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Archive for the tag “forgiveness”

On Losing That Lovin’ Feelin’

“The call for forgiveness is a painfully familiar refrain when black people suffer. White people embrace narratives about forgiveness so they can pretend the world is a fairer place…Black people forgive because we need to survive. We have to forgive time and time again while racism or white silence in the face of racism continues to thrive.” —“Why I Can’t Forgive Dylann Roof,” –Roxane Gay

Today I considered forgiveness and love and hopefulness.  I figured that the rest of America was already over our grief—ready for us to bury the Charleston nine and all of the emotional baggage that came along with it.  The rest of America is probably hoping that this last racial showdown will finally shut us up, shove us back into submission and help us shelve our discontentment with living our subpar lives.

Since Sunday’s post about why I need the black church more than ever, I’ve considered finding ways to make myself comfortable again– maybe figure out how to return to posting fun, lighthearted stuff on social media these days; perhaps explore new ways to quiet my spirit in spite of the unrest I have been feeling. After all, I had already decided to stop watching the news, limit my internet intake and listen to only gospel tunes about love, mercy, grace and forgiveness so I can, hopefully, feel some of what the Jackson, Lance, Pinckney, Sanders, Hurd, Coleman-Singleton, Doctor, Simmons and Thompson families felt when they, what seemed like, so easily went to forgive the killer of their loved ones only two days after they were murdered.  I had been trying, really hard, to wedge myself back into the “American way” of dealing with a national tragedy that wreaks of racism and deeply affects the Black community.

But then I read the piece, “Black churches taught us to forgive white people. We learned to shame ourselves,” by Creative Nonfiction author, Kiese Laymon, which was published online yesterday by The Guardian.  Laymon shares a conversation that he had with his grandmother after the Charleston nine’s family members’ apologies were publicly made and praised. Laymon carefully transcribes the stories of his grandmother, an apparent God-fearing woman who loves a good curse word every now and then, living in the state where my grandmother was born and raised.

My grandma, today an 87-year-old elder from Jonestown, Mississippi. When I visited my grandma’s hometown as a child there were barely-paved streets and shanty-roof homes in neighborhoods full of working-poor black folks who hadn’t moved North during our country’s Great Migration from the South.  My grandma, who moved to St. Louis before my mom was born and some years after she finished school after third grade, came and worked from the 1950’s to the late 1990’s doing one of the only few trades Black women learned down south—she cleaned homes for white people.

My grandmother, an 87-year-old Christian woman, who painstakingly gets dressed for church on Sunday mornings– and any other time if she could get a ride to a service— was probably not too much unlike Mother Susie Jackson who, also at 87 years old, likely went through the same strains to get to a sparsely attended Wednesday night Bible study in an old A.M.E. church in Charleston, South Carolina.

Thoughts of Mother Susie Jackson’s death among the other eight who were slain now paired with these stories from Kiese Laymon’s grandmother keep setting me back on my attempts to embrace the love and kindness and extensions of sympathy from white people across the country who would like us to grieve as quietly and as peacefully as possible. The white Christians who sang hymns and lit candles and knit shawls and wrote condolences in exchange for no riots, no uncomfortable conversations about race and a prompt return to business-as-usual in the U.S. by this Thursday, a full-week after the domestic terrorist attack.

But, in spite of myself and my heartbreak for my people, my community; regardless of my disenchantment with ideals around the words “equality” and “reconciliation;” despite this ball of pessimism towards phrases like “Love Wins” or “Love Conquers All,” I intend to find the strength to conjure up some warm fuzzies for the white people who befriend me on Facebook and are looking for me to return to my jolly-ole, social media self.  I’m going to get some willpower to applaud Christians, both Black and white, who earnestly believe that their familiar fear and damning discomfort, respectively, could be dispelled if we only seek God for guidance and resort to prayer as the sole action against injustice.  I am about to work on stretching myself even thinner, pushing my pride aside a little further, and opening my mind a little broader and see if that will do me some good. In the meantime, I hope the world will be patient with me.

No Makeups for BFF Breakups?

We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known. Love is…something that we nurture and grow.  Shame, blame, disrespect [and] betrayal…damage the roots from which love grows. Love can only survive these injuries if they are acknowledged, healed and rare.  –Brene’ Brown

In high school, like most teens, I had a best friend. We were both dark-skinned, pretty and popular. She was my ace. But one day at school, after we spent the weekend together at my house, I heard a rumor that my BFF was talking smack about my little sister. Although it was merely high school hearsay, I was still upset with this and went to confront her. Emotions ran high, we said things we didn’t mean and, in an instant, our glorious friendship disintegrated. For months thereafter, everybody (and I do mean everybody) asked what happened to me and my friend and no response given was enough to satisfy the interviewer. The feedback was almost always the same: “Yo, y’all need to squash that.”

But we never did.

Over the years, I often thought about my friend, asked about her when I ran into my former classmates, and frequently replayed the events in my head, wondering what I could have, should have done differently to resolve the situation. Our “break-up” never seemed right in my spirit. It wasn’t until many years later– 2009, to be exact– when we ran into each other at a mutual friend’s 30th birthday party that we acknowledged each other with hugs and catch-ups and then partied the rest of the night as if we’d never missed a beat. We left things unsaid, and that was okay because it seemed as if time had healed the wounds.  However, when I look back over the time we lost, I wish I would have reconciled earlier instead of suffering that loss while waiting for her to make the first move.

In almost 20 years, I’ve either been responsible enough to not allow such heartbreaking losses or I haven’t cared so much that I’ve felt that pain. Then, this past fall, I had a major disagreement with a close friend and, just like before, I allowed my pride to cripple me from reaching out to her after the irons cooled.  Again, it wasn’t right—I could feel it in my heart and I had to conscientiously numb myself to avoid grieving the loss of this once great friendship.

Then one day, after months of agony, I just contacted my friend and asked to have a heart to heart conversation about what happened between us. She agreed and we made plans to get together.

Leading up to our meeting, though, I felt like the weaker person because I initiated contact. But, I also later thought about some of the unhealthy intimate relationships I’d been in and how easy it was to be the first to wave the white flag (sometimes over and over again) after an argument, disagreement, and/or breakup.  But with this best friend—a person who 1.) has had my back when all the other relationships have faltered 2.) has supported me in my personal endeavors 3.) has showed up for every high and low moment in my life— and one major argument, I found it hard to be the one brandishing the olive branch.

When we finally met, we had a difficult talk about our relationship. I cried. She cried. We blamed each other. We apologized. And afterwards, we hugged each other and made plans to move forward and actively work on our reconciliation.

I believe we all experience great discomfort when we know there is something profoundly wrong with a BFF breakup.  If you have to work at being angry, revisiting the argument to fuel your resentment, but at your core, you really want to share your exciting news or funny stories or some juicy gossip with your friend, you probably need to makeup.

If you see your friend around your town, in your mutual circles, or at your favorite hangouts and you give him mean looks when you really want to hug his neck, you probably need to makeup.

If you run into old friends who ask how ya’ll been and you run across pictures that make you smile, have memories that make you laugh, and reminisce on moments that make you cry, maybe it’s time you, too, be the first to throw in the towel, pick up the phone or compose an email and say, “Yo, we need to squash this.”

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