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There is no need to be judgmental. And although her influence is instrumental, we all have sins of our own. She just sings hers a little louder. We’re just seeking someone to look up to. And she was looking to be influenced so one day she could be influential. But I’ve learned we should be careful of our desire to admire people who we think we’d like to be. I don’t know you yet, but if you run across this here are my words of admonition. Set up some kind of moral basis for yourself. Don’t get too disheartened if you stray from the standard you set up in your youth and innocence. It happens to the best of us. Stay nostalgic however. Always yearn to return to the standard you once set for yourself. Understand that time changes things. Time ages things. Time may taint your innocence, and you may become two-faced with your sins. Some days rationality and morality will discern your reason; other days you may be emotionally reasoned. You’ll feel like a hypocrite, and you will get tired of it all. However, you will just have to learn from your mistakes. People will always judge you, and you will always have preconceptions of people. Never act as one who is infallible. Never try to convince people of your character, but rather let your actions paint a caricature of you. Again, be careful who you choose to look up to. If you’re not about what many guys will come at you for, then be careful around females who are. For he neglected bowflex and chose to exercise his index between her legs. She allowed it. Then the index became a little denser. Now she’s an addict. My mother always told me that her mother always told her , “Show me your friends, and I’ll show you who you are.” So show me someone striving for perfection only in utter hopes of achieving some kind of excellence. I hope I told you and showed you I love you, so when another man tells you this it won’t temporarily fill a void in your heart. And “Unto third and fourth generation” of me may cause you and your seed to do somethings that will make God displeased. So please forgive me. I’m just writing to you from future aspirations of me…your father to be. And I would like to say again that I love you. I’ll start practicing from now because pain has caused me to use this phrase lightly. And “Mama/Daddy I love you. My blog speaks for me, but hope I made you proud.” I hope she makes you proud. For if I reap what I have sowed life will owe me a basket of woes. Therefore, I want you know that I love you in the way I treat all the other daughters around me…. So say a prayer for me. Please. The devil will soon be coming for me. I think I have relayed to you what I needed to. I understand my voice grows faint with my age, but my words still carry relevance. I hope God allows me to recieve you from my Womb to Be. Until then, stay safe while I strive to show my love for you. So please forgive me Keke, Corey, Ms. Rose, Ms. Peña, Kay, and young Des. Thanks.
To my precious little lady,
Your Father
I feel like I’m 21 and divorced; God I need some. I’m feeling loyal to a girl that I haven’t won. And ultimately my faith lies in You or in this world, but either way I don’t foresee “fun”. I can sing, “It Is Well” then burn in hell screaming, “Why am I the one You have forsaken?” Or since they call me Munk, become monk, and restrain my cum until the day I’m done. Damn. At least I’ll see the ones who’ve gone on before me, but as of late I’ve just been feeling so earthly. It’s fear that’s been instilled in me. I fear God so much sometimes I forget that He’s supposed to love me. Freshman year I was condemned to hell because of my jewelry, yet she didn’t even take the time to hear my story. Flipped the script and traded in slit wrists for a pierced lip. Pain for pain. Traded in hospital bed grips for a tatted chin. Win for win. Sometimes the pain that hides within might seep out on your skin. Dang.
However, I won’t justify anything. But little brother and little sister are out here with their javelins. I speak my thoughts, and they’re ready to throw it at my sins. And I used to be the same way with my older brother until I fell in my pit. I may not drink, smoke, or party, but I’m still struggling. Doing things that my younger self would never do. Thinking thoughts my baby mind couldn’t construe. And lately deaths been in the waters; it’s been stirring up the seas. It’s messing with my ship; it’s trying to drown me. I don’t want another shift in the dynamics of my family. She’s been sick for soo long, but I’m just thinking of me. I won’t front and act as if I ever really knew her, so please save the condolences because my cold shoulders’ becoming frost bitten and it’s only turning bluer. And I know my right to pursue happiness, but life never opted to be kind to the pursuer.
Yesterday, I traded in some sick shit for some righteousness. Instead of taking a weekend trip for a quick fix I’ll be “working” on my sins. So does that make me pious?! Nah. And gramps is choosing death over the suffering. Damn. Their matrimonies’ been a couple decades in the making. Man…
I can remember when I was a child. Everything took on the characteristic of happiness. All of my days seemed bright, and the only stress that would occasionally plague my soul was the anticipation of a spanking. Tears were rare, but I was often troubled by the slightest divergence from the moral standard I had set for myself. Conditioned to think that if I was bad I would go to hell, I would try my best to be good and do good. My moral character was constantly being exercised. I would create a superset for myself. Abstain from a lie: push-up. Maintain my integrity while taking a test: pull-up. Obey when my parents or my grandmother told me to do something: sit-up. My moral character grew, and I was becoming perfect…. I was becoming saved. The preachers words would resonate in my head. Be good. Do good. And forget the cliché’s. Maybe that’s how some of my peers felt as they sat and listened to children story after children story. After all, we were closing in on the age in which the call for us to walk down the isle and sit center stage was no longer applicable. We were supposed to be growing up, but I was still touched. This was supposed to be cool, but I was in no rush. I knew I would be young forever. I never liked hearing the old folks talk about youth. Youth was only delegated to certain people. I was born young. They were born old.
When I was young, I was good. When I was young, I did good. I did not take for granted the words that I heard in church. Often perplexed by the sinful little humans that surrounded me, I would ask myself why these kids did not want to be saved. I was a kid, and I wanted to be saved, so I was good. I did good. Everything was so easy. Puberty was unheard of, and my hormones were in good spirits. I just liked to be outside. I just liked to run around and burn off all the energy which caused a great deal of inattentiveness in my class of life. You see, I was oblivious that time was passing and that I was getting older. I was unaware that I would soon have an affinity for computer screens and obscene things. But I would always spill the beans to mother because of my conscience. It was because I was holy and into all that pious nonsense. It’s such a shameful thing, but I would soon become a teen.
I remained oblivious that time was moving and that I was getting older. I guess I never deemed it possible. I would often hear older people talk about life and the stress it can bring. What the hell are they talking about? They must be doing something wrong. Tighten up. I continued to make judgments as life continued to make subtle moves on me.
High school…
“We are praying for you and your family.” What is happening? What went wrong? No one told me what hospice was. In fact, I was relieved to see her in our worship room when I came home from school. The plethora of hospital visits were beginning to get to me. Plus after weeks of silence the doctor finally said there were signs of improvement. I was young however. I didn’t know life was making moves. That room would soon be void of life and the equipment that was only meant to ease humans to their grave. I would soon see tears from my mothers eyes for the first time. Things were changing. I was aging. I was born to be young however. I was born to be young.
College…
By this time, I should have been well aware that life was moving on me. I knew I was getting older, but I was born to be young. I knew that she could have an immense effect on me, but I continued to be touched. So I touched. But I was supposed to be perfect. It’s just something would always convince me that it would be worth it as I’d unearth hips and kiss lips. I had long strayed from the moral standard I set for myself when I was a child. I realized was growing old. I realize I am growing old. I always believed that I would die slowly, but life is moving fast. My mind often fishes around in the past hoping to renew it as the present….
Times is moving, and things are constantly changing. I always thought that I was born to be young. Then l grew up.
“God has declared your healing even before you were yet healed. He has already declared you victory over every habitual sin even before you experienced the victory.” –Earlene Dotson
When I read this passage I had two immediate emotional responses. At first, I was elated because I have recently experienced victory over an addiction I have been struggling with for years. I was unsure how I was ever going to get over this addiction, and I just figured that my victory would come in my latter years of life when my compulsions eventually faded or when I got married. My second emotional response to this passage was skepticism. It sounded good at first because I recently had an experience in which this passage was proven to be true; however, I couldn’t help but think about all of the other people who were still struggling with an addiction or those individuals who have died from their addiction. Did God neglect or forget to provide victory for these people?
I believe He has done neither of the two, but that’s easy for me to say seeing that I have recently experienced the victory enunciated in the passage above. So where is the help for those drowning in their addiction? Where is their saving grace? What about those who have already died due to an over-indulgence in their addiction? Why didn’t God stretch out His helping hand to them?
I am not God, but I can use what God has done for me as proof that he provides a way out. I had struggled with this addiction for years, and I did not see how I was going to get over it while I was still youthful. I would pray and pray for God to aid me in overcoming my addiction, but it just seemed as if He had turned His ear against me. So I stopped praying. Nothing changed. Finally, over this past summer and last semester I was faced with the most emotional and physical pain I have probably ever had to endure. While I was being tortured by these two forms of pain, I did not see why I was presented with this trial I had no control over. Like most people, I imagined God would reach down and gently take away my desire to continue indulging in this sin I had struggled with for so many years. After all I was/am His child, so He was obligated to be delicate with me. Right? As Christians, we are many times shown the loving and merciful side of God. We are conditioned to believe that all of the mediums God’s uses to save us will be pleasant to our bodies and our souls. When we are faced with a situation that literally shakes the foundations of life that we presently stand on we fold. A lot of the times we crumble under the pressure. Through cognitive distortions such as emotional reasoning, we run to harmful outlets seeking comfort and relief from our problems. We refuse to attribute any process that will seriously challenge us physically, mentally, or emotionally to God. We have become soft and fluffy, expecting our belief in God to disqualify us from pain.
I have found that pain can refine a person however. Pain is what instigated me to form rituals for my days prior to my victory: Wake up. Proceed to my car. Cry for an hour. Put my clothes on and pick out the facade I was going to wear for the day. Go to class. Come home and then cry for about another two to three hours. Attempt to study. Go to bed. Repeat. Pain is what coerced me to take part in harmful outlets in order to gain peace of mind. Pain has left it’s permanent signature all over my body. Pain has taken me to some of the most undesirable places. Pain almost caused me to stop…. This pain has also lead to receive victory over a sin that I have lost thousands of hours of my life to. This pain has set me free from the slavery of striving to satisfy other’s views and opinions of me. This pain has prodded me to share my experience with you, hoping that some of the words I say will potentially have an impact on your life. This pain has helped me to finally find something that I have been searching for my entire life…myself.
God used a very painful experience to set me free. Learn to embrace the trails you are faced with. They could be the tool God is using to refine you into the person you were always meant to be.
Blessings.
For the majority of my life, I have tried to dodge that label. I would play it safe so I wouldn’t get raped by their words of hate…hatred towards me of course. I was pretty skilled at it too. You see, as long as I would stay in line and repress any “bright ideas” of mine I was fine. “Don’t worry about upholding the integrity of being true to yourself. Just try to blend in so you can be like the rest of them.” I tried to make myself believe that anyway. The hell’s a lame though? I guess since I have experienced such abuse I can give you an example.
…it must have been the fall semester of 2011, and I was constantly forgetting that I needed to stay clear of the young ladies. I always found some way to convince myself that simply talking to a girl was alright. So I did exactly that. I started talking to this PYT (pretty young thang) that I had no intention of getting into anything serious with. Everything was going smoothly, and my feelings for this girl eventually began to accumulate. Surprise. We were hanging out one day and decided to take a picture together. I can’t remember if we were seriously talking at this point, but all I know is that, that picture soon became her profile picture on Facebook. I was chilling thinking that everyone would be happy for us, but this was not the case. At the time I was unaware, but one of her boys became kinda hostile towards the new profile pic. No worries though; in reality he was/is a soft-spoken young lad, but behind close doors he wanted to slander me. All of a sudden comments like “Who the hell is this lame ass nigga your taking lovie dovie pictures with” were being made. Ironically, I had never even met this dude, so I began to become suspicious about why he used those words to depict me. Further investigation led me to believe that there may have been potential feelings between him and the girl I was talking to…before I came through and started talking to her.
I take it he may have been a little envious, but was there really a need to call me lame? What does this word that is often thrown around actually mean? In this situation, I assume he didn’t conjure up the word lame based on my ability to successfully talk to a female. So what was the context? I often hear many self-proclaimed “cool people” call others that they feel are lower than them lame. I never did understand why people who were supposedly so confident in themselves go the distance to put others down. Obviously not all people do this, but I have seen it happen enough for it to draw my attention.
From the brief time that I have been in college, I have observed that the people who others consider “cool” are usually just at the fore front of what everyone else is doing. So while many dudes are having sex with multiple girls, “that guy” is not only having sex with multiple girls but is also smashing the cute/seemingly innocent one’s as well. Or while everyone is fashionable in their own way, “that person” tries to take fashion to the next level by putting cuffs in his/her slim fit pants to show off the colorful patterned socks they’re wearing or by having the heaviest rotation of Jay’s. Their excess of girls or shoes is what separates them from everyone else. Now they have the authority put others down because they are cool.
Some of the people I silently admire the most are the people who are the truest to themselves. I can think of one guy who worked at the front desk of the dorm I was staying in last semester. This dude was no where near the coolest guy on campus. In fact, I witnessed instances in which people made inside jokes about him right in front of his face. He was not equipped with the latest fashion. His somewhat awkward walk was not complimented by his tall stance. The pitch of his voice didn’t help him either; however, I feel like he was/is one of the coolest people on campus. And if I mentioned his name I am sure everyone who attends the university I attended would recognize it.
If being lame means being true to yourself although others may find it unacceptably different, then I guess I’m on a mission to get there…
Just Some Thoughts... 