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The colorization of the Negro people

2/22/2015

4 Comments

 
Many have asked what I deem the risks of expressing my views on race so openly. While I respect the question, while I understand it, and while I feel the cautious sentiment behind it, my only answer is, how can I have a voice and not share it?
This will be my last blog post on the subject of race this Black History Month and my most compelling. I hope you will read this post in its entirety and it stirs you to share your voice in the mix where you reside.

Allow me to begin by saying that my personal belief is the white man is not the black man's biggest problem. It is the color of the uniform that is our biggest peril. Those police in blue who only see our color. The long arm of justice who only see our color. Any institutionalized system of prejudice, no matter the color who only see our color and not our inner content. We live in a world where the majority often paint with a broad brush when characterizing people of other races. Blacks are not alone in this. Many brown people around the world are mischaracterized culturally, religiously and otherwise. Until we stop seeing color except as the hue that God exceptionally created, we as mankind suffer a blind-eye to this world's true beauty and our exceptional role within it.

Recently I got a message from a white friend, whose name will remain anonymous. Mostly anonymous because in truth, her name could be anyone of our friend's names.  Upon reading her message, my husband and I called her by phone. We had a wonderful thought-provoking chat: Below is her original message. As you read it, I would ask you to examine your friendships and associations. How many within your circle share the same views, unspoken?

Dear La Detra,
I'm going to be painfully honest. Take a deep breath. I grew up with racist parents who were born in the late 1930's. I don't think they were raised to know better, so I forgave them for their ignorance long ago. They were never blatantly racist (as they would say), just said things like our people don't mix with their people. To me that very thought is racist, but to them only using the "N" word was racist.

That being said, I know I have parts of me that need to change. I can't articulate them, but I know somewhere deep down, unintentionally, they're there. I pray before I leave this earth that God has revealed my own predjudices and has removed them. I'm certainly a work in progress.


From a white woman's perspective, here are things I need help understanding.

1. I don't know what to call dark skinned people. American American, colored, black, people of color (and of course my parents used to say negroes) etc. I've offended some by saying black, and I've offended some by saying African American. I'm always scared to call a dark skinned person anything because of the varying degrees of adjectives.

2. " Hollyweird" has influenced my views on "who" to be afraid of. Do you remember the Michelle Pfifer movie years ago, Dangerous Minds? It "taught" me that black boys in dark hoodies, gold chains, and low-waisted jeans are to be feared. In so many ways, Hollywood has perpetuated and given rise to my fear of black men. Sadly, I would have been afraid both Michael Brown and Trayvon Martin was going to kill me, and if others, with guns, fear the way I do, their fear may cause them to pull a trigger unnecessarily.


3. My family and I lived in a neighborhood that was 30% white for 11 years.  The overwhelming majority were black. We CHOSE that location for our kids to have a variety of ethnicities to befriend and relate to. It paid off. That's where my daughter met her best friend, and her best friend's mom is one of my dearest friends
.

Living there developed something beautiful in my daughter. She would spend days at their house in the summer having them braid her hair and understanding that black women have a lot more to do to keep themselves beautiful than she does. She would always say, "Mom, you wouldn't believe the hair creams and skin creams."   

4. Her first two "boy friends" were black boys.

This year, she started public school for the first time in her life. For the first time she was called a 'white cracker' in a very harsh tone. She wouldn't allow the boy next door to use her bike, and he got upset and screamed that at her and her friend. Fortunately, she had no idea it was a racial slur. She just knew he was mad.
Then at school, two black boys asked her to go out. (As if my 12 year old is going "out" with anyone, but that's beside the point). When she told them she wouldn't go out with either one, they started telling other kids she is racist. My very thick skinned daughter came home and cried because she said she's never felt racist a day in her life. The boys told her teacher she called them the "N" word. She pleaded with me that she's never uttered that word in her life. I truly believe her. Now, SADLY, after working so hard, she's gotten a little afraid of being around some of the black kids because she says anything can make them think racism. I never want her afraid to interact with other races, and I'm mad that happened.

5. The word racist is so completely jaded. The typical American has no clue how to give a definition in 2015. However, I feel like I walk on egg shells around most of my black friends because I never want to say the wrong thing or be labeled a racist.

6. My dear friend who is black, says she feels awkward shopping  where we live. She says white people look at her like she doesn't belong. I don't get it. I know I won't ever get it because I'm not black. But, I secretly wonder if she's thinking things other white people just aren't intending. I get looks from the white people and black people when I shop there. I never thought of it about race. My thought was that I wear sweatpants and T-shirts and most others are dressed to the nines. I just don't care that much, but if I were black, would I be thinking it's the color of my skin or the clothes I'm wearing?
Now when I go out to shop, I bend over backwards to make black people feel welcomed. I open doors for them. I make sure to smile at every black person around. I make conversation, but with white people, I don't care. I pretty much ignore them. How stupid is that?? Maybe I'm racist against white people at those places.

Ok. These are a few of my thoughts/questions and painful admonitions. 

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

All together in Him,


My friend, anonymous
4 Comments

Black Jesus

2/22/2015

3 Comments

 
I hope you have had your coffee. When Jesus returns in the second coming and he will return, and if he returns in the flesh, you might be astonished to discover he is indeed black in color. Why wouldn't he be black?
Jesus was an ethnic Jew with olive, light brown skin tone, right? It does appear that society often gives Jesus his color based on cultural stereotypes. This has been going on for hundreds of years. In fact, the assignment of race to biblical individuals has histo...rically been mostly a subjective exercise rather than through scientific analysis. Jesus has been called a white Aryan to a black African depending on the scholar or the societal trend, and sometimes based on the race of people reporting on this ethnicity.

My question, does Jesus' race matter? To me yes. As an African-American raised to worship this Son of God, I would like to know. The felt picture of Jesus that hung over our living room couch growing up showed him as white. The older I have gotten the pictures have gotten browner depending on where I am. I visited Egypt several years back. I read somewhere Jesus was Egyptian. I must say I did not see a single white person in Egypt who was not a tourist. It is safe to say if Jesus was Egyptian, he was indeed brown or black in color. Back to why I care.

Devotion to Jesus has been a large part of the African-American experience. The black church is at the pennacle of black life. Much of black Christianity is based on the bible. Many black people have begun to believe the bible is a European book of fiction where black accounts were marginalized or ignored throughout. Where does that leave believers who want clarity and understanding of teachings in the bible? How do we look for answers from a place (the bible) that our church is now calling into question. Furthermore, our Jesus is in that same bible some question. So where do we find answers? Could it be that no one really wants to answer the really tough questions? If Jesus is Egyptian, he is African. If he is African, he is black. The Egyptian Coptic Church still exist today. Christianity in Egypt dates back to at least the 3rd century. Look no further than where Christianity had it roots to begin to answer some of these questions.

Weigh in.

3 Comments

Around our supper table

2/21/2015

6 Comments

 
Growing up there was something quite distinctive I noticed in contrast between my non-brown friends and me. We all played the same hide and seek, dashed through the same sprinkler systems, all rode our bikes until either the chain broke, tire flattened or the street lights came on signaling curfew. Or unless we were called in for dinner.  Occasionally I was invited into other people's homes for dinner. I grew up as an army brat and most of my friends were white, so I had the opportunity to sit around a lot of dinner tables at homes where my friends' parents grew up somewhere else. Thing is there was a very stark difference between their dinner table decorum and what I was accustomed to. I wonder how these  experiences or lack thereof shaped my eventual ideologies about the world around me and my role in it. Let me be more specific.

I can never once recall talking about world events in my home, not even while growing up during the War in Vietnam. I can't recall a single conversation about an upcoming election (local or national), or about the importance of wealth building, saving money versus increasing your net worth. We did not discuss the importatnce or impact of decisions made at the board of education. I spent my entire childhood and not once did I ever see a national newspaper on my doorstep, not one. I can't recall our TV spending more than fleeting moments on national news programming, unless there was a crisis, like the time Ronald Reagan was shot.. But in comparison, my non-brown friends, many of them were engaged in dinner table discussions that touched upon each of these. Not only did they touch upon them, as a family unit, they had engaging conversations probing concepts, contrasting views, key insights, implications, opportunities or threats embedded in each of these.  I saw it first-hand and I wondered, wow, what are my friends getting that I am missing.

At our dinner table, we discussed topics like, whose turn it was to do dishes, which bills we were caught up on, can we spend the night at such and such's house? We argued over why there were still dirty dishes in the sink from earlier in the day and whose job it had been to wash them. We discussed grades only if they were failing and school only if momma had been called in cause somebody really messed up. We watched local news to see if anyone we knew had been arrested, or if we needed boots/jackets for tomorrow's walk to school. We discussed leftovers, broken washers and dryers, leaking furnaces. We discussed money not in the context of saving it but in terms of never enough.

I wonder how different my life would be today if our conversations had not always been stuck in survival mode and had instead branched into the world outside of my neighborhood and community? Would my brothers be CEO's instead of  stuck working a trade? Would my mother still have worked herself to death at age 55? At least would we as a family unit have had the option and resources to explore a different path?

Are we missing the opportunity to grow and strengthen our family legacy by conversations that begin at home? I think so.
6 Comments

Negro History Week, oh no not again.

2/18/2015

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I am pretty sure my children do not know much about nor do they care much about Black History Month. I can't say I blame them entirely. I relish the thought that a great idea which began at a much needed time of 1928, benefited a nationality of people at a time that there was very little to be proud of big or small. Setting aside time, no matter how little,  to acknowledge Black People's contributions to our great nation was a thing to be admired. Knowing the genesis behind this recognition came from one of these mighty Black American contributors, Carter G. Woodson is better still. Negro Life and History needs telling, and mostly needs remembering, lest we repeat its most troubling of times. What is now Black History Month though may have lost its luster. Our children are now living in far different times, with vastly different issues, among a much browner nation, suffering farther reaching trepidations, during deeply troubling times, with harsher impacting outcomes, with NO IMMEDIATE solutions. And we blame them for not knowing their history. It is difficult enough for them to make their own history in a new day where society would have them believe there are no issues with color. That we have overcome. At least back then, back when Negro History Week turned into Black History Month, we need look no further than our one shade elected officials, one shade law enforcement, one shade healthcare providers, one shade POTUS, one shade "you name it", to know there was a color disparity that existed, and we were not among that shade. Now because we have somewhat penetrated these rank and file and because we can take cold drinks from water fountains of our choosing, we have overcome?! Or so we are supposed to teach our children. We alone must teach them whatever it is that is poured into them because "nothing of our history" is being taught in the classroom. If we continue this blind eye much longer, we will create skewed believers of an entire generation. A generation subscribing to the life as they live it, is the new accepted normal, then what?  New life, no history equals no future. Lest we remember more we forget.

Tell somebody.

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Finding out the truth

2/15/2015

1 Comment

 
If we are not looking for something we surely won't find it. Being okay with being still is a wonderful trait. It shows a steadied patience, a willingness to trust, obey and believe. Something we are all commanded to do after making our desires known. No matter how strong our inner will we ought to pursue HIS will be done. But how many of us can really do this? Can we turn over the desires of our heart to an unanswered prayer? The only safeguard way to do this with perfect peace is if the desires of our heart are perfectly aligned with God's desire for our life. Then and only then do we get our every prayer answered. So what should be our prayer?

I think our prayer should always be a request for the truth in everything. That's right, we pray for the truth. And then we wait for the truth to be revealed. No matter what we are seeking from God it can't come from him back to us unless it is the truth for our lives, so why not frame our prayers in that way? Lord please reveal to me my truth in this matter. The truth will always prevail. Whether we are seeking clarity, comfort, peace, patience, forgiveness, compassion, relief, healing, security, or something else, each comes with it, the truth behind it. This is the only way our Savior operates, in truth. Can't find the right words, just ask for your truth. God will show you, for he knows no other way.

Psalm 145:18 (ESV)
T
he Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth

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Catch us the little foxes that destroy the vines; for our vine has flowered.

2/14/2015

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What God has created in us is beautiful in every way. What a mighty priviledge to serve in HIS vineyard. He has shown so much grace to men and women especially to HIS chosen. He loves to know we are happy. He loves our obedience, strength and our fortitude. He matches our ability to the demands of our day. He handedly sends us a helpmate to help in our vineyard. Someone He knows will be there during perils and floods that overtake our steadied feet.

God likes to see things grow, bigger, taller and better than ever before. He rejoices when we learn from our missteps. Bitterness does not grow from seeds He planted in love relationships. He wants to see blossoms without the kind of thorns that prick and stick to things. No he wants love relationships to reach higher and higher and higher up to the sky. He grants the titillation of intimacy, and through his words encourages the touch and feel and ecstasy of two people joined together. Exhilaration is of His creation alone.

So we will catch the little foxes that destroy the new buds on our vines. We will keep the little problems out of our vineyard. We will destroy them before they have an opportunity to destroy what has flowered in our bountiful vineyard. We will do this by remaining open in communication, by always reminding one another of God's hand in the selection of us together forever as one. 
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That Jehovah Witness

2/13/2015

5 Comments

 
I grew up with two grandfathers, one on each side, both Baptist preachers. Their Baptist ministry could not have been any more traditional either, especially for the south. Two church services on Sunday plus Sunday School, Wednesday bible study, no women in the pulpit, visit the sick and shut in at home and in the hospital. This means my mother also grew up with these same Baptist preachers, one her father-in-law, the other her father. Somewhere along the way after many years of going to church, singing in the choir, sitting on the first pew, dressing to the nines, my mother became disenfranchised with traditional church going. She used to say, "I have seen nothing in my home-life that suggests the church makes a person better. She became bitter and resentful of the hypocrisy she experienced outside of church." When I was about 10, she stopped going. She sent us with the neighborhood organ player, but she stopped going, completely. Only times she stepped back in a church was for a wedding or a funeral, period.

At about age 11 I met a nice lady just outside of our neighborhood who taught bible study in her home. I did not know at the time she was a Jehovah Witness, quite a departure from my religious indoctrination. The wonderful thing however about spending time with her was her teachings. I used to go to her house a couple times a week at first then more. My friend Pam and I were drawn to her ability to explain things from the bible. One day she sent us home with some pamphlets and told us if we wanted to fill them out and send them in. We would begin getting regular study guides on various subject areas. I did. Pam did.

A few months into my visiting this nice lady my mother became more aware and curious about what I was doing at this lady's house. I told her what I thought I needed to, just enough, in order to continue going there. I did not tell her that this lady was a Jehovah's Witness, which was akin to being the anti-Christ in my mom's limited view. At nearly the same time, I also became the house evangelist. I prayed for everyone walking through the door and tried out my mini-sermons on anyone who stood still long enough to hear me. I quoted so much scripture and conducted so many preaching sessions that after a couple of weeks no one in my family was speaking to me and if someone happened to visit while I was home they dashed into the house and into a back room away from my scripture pontifications as fast as their feet would carry them. 

After confronting the lady at her home, my mother demanded I not go back to visit her anymore. She thought my head was being filled with too much unknown / unproven scripture. I snuck out of the house and went anyways. One day early evening the doorbell rang.

This evening happened to be the one day that week my mother was off work from both jobs. I answered the door and saw three women standing outside holding pamphlets. Based on my instincts, I immediately stepped outside onto the porch. They began telling me about Jesus the archangel the highest created being. They talked about salvation, good works, obedience. They were Jehovah Witnesses. Just then my mother appeared dressed in a house gown, plastic hair curlers, and house shoes. She had brimstone fire in her eyes. She pushed the screen door so hard it nearly completely came off its hinges. She looked like the devil incarnate himself. In less than one minute my mom used more curse words than I have ever heard in my entire life. She cursed these women up and down and sideways calling them everything but a child of their archangel. They back off the porch spilling pamphlets as they tripped backwards, never taking their eyes off momma's daggers. I bent down and began picking up pamphlets as I listened to momma continual cursing at them all the way down the street. I never saw them again and momma never again had to instruct me on where to go for bible study. I was back to the King James version, scared straight.

Once a Baptist, always a Baptist.
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About

2/10/2015

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I am about to leave him because our relationship is going nowhere fast. I am about to go back to school because I should have never stopped going in the first place. I was about to apply to graduate school except I got a really good job with great benefits and vacation allowance. I am about to apply for a loan to start my own business just after I pay off all these credit cards. I am about to put my friendship with her on ice at least long enough for her to realize how good she has it being around me.

I am about to go get counseling for some dark thoughts I can't shake but I will wait until after the holidays. I can use those few dollars to pay for a few more presents. Who has that kind of money to waste anyhow? I am about to get back into church really start back going like I used to when I first got out of college. I might even join a ministry, one that gets me out in front working with young people. Yes, next time I have a few minutes I am about to look on the internet and surf churches around my neck of the woods. By spring, I plan to visit at least three new churches near me. Yes! I am about to add "find a church" to my growing to do list right now.

This year, I am about to get more organized. The kind of organization where I know where things stand with my finances, what my priorities are, what is most important in reaching my goals. In a round about way I guess I am trying to say I am about to take control of my life. Yep, I am about to do that.

In order to be about my business I have to stop living an about life. A life of almost. Almost about to do this, almost about to do that. In the vicinity of achieving traction but never really getting anywhere. But all this is about to change.

From this day forward it is not about, "about" it is about "doing". Doing whatever it takes to stop about in its tracks and get about doing those every things that have kept me stuck on making lists rather than making history!

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From a rough patch under a forgotten tree

2/8/2015

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I will never feel sorry for myself. By any measurement I have lived a much cherished life, particularly during what is likely to be the second half of my life. I did not grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I well know what it means to wear second hand clothes, to eat from black and white label cans, and to dine and be happy with sugar and butter sandwiches a couple times a day. I lived knowing what time of the month it was at any given time. My month was spent with about 5 really happy, 'eat what you see' days because the food stamps had come. There were other times we received food donations from close friends at momma's work. One time we got a humongous trash bag full of branded single-serve cereals of all varieties. We were in heaven for real, Frosted Flakes, Cheerios, Fruit Loops. We ate cereal even when we weren't hungry just to be treated to the abundance. That is until on about day 3 of over-indulging, Ginger our Irish Setter, peed on the open bag stopping our tummy party in its tracks. I was so mad at that dang dog, even refused to pet her for a full week. I can't eat Sugar Pops to this day.

Growing up without much taught me much about being humble. It also showed me the importance of not judging others by their outsides. I had so little to show for my lot in life, rarely able to be the "show off" in my peer group. If I was going to stand out I would have to bring out some special qualities from the inside. And so that would be my plan, I would become unforgettable inside then out.

Though I started out from a rough patch under a forgotten tree somewhere in Salt Lake City, Utah, I emerged as this wonderful person that even I liked. I love myself by loving others with all my might. I show love of self by trying to understand the plight of others, to relate to their sorrows, and then doing what it takes to be of service to them. This means being available to them in mind and physicality. This does not necessarily mean taking care of them or becoming a care-taker. It does mean taking care, showing care and being there in a way that feels appropriate within my spirit. I know so many people who do nice things for others with a soul full of resentment. I understand that feeling. It happens when we are talked into things, when we think versus feel we should do something or when we simply want to be able to say look at what I did.

Going without sucks. Doing without sucks. Being without sucks. What sucks most of all however is having everything you truly need yet believing you don't. Things turned around for me when I stood up in that rough patch looked around me from that forgotten tree and said "Thank you Jesus." Thank you Jesus for giving me a starting point. A place from which I can grow, such humble beginnings under the shade of this forgotten tree. Allow me to bloom with your words in my heart. Let us together show others beyond this patch what a mighty work you will do in me for your glory alone. Use me and my rough patch to draw others to your tree of life. Allow me to climb and let others see your mighty work and promises kept in their lives.

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Split ends

2/4/2015

1 Comment

 
There is a natural order to most things. Oranges grow in trees, radishes grow underground, babies lose their baby teeth and so on and so on. When the natural order of a thing is disrupted there is the potential for unnatural occurrences or even chaos. There are different types of chaos, contained and uncontained. With contained chaos it can sometimes be masked to almost appear orderly. It is the type that is covered up disguised and portrayed as more of confusion than mayhem. For instance kind of like taking  all of your dirty clothes out of the middle of the bedroom floor and piling them in your closet, shutting the door tightly behind you. That is contained chaos or as I choose to call this split ends..

Uncontained chaos stems from split ends.  Trichoptillosis schizotrichia and informally split ends, is the splitting, weakening or fraying of the hair shaft due to excessive heat and mechanical stress. Split ends can be treated by reducing or eliminating the causes, trimming or by removing the hair altogether. Now that may sound extreme to some. Left untreated, the hair shaft is forever damaged making it prone to more damage in the future. Split ends do not get better on their own, ever. Split ends must be addressed or that same strand of hair will endure multiple splits ultimately resulting in a total breakage.

Love relationship are just like split ends. Two rules of thought  when treating split ends, trim them often and don't rely on outside products to "heal" the split ends. The same can be said for love relationships. The work starts within.  You must condition the relationship, rid it of dry spots, keep it healthy and moisturized. Very importantly, you don't have to comb out every knot and you don't have to comb it too hard. If you over comb it attempting to detangle every imperfection you will end up with a lot of shedding from too much pressure. Before long the relationship will appear thin and malnourished, over processed and strained. You will have invited in chaos.

There is the chaos theory which is expect the unexpected, or the science of surprise. In love relationships with chaos and split ends you have disorder, disarray, havoc, commotion, upheaval and distrust. And you have each of these in spades. There are not enough closets to hide away the split ends. You must come together and begin treating the shaft. No surprise to either of you that it will take a lot of work to get healthy, each doing his/her part consistently. When it is time to trim, each must be willing to trim generously those parts of themselves that are not helping restore the split ends. And if you do this, both do this, over time the life will come back into the relationship and the relationship will grow even stronger and longer than either of you anticipated.

Love relationships can come back strong from split ends; many do and yours can too.
1 Comment

    La Detra Joy

    I love being around people. I would rather live falling than break my spirit never trying anything hard. This blog is about trying and retrying life.

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