Those are the exact words I heard her say to him. "I can't spend potential." He was trying his best to make a good impression. We were on the train commuting from Newark to NYC. I was what is commonly known as ease dropping. Could not help it. I am by nature a people watcher.

I remember him being well-groomed, handsome even. He noticed her when she first boarded the train. Couldn't blame him, she was a looker. She was wearing the best! Top brands, manicured nails, even carried a briefcase. It was the mid-1990's. People still carried briefcases back then. She had a long shiny black mane, shoulder length, so believable I convinced myself it could be her hair. She was beautiful. Beautiful so I thought on the outside.

He tried every angle to get her attention. All respectful. You could tell he had been raised right. I thought, "Wow his people did good. This guy is awesome.". His only liability is he was broke. Yep, just starting out. She grilled him. Where did you go to school, what do you do for a living, where do you live, what kind of car you drive?....." Dang she asked secret service level questions. Nothing like what do you like to do in your spare time? What makes you smile? Where do you go to be alone? Who do you admire most in the world? Nothing like that. I bet if asked he would of had some awesome answers. He just looked and sounded like he would have hit those questions out of the park.

Finally as it was even Ray Charles clear that he was getting absolutely nowhere with her, I heard him say, "Look I just want to get to know you. I have a lot of potential." She responded, "Well I can't spend your potential."

And that is where she left it. He looked absolutely deflated.

I thought to myself, you might not be able to "spend his potential" but if you were 1/2 the lady he was hoping you were (and you are not), you would be at least willing to invest in his potential. That's it. Take a moment and see what he is made of not what paid of. See the way he looks at you. Get close enough to smell his essence. Care enough to let him down easily if that is the way it is headed. This my dear naïve lady is your loss not his. He brought you his best and you met him with your truth. And on your best day your truth is not good enough for his potential, now or later. He ought to thank you for saving him the time realizing how fake you are and I am not talking about the hair or that empty briefcase. No worries. Stay on the train you are on and see where that takes you. Instead of spending his potential you should spend time working on improving your own potential.

Potential is defined as the possibility of becoming something. Does not mean something great or excellent. It means becoming what you are capable. It means achieving your unrealized ability. I am on the side of potential every single time!

You two need to break up I told her. Make it a clean break. Start over. No need to rehash the past. Nothing to be gained by reliving past mistakes. You don't owe a plethora of excuses. No need to spend time explaining what went wrong. Just end it now while you can muster the courage. Forgo the blame game.

No need to be nasty or accusatory. No allowing yourself to be talked into back peddling. Tell yourself over and over, "Onward and upward!" No more being stuck. No more settling. No more being mad and blue. Do something while you are fired up. Don't wait for another makeup. This time Just Do it! No more rewarding bad acts. Bondage looks bad on you. It is high time you start listening to your insides. Now stop settling for second best.  Halt in your very tracks and do what you should have done a long time ago.

You two need to break up I told her, before you have a complete break down.  You ready I asked her? And on that day she answered, "Yes."

I broke up with me. I broke free of those parts of me that kept me from greener pastures. I broke up with my overdrawn credit cards. I broke up with my unhealthy eating habits, drinking habits, self-loathing mental habits. I broke free of excuses habits, woe is me habits, and "I would if I could" habits.  All gone. I didn't even leave a note. I just left.

The strongest emotion ever created is love. God places a lot on us and he says above all else the most important of these is love. I think when we decide to exercise that emotion, cast it into the center of the ring, that changes everything. The stakes could not be higher. Love becomes everything against which all else is measured. Perhaps that is why God spoke, 1 COR 13:13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. When we get love right all else falls into place. And when we are careless with love, take it for granted, play with its emotions there is a cost to pay. Our actions become like the ripple in a pond of still water. The repercussions expand across the water into all aspects of our lives. Over time our love loses its currency. Once love is interrupted it is hard to restore. Rather than love being something that is growing, it becomes something that is healing. Buried beneath are layers and layers of fragments that are looking for meaningful elements to gravitate to but that too becomes really hard, often too hard. Once love becomes careless it causes others to care less.

It is no wonder when God spoke of love he did not mince his words. And the greatest of these is love.

It is much easier to learn to do the butterfly in the backyard pool than it is to say these simple words out loud, I AM A FAKE. Fake, as defined by me, is as an unfinished work with unauthentic origins. Fake does not become fake on its own, fake takes work. Fake takes time.

When I left for college from my home in Salt Lake City, my just-older brother Wade ran out to the waiting taxi-cab reached in and handed me a wooden nickel. He said, "Let this be the last one you ever take." I was 17 years old and I never forgot his words. Within my first 24 hours on the campus of Howard University I bought 4 watches from a young man whose uncle worked for a big watch manufacturer. The manufacturer had made too many watches and needed to get rid of the excess inventory. His nephew agreed to help in his free time. As I happened by this young man, who appeared older than me not by much, opened his too hot for the season trench coat revealing a plethora assortment of genuine diamond studded designer watches. If I wanted one or more he echoed I must hurry, he could not stand out there forever.  In my best effort not to conceal my overabundance of excitement responded that I only had $75. This $75 was the total lot my single mother of four could amass before I left for DC. She made me put it in a knee high stocking tied off with a knot and stuff it in my bra all the way from Utah to Washington DC. Upon reaching my dorm, I was instructed to hide it in my underwear drawer. I promised and I did.  Mama said it could be weeks before she could send any more money, and it was, months even.

The four watches I was ogling were being offered at $125 sum total. But since it was getting dark and I was brand spanking new to the big city, this nice fellow was going to make a once ever exception and cut me a deal. He reminded me much to my excitement that normally he did not reduce prices and likely his uncle was going to be quite irate, but for me it would be worth it. Now hurry he told me. "I can give you five minutes." I took off like a flash, running through the corridors up the steps and to my room like Jackie Joyner Kersee. I was moving so fast I brought back both the money and a pair of underwear stuck to the knee high stocking. I was so very afraid I had not made it back in time. What if this nice fellow was gone? What if he changed his mind about the exceptional deal he had promised me? What then I asked myself?

No need to worry, the nice nephew had not moved an inch from where he last stood when I left. As I got really close I slowed just a bit, trying not to show my sweat. I walked briskly now almost a skip to where he stood casually leaning on a brick wall near my dormitory. I spoke first, "$75, all four watches, right?" He said, "Yeh, I promised you right? You bring the money?" Noticing for the first time I had underwear in my hand too, I turned four shades of country bumpkin red and managed to respond, "Yeh I have it, all $75." As nephew reached for the money, still in the knee high stocking, he said half-question, half-statement, "Mama's idea right?" I nodded my head.

He reminded me of the great deal I was getting, counted the money which contained a lot of singles. Singles because most of it was from tips mama got while bartending most nights at the Elks Club. Nephew asked me who the watches were for and I told him, my oldest brother John whose birthday was right around the corner, mama of course, a boyfriend back in Utah I was sure I was going to marry one day and then the last one was for me. I thanked this young guy once too many times and told him I knew he was in a hurry to go. "Again thank you. These SEIKO watches are going to make awesome gifts back home."

My watch was on a necklace. In the twelve position instead of a number was a sparkling diamond. I wore that necklace proudly, slept in it too. The other watches I placed in my underwear drawer in the same space the money had been. It was worth it I told myself. I was going to bring such big smiles to everyone. I set the time on each watch, used my underwear to shine their new faces and tucked them away. NOT ONE OF THEM INCLUDING THE NECKLACE AROUND MY NECK EVER KEPT TIME. They were all fake, completely!

When I realized I had been had, I sobbed. I sobbed for my naïveté, I sobbed because I wasted mama's hard earned tip money. I sobbed because I realized I couldn't trust anyone. I sobbed because I looked totally stupid running through that dorm and back. The way I oohed and aahed and thanked and thanked this fellow for his kindness toward me. All I could see now were wooden nickels.

At Christmas, I handed out the non-working watches, all of them. With each came my story of how I got them. Mama said hers was the best gift she ever received. After listening to my story she said, "Great! You will be fine out there in them streets. You are now ready." For many years I kept my necklace watch in my underwear drawer as a reminder. My brother Wade never said a word. He didn’t have to.

I bet that trench coat wearing brother without an uncle of excess inventory, has perfected one hell of a butterfly. What a fake he turned out to be. There's still time.

Our lives are meant to be full and abundant. We are born with a charter. An obligation to seek out and obtain great fruits. As a part of the charter we agree with the universe to do our part giving back. We begin with a template that we individually fill in along the way. Essential parts of that template include headings like Happiness, Contentment, Praise, Fairness and Love. The most important of which is love. We are born with a reservation to meet our savior in life and in death. It is our choice whether or not we keep that reservation. So between birth and death we pursue completion of our charter. We fill it in with our personally translated version of wonderment. Know that God though wants us to live life to the fullest Jesus came so that we can live a life free from shame and regret and walk empowered by His wisdom, principles and God’s Spirit. “I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.” John 10:10  “…who gives us richly all things to enjoy.” 1 Timothy 6:17



won·der·ment noun: wonderment

1. a state of awed admiration or respect.

I have wonderment in my charter. I even created a heading for it. It is filled in with the words "Respect yourself at all times. Demand respect from others. Be willing to abandon acts or people who violate the principles of wonderment as you define them. Surround yourself with people, places and things that you admire. Join in when there is something substantial to be gained by your presence. Be active in giving. Be cheerful in spirit. Be discerning when surrendering the best parts of you to the world."

Live cheerfully.

Since the time I first realized stuff existed out there away from my small town I wanted to go and find it. My curiosity in all things unknown runs at peak capacity twenty four hours on the day.  Wanting to see what is around the next bend has taken me around the world to six continents and back. One such bend was Morocco in 2014 in celebration of my 50th year on earth. I mention Morocco of all places because it was there I discovered something new about myself. Something I can never forget.

I have been afraid before, no big idea there. When I become afraid, my mind races, my heart races, my eyes become wide open. I might scream. My adrenaline increases and I have been known to sweat.  When I was young, I used to carry foreboding thoughts of driving off bridges or drowning in quick sand. Crazy thinking I called it. I would find a way to erase the visions from my eyes and carry on.

Occasionally,  there were times that my fear helped me. Like the time when I was nine years old walking home from the neighborhood swimming pool with my younger sister wearing our swimsuit. A strange car pulled up just ahead of us. A man dressed in Army fatigues who I was fairly certain earlier seen at the pool watching us got out of his car. He pulled the passenger backrest forward as if making room in the back seat. I noticed him earlier because I wondered why would someone dress like that at a swimming pool?  

Walking on that sidewalk dressed in flowered swimsuit and flip flops, my eyes met his and I knew in an instant something bad was about to happen, very bad. My young sister of seven years old said to me, "Why did you stop singing De De? I need your help with this next part. I can't remember all the words." My heart was racing so fast. I quickly covered myself from the waist down with my towel , even peeing myself a little. I took my sister's hand in mine. I pulled at her and told her to walk faster just as we were about to approach the stranger's direct path. It could not be avoided. Just a few blocks from home,  we were about to be taken, snatched away from everything familiar. I was on the other side of  terrified. All future fear I would compare to that moment at age nine.

As he approached, my sister who at the time was completely oblivious to our dire circumstances, yells, "Look De De!" Slowing down beside us was a group of my brothers' friends, older neighborhood friends who lived just across our street. One of them yelled through smiles, "Now ya'll know you ain't supposed to be out here walking alone without one of your brothers. Get in, we will give you a ride."

 In 2014, I visited Morocco with my best friend of thirty years. We had almost cancelled the trip due to the Ebola scare canvasing parts of Africa. Part of the customized itinerary included a camel ride in the desert. I had ridden a camel before in Egypt. Back then it had been more of a pose just to get the picture. Now, riding a camel in Morocco sounded good on paper. I was not at first scared, I just wasn't that interested when the time came. It was the night of my birthday. No one else except our private guide spoke English, so I was pretty sure the camels did not speak English. There were two camels present along with a small statured, turban-wearing Moroccan who looked like he could care less about us, the camels, the ride. When we approached, we found the two camels tied together and squatting on all fours each with a bit like something in there mouth attached to the reigns. We were told to get on our camel's back and hold onto the saddle (a knob fixture sticking up). That was it. No other instructions. My camel, the smaller of the two was in the back.

It was approaching darkness in this desert. I whispered to our guide to please keep the ride short, really short. Sitting atop the camel my nine year old fear was bubbling up. My best friend Kim could see it in my eyes. She kept asking, are you ok? Followed by, you are fine. I was quickly becoming unfine. I kept going in order  not to ruin the experience for her. Left to my own, I would have come down from that camel and said, "I am good. Let's eat." Our guide dismissed himself and left us with the non-English speaking Moroccan and his camels.

Suddenly the small statured Moroccan brings out a whip and strikes my camel on his back side. My camel clumsily rises to his feet tipping me forward while jerking his front feet, then back feet then back feet again coming to all fours. If I was not holding on tight I could have fallen on the camels neck sliding down to his face. I almost did. I started screaming, "I don't like this one bit." My hands were sweating, my heart was racing, my mind was bleeding with complete fear. Surrounded by sand dunes, impending desert black, and a Moroccan who looked at me like, "Negro Please!", I wanted down and out of there.

 We rode for nearly 30  minutes. My friend Kim peed herself while watching and laughing at every moment of my terror. She kept talking to me. She kept talking to my camel. I finally yelled, "Stop talking to my camel! You are annoying him I can tell." My camel it was clear hated my guts. He hated his job too. He hated that bit in his mouth. He hated staring into the butt of the lead camel. My fear could get him hurt.

Every time the reign was pulled my camel would gag and contort throwing me around. As I held on for dear life up and down those sand dunes, sand blowing into my face, I started to understand his plight. My camel was scared too. He was smaller than the other camels. He was being jerked around. He was forced to always be last, back wind to another camel's butt.

So at the last bend, I leaned into my camel and whispered. "I am sorry Mr. Camel. Let's both not be afraid tonight. We will finish strong. No bad memories tonight!" I sat up tall and talked my camel back to basecamp. Together we arrived safe and sound. And I swear when it came time to put me down, my camel gently kneeled and allowed me to descend. I winked at him and I think he winked back. Not a word of English needed.

I can't recall how I came to visit her office that day. I know why I was there but not entirely sure how precisely I came to be there. My best guess is I was referred by a business colleague. Good thing, knowing the answer to this question is not the real point of my story. What happened while I was there is.

I went into the meeting with a high level of both enthusiasm and business vigor. I knew I was competing against other marketing consultants for the business. I was used to that. Did not bother me one bit. I was confident not only in my skills but my ability to sell them. If this meeting were not with someone this well known, "famous" even, I might have been less enamored, more willing to walk away. I did everything except walk away.

The meeting was with the mother-manager (momager) of a world renowned R&B singer. When I drove up to the studio I steadied myself for whatever was to come. I was determined not to leave without the contract to design their new website. That was in a nutshell the opportunity. We had a firm meeting time. Her people had called my people and the time was set. I arrived in plenty enough time to park and look around some before going in. What I noticed right away is how ordinary the environment seemed, not posh whatsoever. The people-employees I encountered seemed so young and quite frankly had a punch-the-clock persona about them. Really, they were all running around like lost mice, scared, anxious, uncertain. My gut took notice.

After waiting in a sparsely decorated lobby for what seemed like forever, I was whisked into a conference room adorned with walls of every possible music award imaginable. Here I sat. And sat, and sat. Finally, some movement. The meeting start time nearly 90 minutes past due. A young man enters and sits down next to me in the conference room. He is dressed in a sweatsuit. I ask him who he was here to see and before he could answer another young employee pops her head in and simply says, "Ms. "X" will see you now." My head nearly exploded. This young sweatpants wearing dude was her personal trainer. His time with her took priority over mine. At that instant I decided to leave. The business opportunity for me was valued at about $50,000. In this moment I could care less if it was $5,000,000.

I was even more determined to leave without giving an explanation. My inside guts could not be calmed. Just as I gathered my things, yet another young employee appeared and asked me to follow him. For reasons I can't fully explain, I followed. For the next thirty minutes I half-heartedly toured the more posh parts of the studio including several really impressive recording studios. We entered the last room through a big door. Behind that door was momager. Her space looked like a penthouse apartment.

In less than five minutes I learned that I was primarily there because I graduated from Harvard Business School. She was impressed by that. I also learned, largely from overhearing several of the calls she continued to take that there was a lot of interest in her, more to the point, her son's business. There was much Hollywood style manipulation happening through those phone encounters. It was easy to see she was eager and interested in protecting her business interests but I questioned her ability to be completely savvy about it. I noticed how she was being pulled, out-talked, and out-smarted by money makers on that phone line. She tried to hold on, to stand tall, to remain firm but it seemed from where I sat a losing battle. "None of my business" I told myself. Besides I was still seething from being kept waiting for no apparent reason. Still I couldn't help but feel sorry for the situation she seemed to be in, ensnared by bigger hunters.

Between one of these business calls, she turns to me and in her best terse voice says, "If you repeat anything you have heard in this office to anyone, you will never work in this town again. Do you understand fully what I mean?!"

I had heard her. I knew then that I could never again sit across from her at a desk. I knew that I could never respect her or her business enough to succeed. I knew I was not going to allow any woman to talk to me like that whether in business or not. After a moment of playing my response over in my head I spoke. "Ms. "X" I do understand. I understand fully. I heard nothing. I saw nothing. I have nothing to offer you." And with that I left. I was escorted out by a young employee. Before I could reach her door her phone rang.

A few weeks later I saw her number pop up on my cell. It went unanswered. In our lives we all must develop our inner list of non-negotiables. Those things about ourselves we will not compromise. When you know, you know.

The three-leaf clover is extremely ordinary. You don't hear much about them. No one walks by a field of greenery and yells out "wow, look everyone, a three-leaf clover!" It is not exactly something you stop to notice, not even the time it takes to bend over and examine. I wonder the point God was making when he made so many three-leaf clovers and turned right around and made a four-leaf clover too. Common by tradition that three-leaf variety. Hardly a mention among mankind. I think it is time we hear from the three-leaf clover. Let's give her voice a listen. Give her a listen from the podium.

Hello and good evening. I imagine your surprise and puzzlement when you learned I would be speaking this evening. No offense, I was just as surprised as you. But while I have you here, there are just a few words I would like to share. I won't be long. Not sure I could be long if I wanted.

You might think that I was created as filler. A way to sort of fill in the backgrounds in your spaces. A blanket of something that does not need much care or attention. Something that exists not for the pleasure of you but for your lucky chance and want of something better. I am something you sort through then toss aside. Even when I am handled, still your hopes are vested not in what I present in hand, but in something you might find, yet is rarely seen. Even though you might notice my presentation, it is never satisfying. Always the same conclusion. I am not the one you take with you along your journey. I am left where I was found.  Tonight I came to share with you what you have been missing. What you have been missing in me.

St. Patrick chose me, the three-leaf clover, to represent the HOLY TRINITY. One leaf for God the father, another for Christ the Son and the third the Holy Spirit.  Among many of the Catholic faith my leaves bring hope, faith and love. In contrast, my cousin the four-leaf clover is chosen to bring you material want.

My existence is a matter of your perspective. The one thing we all have in common is our maker made no mistakes when he designed us through a filter of perfection. So I make you a promise tonight. The next time you walk by me take notice and in return I will say a prayer for you, in Jesus name.

God our father makes no mistakes, not in you and not in me. Our luck comes from the life we choose to live and from the maker who gives all gifts. The best of all luck comes from knowing we are chosen.

Imagine growing up, meeting the man of your dreams, marrying him then losing him. Imagine still, living far away from your own family, pagan religion, land and beginnings. Imagine watching the majority of your new family passing away and you are left with no men surrounding you for security, comfort and protection. And on top of it all you are poor and starving. I know if it were me, I would want to go home. I would want to be home where people know me and can help me. I would yearn to be around familiar things and familiar people. That would be my desire. My innermost hope.

I have just described a woman I would have wanted to know. A woman who lived during a very different time. A time that women existed to take care of men, have children and do most whatever else was asked of them by men. A time when women did not own property or draw pensions as widows. The woman I have described went by the name Ruth. She could have been President had she been alive today. I am sure of it. Ruth you see was one extraordinary woman. She behaved in the complete opposite of what I would have done in her situation and what most anyone I know would have done. Ruth stuck.

Ruth lost her father-in-law, brother-in-law and husband during one of the worst times of famine (1046-1035 BC) in their home country from where they had fled. Left were the three widows, including herself. Despite being strongly urged by her ailing mother-in-law Naomi to leave her and return home to Moab, Ruth said no. She refused to abandon Naomi, even though this meant an uncertain future among people in Bethlehem. who much preferred to call her a foreigner and often treated her home country as the enemy.

Something inside Ruth cast her feet in place, directed her heart toward compassion and steadied her mind on completion. Her name translated in Hebrew means 'retut', ‘lovely friend’. Yes Ruth and I could have been friends. I could have learned a lot from her spirit. I can only imagine the other daughter-in-law, Oprah standing there as Ruth spoke to Naomi.

“Do not press me to leave you
or to turn back from following you!
Where you go, I will go;
Where you lodge, I will lodge;
Your people shall be my people and your God my God.
Where you die, I will die
There I will be buried.
May the Lord do thus and so to me
And more as well
If even death parts me from you!”’                                                                                                                 

And so Ruth stuck. She had been through so much with Naomi and watched as Naomi became more bitter in her circumstance. Ruth became her closest friend and caregiver filled with so much humility. And for this kindness and obedience God had in store the greatest reward. Ruth would become the great, great, great, great grandmother to Jesus.

Yes, Ruth was awesome. She is a great example of bloom where you are planted and you will see a great harvest.