What Are You Looking for in 2019?

I’m almost half-way through my 39th year. And many things have changed in my life during this year of 2018. A significant one is that I’ve dropped 20 lbs. I’m 5 lbs away from my first weight loss goal and plan to focus on losing my next 25 lbs in 2019. I stepped into a six-week challenge at my kickboxing gym on September 17 and over those weeks of hard workouts, eating clean, and hydrating better, I dropped 14.9 lbs. I knew my goal was 25 lbs so I decided to keep going with my workouts, nutrition, and added half marathon training to my mix.

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More weight has come off, but even more noticeably, inches have melted from my 5’10 frame – three inches from my hips, three inches from my chest, over two inches from my waist and some inches from my arms and thighs. The decision to train for my first half marathon is something I wanted to do for over two years. But this fall became the space and time to actually commit to it and do this for me. 

I am legit a runner now.

A runner who loves the quiet of the mornings as my feet hit the pavement and my legs get lighter with each pound I say goodbye to. A runner who loves the feeling of seeing negative splits in my runs when the sweat is drenching me and the miles are crushed. A runner with my upgraded runner’s belt fitted with double water bottles and energy gels, Balega socks and compression tights on my body, eating plans for my pre-workout and post-workout meals set up, and my favorite running playlists ready to go in Spotify.

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Photo by Graham Hunt on Unsplash

I’ve also walked out the deep waters and at times hard but also refining soul work of a break-up. Not easy. At all. Especially when unexpected grief hit my heart traveling 100 mph or memories popped up like corn kernels bursting open in a microwave bag. Easter Sunday I know I smelled the scent of my former boyfriend’s cologne at least twice during church service as it wafted from others who walked past me – unexpected, moving my heart and emotions – and yet another “and this too shall pass” moment. And it did. And I kept breathing.

And another day came and I grew through this journey of healing and perspective.

If there’s one thing 2018 taught me the most about, it was the gift of being present: with God, with myself, in my relationships and commitments, and also the hope of dreams not yet born but somehow singing a melody from the distance that they are on the way.

I’m learning that being present is a choice. There’s so much in this world we can choose to do…or not do. I choose present because it helps me bring my presence into the little and larger pages of my life. And that is important because my life is important. It is a gift from the Lord. A deep act of intention from Him to me. Each day I marvel in the freedom to grow into one more day’s experience of the chapters He’s writing for me in the book that holds the stories my life.

The time I spent yesterday doing 30-second running intervals and 60-second speed walking intervals for 6 miles are an hour and minutes and seconds that I won’t ever get back. I spent that time and now that time is gone. But the time that’s coming is a gift that I want to use well. Especially as I consider what I am looking for in 2019 – for myself, my relationship with God, and new adventures that are just beginning to emerge for me.

What are you looking for in 2019 as the new year approaches? Will you dream and goal set, but forget about your desire to be present in those things weeks or even months later?

Or will you do something very different…and surprise yourself with your intention?

I vote for the surprise.

 

25 Hours, 3 Countries

I’ve been escapading around the world, Asia via The Philippines to be exact, and it was a prolific and deeply impactful experience for me. My trip began May 1st and here’s a little bit of what my eyes, ears, and heart took in when I traveled back to the U.S. from Manila to Tokyo, to Atlanta and then finally to Orlando on May 11th:

I’m standing near mirrors after washing my hands in one of the Tokyo airport restrooms. A little Asian girl with pigtails, probably about 4 years old is walking out with her mom. They stop as mom washes and dries her hands. I notice the little one peeking around her mom, at me.

I look at her and smile.

She smiles back sweetly with that precocious innocence that kids have that you want to keep safe forever and waves at me as she exits the restroom with her mama.

That made my heart smile. A great deal.

10 or so minutes later, I walk around the peaceful and sunlit terminal to stretch my legs a bit. I see the little one with her family, resting and waiting for their flight. She sees me and waves again. I wave back.

And we didn’t even say one word to each other…but kindness is recognized beyond languages.

…..

Arrived in Atlanta this afternoon a little after 3:30 pm.

I leave for Orlando at 6:55 pm.

While in the international terminal at the ATL airport, I was washing my hands in a restroom and heard a beautiful African melody in a language I did not know floating through the air. It seemed to be the same line sung over and over with a sweet, steady affection.

It reminded me of the song the tribes of Wakanda were singing during the waterfall ceremony when T’Challa became king in the movie Black Panther.

A moment later, one of the airport employees came out of a stall and began cleaning around the counter. She was the hidden singer. She was an older black woman, a little under 5 feet and seemed very content.

I began brushing my teeth and kept listening to her song.

I finished a minute or so later, smiled at her and asked, “What is the song that you are singing?”

She stopped, a little surprised, smiled and asked me if I was Nigerian. Her English was touched gently with an African dialect.

I said I was American and she said the song was about Hannah, the woman in the Bible who prayed to God for a child and God blessed her with a child.

She kept affirming, “Hannah prayed…God answered…Hannah prayed…God answered.” 

I listened to her words and I heard her. I heard her. There was truth in those melodies. And God was in those melodies too.

I smiled at her, thanked her and said, “God bless you sister” as I headed out of the restroom.

That melody is still touching my heart.

…..

I’m sitting at my gate, ready to board my last flight in this 25-hour travel journey through three countries and four airports. Orlando…home…is just an hour and a half flight away. Sunlight beams into the large floor to ceiling windows behind me. The ATL airport is a little calm and chill where I am from the typical noisy and action-filled movement that flows through terminals.

I’m fidgeting around with something – maybe cleaning my glasses or organizing a personal bag – when a woman next to me gets my attention. She begins speaking in Spanish and pointing to her phone.

I can see that she’s trying to access the internet but it’s not connecting. She’s speaking in Spanish and I’m speaking in English. Then I say in some pretty simple beginner’s  Spanish that I can’t speak Spanish but then an idea comes to me. I remember Google Translate and how I used it often a season ago to connect with special messages someone in my life would send to me.

I pulled it up, put in a line that shared maybe she should try connecting to the free airport WiFi again and selected Spanish to translate it. I handed my phone to her and she immediately understood. She typed back in Spanish and selected English for me to read her reply. She was from Colombia.

That began a few minutes of Google Translate conversations…she writing and me reading, me writing and she reading. I landed on the idea that maybe even though the WiFi in the airport was free, she wouldn’t be able to connect because she didn’t have a U.S. phone number.

That happened to me often in The Philippines. There was free WiFi many places, but when asked to type in my phone number, I couldn’t because my number wasn’t from the country. Interesting, eh?

She understood my idea. I encouraged her to try again on the plane…maybe it would work there?

…..

More than a day of travel and the gift of three international experiences in my international travel home. From a sweet little Asian girl to a truth-singing Nigerian sister and a kind Colombian woman, I got to experience a little bit more of the world along with Manila.

Balay Dako means “Big House” in Negrense, one of the languages spoken in The Philippines. During my last day, I enjoyed desserts with friends at this restaurant named Balay Dako. It’s perched above an incredibly huge lake that has a volcano inside of it.

“I Am From” Poem

I am from red Georgia clay roads that I call home whose dust sweetly greets me like a southern melody.

I am from Southwest Dekalb high school newspapers that changed my destiny and R&B mixtapes made from the radio by an only child in her mother’s brick condo.

I am from Atlanta, Decatur, Manchester, Eatonton, Virginia, Cameroon/Congo, Ivory Coast/Ghana, Benin/Togo, Mali, and sweet magnolia trees that smell like kindness and honeysuckle blossoms that make you feel like summer’s never gonna end.

I am from 80-year-old pecan giants in my grandmother’s country yard, trees who graciously gave me shade to play under and memories that could be kept no matter the seasons.

I am from 1989 roller skates raced in after school in elementary hallways and pink and white hula hoops balanced on little hips, rolled around necks and circled around skinny ankles,

I am from James and Gloria, from love that wanted to work and stay together but the words couldn’t hold tight to explain why they didn’t.

I am from Lena’s deep goodness and Lucille’s honey love,

From Essie Mae’s sugar-baby kisses, grandmamas and great aunts whose smiles and cheekbones keep speaking through me in adulthood and whose resilience caught my tears and made me feel that I was seen and known and beautiful and valuable and special because I  belonged to them.

I am from black-eyed peas and collard greens enjoyed every New Year’s Day,

From peppermint sticks eaten near old southern gas heaters and Auntie’s candied carrot souffle.

I am from Gloria’s confidence that walked integration into Atlanta’s civilian divisions in the decade that followed Dr. King’s Dream,

And from James’ brilliance that fused wild creativity expeditiously, almost instinctively into my blood and bones.

I am from asymmetrical bangs cut into layers and crimped tresses that were so fly in ‘96,

From the moments that sit on the edge of perfect harmonies heard over Sony Discmans when you’re innocent enough to dream about everything,

I am from pens and paper that made poems who won statewide contests,

And faith in Him nurtured nearly 20 years that’s sustained me when I’m beautiful and kept me when I’m broken.

I am from my mother’s smile and my father’s eyes.

I am from red Georgia clay roads that I call home whose dust sweetly greets me like a southern melody.

I hold onto that dust. It brings me closer to myself than I realize as it gives me freedom to be willing to fly.

Finding Me Truth #11: Fingerprints in The Tension

There’s this tension of living in a world that’s not peaceful, that’s not safe, that’s not what you want it to be in all the moments you breathe – comfortable, expected, controllable.

But if we diminish the presence and fingerprints of God in the story, through the tension, we negate the peace and the safety He can provide if we surrender and let Him.

This world is a crazy place to be in sometimes. Turning on the news or hearing a recap of the MTV VMAs reminds me just how crazy.

All the more reason why God is in the business of fixing things and redeeming broken things, with a particular tenacity for us – human beings.

 

A Letter to The President

It’s significant to me that the presidency for America’s first African-American president will come to a close next Thursday, January 19, 2017. It’s significant to many, many people in my life, throughout the nation, and around the world.

It’s significant to pause and consider America changed her history eight years ago and elected her first-ever African American president and person of color president. That’s worthy of celebration. America CHANGED HER HISTORY. She showed that race and color could no longer be a barrier to how she would be led by her own people.

That had never happened before on a presidential level. 

I’ve had the honor to vote in five elections in my lifetime. 1st time in 2000, as a 20 yr-old. And eight of those 16 years that span my voting experience were lived during America’s 1st African-American Presidency. That is historic. That gives me pause.

These eight years and this presidency were not without their challenges, questions, and at times disappointments. But this is life. And we grow through how we learn, listen, and use moments to shape us for more opportunities in the future.

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Seeing President Barack Obama, First Lady Michelle, and their beautiful daughters Malia and Sasha in The White House the last eight years = significance because seeing them means I see me. I see an affirmation of brown skin and black culture that poured confidence and belonging into my soul.

I see tender respect for family, marriage, parenting, and love. I see my President and First Lady, but I also see a dad who hilariously imitates his teenage daughters on their cell phones texting to their friends, “Girl, I couldn’t believe it…” and a mom who goes to CVS to get earphones for her daughter. I see America. Diverse. Not all the same and learning to respect the differences in others. Bridging the gaps. Crossing the divides.

When reports surfaced throughout these eight years at different times of American citizens publicly and often via social media calling The First Lady a “first chimp” or a “monkey” and The President a “spider monkey” or a “nigger” it digs into the significance that grew my confidence through this presidency. It hurts. It makes me mad. People are still calling black people animals some 154 years after the end of American slavery and the declaration of The Emancipation Proclamation. Still seeing us as not human, not enough, less than simply because our skin is a different shade. That hate for The President and The First Lady is unconsciously absorbed by me because I look just like them. I’m black. The hate that so easily spews from ignorant minds towards the leader of the free world can just as easily come my way.

This callous racism surfaces because of the color of the President and The First Lady’s skin, parts of their physical makeup and identity they had no choice in selecting. God created them in His image. He chose their brown skin. He chose my brown skin. He chose all the skin colors in this world. Before the world knew any of us, He knew us. He was present as we were being knit together in our mama’s wombs. He knew US. And this is why the dig of racism is so vitriolic, so sinful, and very demonic: It calls what God created with intention and from love defective and unworthy. And this kind of severe brokenness can only be redeemed through the power and the blood of Jesus Christ.

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Racism forces me to stop and accept that though America did change her history, many people don’t want to live in the present. They lust for the prejudice and bigotry of the past. I hate that people want hate more than they want racial diversity, cultural understanding, and relationships with others who don’t look like them or come from the same background as them. I hate that ignorance is just as alive and well in 2017 as it was after Civil War Reconstruction and early Jim Crow laws took their death grip across the American South and other parts of the nation.

Hate had grandchildren and her sister racism did the same and now we are here. We are here dealing with their kids and we are here trying to protect our kids and we are here fighting to be human.

And yet hate will not win. She’s riddled with deficits.

Love has already won this war and the banner of victory rests beautifully on the shoulders of Jesus, the Messiah. He fills in all the gaps that hate leaves empty and deformed. He is The One who holds all things together:

15 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. 16 For by[f] him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him.17 And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together.

Colossians 1: 15-17

His love reminds me to have hope. That hope inspired me to write a letter of thanks to The President and First Lady this week. In the face of intense realities these last eight years, they both served in their human giftings and also human limitations, with faith and diligence, as they opened their lives and shared their family with millions in our country and around the world. They showed up for the challenges and are leaving next week, having woven some new tapestry into the fabric of America’s ever-evolving story.

In my 37 years of life, this is the first time I’ve written to The President of The United States. The first time I’ve mailed something to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW, Washington, DC 20500. Yesterday, I kept looking at the envelope with my handwriting, touched the stamps, and thought to myself, “I’m mailing a letter to The President. Wow.” I feel like I’m a part of history. I’m grateful for that.

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