Its been a hard week.
What do I usually do when the going gets rough? I run. Usually figuratively. Now literally.
These thighs I have always hated were built for power. Had I not grown up in a religion that told my mother not to allow me to play sports, go to college, or be around anyone that wasn’t in the same religion for extended periods of time if we weren’t trying to convert them I probably would have ran track and field. I mean I kept taking the treadmill up got to 7.6 and still felt like I was running slow. Its not nearly as fast as I run when I’m out there on the field by myself and a good praise song comes on and I’m fighting back tears. I let the pain hit the pavement and let my powerful legs push it as far into the ground as 220 pounds will push.
But that’s almost 220 pounds Anowa Adjah style. Powerhouse physique style. Just seven more inches yo off this waist. I’m aiming high. My goal is for 22 inches like my momma before baby but this will be my after baby. I’m just saying. What good is dreaming if you’re not dreaming big?
But a few days ago that rain yo.
Got the ache of what the doctors have called a bulging disc nearly crippling me.
But I stand strong.
I keep rereading a text. I want to reply. I want to tell him how much I love him. But he’s right. We are not ready. What good is love in a state of torrential turmoil. If we are beating the love out of each other to the point of turning it into ashes. Dust to dust. We cannot and will not buryour love in other people instead of working separately to get ourselves together so we can be our best version of ourselves for each other. He has more sense in his 26 years than I do in my 33. That’s why I kept telling him age is the amount of time spent on this earth. The wisdom comes from the experiences faced and overcome.
I thought I came to help him.
I believe now he came for me.
So here I am recognizing I have to heal as a woman in order to prepare to be a helpmate for my man. God is supposed to be our rock. Mine and his. My man is supposed to be strength, protection, and provider. I am his helper. So that means if he isn’t up to par I haven’t pushed him to his level. I mean Barack Michelle. Jay-Z Bey. I’m just saying. I saw Jay-Z in lackluster performance mode pre Bey. Black album retirement mode. He bored me. Now he’s a brand new man. My free ninety nine watch the throne called to GCI and won tickets showed him showcasing a brand new flavor for my ear. Craig Mack style. Yep, my favor has had a long standing run.
But anyway. Back to this bettering people. Women are supposed to do that.
Make men brand new. Make them better.
Men think they are supposed to fix women. Wrong. Epic fail. Nurturers heal. i.e fix. Women are nurturers. Not so much men. Roles get reversed in black households where men are scarce and mother’s have to take on multiple assignments.
Forget the enemy. We have a Savior that came to show us how to live and live more abundantly so as to avoid the confusion that causes families to fail to be in the roles God designated for them. Not a surprise for this new generation. Everything goes nowadays.
But I serve a God that never changes. Not his ideals, values laws or decrees. We just have some grace and mercy to go on top like a cherry of our foolishness we think is sweet like cake and ice cream.
So here I am trying to get me together.
I can’t get up today.
My perfect live story cliché protagonist told me the first couple of days of our last departure had him struggling. That was about seven months ago. I didn’t believe him. But if its anything like what I feel now. I understand. I get it now. My heart wants what it wants. Not one of these more than a handful can pull my interest away from him.
Evey time I go to lay on the pillow here comes my little lady talking about momma let’s pray.
Where did she come from? Rubbing my back when I cry. Holding my hand while we pray? She just turned four in February.
See now I get it. Its not just about me. I saw the beautiful little girl who I wanted to fill her birthday bag with more goodies than my last minute shopping had in mind. See I forgot about the beautiful pendant filled with diamonds I put to the side in my safe that I wanted to give to a stepdaughter I want so badly to claim as my own.
Forget step. A daughter for my own to grow up with. A sister of her own.
There are so many young girls who never understand their worth and let men call them names like thots which they wear like its a badge of honor. Young women who may not have had a mother like mine who put me and my view of self above any and all things. I mean I NEVER saw my mother in any intimate position with any man besides my step father. Not until after they were married. I mean not even my father.
I may not have always followed the rules. But I definitely have the standards down pat. But maybe more than anything is my willingness to share. I don’t mind baring my mess ups to give another the opportunity to learn from my mistakes. And my love is for real. May seem a little too much. At times.
Hey like I said I am getting me together. And since I finally realized I can’t get me together I am leaning on my Lord and Savior to do it. He leans over to the Father and tells Him what I need. So I receive.
He said whatsoever we ask in His name. For the glory of God of course. Never the Glory of man.
So. I pray. I pray harder. I pray with my daughter. I pray while running. I got to pray without ceasing.
I love me. I love someone so special. I mean to be Victorious we must find Glory in the little things. Advance the positive. Work on the negative. Take a breather and let God show us how to make Him our rock.
My babe was so right. A house won’t stand when built in sand. So I just pray we get an opportunity to have it built on a foundation which will last!