The Letter.

This is a letter that my mother wrote to my father back in 1975. It is amazing that he kept it, even more amazing that after all this time it ended up in my hands. It is nothing but the grace of God in action. Reading it now, gives me insight into how she felt about me. It comforts me in a way that no one could possibly understand. Isn't it just like God to cause a thing to happen at one time, so that it can bring about a new feeling or emotion at another? She had no idea that I would read this at the time she wrote it.

It makes me fully comprehend the power of the pen. Makes me want to watch what I write and who I write it to. You never know where your words will end up and who will be reading them.

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Thank God for My Mordecai.

Every chance I get to love on my Aunt Clytie, I take it; enjoy it, appreciate it. I realize that because she is 92, I may not have forever to show her how much I appreciate her, so I take advantage of the time I have right now. She has always been there for me. I can remember growing up with my mom and times were always hard. My mom was single, trying to work and go to college. School time would come around and it would be time to get my clothes and Auntie wouldn’t think twice. It didn’t matter if my dad was there to buy clothes or not. My mom, Auntie and myself would go to Belk’s or JCPenney’s and get my school clothes. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t around. Not just giving her money to help and assist, but also pouring into me words of wisdom and encouragement. She would pray for me if I had even the slightest headache, point any and every situation back to the Lord and tell me when I was right or wrong and why. God is good because even when there wasn’t a daddy, there was an Auntie. There isn’t a momma anymore, but there is still an Auntie. I don’t think she knows the significance that she has in my life and the lives of my children. There isn’t anything within reason that she wouldn’t do for us, and it is much the same with me regarding her.

I gave her a pedicure today. Simple things please her. But while I was doing it, I was reminded of a sermon I heard Joel Osteen preach not long ago. He was talking about Esther, the peasant girl in the bible that ended up winning the heart of the King. Esther was an orphan. She didn’t have a mother or father. She was poor and didn’t have much. But she did have a Mordecai. Mordecai was a relative of Esther’s. He poured into her. Despite her situation, he told her who she could be regardless of her circumstance. When the time came to choose a queen, the King chose Esther over all the other candidates and I believe that it wasn’t just because of her physical beauty, but because of what she had within her.
Auntie is my Mordecai. She is who God sent to me to continuously pour into me, give me the strength I need, when I need it. We had a chance over this Thanksgiving holiday to spend time alone, away from the kids, just talking, laughing and drinking coffee. I’m older now, wiser now so I understand the weight and power of her words. As a child, when she would say, ‘You have great purpose in life’, I didn’t understand it. But now when she speaks, her words penetrate me in such a way that I wish I could bottle them up and hold onto them forever.

Thank God for my Mordecai.

“How much I owe you, baby?” she asked after I’d soaked and massaged her feet and painted her toes. “Not a thing, Auntie.”

It’s the least I can do.



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Time Keeps On Slippin', Slippin', Slippin'...

I will not grumble, mumble, murmur and complain. I will not grumble, mumble, murmur and complain. I will not grumble, mumble, murmur and complain.

I have to say that to myself on those days when I want to shake my fist at the air, scream at the top of my lungs or grab my purse and walk out of the front door, destination unknown, never to return again. Believe me, I have many of those days. But lately I have been paying closer attention to the news and what is going on in the community and the world as a whole. Killing, robbing, teenage pregnancies. The more I hear or read about what's going on in other peoples' houses, the more I realize how blessed I am.

I know where my kids are every night. They may not be as neat as I'd like them to be. My youngest daughter talks on the phone more than I feel the law should allow and my son can be the most disagreeable young man you've ever met. BUT...they don't run the streets, have never been in any real trouble and I know where they are each and every night.

I am reminded of a prayer that I prayed right after my mother died. I was feeling like we would get swallowed up by circumstance so I asked my God to help me make my kids the exception to the rule. I just didn't want to believe that because they come from a single parent home, that they had to end up pregnant or wouldn't go to college or would end up in prison. So on the days when I want to grumble, mumble, murmur and complain, I am reminded of how faithful God is to his word. He has done and is doing exactly what I asked him to do.

And though at times I feel at the brink of insanity, I quickly come back to my senses when I realize that it could always be worse and yet, it continues to get better.



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Countdown...

Dear Diary,

Can I just be honest for a minute? I mean brutally frank? Sometimes I can't wait until the day I can be grown in my own damn house! All the things I can do during the summer when my kids are away: walk around the house naked, drink until I'm staggering, smoke a joint, or have a one night stand with someone anonymous and sexy, come to a screeching halt once they are home. Now, I may not actually do any of those things while they are away, but if I wanted to, I would have to wait until their roving eyes were either closed, or far, far away. I think I am a little resentful, though I don't know why and feel guilty for feeling such rotten, unmotherly feelings. But damn. I can't find balance anywhere and that troubles me. I feel like I am not really myself, but pretending to be, acting as this Leave-It-To-Beaver ass mom that solves all problems, cooks homecooked meals, frowns at any and all indiscretions and stands diligently at my kids bedside while they say their prayers. The problem with that is, that persona directly conflicts with the me that will curse, wants to drink, get high or do something to relieve the pressure and anxiety that this life presents to me on a daily basis. I know if I did those things, my kids wouldn't respect me. Hell, I don't feel like they respect me now. They respect me as in they won't do or say certain things, but they don't respect my hustle or my sacrifices. They don't understand them yet, I know. But I'm a little salty today because my flesh is acting up. I don't want to be celibate anymore. I didn't choose to be celibate in the first place. It just kind of happened. Somewhere in between me getting my groove on and watching my kids grow, I realized I wanted them to have better relationships. Marriages as opposed to booty calls. Real love as opposed to lust. Commitment vs. Involvement.

So here I am. Counting down the days until I can be grown again. Walk naked and feel free to be me.




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First Day of School

Dear Diary,

Today I got up early so I could fix my kids breakfast before their first day of school. It is a nothing short of a miracle when I realize that I have 2 that are seniors this year and my baby girl is a sophomore. Normally, I have to pull them out of bed in the morning. Threaten at least twice before they actually get up and get moving. But not today. Today there was a different energy; almost an excitement, in the air. Before I could even finish cooking breakfast, my son was downstairs, fresh pressed, smelling all good. He is one that genuinely takes pride in his appearance. “Thank you, Mommy,” he said, as he fixed his plate and proceeded to eat it standing up in the kitchen. My pleasure, I thought to myself. Baby girl drifts down the stairs next. Most comfortable in jeans and tennis shoes, she reminds me of myself at her age. Not quite girly, but unable to be classified as a tomboy, I realize they are all slipping away from me very quickly. I can remember when she wouldn’t do more than pull her hair back into a sloppy ponytail and this morning she sports shiny lipgloss and has applied mascara that makes her beautiful almond shaped eyes almost jump out at me. The oldest makes her way down finally and once they have all eaten, they take pictures of one another; posing and showing of new clothes and new shoes. I decide then and there that we will document this year as much as possible in photos. Life as we all know it will change very soon. It is the oldest that tells the others how to pose, where to stand. She is so bossy and mother-like, I wonder what it will be like when she is out on her own and no longer such a driving force in our home. They are all taller than me now, with bigger breasts and bigger opinions. Where has all the time gone? It wasn’t so long ago that I had to pick their clothes out, comb their hair and make sure they had brushed their teeth and put deodorant under their arms. I used to think it was a chore, but now my heart aches for those moments when they really needed and depended on me because I know I won’t ever be able to go back. I guess I’m just missing them the way they used to be. Before they grew hair up under their arms. Before they started liking the opposite sex. Before they grew into little women and a little man. I guess I just miss them before they grew up.



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