Jeremiah 17: 5-6

For when the bell tolls

It weighs on my soul.

I look to the heavens.

A silent cry for mercy,

only to hear the toll

for yet another soul mourned.

For when the bell tolls

the ropes are bloody stained

I look to the heavens.

The hand on the left,

too distraught to help that on the right

For beneath the surface of the ropes

droplets of disbelief, coupled with

specks of agonizing restrain to hate

pucker in the rope of despair

for those who were senselessly

murdered yet again.

For when the bell tolls

Though our eyes fill with tears by day

And our hearts scream in the night

No one hears

Cause the toll doth rings on death ears.

These last couple of weeks, I’ve felt pain. Pain like no other. Pain which elevated to so many levels, what could have been meant for my harm, thankfully resulted in it being for my good.

It first started with the family members of those who had passed due to the Coronavirus pandemic. Feelings of empathy and heartfelt prayers emerged from my heart in an effort to comfort others as they grieved for their loved ones.  As time evolved, and the Coronavirus became old news, a more familiar issue came to the forefront, one of who we are unfortunately well aware, called racism. An imparity which can only be described as brutality against Black Americans by those feeling absurdly superior, to them. But in their farce image of superiority and condescending eyes of ignorance, it is believed, their validation is that of a genocidal nature, necessary in their eyes, to save the white race. Corona Virus was no longer the headliner for inhuman suffering. It was now, once again, that of the plight Black Americans find themselves facing every day. As if it were not probable, the world was burdened to witness, yet again, a replication of racism executed at its lowest point. This following the killings of innocent men at the mercy of civilian and government officials who thought themselves superior. As I witnessed Black Americans fighting for their life, tears profusely welled up, nonstop, on and off throughout the day. For it was no longer a pain imagined, but my own pain. A pain so deep, so recklessly evident, I feared for my own people. And as I witnessed Black Americans reactions to the plight of those Black Americans wrongly put to death; and listened to their comments as White Americans offered empathy towards them…, us;  I questioned Black Americans negative, unappreciated  efforts to accept their actions of heartfelt prayers and solidarity. Little did I know, my curiosity would soon be quenched with heart wrenching circumstances only God could make right.  That I would later be faced with similar pain inflicted by someone who felt just as superior to me and equally threatened by me, but due to circumstances, I would be forced to forgive.

At the onset, I felt my people’s pain, but could not understand their stubbornness to accept the select few, White American’s, who showed empathy and stood by our side. As the White Americans were extending their hearts to us, we ridiculed them and demeaned their gestures.  In Israel’s plight, Jeremiah made strong prophecies saying if a man chose his flesh and departed from the Lord’s ways, he would find himself in the desert, unable to see the good (Jeremiah 17: 5-6).  For me, we were judging them because of the color of their skin, just as the ignorant had done so, for so many years with us. I could not be the judge of their actions, no more than I wanted them to judge my status of eligibility to be considered human. How could I see the speck of sawdust in their eye, if I were to allow the current events to produce a plank in my own (Matthew 7:3)? Especially, since I was well aware of my Heavenly Father’s teachings. “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving one another, just as in Christ God forgave [us]… (Ephesians 4:32)”. For this reason, along with my love for God, I could not allow my Black self to join the bandwagon for racial propaganda against the White community. In my heart, I knew, not all White people were racist. Just as my heart knew truth, I knew God’s view was similar, as he always looks at the intention of the heart in matters of diversity. “Who knows the heart?”, Jeremiah ask, as… “it”, is deceitful. But the Lord searches the heart and test our intentions (Jeremiah 17: 9-10). So, understanding the Lord my God sees all, though White Americans may not fully understand our pain, I trusted Him to rule their sincerity. Because of their efforts, I was certainly not going to condemn them. If anything, I wanted to be grateful and praise God for the occurrence. And also praise Him for giving them the courage to do so. “For everything God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, because it is consecrated by the word of God and prayer. (1 Timothy 4: 4-5)”. But because of the reactions of my brothers and sisters, they left me confused and bewildered, hence questioning my own understanding of their pain. But to fully understand the magnitude of their pain, I had to live it, regardless of the severity, or circumstance it would take to actual feel it, at any degree. And so, in my own life, as a parent, when I reached the crossroad of choosing my daughter’s happiness over my own, to save her marriage, I obviously chose hers. And so, it began.

“D” day, I felt it brewing. My daughter and I are extremely close. So, you could imagine the threat I must have been to her husband. I continued to ignore the signs of my son-in-law’s secret disdain for our relationship, respected his space, and loved him in spite of it all, until, as my ex-husband use to say, he showed his true colors. Something I inwardly felt, as well as others did from the very beginning, showed up on my doorstep. So, the day he cited me as a failure in all my relationships. A woman who couldn’t possibly know what it took to sustain a “good” marriage ( taken the word “good “ with a grain of salt), like he knew, because, “he”, was in a relationship previously for 12 years as opposed to my relationships which only lasted 4-5 years, I needed to stay out of his relationship with my daughter…. You know the rhetoric…. Yes! D – day had come. But though there were truths in the circumstances he spoke, I knew it wasn’t the truth that angered me so…Or should I say, hurt me so. For he didn’t know my heart and the true reasons why I found myself divorced, and recently separated from yet another. As my son-in-law numbified my heart, and killed any emotion I had left for him, because of his senseless words in an effort to, as he so put it, “save his marriage,” and knowing the one to blame for that bind he found himself in any way, was him, and him alone, I stepped back, and stepped down. If it were not for the thought of never seeing my daughter and beautiful grandson again, frankly I wouldn’t have cared if I ever saw him again. But because of this I asked God to give me the courage to love this man despite his callousness and apparent lack of sensitivity to anyone but himself. And so, God gradually mended my heart. Mind you, I said mend, because it’s still ripped to pieces as its sits in the cavity of my chest.  For as I said, it wasn’t what he said, but how it was said. My separations were always to allow someone else to endure happiness … To allow others to enjoy their vices…I never wanted to be the one to change someone, or stand in the way of their dreams, however selfish they were.  With my daughter in the past, it was allowing her to grow. If I am guilty of anything, it is understanding love. These people who I loved dearly, for their happiness, I sacrificed my own. It’s what I do. What I’ve always done. And God was always with me every step of the way. Just as he would give me the strength to stay, He would give me strength to leave. And I’m not condoning divorce. Or giving up on relationships. But if their your Isaacs, and there are no rams on the forefront, then you must let them go.  And so, in consulting God, whatever ended in my life was always amicable and mutual.  I think my pain from the incident with my son-in-law was more because I allowed myself to love a person, again, so self-centered, that his regard for me meant nothing, if only to satisfy his own agenda, to whatever degree, even if it was at my expense. Genocide. Mother-in-lawocide…Call it what you may. It was a ploy to be the object, and only object of my daughter’s attention without distraction or interference from anyone. The less he saw of me, the better. So, the pain was real. When I realized the similarities in the two situations… people getting rid of people, or abusing people to satisfy their own insecurities, I cried. Cried for my people, basically because I knew, oh too well, the personality of people like this. It would take an act of God to turn this all around as well as remove the pain.

Even though, my mission in life was always to unselfishly raise my daughter and teach her as I always said, “ to fly, just in case I wasn’t around to assist her”, in my son-in-law’s eyes, regardless of my actions, he refused to see it, in the light I was presenting. A mother continuing to no longer teach but help encourage her daughter to better understand her new role and become an even more amazing woman as a proverbial wife. But this too, I get.  I was already prepared. I knew all too well the scripture of how children were to leave their parents and become one as husband and wife (Matthew 19:5). So much so, that the tears I should have cried the day he ripped my heart out from my chest, and memories of my daughter flashed before my eyes, I’d already cried, one year prior. A demon, which brought sadness and anger all in one setting, only because somehow, I knew this would be the ultimate outcome. I also felt his apprehensions. How the calls to me, by my daughter sickened him. Her constant inclusions of me in their life sickened him. Mom this! Mom that! But I also knew my daughter. I knew our bond. And as a mother, knew at some point I would have to take a step back and let her fly solo as I once did before, several years prior. For though my daughter is amazing, all her fathers and I knew, to become more amazing, this was necessary. The day the reality of the revelation came to pass, God allowed her to be near. I looked up to the heavens, with tears in my eyes, choking on my words, and cried, “Why is it, I always have to let go of my child?” Lord why? But I already knew the answer to my questions. God knew it was what was needed to allow her to grow. Just as I leaned on him the first time, with tears in my eyes, I gave it to God.

I believe in my heart, my curiosity and cry for understanding ordered my path in fulfilling my quest to understand. The adage, “be careful of what you pray for”, is my takeaway. God hears us more than we know. And in doing so, will orchestrate our life to giving us, as I will say again, that “Aha” moment of clarity. So, in using a particular situation in my own life which had peculiarly heightened at the climax of all this racial propaganda, God allowed me to feel the pain. Pain so excruciating, I could not fathom ever seeing this person again without the pain and animosity for them being written all over my face. And if that were not enough, in order to really understand the magnitude of my pain, I seemed to keep using Trump as a simile of the character of the person I suddenly loathed. The one person in the world, who rubbed me so wrong, I cringed at the thought of him. Not that I was any better, but at any rate watched as little news as possible just to avoid hearing his squirrelly little voice.  When the two began to intertwine, I knew this was serious. So serious I was fearful for my Christian walk. I could not imagine ever forgiving this person, let alone looking at him. But I knew there were other people involved who I did love immensely so something had to be done. And I began remembering the magnitude of my God. And so, commenced praying and praising him. And saying over and over again, He was bigger than any pain I could ever endure. And I thanked Him in advance for putting love in my heart for this person. And forgiveness in my heart. And slowly as time progressed, found a way to allow myself to forgive and move on.

I wish there were something…, someone connected to these incredulous events that would allow my people to be forced to override their pain. Something which forces them to choose forgiveness rather than hatred. Then I thought of this powerful video I viewed on YouTube of 3 men in Charlotte voicing their frustration in the midst of protestors standing by. They were three generations and toward the end, the older man turns to the younger guy and says basically, don’t be the guy committing the violence. Find a better way to put a stop to all this madness because “This right here”, ain’t the way… Being amidst protest turned to violent rioting is not how the issues will ever be resolved.  I suppose between our love for God and our children, this can be the force to drive us. We must be an example and not choose to hate or behave ignorantly towards others as difficult as it may seem. If we teach our children to hate, and loot and act like, my grandmothers would say, “ like we ain’t got a pot to piss in” , then we are no better than those who believe ignorantly, or behave callously toward others just to fulfill their own agenda. What would this world be like if everyone felt threatened? Picture that!  It would never end.

There will always be someone who may feel threatened by our existence. It’s just the way of the world. We don’t all hold characteristics which project strength to that degree. As a matter of fact, part of what allowed me to move on was actually realizing this person needed help. If I didn’t know myself as I do, it would sound as though I felt I had a leg up on them.  It being ironic since they were thinking it the other way around. And yes, I know the result of my pain did not end my life, even though, in a manner of speaking, it did change it dramatically. Or that the tragedies which took place recently, and over the years could ever compare. I get it. But pain, regardless of the magnitude…. is pain. It hurts. Whether it’s a loved one whom you trust, or a stranger. Whether they were of your same nationality… or not… doesn’t matter. A stab to the back bleeds no matter who’s holding the knife… The hand who holds the knife is not the problem. Find the root, solve the issue. Right? Recognize the person needs help. And solve the issue… And maybe it is all relative, but I believe whatever it is, we have to remember our foundation. The helm of it all which has always enabled us as people of color to overcome, and that is the foundation of our faith and God. If we give them the power to take our faith… What do we have? Our God is bigger and powerful enough to remove the pain and bring us out in a better position than when we began. That person who hurt me may very well believe they have won, but I know my God. And I know despite my pain I am blessed. I sorely feel, though we are enduring this pain now, this will all turn around for our good. We will be stronger and better and assuredly more blessed than we ever have as a people. As God is my witness…. It is time….

CWB