There's so much going on right now, ya'll. There are so many stories of tragedy. So many children feeling hopeless. So many people feeling like their voice doesn't matter. It's the loudest voice that seems to be winning right now, even when that voice is cruel, cold, and heartless. Most of us were taught that good always wins, but where is that victory? Is it coming soon or do we have to wait until we are drained of every bit of strength that we have? I'm here to tell you that even champions for good get weary... but... ...we must not quit. Our children need us to remind them that pain is part of life, but it doesn't mean that life is over. We cannot...we must not allow our differences to outweigh our similarities. It's not our job to judge...it is our charge to LOVE. Fight for those who seem to have lost their way. Dig deep...deep enough to imagine yourself in the hole that they feel traps them. FEEL their pain, even if only for a moment. Hear their side. Don't speak your opinion while they pour out their heart...listen to THEIR TRUTH. We cannot lose another child who feels hopeless. We cannot allow another being to be sold into the slavery of hopelessness. We cannot allow another person to become a voiceless victim because they feel there is no other way. The only way that #love can #win is if we give it room to do so. #BeTheChange #LetLoveWin #BeSomeonesChampion #LiftTheirVoices That's all I got right now...so I'm going to just let Donny Hathaway take it from here God, the weary sure do need you. #SingItDonnyHathaway #WeNeedYouRightNowLord
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Appointed
When my old computer broke back in 2006, I figured whatever I needed to do on a computer could be done either at work or at my neighborhood library, so I never bought a new one. My local library at the time was attached to a community college, so the extended hours made it possible for me to save a little money and do without my own technology for a while. Eventually, though, I got a job with an employer who provided laptops to its employees. On the day they issued mine, I had planned to go straight home since I no longer needed to use a library computer. But the closer I got to my house, it seemed like I just couldn't make the turn into my neighborhood; I continued down the main road to the library, all the while chuckling at the realization that I had a new habit that would be hard to break. I parked on the parking lot row that lead to the front of the library. Walking toward the door, I suddenly noticed that my cell phone wasn't in its usual place. I reached into my bag to check to see if it was there, but I never stopped because I had already determined that my trip wouldn't take long, so there was no need for it if I had left it in the car. Just around the time my hand found the phone deep in the corner of my purse, I saw a security guard on a golf cart speeding toward the door. Our paths were perpendicular--a few more seconds at our respective paces, and we would have collided. His cart, suddenly, came to a stop. I could tell he was in a hurry to get somewhere, but his body wouldn't cooperate with him as he threw his cart into the park position. He looked at me just before his body folded over the side of the cart, and his body slid to the ground. He was having a seizure. With my hand still around the phone that I had just searched for in the corners of my bag, I got over any shock that tried to paralyze me, and by the time the man's shoulder touched the ground, I had already dialed 9-1-1. Meanwhile, a grey haired man rushed to the security officers side to give him care-- he did so with the skill of a medical professional, seeming as if he knew exactly what to do. In less than 90 seconds of the onset of the entire episode, an ambulance from a nearby station pulled into the library parking lot; I said a quick, silent prayer over the man's life, and knowing he would be in good hands with the team already assisting him, I began to walk back to my car to process what I had just witnessed. I had only taken a few steps when the white bearded man called out, "That was a good call you made...to 911...thank you." Time I believe there is an appointed time for everything—the moments when the floodgates open and everything just seems to work together, as well as the seasons of our lives where things aren't working out. It can be difficult, but if we change our mindsets to acknowledge purpose in everything we go through, then there's a chance we will get to see just how connected we (and our experiences) truly are. Take a look at how this idea played out in my library story:
Question: What if I had ignored that feeling that pulled me to the library? What if I hadn't been there? Whose life/lives would have been impacted if that man hadn't gotten the help that he needed at the very time he needed it? We all have purpose. You may not see it. You may not feel like it. But YOU are SUPPOSED to be here.Your existence matters! Even if your main assignment is to simply be present to make ONE phone call, you never know the story that is playing out in the space around you. You never know who you are supposed to help get to the next point in their journey, and what lessons you will learn in the process of doing so. I encourage you to open your mind, and shift your thinking to a mindset that embraces our connections. With everything that we struggle with on a daily basis, it's sometimes difficult to focus on anything but our own survival. But remember that with every choice, every action, and every deed, you have the opportunity to "move the needle" of humanity and love. Don't get so distracted by your day-to-day hustle that you miss one of your appointed times to make a difference. Cynae It was muggy outside that day. At four years old, my imagination was just about as free as the smoke that rose into the sky above the pit where my Godmother was burning her trash. DearMama, as we called her, was a multi-tasking homemaker. She could burn trash (yep. It was legal.), pin her wet clothes (that she had washed by hand) to the clothesline, rake leaves, and supervise me as I freely roamed around the yard. And that's exactly what she was doing that day.
A lover of nature, I decided I wanted to play around the huge magnolia tree that had stood tall in DearMama's yard for longer than I had been alive. I danced, marched and ran around the tree as many times as my legs would allow. Of course, all of this was done after I had done my (small) part helping my Godmother with her chores. In the midst of my fun, however, DearMama suddenly stopped she was doing. She held a wet garment in one hand and a clothespin in the other. Standing beside the clothesline, her face became serious, as if she was listening to something. Although I was aware of the change in demeanor, I kept playing. Suddenly, her soft voice called gently to me. "Come on, Nae. Let's go inside for a second." I loved DearMama with all of my heart and soul. So even though I was disappointed, I didn't hesitate to move along with her toward the door. I did ask "why" as I took her hand to go inside, but I never stopped following her command. "We'll come back out a little later," I remember her saying. With everything in hand, we walked through the garage, and into the door that led to the living room. No sooner, however, than we had closed the door behind us, something happened. "BOOM!" Peering through the large windows into the yard where we had just left, something happened-something that has stuck with me since that day: Where I had stood mere seconds before laid that massive tree around which I had been playing. It's roots had given out. It's time in life had expired, and subsequently, it had to fall. And so it did-in the very place where I had made my playground. DearMama let out a scream-an " Ooohh Lord Jesus!" She grabbed me, sat down with me in her big chair and began to weep as she held me close and just rocked. Her hand right hand never left my head and her left hand never moved from my back. We stayed that way for what seemed like forever as she cried and whispered thanks to God. At that moment, I think we both understood that by God's grace, I had escaped the hands of death. Friends, so many times, we don't recognize our power. Sometimes, that power is silent-it has no platform, and no followers. For some of us, our existence seems so insignificant because we feel like we don't make major contributions to our households, society, or communities. Perhaps we are unemployed or only bring in a minimal income to our household. Maybe we are the ones that stay home and take care of the children or elderly parents. It may even be that we have chosen a career path that is undervalued within our society. Here's the thing: I don't know how much education DearMama had. Quite frankly, I never really cared. All I knew is that every day when I arrived, she would have her apron on, and my bacon, sausage and oatmeal would be hot. The hugs reserved especially for me were always readily available, and I could watch anything I wanted to watch on PBS (as long as it came on before or after The Price is Right, Young and The Restless, and Oprah). DearMama, a childless woman, created an environment full of love and freedom for me. Because of this, I trusted her enough not to challenge her when she changed our routine that day, and cut my playtime short. It is quite safe to say that because of my beautiful, trash-burning, clothesline-having, oatmeal making homemaker of a Godmother, the tree's life ended, but mine did not. I lived on, went to college, became an educator, wife, mother, singer, musician, and writer all because of the silent power of one woman who probably didn't even recognize her own strength. Because of her, I was able to grow, develop, and eventually use my gifts and talents to help others. I can never be absolutely sure of this, but I can only assume that as an educator, I have been able to plant seeds of hope into children and adults, alike. As a musician and singer, I've been able to use my voice to minister to the hurting places of those who listen. As a mother, I am getting to contribute knowledge to the next generation through my children. As a writer, I'm able to write books and blogs that set out to inspire and encourage those gracious enough to read my work. Always remember that your life is intricately woven into the fabric of purpose. Even if you feel like all you ever do is make oatmeal, burn trash, and hang clothes on the clothesline, the power behind your purpose is infinite. Never forget that you matter and are making a difference in someone's life just by being who you are. Love, Cynae |