Chicken Soup for the African American Woman's Soul (23 page)

Within minutes, the officers arrived to transport me to my next destination. Before leaving, we embraced like true sisters and newly made best friends.

She looked at me teary eyed and said assuredly, “I am going to see you again.”With that, I was led away. I hoped that we would meet again—on the outside, not the inside of this system. I was sent home on my own recognizance, with an impending court hearing ahead of me. I had no idea what the future held for me or my family.

Yet, in spite of my personal anguish, I could not get her off my mind. For the whole next month, I prayed for her every day. The urgency was something I could not get away from. Though a blanket of depression attempted to smother me as I faced the possibility of a prison sentence, I prayed for her. Then quite suddenly, at the end of January, the urgency was gone.

On a brisk February day, my girlfriend called to let me know she had free tickets to the circus for my children and me. Initially, I was elated, but soon depression engulfed my entire being, and I tried to find excuses not to go. Not able to find one that she would accept, I got the kids ready and went.

We got to the front gate and presented our tickets. I walked through the gate first and briefly glanced at a vaguely familiar face. I continued to walk, but that inner voice commanded me to turn around and look again. Our eyes met and our mouths dropped open. It was her. Barely able to speak, we cried and held each other for what felt like forever. She told me that, for reasons she could not explain, she was released and exonerated at the end of January.

Inside the circus, her seat was a few rows behind mine.

Every now and then, I would turn around to watch her. She was beautiful, happy and free. Now, rather than me helping her to find her faith, unknowingly she was helping me to reclaim mine. I watched, and the inner voice spoke.
This is the reason you had to come here today. I wanted you
to see the fruit of your labor and to know that if I did it for her, I
will surely do it for you.

So right there, in the midst of the gaiety and in the presence of my friend, I lifted my eyes to heaven and boldly reaffirmed my faith.

And just in case you're wondering, God did do it for me! Now, my family and my faith are stronger than ever.

Nancy Gilliam

Solid Ground

A
violinist has a violin, a painter his palette. All
I had was myself. I was the instrument that I
must care for.

Josephine Baker

I have worn many shoes in my lifetime. .

The worn, dusty sandals of a child, sitting quietly on my grandma's porch as I watched her plant a peach tree and sing church songs in the front yard of her small flat.

A frayed pair of black-and-white tennis shoes, as I anxiously waited to be picked for a game of baseball in the housing projects where I grew up.

My shoes were my own, sometimes purchased, but most times, hand-me-downs.

But my feet were on solid ground.

I have worn many shoes in my lifetime. . . .

My first pair of jellies, I can remember them so clearly, powder blue, with glitter sparkles. A preteen now, feeling more like a young lady and less like a child, I loved those shoes. They were so uncomfortable, and yet they were my favorites.

I can still picture my first pair of pink high heel shoes, worn to my first dance. I broke the right heel trying to do the hustle and ended up sitting on the sidelines, while the boy I liked danced with another girl with two good shoes.

My shoe—beyond repair; my spirit—intact.

And as I look back on that day, My feet were on solid ground.

I have worn many shoes in my lifetime. . . .

I recall so clearly the green open toes I wore when I met the boy, my first love . . . who stood so tall, and seemed so sure of himself that I wanted to be in his presence, even if my presence didn't have the same impact on him.

The borrowed maroon shoes of a future sister-in-law, while I took vows I didn't understand, because the boy, my first love, and I conceived a son at a time when common sense and wisdom had not yet entered our teenage minds. . . . Afraid, because I had to grow up fast; confused, because the boy, my first love, refused to do the same—and yet

My feet were on solid ground.

I have worn many shoes in my lifetime. . . .

The black flats with the tiny scuff on the left toe, I wore to bury my twenty-two-year-old baby brother. . . .

The snow-white tennis shoes with the purple lining that were on my feet the day I found out the State Department of Corrections would not allow my mother to say good-bye to her son, one last time, before I buried him.

The tattered yellow flip-flops that were on my feet the day I saw the boy, my first love, now a man, on television, being sentenced to the death penalty.

And in spite of it all, or maybe
because
of it all . . .

My feet are on solid ground.

I have worn many shoes in my lifetime. . . .

The dust-covered construction boots I wore as I proudly contributed to the building of my very own Habitat for Humanity home.

The white hospital scuffs I wore, after giving birth to my second man-child miracle.

The patent leather sandals that adorned my feet when I proudly escorted my eldest son to the airport to visit the college he would attend in the fall.

And the fuzzy pink house slippers I wear now, as I lift my hands, my heart and soul to give praise to a higher being, who has made it possible for me to live my moments as a strong African American woman, one moment at a time, one step at a time.

Sometimes in shoes, sometimes on bare feet, sometimes on my knees, but . . .

Thank God, always, On solid ground.

Yvonda Johnson

Lord, Please Make One for Me!

P
eople see God every day. They just don't recognize
him.

Pearl Bailey

Lord, I know that you made Adam in your image and he proved how imperfect he could be

But if you should decide to make another, this time God,
could you make a man for me?

It would be nice if he could be a good listener, 'tho when
I'm nervous, I do ramble on and on

And could you please give him some strong shoulders so
when I'm stressed, I'll have someone to lean on.

When it comes to patience, he will need a double portion
'cause sometimes I can really stretch one's nerves.

Make him just a little shy; let him be pleasing to the eye,
but from 1 to 10, I'll grade him on a curve!

Give him plenty of compassion, make him stern but
understanding.

Give him the deep-set eyes I'd fall for but make it a
happy landing.

Oh, and Lord, please make sure that his self-esteem's
secure, and if he's just a little stubborn, that's okay.

Give him a good job and a future. Help him to reach his
goals, but I don't want him if he's all work and no play.

A little sensitive and unashamed if he should shed a tear and not afraid to say just how he feels.

I guess what I want to say more than anything, today,
is God, I need a man that's real!

Give him a tender heart, and I'd love it if he's smart. It
would be a blessing just to hold good conversation.

Give him height but not too much; add a slow hand and
gentle touch and a voice that sends my heart to
palpitations.

Lord, please add a sense of humor and a very sexy laugh,
and let him blush if I should whisper my intentions.

Give him passion, lots of passion, P-A-S-S-I-O-N, and oh
God, please, bless his imagination!

He has to love you first, then I won't worry about us;
above all else, he must become my friend.

Oh, and before you send him down, dip him well in
chocolate brown and give him (sigh) an adorable
rear end!

Lord, I know that you made Adam, Solomon, Abraham
and more. Hey, even David strayed a little from your
plan.

But you loved all your creations 'tho they fell into temptations
'cause you've always hated sin but not the man.

So, I bring this task to you because you know me. You
alone know who my soul-mate ought to be.

So, if you're ever in that creative mood again, Lord,
please—could you make a man for me?!

RuNett Nia Ebo

6
LOVING
BLACK MEN

I
t is one of the facts of life that there are two
t sexes, which fact has given the world most
of its beauty, cost it not a little of its anguish,
and contains the hope and glory of the world.

James Baldwin

My Divas

W
hen we love black women, we love ourselves,
and the God who made us.

Michael Eric Dyson

To all my Divas who are working long hours to make ends meet. My Urban Queens holding down the home front while my strong black brothers labor in the workforce to earn their keep. When God created you, the black woman, he took the strength of mountains, the sweet fragrance of a rose, the passion of a lioness, the power of a mighty storm, placed them all in a blender and pressed the button, Mix—Her.

You are all and everything a black man will ever need and nothing less. You are the shining one, giving life to my universe. When I'm in your presence, mmmmm. I thirst.

Your tears represent the water that flows down an island fall. Every tear that you shed for me, because of me . . . God catches them all. You are the lily in my valley planted just for me. You're a descendent of kings and queens . . . Akhenaton and Nefertiti.

When God created you, he made your lips round and sweet. When I sample your nectar, baby, it tastes like a seasoned Georgia peach. Your hips are round like the mound of an African gazelle, and when you walk through my space, your grace shakes, casting a spell on me, so I stare. Oh my God! I'm in awe, hurry, look over there. Your skin is dark and creamy for a reason. You have the ability to endure the elements of all four seasons. No other women or race is created like you. Your high cheekbones, the power of your hair, the muscles in your calves, all made to help me through the trials of life. When I come home after a long day's work, at night; one touch, one kiss from you makes everything alright. From one Black AfricanWarrior to a Mighty Sister, there's one thing I want you to take with you wherever you go.

You are my Diva:
D
ivine, dark, delightful and delicious
I
ntelligent, intellectual and independent
V
ictorious and virtuous—The woman whom I will always
A
dore.

You were made just for me, a black man; please come soothe my soul.

Antonio Crawford

Love, Laugh and Live Today

I am at a ripe age of thirty-five years. There are many roads in life and often turns leading one to the true test of self. Regardless of the thoughts of the masculine ego, there is much to learn from our wives, mothers and sisters. The strength of a man is a physical novelty, but true strength lies in our partners. Who among us can fathom the pain a black woman can endure? I am not qualified to pretend to understand a day as one of my sisters, let alone my wife, Valerie.

In our four years together, Valerie and I have overcome many of life's trials. When we started out we had no worries, and with only the wind at our backs, victory was ours. Our souls soared without fear as we planned our future. Some say the greatest of gifts is one's self.We chose to present our gifts in matrimony.

A quick trip to the doctor for a check-up is a normal part of wedding planning. I saw the one-hour trip as a small sacrifice in the name of love, or so I thought. Like any other day, I called home to chitchat with my wife-to-be and heard a strange sound in her voice. I heard fear, longing for yesterdays, and a soft hint of the pains of tomorrow that would shortly come crashing in.