I now, no longer expect my friends
to understand my grief
nor do I give them space to
The last 4 months have been quite turbulent. I’ve felt like a fisher in a small boat caught up in a storm. I’m powerless to quiet my environment. And honestly, at times I’ve done a poor job at recognizing His presence. February was a hellishly busy month, between planning and executing a retreat for Spark (retreats aren’t restful when you’re running them), preparing for a few performances at Black History Month celebration events culminating in the Black Arts Matter Fest ( I got to the finals), writing a song for the application of an internship, staffing at Phos House, tutoring kids at Vera Ct, and losing some financial support to the point where some days and weeks I had less than $10 in my account, and starting to see a counselor. I’ve been realizing that I need help. Support. I can’t do this alone: Financially, Spiritually, or Emotionally. And in recognizing that I need help, I’ve also seen my pride-fueled aversion to asking for it.
The above line in italics is an excerpt of a larger poem I wrote called, “Good Friend”. And I think that ‘my grief‘ can be substituted with, ‘need for help’, ‘hurt’, or even “how broken I am and how much love is like a healing salve that I need, but am too prideful to admit”
Why am I- one who is quick to help any friend in need- so slow to ask for reciprocity?
Not only am I averse to asking friends, and my community for help, I’m averse to asking Father for help. I was talking to a friend of mine a couple days ago who lost their father last year and they said they are trying to learn to recalibrate their relation to our Creator from ‘Good Man’, to ‘Good Father’.
I, too lost my father. However March 28th ’19 was the 8th anniversary of his passing, so I’ve been fatherless for a while now. I started thinking about how my father and I didn’t have much of a relationship. He was a good man. But he wasn’t present much. I never really knew him. I never felt like he knew me. And I can’t remember ever having a “father son talk”. Due to that poverty of relationship I don’t actually know what it’s like to relate to someone as a “father”. As a “provider”. As a “support”. In a lot of ways I’ve had to figure things out myself. And this commitment to independence has been detrimental to myself. As I’ve begun to see first hand how independent I can be I’ve started trying to rely on my community more. And on Father more. And one of the fruits of this is me bringing my problems to Him. I don’t dress them up to look all pretty. I share them in their unrefined-ness. I’m striving to be honest, raw, and vulnerable. This has opened up new avenues of being supported, being empathized with, etc etc.
When people ask me how I am, I am more apt to be honest with them.
I’m tired of pride.
I’m tired of having to be ‘okay’.
It’s okay to not be okay.
Jesus still loves me.
Jesus still wants to be with me.
- Spark (art elective in Discipleship Training School) has finished. We had a great 9 weeks!
- Phos Staffing goes well, the semester is concluding is about 5 weeks!
- I’ve applied for a 2 month paid internship in Richmond, VA that runs from June-July. The internship is for worship leaders who are passionate about theology, racial reconciliation, and community engagement. I’ll know within the month of I’m accepted. Part of the application was writing a worship song based on Isaiah 58. I’m elated to know that if I’m accepted in this internship I’ll be around other young christians who are passionate about the working out of their faith in a communal, justice oriented lens.
Spark retreat. Featuring 1/2 of the Sparkies. We played a cooking game and this was the meal my team made! Yummm! food lowkey reminded me of being in Tanzania.
A group of Christian Creatives got together to make chinese dumplings! Yay for community!
Candid picture of Hannah and I working on, “We Are Guilty”. The song I wrote for the internship. Thanks for your help Hannah! Told you it’d be fun 😉
Reyna, one of the Phos residents has a Figure Drawing Class. So, for 2 hours I sat still on her bed while she drew me. My hips were SORE after this. NEVER AGAIN REYNA! at least not in that position
I got new glasses (insert fire emoji). and am trying a mustache if you mustassk
Me performing my fav piece (Face Value) at the Black Arts Matter Festival poetry slam. I got into the finals!
All the beautiful black poets that flew in to Madison for the BAM Poetry Slam!