I’m a FB junkie, that proclaimed, it stands to reason that I come across a litany of jokes, musings, rants, raves and quotes daily. The following is one I came across the other day - If you want to know a person's true character, give them power over you. Whew! Part of the reason I decided to start a blog was selfish the other selfless. I am a student of life – I’m one of those people who learns from experiences and applies the learned knowledge moving forward. While many of us don’t learn from other’s experiences, some of us do. It is my sincere desire, wish and hope that my words, my experiences can in some way serve as a barrier to even a smidgen of pain, disappointment and/or anxiety. But I digress, getting back to the quote.
In my 30+ years of life I have given “people” power over me. Consequently I have been abused, misused and a whole lot of other things. The question is – why have I given anyone power over me? In my daily walk as a practical Christian I am constantly in a neurotic tug-of-war with my creator, my provider and the lover of my soul. I find myself simultaneously placing and ripping my cares and worries in His and out of His capable hands. Yet, I meet a man (intelligent, spiritually aware, succe$$ful handsome and oh yeah, fundamentally flawed) and willingly hand over the reigns of my life emotionally and physically. In the words of Mark Twain I dance like no one is watching. I sing like no one is listening and I love like I've never been hurt. Never fear, I have the assurance of Mr. Twain that this will all lead to living like it's heaven on Earth. In all fairness to Mr. Twain, I’ve seen so many versions of this quote, he may not have even said it.
Life's journey is....a trip!
Diaspora Muse: The Reflections and Revelations of a Chic Contemporary Christian Chick
Monday, October 18, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
The Refrigerator Door – Reflections and Revelations on Loss
The Refrigerator Door – Reflections and Revelations on Loss
The hardended piece of sharp cheese was like a member of the family. Every single time I would open the refrigerator door, there was that piece of cheese. Never covered quite right, it would invariably have a hardened exterior. I’d gotten used to eating it just like that. That’s how mommy’s cheese was, tough exterior protecting the good stuff within.
11 years ago this coming August, my mother, Joan Rosamond McLeod Chea passed away. My mother and I had a unique relationship. Unique meaning - tempestuous, loving, patient, impatient, understanding, totally void of understanding and 100% real. I have so many amazing memories of growing up the child of this dynamic, handsome, passionate, driven, principled woman. My mother was a social worker. She took pride in her job, she was dedicated to the task of reuniting families torn apart by abuse (sexual, emotional, physical). I remember my mother telling stories about marching into homes and extricating abused children from their parents. She spoke as though she was a lioness venturing into other dens rescuing neglected cubs. I remember that on more than one occasion my father had to talk my mother out of adopting a client.
As much as she loved being a social worker, she loved being a mother, a nuturer and wife even more. Domestic prowess was something my mother celebrated. I grew up in a home where a fresh, home cooked meal was prepared every night. EVERY night. Right after school, Daddy would take Alvin and I to a sundry of lessons; piano, flute, ballet and swim team. My mother was determined to have dinner ready by 5:30. So, as soon as she would walk through the door she would take off her clothes, throw them over the banister, pull her slip up (to provide a semblance of modesty), and would get to cookin’. Sure enough, we’d walk through the door to glorious smells of stew chicken, peas and rice, roti, pumpkin, you name it. My mother took pride in being a superwoman. Her example set the standard to which I aspire. I remember my grandmother dying of cancer, my mom serving as her main caregiver and still holding things down at home. Even with all that, dinner was prepared every night.
My mother’s presence was larger than life. If Joan Chea was in the room, you knew it. At her funeral, Pastor DJ used these words to describe her “Joan Chea did not practice deceptive diplomacy”. My mother was the originator of “keeping it real”. She called it like she saw it. While often times the sharing of her opinion wasn’t encouraged, she was respected because she was authentic and true.
I was there when she died. Mommy died at home, surrounded by me, my father, my brother, other family and church members. It was the sweetest bad experience I’ve ever lived through. We all sang “Tis So Sweet To Trust In Jesus” as she took her last breath. She died with her calling and election sure. While my mother is sleeping in Christ, her words, her compassion, her selflessness live in and through me. For months after she passed I would catch myself picking up the phone to share something with her and then would remember she was gone. I had my mother for 28 years, but given how mommy loved and lived it was more likely equivalent to 50 ☺. Fact is, truth is, we’re never ready for our parents to die. My uncle lost his mother at 94 and cried like a baby. There’s no way to prepare for it. Our minds can’t fathom the permanence of death. Irrespective of your theological beliefs regarding the state of the dead – when they’re gone, they’re gone. Floating above or not, they are no longer in live and living color. Mommy knew I loved her madly, deeply and I knew she loved me the same. Home was never the same after mommy died. The smells were different, her slip was missing from the banister and that hardended piece of cheese wasn’t in the refrigerator door. That piece of cheese was like a member of the family. Every single time I would open the refrigerator door there was mommy’s piece of cheese. Funny how certain things stand out. For me, it’s the refrigerator door and that cheese.
The hardended piece of sharp cheese was like a member of the family. Every single time I would open the refrigerator door, there was that piece of cheese. Never covered quite right, it would invariably have a hardened exterior. I’d gotten used to eating it just like that. That’s how mommy’s cheese was, tough exterior protecting the good stuff within.
11 years ago this coming August, my mother, Joan Rosamond McLeod Chea passed away. My mother and I had a unique relationship. Unique meaning - tempestuous, loving, patient, impatient, understanding, totally void of understanding and 100% real. I have so many amazing memories of growing up the child of this dynamic, handsome, passionate, driven, principled woman. My mother was a social worker. She took pride in her job, she was dedicated to the task of reuniting families torn apart by abuse (sexual, emotional, physical). I remember my mother telling stories about marching into homes and extricating abused children from their parents. She spoke as though she was a lioness venturing into other dens rescuing neglected cubs. I remember that on more than one occasion my father had to talk my mother out of adopting a client.
As much as she loved being a social worker, she loved being a mother, a nuturer and wife even more. Domestic prowess was something my mother celebrated. I grew up in a home where a fresh, home cooked meal was prepared every night. EVERY night. Right after school, Daddy would take Alvin and I to a sundry of lessons; piano, flute, ballet and swim team. My mother was determined to have dinner ready by 5:30. So, as soon as she would walk through the door she would take off her clothes, throw them over the banister, pull her slip up (to provide a semblance of modesty), and would get to cookin’. Sure enough, we’d walk through the door to glorious smells of stew chicken, peas and rice, roti, pumpkin, you name it. My mother took pride in being a superwoman. Her example set the standard to which I aspire. I remember my grandmother dying of cancer, my mom serving as her main caregiver and still holding things down at home. Even with all that, dinner was prepared every night.
My mother’s presence was larger than life. If Joan Chea was in the room, you knew it. At her funeral, Pastor DJ used these words to describe her “Joan Chea did not practice deceptive diplomacy”. My mother was the originator of “keeping it real”. She called it like she saw it. While often times the sharing of her opinion wasn’t encouraged, she was respected because she was authentic and true.
I was there when she died. Mommy died at home, surrounded by me, my father, my brother, other family and church members. It was the sweetest bad experience I’ve ever lived through. We all sang “Tis So Sweet To Trust In Jesus” as she took her last breath. She died with her calling and election sure. While my mother is sleeping in Christ, her words, her compassion, her selflessness live in and through me. For months after she passed I would catch myself picking up the phone to share something with her and then would remember she was gone. I had my mother for 28 years, but given how mommy loved and lived it was more likely equivalent to 50 ☺. Fact is, truth is, we’re never ready for our parents to die. My uncle lost his mother at 94 and cried like a baby. There’s no way to prepare for it. Our minds can’t fathom the permanence of death. Irrespective of your theological beliefs regarding the state of the dead – when they’re gone, they’re gone. Floating above or not, they are no longer in live and living color. Mommy knew I loved her madly, deeply and I knew she loved me the same. Home was never the same after mommy died. The smells were different, her slip was missing from the banister and that hardended piece of cheese wasn’t in the refrigerator door. That piece of cheese was like a member of the family. Every single time I would open the refrigerator door there was mommy’s piece of cheese. Funny how certain things stand out. For me, it’s the refrigerator door and that cheese.
Finally!
A few months back I posted on my vice of the moment (Facebook), that I would be starting a blog. I wrote those words without a true appreciation of what maintaining a blog required. After several not so subtle questions from quite a few people ( keeping the fire under me), I've finally gotten it up and running. Welcome aboard!!!!
This blog will cover quite a few things, practical Christianity, relationships, life lessons, fashion, politics.....in a nutshell, things that interest and concern most of us. Not sure how it will flow, bear with me.....we'll figure it out together.
I welcome your comments and critiques (try to be nice).
This blog will cover quite a few things, practical Christianity, relationships, life lessons, fashion, politics.....in a nutshell, things that interest and concern most of us. Not sure how it will flow, bear with me.....we'll figure it out together.
I welcome your comments and critiques (try to be nice).
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