What I Know For Sure...

As a Christian, yesterday should’ve been one of the happiest days of my life. In terms of Christian holidays and celebrations, Easter is at the top of the list. Remembering the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ should provide a renewed meaning that makes you want to shout all day long and bring a smile to ones face that makes you look silly. Easter is the core of our faith. If Christ hadn’t died for the forgiveness of my sins, I would be nothing! Could you imagine your life before the Cross? I could. My “sorry self” would always be looking around for a goat to sacrifice at the altar, begging for forgiveness at least 2-3 times a week. For Real… For Real...

I'm clear; I am nothing without God's grace. Yes, I should've been one happy camper yesterday. But nooooo, not me! I hate holidays! Easter is no exception. It seems that nothing comes that easy for me ever, not even happiness; never has. I don't particularly know why, but I’ve come to believe that this is the way it's supposed to be. Once, in the middle of the night in a lonely hotel room after a full day of press and speaking, I was overwhelmed with my life and the call that has come with it.

I pause here to say, ministry can sometimes be a lonely place. I remember that night, asking God for a new life. "Please God," I pleaded. But I promise you, He spoke to my spirit instantly, "This is the only life I have for you, my daughter. Your life is perfectly shaped for your purpose." That night I lay in bed, cuddled between the pillows and wept for the Rae that should’ve been but never was. Not even at birth. I have come to accept that my life is what it is. Sometimes I feel as if God took my pain and designed a pair of shoes especially for me. He knew I loved shoes, so He crafted a pair that I could wear through thick and thin and still maintain a core of my dignity, even as a child enduring the holidays at my house.

Yes, holidays were always painful. They would begin with me going to church. Mama didn't go, so I took myself. Then by the time I arrived home, Mama would have a wonderful meal prepared or we would make our way to Grandmama's to eat. Both Mama and Grandmama could cook their butts off. I’d often eat until my little stomach couldn't hold another drop. Sometimes Mama would look on and shake her head with a grin, “That girl sho can eat." I'd giggle, “Mama I love yo cookin’." Those were the pleasant moments that I prayed for, but rarely got. The script never changed. No matter how much I prayed or willed it to be, Mama would start cussing and there was no shield between me and her words. There was nothing to protect me from her wrath, whether it was her mouth, her hand, the broom or the pretty white Polaroid camera she swung at me with all her might. I never knew what I did to provoke Mama. One night balled in a corner, I asked with tears streaming down, "Mama, what did I do? I’m sorry, Mama. Please tell me, Mama. I won’t do it again.” She looked at me and walked away. I was sort of grateful for her silence that night because her words hurt worst than her swing "You fucking Bitch! You ain't shit. You ain’t never gonna be shit!” That was Mama's battle cry!

 Memories of my Mama dominate my life on holidays. Now that she's gone with no other family, I often spend them alone, torn between the loneliness I feel and the pain I felt when she was living. I'm not sure how long it’s going to take to reconcile my relationship with Mama and how I feel on holidays. What I Know For Sure, is that God proved Mama wrong. I may not be all that I could’ve been, but my life has been perfectly shaped in spite of Mama's prediction, “that I was never gonna be shit.” Even in my pain, I understand that Easter has so much meaning for me. Not only did Christ die for the forgiveness of my sins, but God reshaped my imperfect life for a perfect mission at the perfect time in our history. Now that's love!

 Post Script: Long before I belonged to Fourth Presbyterian Church, I would stop and stare at the yearly April display in front of the church on Chicago's Mag Mile. I remember the first time I saw those trees with a sea of blue ribbons. “How pretty,” I mumbled as I made my way to the sign. I stood there paralyzed in front of those trees for a long time. People would come and go but I stood there with tears streaming down as I read the number of children abused in Illinois and Cook Country. That day, I cried for all those abused children. But I also cried for the children that were never counted, me included.

I wanted to write but...

Can I really be honest? I wanted to write this deep profound Blog Post for today, but it just ain't gonna happen. I had a tooth pulled a couple of days ago and I'm struggling to think, eat and drink. I mean, I broke a Diva Rule. I haven't put on earrings in two days. Tooth pain is no joke! And, if you combine my tooth adventure with my schedule the previous week, you will see that I am out of steam.

Last week, I went non-stop. Spent the early part of the week trying to get my sp/su collection of bracelets on the website. Still haven't finished.  *Sigh* I spoke at the University of Wisconsin @ Madison on Wednesday. Got up at 5am and took the commuter bus to Madison. Arrived just in time to have a brown bag lunch with a group of female students. Spoke that evening, sleep a little, and turned around and got back on the bus to come home at, yep you guessed, 5am. And when I got off that bus, I hit Chicago running. I was being honored in 6 hours and of course I spent the day getting Divafied and that's lot of work. Hair, make-up, last minute pick up of jewelry and stockings...

 I was honored by the Red Pump Project that evening. And yes, it was an incredible affair! They had a full house. The fashion show was fabulous! I fell in love with one of Spirit Africa skirt designs. Red Pump and I were entered into the Congressional Record of the United States Congress. And yes, their tribute to me had my "thug" on the floor.  Next to my Emmy Award, that Red Pump they gave me is the best award ever!

It was a magical evening and I was still reeling in the wonder of it all. That is, until they took my tooth a few days ago. And that was an adventure too. I got up at 5 am to get in line at Stroger (County) Hospital. Everyone has a 7 am appointment to stand in line and wait on a number to be seen. When the doors opened at 8 am, I was number 6 and when it was my turn, I was told my referral was not in the system. I debated until they gave me an appointment for a day later to get up again at 5am to wait in line to get a number to be seen. Anyway, this time I was seen. It took a total of 3 minutes to pull that tooth 3 hours later that has left me in pain days later.

So, say a prayer for me as I recover from my break-neck schedule and the trauma of having an extraction. See ya later, when my brain will allow me to think beyond my pain.

You're Gonna Make It After All!

"You're Gonna Make It After All" was playing over and over in my head as I made my way to Chicago’s public transit system, better known as the “El.” As I strolled down the stairs, I tried hard to remember the other lyrics to the Mary Tyler Moore theme song: da da da da da. Who can a take nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile? You’re gonna make it after all. “Yep, that’s it,” I declared to myself! I boarded the train with a huge smile on my face. You’re gonna make it after all!

Taking the train is a new adventure for me. Not one that I originally chose for myself but was forced to make. In October, I was so behind in my car payments. I had two choices: get them their money or give them their car back. I thought about it long and hard. If I really needed to, there was someone that I knew would loan me the money in a crunch. She would have lectured me (being like a mother to me and all). But in the end, I’m sure she would have come through. Another part of the equation at the time was access to my now ex-significant other’s car. So, giving up my car didn't seem that bad after all.

I mean it really made sense. Once I borrowed the money to pay the back bill, I was still going to have to generate enough cash flow to keep the car payments and my insurance current. And that was no guarantee. The economy had hit most of America pretty hard, including me, and speaking engagements have been few and far between. So I looked on as they loaded my beautiful Black Jaguar X Type onto the tow truck. “You’re making a smart decision, Rae,” I told myself confidently!

But now six months later, I’m winging it on my own. And honestly, the thought of getting on the train was depressing. It was such a convenience walking out of the door and getting in my car. But if truth be told, I had some pride issues that needed to be conquered. Getting on the train was dreadful. It was a painful blow to my ego. It felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach with combat boots. Ugh. I knew I had to adapt. “Get over it!” I kept telling myself that every time I made my way down the stinky, damp stairs leading to the underground train. But it just wasn't happening. I mean the train? A Diva like me should have a driver, but that was also a song I was singing to myself. LOL! This is the real world. And in this world, you pay for everything you get. So an occasional taxi ride and the “El” are as far as my money will stretch. I had accepted it by default, but I sure didn't like it.

But today, something magical happened as I strolled down the street with the sun beaming in my face and my Burberry wrap blowing in the wind. I could feel God’s presence. It was as if He was saying, “Hey Girllllllll! I’m with you no matter how you get there. Don’t you feel my warmth on your face?” And I could. That acknowledgment provided me with instant comfort. By the time I made it to those same damp, nasty steps leading down to the transit system I was singing, “You’re gonna make it after all!”

 I started tweeting and taking pictures with my iPhone. I knew people must have thought, "Who’s that rich nut?" Cause I was looking kinda cute and rich with my, "Im waiting on my next breakthrough," (i.e. broke) behind. I tweeted and Jenna Marie, who coordinates #TeamRae, tweeted back that she was proud of me being on the train and all. “#StillaDiva” was the latest Twitter tag I created as I maneuvered my way through Chicago using public transit. Yep! Being a Diva is also a state of mind. In the end, it does not matter how you get there, just as long as you do it with your head held high.