something

i have to write it down before i forget. grace and truth often come so swiftly it takes years to recover.

i dont know what triggered my memory of this day.

it was the beginning of summer. skid row. the place with so many misconceptions and so many broken expectations. a forgotten mass of people waiting for just one person to say, "I still believe in you."

and there we were, the five of us. mental illness, drug abuse, homelessness, child custody battle, rape just five broken women wanting to just be.

i was so nervous that day as i waited for them. People said, "You're going to go on a field trip to the beach with four homeless women from skid row by yourself? Stop trying to save the world. What difference is it going to make?"

Blunted by the deception of their lies, nervous from my own insecurities and sobered by the realities of what I had undertaken I pursued on. Packed lunches, got bus tokens, got cash for ice cream and decided to believe even when i couldn't see.

i wish i could express the intense freedom we felt as we pulled away from the smells, trash, screams, crack pipes and indifference. as we looked back and saw that even if it were for a few hours, we could get away.

and as the ocean breeze met us and the water spilled over our toes, we were one. D., C., M., C. and I. It was the great equalizer. Watching my teachers, my sisters, my friends, enjoying themselves, finding companionship and support from one another, feeling like women again.

i saw the labels drift off into the salted air. the stigma of poverty vanish. we were all poor in spirit and we needed on another.

i wonder what it would be like if we saw past all the labels. the boxes we place on ourselves and one another. if we could just be people in need. a woman who needs help. a man who needs a job. a child who needs a friend. it shouldn't matter why. it shouldn't matter whose fault. it shouldn't matter how much we can give of ourselves. what matters is that we do something.

something. small or big. something that requires more than writing a check or reading google news.

because who knows if my sisters even remember that day. who knows if it was a huge deal to them. but it was something. it was an attempt to break down walls. an attempt to find freedom. one step away from hell toward something better.

i think God can use that. if He can multiply five loaves and fishes into 5000, i think he can multiply what mediocrities we offer up.

so my resolution yet again:

do something. help one. look toward. give. look up. don't ever give into cowardly pessimism that says change isn't possible.

it's only the beginning

"We are now in one of the most truly prophetic moments in the history of America. The poor and very poor are sleeping with self-destruction. The working and middle classes are struggling against paralyzing pessimism and privileged are swinging between cynicism and hedonism. Yes, these are the circumstances that people of conscience must operate under during this moment of national truth or consequences.

We have witnessed the breakdown of the social systems that nurture our children. Our rootless children… have no cultural armor to protect them while negotiating the terrors and traumas of daily life. Young people need a community to sustain them, so that they can look death in the face and deal with disease, dread and despair. These days we are in deep trouble.

The audacity of hope won the 2008 Democratic primary, yet we are still living in the shadow of the vicious realignment of the American electorate, provoked by the media's negative appeals to race and gender and the right-wing propaganda that bashes vulnerable groups… Real hope is grounded in a particularly messy struggle and it can be betrayed by naïve projections of a better future that ignore the necessity of doing the real work. So what we are talking about is hope on a tightrope."

- Dr. Cornel West

waking up

there is so much more to life than what seems.

today, i woke up to the sound of tennis balls hitting asphalt. the sound of screen doors sliding open to let in the santa ana winds. the sounds of small dogs barking at birds, fellow dogs or cats in the distance. the sound of children playing on the green grass outside my apartment. the blinds let in just the right amount of light. i could taste the newness of the day.

2 months ago. today i woke up to the first of five prayers. to the chants of submission of devotion. i woke up to the massive faith of an entire nation, willing itself for God. i woke up to the smells of hummus and pita. i heard the breeze hit my balcony window. the eerie chants lingering in the hot air.

3 months ago. today i woke up to a melting pot of religion. to the high and lows of Buddhist monks straining to find breath. to the smells of new rain and trash. today i woke up and scratched the redness off my skin. to the creaking fan in my grandmother's house. to the many dogs barking at no one. i woke up to the familiarity of home. the smells of fresh tea and curry cooking in the kitchen.

a year ago. today i woke up to the sound of reggae music barreling through tin walls. the sound of clothes being dashed against rocks in attempts to be clean. i woke up to the husky belts of women singing as they nursed their children and cooked ugi. i woke in the arms of a beautiful man, dancing and singing to the sounds of his heritage. to the smells of simplicity and the stench of abject poverty. to the humility of not knowing.

a year ago. today i woke up to the sounds of mariachi music and sirens. to the screams of children playing at 7am because their parents had to drop them off 0ne hour early to make their three jobs. i woke up to the sounds of helicopters flying in the distance and car horns. to the smells of community and faith. i woke up to the newness of justice and the veracity of servanthood.

three years ago. i woke up to the sounds of girls singing in the distance. to the smells of fish, rice and adobo. i woke up in the humidity of it, the smell of morning. i woke up to the clinks and clanks of dishes as breakfast was being prepared. i peered out my window and saw the piles of tin and cloth, called home. the rivers of dirt, debris and dreams laying stagnant next to a city of greed. i woke up to the sound of women trying to be free.

before. i woke up to the screams, the frustration in my blood's voice. the tension of love misread and misheard. i woke up and heard the slams of doors, the breaking of glass, the bruising of skin. today i woke up to the ominous silence of uncertainty. the richness of fear and the vulnerability of childhood. today i woke up to the past.

now. i woke up and thought, what's the purpose? what is my end goal? what is the point of my existence? there is a deep longing for meaning. i wake up and search for it everyday. to figure out why God allows what He allows. Why God permits what He permits. Why God says no when i desperately want a yes. today i woke up and i asked...why?