shuts down, turns off, and helps close up.  Undoubtedly the best 7 hour shift a companies' dollar can buy.

You'll Get Down

Through this blog, I've written about the widening divide within Christianity that is separating the authentic believers from the counterfeit followers.  I've explored the risks associated with taking stances against societal wisdom and in turn aligning with biblical principles and laws.  And I've presented the realities of how being an active member in the Kingdom of God may very well be an indicator of your true commitment; while adversely, having a nonchalant attitude about Kingdom advancement could symbolize your hearts' real desire.  With all that said, it's no secret that I believe that these ideals are all coming to a meeting point rapidly.  But I've also been pondering another critical [and scary] thought that's related to the subject of the Mark of the Beast; and how our intelligent and loving friends and family members will run to get it knowing exactly what it is.

Constructive Criticism

We would ride around the city, sometimes the first thing in the morning, high and hopeless.  The longstanding objective was to produce music that reflected what we were about (substance abuse, grand ideologies, and fruitlessness), while the daily goal was to manifest the previously stated objective...to include the mindless depravity of women.  Years before the current national hip-hop culture deemed it popular to use pharmaceutical drugs (not including Houston or Philadelphia), we were drinking Activis; dramatically slowing down the pace of an already miserable life.  We weren't making money illegally nor killing anyone, so we didn't consider our acts to be Satan-inspired.  But we were wrong, and a series of events and the revelation we received from those events encouraged us to change.  Some of the fruit of these changes have been made public; developing feelings of pride and humbleness simultaneously as I recall our journey.  But I would be ignorant not to acknowledge that the crabs that still dwell in the barrel we come from are not celebrating our freedom.

Who Are You And Why Should We Care?

Recently, I made some public stances against various behaviors that I believe significantly encourage harmful things to happen to young women and girls.  A 20+ year friend of mine took notice of these changes and asked if they had anything to do with my infant daughter.  I responded to her question with an emphatic "without a doubt!"  And I wasn't ashamed to admit it; how my once chauvinist views have been completely reversed by the birth of my baby girl.  These changes should have happened years earlier as I wasn't raised in a sexist fashion, but I'm not excluded in having self-experience being an honest teacher every now and then.  And as I was expressing my renewed mind, all I could think about is the burning anger I would feel if I ever saw a picture of my teenage daughter in a tank-top and tights...taken in my bathroom...for all of cyberspace to ogle over.  Of course, much of that anger would be from the thoughts that my baby has been convinced that she was raised as a hoodrat.  But the other part would come from me thinking that she thinks she's so important that her virtual friends and their real friends HAVE to see her.

Cheerleaders

Confession time.  I was one of those people who thought voting was useless; and didn't vote until President Obama's first campaign.  And while I still believe that the U.S. democratic process is deliberately flawed to generally benefit the American aristocrat,  I do also think it's important to put a stake (or in this case a toothpick) in the direction of the nation when given the opportunity.  It's not for the classic "people died for the right to vote" argument either.  I mean, people died...and are still dying...for the right to sell drugs.  Doesn't mean I need to go cop a 8-ball and cook-up.  But the right to vote is critically important for this reason:  the crooked United States government, along with the lesser but equally as crooked state, county, and city governments allow for it's [of age] citizens to have a say in who they want to lead them from a political, social, and financial perspective in regards to legislation.  All legal voters should take advantage of this, and anyone who doesn't has made their opinion unquestionably insignificant to not only the powers that be, but the general public.  In the end, all that person does is scream on the sidelines.

Be Adrian, Not Derek

Any athlete can testify to the fact of how horrible a hard fought loss feels.  It's almost nothing worse than pouring it all out during the burning heat of competition, only to be rewarded with an "oh-so-close."  But the one thing that probably does sink a little lower is being hampered by an injury during the battle; then having to leave your teammates to finish the job because your body won't allow you to.  Instead of your will being imposed on the field it's only imposed in your mind...as you watch, and wait, and wait...until you reach the even more challenging road to recovery.  Since your healing began, one of your most repeated prayers was to not just be a remnant of your former self.  You hoped to still be as quick...as strong...as explosive...as dominating.  During rehab the physicians tell you you're ahead of schedule, so you feel great.  Your practices appear to be productive and supportive of your comeback, so you feel better than great.  Yet there's still one more thing to conquer - your mind.  See the thing is, does your brain...with the memory of the painful injury...still trust the ability of your body, or is it hurt like your knee.  You see, that's the difference between being an Adrian Peterson or a Derek Rose.

Job Readiness

Walk with me.

You're a not-so-recent college graduate and have been in the hunt for a dynamic, well paying gig since you strutted across that stage a few years ago.  Tired of working crappy jobs; depressed and totally hopeless, you begin to entertain thoughts of earning money by way of illegal means.  These notions dominate your mind as you take the humbling trip to the Department of Social Services to hop on public assistance.  But on the way, your phone rings with an opportunity to be interviewed for what you think is a customer service position at JP Morgan Case & Co., the nations' largest bank.  Dressed in your best business gear which is...well at least it's clean, you show up only to be interviewed by the president of the company.  All ready in shock, you're offered a position as a marketing executive for the Central Virginia region (which includes four cities and five counties) within 35 seconds of the meeting.  And if that wasn't enough, a personal promise of promotion is spoken to you from the big man.  You have a little trouble getting your head together.  Being considered for this position, one that you're certain you're not qualified for, is putting more questions in your head instead of just accepting the job.  Nearly with tears in your eyes, you say yes; and right after you passionately thank the president he leads you to a training room and says, "be back in 20 minutes so we can start working."

Act Like You Know

Traditionally, Matthew 8:5-10 has been taught from the perspective of blind faith.  We have the centurion of the Roman infantry approaching Jesus with an issue concerning his slave; and being confident that Jesus, as Lord, could heal him just at His speaking.  This is indeed was a brave move; as we know that a man in Caesar Augustus' military (or territory) acknowledging a Jew as royalty is treason and punishable by death.  Then for this man to confirm Jesus' power before he actually saw it for himself is also impressive.  However, I tend to believe that this military man had additional points of verification that lead him to ask Jesus to perform such a task.  Of course with no Bible, mega-church, or televangelist to preach the Christ, for a heathen Roman to recognize Jesus' unchallenged authority and healing ability says a lot about his study of and connection with the Lord God.  Yet when reading verse 9, we get to not only picture the centurions' faith, but we also see his rationale.  In layman's terms he tells the Savior, "I'm also a boss; and I know when bosses speak, things move."

Plantation Life

For a little over 6 years I've been at the front of guiding an organization that has helped families all over Virginia get the expensive help they could never pay for.  At least once a month, I hear the theoretical slogans about being husband; which lately have been accompanied by the other theoretical slogans about being a father...and how I'm doing such a bang up job.  Primarily, because of these two things I've received some pretty flattering comments from those close and not so close to my situations.  And I can't lie, it makes me feel pretty good knowing that people even think so highly of me.  Yet I don't allow those feelings to go past a minute of consideration; for in reality, all I do is take orders.

Embrace Compliance

My dad used to watch the reruns of Gomer Pyle USMC faithfully when I was a kid; and I loved it.  Outside of sports and cartoons, there wasn't too much that came on the tube that I enjoyed more than Gomer Pyle.  It also had me wanting to get down with the Marines.  Because as a child, when you see G.I. Joe whuppin' evil with ease for 30 minutes daily; and then you see how much fun Private Pyle was having at his base, you can't help but to think the military is the place to be.  That's until you realize that a small percentage of both of those programs were real; and they neglect to show a grown man yelling instructions at you for about 10 weeks.  Didn't take long for me to understand any branch of the military wasn't for me...merely because I had a huge problem with compliance and being disciplined if I didn't see any logic in it.

Flimsy

Facebook post, July 13, 2013; 10:02 p.m. - No justice!!!  No peace!!!!  No justice!!!  No peace!!!!  If it aint been clear from the last 400 years it's definitely clear now!  Florida has shown they don't care!  The let a 17 year-old boy get straight MURDERED by some racist, wanna-be cop and let that MURDERER walk!  That right took us back 50 60 years!  WE MUST STAND UP NOW AND PROTECT OUR CHIDLREN AND OUR MEN BECAUSE AMERICA IS THE SAME AS 1960!!  My heart is heavy for our kids because clearly its WAR out there!!!  That's why we gotta take things to OUR OWN HANDS!! Zimmerman dont think you got away because GOD get the LAST SAY!!

Facebook post, July 19, 2013; 9:13 a.m. - Off to Miami with the boo!! #cantwait #vacation

Separation Anxiety

Unity kills....well, sometimes.  Obviously, this statement implies that a person can be connected with another person or group that halts their progression through life.  Many of us have probably experienced growing up in a family - whether based on blood or some other link - that while loving and genuine, was also cancerous to our aspired goals.  All too often wee see brilliant, talented teenagers allow their budding lives to be pruned by their uninspired comrades.  Scholarships get discarded, careers go abandoned, and values get denied.  And this isn't limited to teens and twenty somethings; as grown men and women center the daily operation of their lives around their crew.  Extraordinary business minds are often stunted when shared with a lazy friend, who claims the dream is only that.  Even moving to a better home in a better neighborhood is shot down because some are "keeping it real" at age 35.  Immature?  Without a doubt.

Black Out Pic Wisdom

Somewhere in South Florida there is a retired senior citizen; a native of Washington D.C., who can vividly remember when he and his associates attempted to burn the Chocolate City down after Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated.  His flashbacks capture him angrily marching down 7th St. NW directly towards the police...ready and itching for a battle.  As he closes his eyes he sees the fire lit buildings.  He puts his hands over his ears and hears the screaming sirens and the shouts of the frustrated, scared youth.  He remembers the scratching, the pulling, the bleeding, the bodies.  Tears slowly roll down his face, wishing he could go back to April 4, 1968 and stay in the house.  But now, he's wondering who he hurt and if he killed anyone.  After more somber moments he raises his eyes to his local news...where the reporter captures the building anticipation of the Trayvon Martin case verdict.  Immediately he drops to his knees in prayer; weeping bitterly.

#BecauseWeSaidSo

While en route to try out a recommended gym for an afternoon workout, I decided to stop by my parents house; being it was near my destination.  I'm chatting it up with my dad when across the screen flashes the news about the shocking bombing at the Boston Marathon.  Human nature allows for a person in this situation to assume the worst; and so our silent thoughts and prayers were immediately directed to the [projected] hundreds of victims.  Once it was released that only 3 people perished, we concerned ourselves with praying for the families of those 3 victims while praising God for such minimal loses given the situation.  Apparently, I was in the minority here...as social and professional media alike commanded that we all #prayforBoston.  Well noted and adhered to.  But I couldn't help to think to myself, "Chicago is a little over 100 murders right now.  How come no one is hash-tagging to pray for them?"

Scarred Reflection

I would assume this wasn't the original intent, but it seems like social media is comprised of roughly 20-25% pornography. Now it would be easy to pin this stat on the 20-something year old misguided men and women of urban upbringing.  Or maybe peg the blame on the loose-moral reality television stars.   But the fact of the matter is that many 30 year old (and up) women are lettin' 'em hang and poke out for the camera.  These [supposedly] mature ladies have taken a page from there teenage...uh...mentees and have turned their somewhat clean bathrooms into a photo set; quickly releasing distasteful and vulgar images for hundreds to see.  And in the true spirit of porn, where no amount of money can outweigh the emotion rush of voyeurism  the independent woman does this for free.

Feeding the Monster

When I first learned about some of the ways various forms of cancer can advance throughout the body, I was a little leery.   I always envisioned cancer as this mysterious, unpreventable disease; not thinking that the modern Westernized diet is cancers' breeding ground.  I recall hearing about a woman, who when diagnosed with a cancer, completely revolutionized her diet to nothing but vegetables, fruits, certain nuts, and grains.  After only months of trying the new diet and with minimal treatment the cancer went into complete remission. One day, the woman decided she was going to fry some chicken; a nostalgic treat to herself after reaching a healthier lifestyle and defeating an often-terminal illness.  Within weeks the cancer returned and the woman died.  She essentially encouraged the dangerous cancerous cells that were dormant in her body to be revived...and it killed her.

Pick Fights

A seasonably chilly winter night in mid-March was quickly made warm when 8 national championships, some of the best amateur basketball players in America, and the ever-thirsty ESPN conglomerate descended on Moon Township, Pennsylvania.  And what brought the University of Kentucky and their bluegrass power to lowly Robert Morris University in March?  Weren't the Wildcats supposed to be gearing up to defend their 2012 NCAA title in some major U.S. city?  Not hardly...as a matter of fact, they didn't even qualify for the Men's Championship tournament.  UK's lackluster season left them only able to compete for the National Invitational Tournament; a sort of you're-good-but-not-good-enough type of event.  Even more strange was that the mighty Wildcats were playing at RMU.  Usually in the NIT, the higher seeded team hosts the lower seeded team at their facility.  But Rupp Arena (home of the Kentucky Wildcats) was ironically hosting the second round of the NCAA Men's tournament.  So, with all of their history and tradition and legacy of winning; about 20 or so young and middle-aged men left the "real" tournament to go take on a bunch of no names in some less-than-hick-town school.  However, someone forgot to tell the Colonials to be intimidated.

The Beautiful Silence

Go to sleep (or at least try to) with a number of troublesome issues on the brain...then wake up with none of them solved.  Roll over and snatch your smart phone in one clumsy move; checking your emails, text messages, and bank account - only to find your late-night working boss emailed you three assignments at 1 a.m. that she needs to be completed by lunch.  It seems like that email sparked the memory of all of the challenges in your life.  To quickly take your thoughts off late bills and dwindling finances you thumb through your social media feeds to like a few statuses and reach for the remote control to flick on the T.V., but you catch yourself.  Gotta thank the Man upstairs (after all He is first in your life).  Then, after your 30 second order...uhh...prayer, with your Droid still in grasp, you hop up to get geared for the day.  But maybe the prayer was too long, because you glance at your hand to notice you're about 15 minutes late.  So you fuss and cuss your way through the morning; finally ending up with a hefty, complaining sigh...wondering with all of this confusion is God hearing your ever-so-often 30 second petitions.

Ankle Weights

Right around my 80th work I had an inkling that this would happen; because it has before.  Early mornings after prayer was spent gazing into my bathroom mirror, convincing myself that my growth had conquered my statistics that defined my history.  I rested on the fact that I was breezing through a fantastic phase of creation; nurturing my own confidence while educating friends, associates, and enemies...en route to number 100.  But the monsters again appeared.  Procrastination emptied my stomach of substance while falsely satisfying my hunger.  The dark images of yesteryear proved to be an overrated distraction; but still was an effective counterattack to the goal.  And I sat in a disgusting but familiar state of incompleteness...mental sandbags tied around my legs, restraining my progress...resting on work 99.