Onward. Upward. Heaven-Bound.

January 1, 2024, finds me sitting at my dining room table at 11:15 in the morning wanting to tell each and every person in my life that is special to me that you ARE INDEED SPECIAL TO ME. Do I write all individual notes? Oh my goodness … as I contemplated this, I realized I would be sitting here for days! And then … I find myself thinking over how blessed I am. And then, as my mind does tend to wander, a saying I posted about a month or so back came to mind … You still haven’t met all of the people who will love you (or you will love) in this life. WOW. How incredibly mind-blowing! I see so many faces in my mind’s eye right now that I love and are special to me … and to think there are still more to come … I am grateful. And there’s my word again … GRATEFUL.

I’m grateful, even though 2023 was a rough year. Getting used to life without my sweet Momma has been wrenching. Every day, there are tears. I see her all around me and want to take her small self into my arms and hold her so so tight. I want to tell her that I love her over and over again. I want to call her on my drive home from work and tell her all about my day – my wild lesson ideas, my interactions with students, my triumphs, and my failures – I’m so grateful now for the patience I know she had with me and my crazy. At the end of 2022, we lost her. I lost her. And then, our family got more hard news. Sonya had lung cancer. My husband’s ex-wife, who stayed a member of the family for over 30 years. A best friend to my husband and to my sister-in-law Veronica, and who became my sister – tattooed in sisterhood. Chosen sisters. Sonya sat with me at the hospice house while Momma’s body was dying. Sonya sat with me in silence for hours and held my hand. She had lung cancer. What followed were months in 2023 of family get-togethers, taking lots of pictures, holding garage sales to help with medical bills, praying … and then, we lost her. In August, she passed on into the arms of Jesus, and our family misses her. To say misses her does the situation no justice. I’m looking at the top shelf of the hutch in my dining room. Patrick’s son Brad’s picture, Momma’s picture, and Sonya’s sit there. Three of our loves, who have gone before us. A daily reminder of love and loss … and I look at those faces, and I know they would not want us to hole up and not live while we are here … Because THEY KNOW WHAT’S ON THE OTHER SIDE. They would want us to live for truth and to love the people God puts in our paths! To tell those that we love that we love them. To not take time for granted. It is here one moment. Then, gone the next. Forever.

So … as I sit here and contemplate what 2023 was and that 2024 begins today … I want to begin with gratefulness. I am grateful that God the Father sent Jesus to this whacked-out place full of ne-er do wells and crazies (all of us fall into one if not both of those categories) as my Savior, and that though we were and are still sinners, Christ died for each of us. I am grateful for my family – blood and chosen, for lifelong friends and for friends from so many points in life – friends for the time – when they were appointed to be there – those friends who still hold places in my heart. I am grateful for new friends and for my students – past, present, and future. I am grateful for good days and for hard days. I am grateful for life lessons, for AA, for emotional sobriety. I am grateful for common sense. I am grateful for the Serenity prayer. I am grateful for opportunities to hold my tongue and for times to speak up for what I know is right. I am grateful for hard life events that I do not understand at the time because retrospect has taught me that God works in ways I cannot see nor understand while walking those pathways. I am grateful to have learned it’s okay if not everyone likes me. I am grateful to have learned how to like me because God made me. I am grateful that my husband reads God’s word, prays with me, and that he listens to the promptings of the Holy Spirit. I am grateful that my Daddy lives with us. I am grateful for this home that Patrick and I are building – that each person we welcome into our home feels peace and comfort within these walls. I am grateful for my cats. I am grateful for my work, for soft skills, for PowerPoint presentations, for ice cream, for jigsaw puzzles, for Ramon’s cooking, for documentaries, for country music. I am grateful for photography, for lofty ideas, for opposing perspectives, for growth, for intimacy, for thrift stores. I am grateful for pizza, and I am grateful to be a mother, a grandmother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, and a friend.

There is so much to be grateful for, even in the midst of sorrow and hard things. That is what I’m taking into 2024 … the gratefulness I found in 2023 despite what life tossed at us. I’m strapping that word to my shoulders and carrying it forward. Come. What. May. Onward. Upward. Heaven-bound.

Grateful. I am grateful for YOU … and cowboy boots.

A Lesson From Momma’s Life

My brother’s plane out of Dallas was delayed because of windshield wipers. My husband Patrick and I waited in the Tulsa airport lounge for him to arrive, and as the minutes ticked by, my prayer intensified – “Lord, let David kiss her while she’s breathing! Please.”

David arrived in Tulsa at 6:15 p.m, and with arms wrapped around each other, we left the airport – both lost in the knowledge that our mother was soon going to Heaven – a place she longed to be, and neither of us could begrudge her from desiring or achieving! To have such a mother of faith is a gift that both of us realize we have and have had. We made it to the Clarehouse – hospice care home – at 7:00 p.m.

We stood on either side of our Momma as she lay there in the bed, unresponsive but still breathing. Dad was in a chair near her bed – where he’d sat faithfully for the three days she’d been in the care of the Clarehouse. David and I leaned over and kissed her, and we told her that it was okay to go. My hand lay on her chest where I’d been placing it for the past day or so, feeling her heartbeat – willing it to continue – feeling her life wildly beating under my hand. Her chest stilled, but a large vein in her neck still pulsed, and I looked at David with confusion. He said this was normal and assured me she was leaving. We stood there and kissed her, told her we loved her, and Momma breathed her last. She had waited for her baby to arrive! And we were there as a family in that room with our beloved Momma. She passed away Saturday, November 12, 2022, at 7:06 p.m. with my brother, my dad, and me at her side.

As I write this, I am at work, and my students are doing peer reviews in the classroom. They’re discussing essays and laughing together – this is a welcome distraction, but my heart and my mind are on Momma.

To each class this morning, I sent a note of thanks for their patience and understanding over the recent weeks as I have cut classes short, tossed substitutes at them, and had to cancel classes.

“Many thanks to you all for your patience and understanding over the last few weeks.

Momma passed on Saturday evening (11/12/2022) at 7:06 pm with my brother and me on either side of her. My hand was over her heart when it stopped beating. We told her it was okay to go and that we loved her. It was a special moment that I will hold close to for the rest of my life.

My Momma was a precious soul – a kind woman – and it is for me now to honor her by living my life as she did. In kindness and appreciation of those placed in my path. Each day is an opportunity to bring smiles to those I encounter – and I will endeavor to this do just as my Momma did.

Tell those that you love that you love them. Never take for granted the time that you have today to do so. This is a takeaway for me in this time of mourning. Hug your people. Tell them you love them. Life for TODAY. None of us is promised tomorrow. Be a good human. Always. Find the JOY in life. Do things that you’re passionate about. Play with Bubbles!”

Every word of that I mean for all of us. Live today. Love today. Tell those that you love that you love them.

My Momma lived that way. She was a kind woman – whose soul was full of the Love of Jesus. Daily she was in the Word of God – and daily, she sought His guidance and strength to be kind and loving. What a beautiful example!

I was privileged to write the Obituary for my precious Momma, and in honor of my Momma, here it is:

“Born on August 25, 1943, Marjorie Ruth Snare Hinkle, daughter of Lester P Snare (dec.) and Lillian Louise Wingett Snare (dec.), sister of Dorothy Snare Bolding (dec.), Doris Snare Coghlan (dec.), Mary Snare Pritz (dec.), Lesta Snare Ryan, Perry Snare, and Wilma Snare Reinhardt, beloved wife of David B Hinkle I and dearly loved mother of Dacia Lene’ Hinkle Cunningham and David B Hinkle II, also adored mother-in-love to Patrick Cunningham and Amy Abels Hinkle, cherished grandmother to Keenan Wilkinson, JT Inman, Kennedy Wilkinson Inman, Mordechai Ben Lulu, Kadi Wilkinson Ben Lulu, Koel Wilkinson, Joseph Cunningham, Caley Hinkle, Blake Hinkle, Klayton Wilkinson, and Koby Wilkinson, precious great-grandmother to Josephine Inman and Kaleb Inman, and treasured aunt to 34 nieces and nephews as well as 9 brothers-in-law and 6 sisters-in-law, passed away on November 12, 2022, in Tulsa, Oklahoma with her husband and her children at her side.

Affectionately known to most people as “Margie,” she loved the Lord and served him daily as a wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, daughter, sister, aunt, choir director, church piano player, elementary school teacher, and friend. Margie’s love of Jesus was evidenced in her kindness and grace. Anyone who met her, or spent time with her, knew she was a special lady who looked forward to Heaven every day of her life! She lived knowing her citizenship was Heavenly and not of this earth. Her family celebrates her life and the blessing it has been to be loved by such a woman of faith!

Margie’s Celebration of Life will be Saturday, November 19, 2022, at 10:30 am. Highland Park Christian Church, 5708 E 31st Street, Tulsa, Oklahoma 74135.

In lieu of flowers, please consider donations to the Clarehouse (hospice care home) in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Every Gift Matters | Clarehouse <https://www.clarehouse.org/donate/> or mail checks to Clarehouse 7617 S Mingo Rd, Tulsa, OK 74133.”

The lesson is… Love people.

Momma evidenced Matthew 22:37-40 in her daily life. It is for me to honor my mother by living in the same manner.

³⁴Hearing that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, the Pharisees got together. ³⁵One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: ³⁶“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

³⁷Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’^[c] ³⁸This is the first and greatest commandment. ³⁹And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’^[d] ⁴⁰All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

A favorite passage of Momma’s was Philippians 4:4-8:

“⁴Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! ⁵Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. ⁶Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. ⁷And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

⁸Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

Amen.

I am a COVID-19 Survivor – So far

On June 15, I started feeling “under the weather,” and naturally, in today’s climate, I thought, please don’t be the ‘Rona. Aches. Chills. Congestion. Then, on the 18th, about 4:30 p.m., I knew the fever was coming. I could not stop it. It crept on slowly, but with rapidity. By 8:00 p.m. I was laying in my bed fully chilled but burning up. My fever was 101.5 at that point, and I stopped taking it then – I just laid there tossing and turning, pulling covers on and then, tossing them off. I, at the age of 47, silently cried for my Momma – knowing I could not ask her to come and place a cool wet washcloth on my forehead like she did when I was a kid … she was in the next room, but on the off chance that it was the ‘Rona, I dared not ask for help. She sat in the next room with her oxygen tube firmly attached to her face, where it always is, because her COPD is severe. She and dad watched TV.

At midnight, I heard my father’s voice in the hallway, and his frantic tone registered in my feverish head. I hopped out of bed, made it to my door, and went into the hallway. I looked down toward my parents’ room and saw my mother splayed out on the floor, unmoving. SCARED out of my mind, I stood there – my mind not fully processing the scene, and I heard my father tell me to let the ambulance in the gate. I scrambled for the keys. My clouded head not fully registering what was going on. Dad told me that mom’s oxygen levels dropped dangerously low and that she could not get up. I pushed the button to let the ambulance in the gate, and I went onto the porch to wave them down.

Once they were headed toward our door, my dad told me to go to bed. Knowing my fever was an issue, and the nagging fear that I was infected with COVID-19, I went to bed – and climbed back in – listening to the ambulance people work with my mom. Lying there helpless, I cried, and the tears stung my hot cheeks. Then, they were gone. The ambulance took my mom. My dad followed them. I was alone. With my stupid fever. I was angry at the fever. Angry at the possibility that I had COVID-19.

About 2:00 a.m., after fevering for hours and worrying about my mother and being angry at my helplessness to help her, I determined that if I continued to feel like my body were aflame and chilled all at the same time, that I would call an ambulance for myself. 9-1-1. I’d give it just a while longer. And then, it was 6:00 a.m. I was covered in sweat. My sheets were wet. I was wet. Salty wet. The fever had broken, and my parents were not home. My mother had been lying flat out on the floor. I remembered. The image blazed in my head, and I grabbed my phone and called my dad. HOW IS MOM?

She was still in the ER, and he was still in his car in the hospital garage. It was a long morning, to say the least. But in the ER, they determined that she did not have COVID, and that it was a flare-up of her COPD. Okay.

Still, I decided to call my doctor. He said, yes, let’s get you tested for COVID based upon my symptoms since June 15. That was the 19th. My dad came home from being with mom at the hospital on the 20th. He stayed here that night and went back to the hospital on the 21st.

So, on Monday, June 22, I went and had my brain poked. My response to the invasive nature of the swab piercing the internal places of my head was to call my daughter Kennedy and exclaim, OH MY GOD! THAT WAS AWFUL! I generally try to downplay things when I describe them to my children, not wanting to scare them … you know. Like a good mom. Well, at least a decent one. BUT, on June 22, I could do nothing but say … DO NOT have to get that test!!!!! Way too many exclamation points for an English teacher to use appropriately, but in this case, they are warranted.

June 23, I awoke, and the first thing I did was check “My Chart” to see if the test results were in. Positive. It said I was COVID-19 Positive. At that moment, the world swirled around me and stopped. Everything paused, and I internally screamed … thinking OH MY GOD, what now. My mother was still in the hospital and had been pronounced COVID-19 negative. What in the Hell was I going to do?!?!? So … I put in a call to my doctor, but I also called my mom to tell her my news.

Long story short. I told mom I was positive for COVID-19. She told her nurse. The hospital promptly kicked my dad out – as he had been home that weekend around me. Then, they poked my mom’s brain – AGAIN.

I spent my morning in a FLURRY of calling doctors, my kids, my fiance’, my friends … trying to make a plan. I had to get somewhere else for at least 2 weeks to keep my parents safe … because the hospital wanted to send Momma home. I could not be there. So … I commenced planning.

Mom’s test came back positive – and she was, without hesitation, moved from the senior floor to the COVID floor where things are MUCH different and cold. Her descriptions of what it is like to be on the COVID floor are chilling … and sad. Dad had to get tested. His test came back positive. It was a nightmare – but, on the ‘positive’ side, I didn’t have to get a hotel room for 2 weeks.

The hospital believed mom would be safer at home where there was likely just ONE strain of the virus than at the hospital where there were multiple strains, so they sent her home. On the 25th, we were all home – quarantined together. Mike too. My fiance.

He came over – lock, stock, and barrel, to quarantine with us. See, he had been sick that week too – June 15 and on – just like me, and if I was positive, he was too. So the 4 of us settled into quarantine together. Every moment, I feared for my mother’s life, and I felt guilt upon guilt – even though the truth is … we have NO idea where this thing came from.

We have NO idea. Mike and I have done the grocery shopping for my parents for a while now, but we have always been careful. Washing hands, using sanitizer, wearing masks. He’s an essential worker, so he has been to work, but he is a fanatic with the hand sanitizer. We have ordered food delivered. We have had some things delivered from Amazon. We were taking care. And yet … it got us.

The ‘Rona.

Here’s what I can tell you. GOD is GOOD. It is July 11 and my mother has only shown mild symptoms thus far. I count each day as a gift from God. I need her. Not ready for her to not be with me, and this virus could easily take her, but it hasn’t. This lady is a fighter and has purpose still! I love that about my prayer warrior Momma. She has COPD and Congestive Heart Failure. Each day, I choose to just be grateful and to be mindful. To do what I can for her, so that she can rest as much as possible.

There has been so much together time. Mom, Dad, Mike, and me … we’ve weathered this quite well together, and I have had it the worst. I am SO grateful for that. SO grateful that out of all of us, I have been the sickest. Not that I’m happy to have been sick. It’s not that, but I am RELIEVED that my parents have both weathered this with mild symptoms thus far. I do not want either of my parents to know this virus in the way that I have.

My symptoms have been sporadic and inconsistent. They have been strange. I have experienced congestion, coughing, fever, loss of taste and smell (for over 7 days), diarrhea (for 17 days), fatigue, aches, chills, sneezing, runny nose, dry nose, headache – none of it ALL at the same time – but all of it intensely, and it comes and it goes. Some days were good, other days were not so good – yucky in fact. ALL of it is strange. Not like a cold. Not like the flu. Something new. Something I don’t wish on YOU. Well … maybe a couple of folks. But not MOST. At all. It is weird.

It is July the 11th. Today I felt GREAT. Today, I did a ton of stuff. Cleaned all day. Organized my room and the kitchen. I accomplished so much, and I know that means am better. WHAT a blessing!!!! I am a COVID-19/Coronavirus Survivor! Woot!

I guess.

Is that a thing to celebrate? What does that mean moving forward? Am I marked for something? Am I susceptible to something else? I tend to be a conspiracy theorist, so my brain is over-active about what being a survivor means for me. Will I become a part of some robotic uprising? Will the survivors begin to show some odd behaviors? Do we have a new genome structure? Is this all genetically constructed by scientists to produce world-ending effects? These are the places my brain goes. What am I a part of now?

Realistically? I’m a survivor of a new virus. BUT, my brain tells me that there are under-handed things at play. So … y’all … here’s my story. If I start acting strange … bear in mind what I’ve said here. Lol. This is how it has played out for me. And who knows what will come moving forward.

I will tell you that this week I experienced brain fog. On July 9th, I experienced an inability to read words in order. I had to read and reread things in order for them to make sense to me. It was scary. I spoke to the manager of our apartments for a while, and when I got back to our apartment, I was unable to reguritate to my parents or to Mike what I had talked about with the manager. My second fever hit soon after this brain fog. Mike told me to cover up under blankets and sweat the fever out. I did. And within hours, the fever broke. I woke up fever-free, and I have felt fine, sans a morning cough, since that time. I don’t understand all of this. It is hard to know what to think. What to know. What to trust.

All I want is to get married to my Mike, love my position at TCC, and teach my classes with aplomb in whatever is presented before me to tackle this new world in which we live. I will do it as a SURVIVOR. I want my children to know each and every day that their mother LOVES them. She is not perfect. She has made BIG mistakes … but that GOD IS GOOD. God is bigger than this COVID-19, and HE is bigger than any mistakes we make.

The key is GRACE. It comes in recognizing our need for HIM and asking HIM to love us and to accept us and to forgive us. God is good.

I’m so grateful that to this point our journey with COVID-19 for my parents has been MILD. What a grace-filled thing that is. Thank you, God! Thank you!

Where do I fall politically in all of this COVID mess? Wear a mask, y’all. It doesn’t hurt you to do so. So, do it.

And … wash your hands.

Even Believers are Hating Each Other

Facebook breaks my heart. It has become a house of outrage, opinions, and hate. What makes it heart-breaking is that these things are coming from the hearts and minds of people who profess to be lovers of God. They are at war with one another. Saying “delete me” if you don’t like my words. It’s ugliness, and they claim to state their opinions and their angry speech for God and because of God.

Y’all … stop and think. Please. About the bigger picture.

What God is outraged about is hate and ugliness of the human heart. In all it’s forms and in His people. Hate the sin, not the sinner. He will use the leaders of the land to move His will forward, no matter who they are! His will is not reliant upon a Trump or an Obama.

God’s Will is that believers spread LOVE and the GOSPEL. His Will is reliant upon Believers spreading love, grace, and mercy! But, even in that, the Scripture says that if we don’t cry out for God, nature will.

We should, as believers, be outraged at the devil for the chaos he is creating and reveling in right now. It is the Devil doing all of this! It is the Devil! He is real, and he is laughing his ass off at all of this chaos! That should OUTRAGE believers!

I just watched the Black police chief in St Louis break down because 4 of his officers were shot last night and are in the hospital. He cried, can we just make sense of all this? Calling for peace. This is utter chaos. Chaos that the Devil is puppet mastering! He is the author of hate, anger, racial problems, ageism, sexism, just ugliness in all of its forms. Pride. Greed. Selfishness. Disparity between believers of God.

For so long, I heard people say Obama was the anti-Christ. Now, it is Trump who apparently holds the tickets to hell. There were horrid things said about the Bushes, Clinton’s. Ronald Reagan. The world didn’t end under any of them, because God is in control. Shame on believers for giving political leaders more power in their hearts and minds than they give to the greatness and plans of God. He will accomplish HIS will despite us.

God wants as many to come to him as possible before he sends Christ back to this earth to get those who have called on His name.

That is truth. That is what believers are to be about. We are to be about fighting the devil with the LOVE of God. We are to be sitting with people and having conversation. Serving people. Showing kindness. It is not ours to seek vengeance or to shout about how we are mistreated. Jesus did not do that. He ate with prostitutes, tax collectors, and sinners. He showed love to Samaritans, who were despised by the Jews. He chose Saul/Paul to be a changed man to spread His love. He did not even “unfriend” Judas.

Maranatha, Lord Jesus. May we band together as believers to win the world for God’s love, grace, and mercy! Micah 6:8 is the verse for today … “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

Protected: I Am Done Being Angry and Hateful

Let Me Display Myself Between The Covers of a Book – I Wrote That

Written on May 15, 2015

Did I seriously write this most amazing quote yesterday evening? Blown away,

Lying here in my bed, I read back through last evenings post, The Hardest Part of Being an Author is …

And I found this:

Oh, let me write and speak less. Let me display myself between the covers of a book and hide therein where you may know me, but not enough.

Amen. And … Wow.

Where is the Public Outcry for Perry Cal? – Young Black Man Dead on the Street

What follows are 2 posts written concerning the death of Perry Cal.

Written on May 19, 2015, by an angry, shocked English Teacher

Commentary under news articles … these are full of people who make judgments about things which they have no up close and personal insight. Here’s the comment that grates in my skin at this moment … “Bullet ridden? Does that mean the bullets rode him to the destination? I know, picky, picky, it’s riddled.” A man is dead. And we joke about whether the bullets rode him?

Friday night a former student of mine was shot and killed in North St. Louis, his body just left on the street, and I can only imagine him sitting in a desk in my classroom in the front row, smiling at me when I questioned the odor … Yes, he had a pot issue. Yes, he was many things … but he also was a talented writer. A beautiful young man who only knew one lifestyle. I talked to him about it. Encouraged him to remove himself from that lifestyle. Told him about other ways to exist. He graduated with his Associates of Occupational Studies as a Medical Assistant. He did it! And yet … he’s gone now – his name but a mention in a news article on the St. Louis Post Dispatch website.

Perry Cal … you brought a smile to my face in class … and today your story brings tears to my heart. I’m sorry for the loss of you. I’m sorry that your life was ended along a road where you were discarded and thrown away, shot in the back … I’m heartbroken

Life is life. All people bear the image of God – all are created in his image. We are all important in the scheme of life, not a joke to be harrangued on a comment stream under an article in the news.

Sad.

He was a beautiful boy.

Written on May 20, 2015 by an angry English Teacher

3:30 a.m. And I’m awake picturing my former student lying dead and discarded on the ground- his body full of bullets.

I’m angry. Incensed.

Where’s the public outcry over the injustice in his death? He was a beautiful young man with a future who’d received a degree! Yes, he had issues. We all do. So where is Al Sharpton bemoaning the death of this 23-year-old young man on a street in North St Louis?

Oh … It wasn’t a cop shooting. I see. So, then we don’t discuss it … But I’m confused because … Black lives matter, right? Perry Cal was (that is so hard to say … Was). Black. His life mattered! So … Where’s the outcry over the injustice? The brutality of him being shot in cold blood in the back!

The hypocrisy overwhelms me.

I knew Perry. Taught him. He did not deserve to die shot in the back. He did not deserve to die left alone in the street like he was nothing. He was someone who mattered!

So … I will be his outcry – something must be done! Perry’s life mattered! So … Who is going to change the way of the streets? Who is going to demand the Department of Justice do something to help these young men of the streets who do not know another way to live!

They truly do not know.

I’ve talked with them and am baffled that they are so naive to the ways in which other people live their lives sans that street scene. It’s what they know. We all do what we know and think it normal! Don’t we?

Yesterday another of my former students who’s been involved in shootings came by my office with his infant son in his arms. Some thug.

No! Not a thug! A young father who wants to provide for his children and does so in the only way he knows and by what is normal in the world in which he lives! Does that make it ok?

No. But something’s got to give. Be honest … There are all shapes, colors, and sizes of criminals, deviance, and criminality … Some just better at getting away with it. Does that make it ok then? And who defines deviance? Just means outside the norm.

Most folks hate what goes outside the norm. It’s uncomfortable. Sweep it under the rug.

Sweep Perry Cal under the rug. Call him a thug, say he got what he deserved … My stomach is sick. Who in the hell are you to sweep my Perry under a rug for living deviant to what you know!

Have you talked to a “thug? Asked him about his dreams? He will stare at you with empty eyes and say just make it to 25.

If we are going to chant Black Lives Matter …. Then we have to focus on the young men who need a chance to live, to have dreams beyond just living to see 25. Perry Cal made it to 23. Unfair! His life mattered! If even to just me, his teacher! Oh, he had a great smile. Quiet. Unassuming. It wrecks my heart to think of him shot, “riddled,” as the Post Dispatch news put it, in the back. No!

Enough!

Al Sharpton, where is your voice and presence for Perry Cal? Where are the protesters? They’re not out because this type of violence is NORMAL to the neighborhood.

We have entire neighborhoods needing guidance – to be shown how to live not just given government assistance which fixes nothing but simply grows the problem!

A discussion must begin because Perry Cal”s life mattered! Along with the countless other young black men whose mothers have laid them to rest far too early. Help. Please. If even just read this and hear my heart for Perry, Pass it on. The inhumanity has to be called out! Seen for what it is! Discussed. Acknowledged. Resolved.

Can it be done overnight? No. But, if even one young man can be saved off the streets then the discussions are worth it! Civic centers, community programs for sports and Big Brother Big Sister programs …. All of those! So needed. I’ve heard so many students say they want to open centers for troubled youth in the city …, someone make that happen!

Perry Cal was a beautiful boy.

His death deserves an outcry of injustice! His life mattered!

This teacher’s heart is broken by the image of him lying there alone on the street “riddled” in the back by bullets. Dead. The boy with the confusing name who I always ended up calling Cal Perry instead of Perry Cal and he’d just smile and not correct me. Sweet boy … wish you all could have seen and known his smile.

_________________________________________________________________________________

To light a “candle” for Perry, you can go to this site for victims of gun violence: https://gunmemorial.org/2015/05/14/perry-cal

The World Inside Me No One Knows

Written on July 23, 2015

Maybe it’s the writer in me. Maybe it’s the private soul in me. Maybe it’s a combination of both. Whatever it is, there’s that part of me which no one sees. No one save a small one or two … maybe three. Personality trait of mine … to only allow a very few inside. INFJ. We seek spiritual/soul connections early in life and then cling to those same souls for a lifetime.

Many people know me and who I am and what I do for them … make them laugh, smile, think, be better versions of themselves. These are my goals in relationships, friendships, acquaintance-ships – to follow the Golden Rule, to be kind always, to leave a person feeling better than before I spoke to them. Sometimes exhaustive, but it’s a mission … again, here, INFJ’s know exactly what I’m talking about. So, many people know me and who I am … but not me. The inner me. The dastardly me. The emotive me. The thinking me. Those who do, know they do – it’s as if our beings have always known each other and will for eternity be connected despite distance or time. There is such beauty in this. Beauty and heartache. For it seems that those souls I long for most are the ones I find myself bereft of most. Still …

This morning, I received this text … “I am thankful for you! And for hugs that say more than any words could and for looks that share more understanding than anyone else could realize!” Better than any Hallmark card could ever achieve. To that kindred spirit who sent me those amazing words, I say, I love you with every fiber of my being. Life separates us physically though we live so close but never where and how it matters most. Your friendship is a gift. It is treasured and you are a wonder to me. No matter where we go or what we do, we will always have the same moon and I will always help you differentiate between favorite colors. Blue and green are both nice … but if those moments arise where we need to determine which is more like the ocean and which is more like a storm, I am your girl. We will have that talk. Thank you for seeing me … and I thank God for the day we met 21 years ago.

To the soul who texted me last night just simply, “I love you,” after a brief encounter … thank you. Those 3 words lift me. I know no matter what I feel, say, or do, you are there. I love you too. Funny how we could sit in a room together – 6 people – for over two hours and have said not much to each other at all, but have known and felt what was necessary. Thank you for knowing I needed your words and assurance. You are a rock. I love you and all your cussin’. Beautiful you.

Another … you know. You just know. You’ve always known. So for me to title this, “The World Inside Me No One Knows” is fallacious. There are those. And I’m thinking of you before I head to work. I’m thinking over many things. Probably overthinking …

This morning – I’m contemplative. I realize I’ve not been on here much over the last few weeks. Sometimes life overwhelms and words cannot handle what my heart holds. This is not a venue for me to discuss anger and fears and mishaps and regrets and pen words to hurt. Sometimes it is better to say nothing … there is value in a word held in for the betterment of others. I know plenty of folks who believe that speaking the mind is the better course of action. That’s fine … for them. God created us all to be parts of a whole. This part will hold her tongue. This part will not put on blast those folks who hurt and damage and trample. This part will talk about love … this part of the whole. Sometimes, I don’t have the words … and that’s okay. But I’ve missed this space. I’ve missed sharing thoughts of kindness … I’ve just not had them that I could share.

Today, I am here.

Today, I share my life’s purpose …

Micah 6:8. He has shown you O’ man what is good, and what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.

That sums it up. Anything beyond I just don’t see. Act justly – do what is fair and right. Love mercy – be kind and compassionate, always knowing there’s more to any story. Walk humbly with God – I know I do not deserve his favor, but he gives it because he loves me beyond what I can imagine and I am better than no one, and therefore I will conduct myself in the manner he has stated … be just, show mercy, and love my neighbor as myself.

Doesn’t mean I don’t struggle …. just need to focus … choose life.

Thankful for Immigration & Fenik

Written on November 25, 2015

Thanksgiving and immigration – these two go hand in hand. After all, it was the Pilgrims who immigrated across the ocean to a new land in pursuit of a better life, for an opportunity to live as they chose … just as so many do still today. Leave their nation of oppression for an opportunity to live with choice, free of persecution and constraints and violence. This immigration is the very foundation of the nation we call the United States of America. Europeans immigrated in droves to the land across the sea, taking what they saw without regard for the inhabitants of the land.

The numbers of Native Americans destroyed by the European immigrants counted in the millions – with those remaining after 300 years of European immigration relegated to particular tracts of lands referred to as reservations. Speak with Native peoples today and their feelings on Thanksgiving are much different from the majority of American households. Those who remain, that is, after years of names being stricken from census records, families separated and destroyed, children placed into English boarding schools to strip their culture and language from existence. Entire tribes slipping into extinction.

Immigration. Tricky situation … the Europeans immigrated to a land already populated. Most of us descend from those defectors from other lands, who came here for a better life – though destroying what others had held dear on these shores for thousands of years. And we still see immigration today … though the current residents feel it is encroachment on the American way of life. Was it not before? 300-400 years ago? I just go round with this topic.

It is a difficult thing for me to cheerlead America on Thanksgiving, celebrating the Pilgrims, because of the underlying current of the narrative – the greater picture of the destruction of millions of peoples – the genocide that goes unspoken … Though today, what was done is done, and on this Thanksgiving day, I choose to focus solely on thankfulness – not in relation to living in the “best” land in the world, but thankfulness that God loves us all, no matter the ugly, no matter the choice … though He does prescribe how folks are to live … treat others the way you want to be treated.

How do I feel about immigration today? It concerns me, sure. Maybe that’s because I watch so much national news. It’s conceivable that #Da’esh will send ‘warriors’ through with refugees. It’s just as much possible that they’re already here. We have large and long borders in the United States. Some means of regulation has to happen. Vetting – it’s a must. Verifying folks and where they come from and why. There is a prescribed process. This I do not have an issue with. The more the merrier – right? Maybe – it serves to make our cultures all the more that rich from sea to shining sea. And I can tell you this …

One of my most favorite of people in St. Louis is a Kurdish immigrant, now an American citizen. Her name is Fenik. At the age of 15, she and also her family walked across the border of Iraq into Turkey – to the safety of a non-profit organization. From there, they came to the United States … appropriately. Fenik speaks better English now than multitudes of American born folks I know, though there are times she’ll say, “How do you say?” and that makes me smile.

She’s no terrorist, though she is Iraqi-born. Hearing her perspective on relations between Arab nations and the United States gives me much food for thought, and I pray for her and her family members who still reside in the Kurdish areas of Iraq. There are times Fenik feels guilty to live here in the sanctity of the United States while family suffers in the throes of ISIS and other terror extremists in those regions. I told her once, God wants you here. What is it He has for you to do?

I am thankful for Fenik this Thanksgiving.

I am thankful that she lives here in St. Louis.

I am thankful that through knowing her, I have the opportunity to broaden my understanding of sociology and cultures and peoples.

I am thankful for the vast variety of people on this planet – the many beautiful ways God saw fit to create us.

I am thankful.

I am also prayerful – for this world bent on destroying itself – so full of hate for who and what is different. Fear and hate. It’s sad; I can only imagine how we ALL break the heart of God.

So, this Thanksgiving, consider how God loves everyone – even our enemies … be thankful for those you love, eat good food, and look for ways to be kind to each and every person who crosses your path.

Hopeless Romantic Am I

Written on January 20, 2016

I’ve come to terms with it. No more denying what everyone sees but me … No more lying that I don’t see it too. I do. Oh, I see it. I know what is true about me … I know that I am in love with love. With being in love. With romance and need. With flirtation and kisses. With surprises and whispered words. With the drama of romance.

So … Hello, I’m a hopeless romantic. My favorite book is Wuthering Heights and I am in love with Heathcliff from now through eternity. He embodies in that dark, Moorish landscape the anti-hero of my dreams. Tortured. Lost. Intense. Handsome beyond understanding ….

I am bereft that he is but a character on a page … “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine they are the same.” Cathy, I am. Haunted by my romantic ideals …and the moors, the ghosts, the unrequited love, the ocean crashing at the shore, the beauty of the words Emily Bronte crafted to capture my soul and imagination forever. I am hopelessly lost to the romance.

I smile too wide, laugh too loud, wink too often, look for romantic scenarios in every situation. And not just love involved romance, but beauty and beauty in everything that swirls and surrounds my life. The poetry in words, in movements, in the interactions of people – in smiles, kindnesses, flirtations. I romanticize everything and yes, I laugh with heart and often and cry just as much. In seeing romance all around me, I become a player on every stage, appreciating, wrapping myself up into the stories my mind creates all through each day. I feel everything and in that, my imagination inflames and I create private worlds and stories – living, laughing, loving, only letting some words fall from my fingers onto a page.

My greatest weakness is the strength of my empathy. So often I face ridicule for feeling too deep, for inserting my heart, my face, and my mind into the words and stories of others. My heart involves itself into the business of all without my approval or even best discretion … Seeing beauty, focusing on heart, wanting resolution, happiness, and romance to come forward the winner at all cost. I love love. Drape me in flowery dresses, crown my hair with clover flower wreaths, and let my candle burn. I’m warm. Emotive. Necessary. I deny it no more.

Hopeless romantic am I. ❤️

And you need me.