Roll, Rock, LIVE, Repeat

I did the Bay Breeze on a Saturday. Right after the race, I drove from San Leandro to Santa Cruz for a birthday party. I went from Santa Cruz to Palo Alto to rest. On the way home, my MLP tagged me in a post on ‘tha book of faces about our plan to go skating on Sunday. Sunday as in the day after the race. The plan to go skating that we never actually confirmed, until, well…she made the post.

So I found the place, created the event and went to sleep knowing that after I wrote 65 appreciation notes at work the next day, I was going roller skating – and my Uncle was coming with me. My Uncle who found out on the book of faces also – because he was invited. #YouThoughtIWasPaying #ThatsCute  #IPlannedTheEvent

SJ Adult Skate has terrible skates. #UncleTakingMeSkateShoppin!

When MLP and I reconfirmed what she already confirmed that afternoon, an amazing feeling came over me. I was ten years old again. I was going to bed, the night before Uncle was coming to pick us up at the house to take us to Milpitas. To CalSkate. And there we would spend all his money (at least we thought we would) on drinks, and pizza, and chips, and candy. We would go round and round the rink at light speed, which was probably about a half a mile and hour, maybe. We would smile each time we passed him, not even considering the alternative – that he was passing us. And then we would have to sit. Because it’s backwards skate time, and we are not as coordinated as we believed. And we fall down…and we are making everyone else fall down #GettingBackUpAgain&Again. And we always left too soon. Because the last song was always one song too soon. And we were back on 237, hoping to never reach 101. Praying for it to loop back to the parking lot and not the damn driveway.

I slept like a ten-year-old baby. Then I woke up and went to Church. Then from Church to Work. Then Work to Adult Skate.

I went flying around that rink like a superhero. My cardigan transformed to a short grey cape. Floating in the wind created by my awesome powers of being amazing on 8 wheels. Captain UCLA is what they called me. You didn’t see those 4 letters on my chest? That’s because I’m so damn fast. Catch me son. Oh, you can’t…

And Uncle and I rolled around the rink talking about the crappy floor and the horrible skates. He said we could go skate shopping so I could have my own – because those were whack. We smiled. We laughed. We reminisced on all the fun we ever had. And I thought to myself, how did I let 20 some even years get in the way of this feeling? Wait. What is this feeling? Can I get this on the streets?!

We learn all kinds of lessons from our parents. There are so many truths we pretend to not hear at 16 that become everything that ever saved us at 26. And we have to admit to them that they were right. Then there are the other lessons, that aren’t really lessons at all. They are life. Life experiences that people who are not so stressed out about, well…childbirth and the ensuing 18-year dependency #WishIHadADependentThisTaxSeason, give us. The Aunts, Uncles and Godparents, for example. At ten years old, my Uncle wanted me to know what it felt like to live. And he spent a small fortune making it happen – for every one of his nieces.

And I let life keep me from doing just that. Living.

I would have been right next to MLP going round and round to the last song if those horrible skates hadn’t start to hurt my big toe…big toe. I have never had more energy post race-I-didn’t-properly-train-for #thiswillbemycustom in my life than I did that Sunday night. You would have never known that the day before I was Bay Breezin and partying with a new walker.

And okay, so I maybe couldn’t decided not to wear heels to work the next day. And maybe it took me 15 minutes to get up 2 flights of stairs. And after I sat down in my office chair, I had to fall to the floor in order to get out of it because, well…gravity. Point is, I lived for three and a half hours.

And I did it skating backwards.

The Mission: SUBMISSION

I am in my 30’s…and I still have an overwhelming fear of calling an older person by their first name. No number of degrees, education or experience can make me forget the how with extreme prejudice my parents whooped my butt for this #ItWasEPIC. It was just once. It is never happening again. Trust. I believe in my heart, even to this very day, that if I were to call an older person by their first name, the heavenly army would come down from on high and strike me with the all consuming power of Jesus…The Christ.

My Mommie once tried to tell me how a particular medication worked post Physiological Sciences degree that she looks at everyday because I had to send it to her – or never come home again. And you know how I feel about sweet potato pie. She was completely wrong – about the medication. But she was right. And I told her she was right. And then I said, Yes Ma’am…I’ll take this ‘tussin for my migraine.

I’ve had supervisors who I believed to be crazy as dingbats. And they were. Crazy. As Dingbats. I showed up for work every single day. I even stayed late to get the job done. With no hope of overtime. I did everything I was told to do – often without protest.

Let ole Dudley Do-Right (as Daddie calls him) pull me over because I forgot to pay attention to the speedometer. You better believe after I pray, beg, and cry some REAL tears, the cruise control will be set. Ain’t nobody got time for any more speeding tickets or points on their license.

My grandmother would not let us wear pants to Church. Not even to Vacation Bible School! Do you know how many outfits we went through that week?! I am still afraid to wear pants to service. There was this one time, in Atlanta, I forgot my church clothes in my haste to pack. Every single picture I took in the House of the Lord was from the waist up. #TakeAFullLengthPictureOrItDidntHappen  #YouAintGotMeOnTapeWearingPantsToChurch

What does all this mean? Glad you asked.

A Facebook friend posted the following:

So I've come to the conclusion that I want a woman who is ok with and understands what it means to be "Submissive" as it relates to our relationship/marriage. Am I passed that time? And will I most likely never have a successful relationship due to wanting this in a woman? Thinking out loud today...

Then I went to Church and we studied the following:

¹⁷ Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves: for they watch for your souls, as they that must give account, that they may do it with joy, and not with grief: for that is unprofitable for you. #Hebrews13

And it made complete sense. And then I started writing out loud in Church. And kind of missed parts of the message writing this one. #MyBadJesus #ADHD

The response to his thinking out loud provokes the question, How does one develop that understanding of what means to be submissive? How did I come to understand it? To know it? To believe it? To be it without thinking? I am no anomaly by any means, but it’s not like I am the standard either. Right?

Well, the answer is, submission is not a one way street. We tend to think that it requires one person (most generally the woman) to just do. And that be it. And to some extent that’s true. I just have to listen without knowing the why, or doing just because it’s said – sometimes without an explanation. I have to obey them that have rule over me, so my Uncle can take the keys to my car, and without protest I will “sat down” somewhere. Without anger or frustration. Just not always knowing that he’s doing it for my good.

My uncle, just like my parents watch my soul because they must give account and the more I resist, the more unprofitable this life becomes for me. What is missing then, in the contemporary definition of submission? Responsibility. For me to be in submission to everything you are, you must be responsible to God for your leadership. The question then becomes, as another friend so eloquently responded, what type of leadership are you offering?

I cannot answer that for you. But I can tell you the central part of it – humility. Having the humility to admit when you are wrong. And here is what that looks like:

My friend AWB, the inspiration for the Disney Post #myapologies, and I were eating at her home. The man who gave her the “B” in her name took her Izze. When she attempted to reclaim her drink, he emphatically stated that it was his, and she COULD drink the other flavor IF she wanted. She looked to me for support, as I witnessed her bringing the drink into the house. However, because AW was having a conversation with Mr. B, I CC’d my way out of it. She only engaged in the discussion for a short while. She did not argue her being right, which she was, to the end. She conceded and continued eating.

Later that evening, Mr. B emerged from the bedroom to admit that he was “mistaken” and that the drink did not belong to him. At the very moment she could have “Sherman’d” him, she accepted his #KindaSorta apology and went about her business.

That’s submission. And at least for me, that is what has been missing in my various failed attempts at a couple of forevers. Not to say that I always get the submission part right #I’llHaveToGiveMyAccounting4ThatToo, but on the whole, if you’re the boss, you got it. I am many things, coachable and obedient are on the list. But what happens when you are wrong? Do you admit it with a humble heart? In my experience that has not been the case. And though all those attempts ended because they decided to leave me, the reality is, at least then, they were not meant for me.

Submission is a lonely place. It’s a night of no sleep because the ‘tussin hasn’t done anything but made you feel like an idiot for actually taking it without protest, whilst attempting to sleep on a couch - on a couch with a clear visual path to your Physiological Sciences degree #wasteofSalliesMoney. It is a silent place. A padded room with no doors or windows. Just walls illuminating the truth that haunts you on your journey down the wrong path. Because all you wanted to do after a long day was drink the Izze that belonged to you, but somehow didn't belong to you, until someone realized it belonged to you. And you are amazed that you stayed sane just long enough to “taste & see” the apple flavored truth. And...you can say nothing. You cannot do anything. You have to be right and be silent. When you submit, the truth does not set you free. It is just another hashtag in your lifeline.

Baby, don't let the Girl Scouts come between us... #samosas

Sir, you are going to make some mistakes leading. And, My Good Man, in order for you to give an accounting of your leadership to the Lord on that day, you will also have to give an account for all the wrong turns (and Izzes) you took, and those under your charge wrong turning with you. Because you liked it. And put a ring on it and/or a baby in it.  

Want me to submit to you? No Problem. Just admit to me that you are going to get it wrong sometimes.

I know that is hard. Believe me, I know. And it is totally okay that you are going to get it wrong sometimes. No harm. No foul.

I forgave you already.

RUN WITHOUT CEASING: Race 3, Medal 2

I could not of asked for better weather! #butIfoolishlydid

…which started out as “drive without ceasing” because I was almost late. Again. #14in2014 is not starting out as timely as I thought it would. I took a little extra time getting ready for Coyote Hills. I misplaced my iPod on my way to this race, the Bay Breeze. Thanks to my Valentine, MO.m, it was quickly recovered and I was on my way to San Leandro via the San Mateo Bridge. God, I hate that bridge.

I was not nearly as prepared for this race as Coyote Hills physically. Mentally, I was there. After the haste to the wet, grassy, start line, I said to myself, You’re going to run the whole way, start to finish. And myself replied, Okay. Got it.

Me was busy pining the race bib to our shirt. #multitasking

I knew there was something special about this day, about this race. Only it didn’t come to me until I got in the car.

Pre-Race: As much as I love Brazen Racing, this start line in the grass is not it. I promise, if you fall down in front of all these people on this wet grass, there will be hell to pay. No shoe shopping for a month. #ImAStrictDisciplinarian

Start Line: You agreed. Run the whole way. You got this. #JasonMraz #YouAndIBoth

Mile One: Thank you Jesus this course is flat. I should have thought about that before I agreed to run the entire way, without proper training! #ThankYouFatherGodInHeavenByTheManger #Grace #Mercy

Mile Two: Okay sun, anytime now. Anytime… Now… Okay? No sun? None? Not even a twinkle? Damn.

Mile Three: Hmph. That’s interesting. That guy has a race bib on like mine. And he’s on his way back. Interesting. Oh, and she is too. Is there another race happening here, today, on the same course? No? Same race? #DamnImSlow

Mile Four: I promise, if these #BlackGirlsTrying2Run don’t quit this #RunningNotRunning #WalkingRunningAgain in front of me, I’m picking up one of these rocks on this #TrailNotTrail and throwing it.

Mile Five: This has got to be the strangest, most awesomemist playlist ever. You realize that after Oye Como Va went off, Maybach Music came on? How you are going to explain that one to your kids? There is no sensible explanation. See, the way my iTunes is set up…

Then… #JanelleMonae #Victory …this is the 2^nd time this has happened at Mile 5 #GodsTrynaTaTellMeSomethin…

Mile Six: I think I have some dark chocolate almonds in the car from Trader Joes. Oh yes. It’s. About. To. Go. Down... My Throat.

Finish: I could actually run more. I should have seriously considered the Half. #LOLyeahright #GirlBye

And with every post race, there is the #madnotmad dash for the medal, nourishment and photo shoot! I did them all. All by myself (with I & Me of course)… I was in line watching the excited smiles of the ladies in front of me. The one, still posing in front of the finisher’s backdrop waved me into the photo… Girl, I feel like I know you, get in this picture! I hurriedly obliged. I mean, hello!?!? #MedalRaceDay Everybody gets a photo with the champ! We soon realized that we were indeed acquainted on Facebook. I subconsciously thanked Mark for being a man with a dream.

I walked around a bit longer admiring all the smiles and demolishing the free sustenance. Everyone was so happy – runners, spectators event organizers and volunteers alike. It was really nice to see all these people, of all walks and ways of life, assembled here to run for whatever their 2014 means to them. All the clapping as runners crossed the finish line.

Then I left. I had an important invite to a special lil’lady’s birthday up a mountain that I just could not miss.

Say something about my height... #ImTall,InHeels

Whilst in the car, I sent some (picture)mail to someone who makes me smile. We don’t talk every day, and we don’t even have a plan in place to see each other again. There’s a hope though, but no plan. He congratulated me on my finish. And I was surprised to be able to congratulate him on his – he didn’t even tell me he was running! He was the first person I messaged on Race Packet Pick-Up Day, and he still he said nothing about his race. He let me have my moment #HeAlwaysDoes. See, he ran the inaugural race of the year with me. And then did it again in his hometown. Because it’s cold, and hot chocolate running is abundant. In that moment, not knowing at the start he had finished something so sweet, I felt this incredible happiness.

And maybe his running is not all about me. But, it definitely has something to do with me.

And that is the sweetest thing.

Today’s Race: 10K, Bay Breeze, San Leandro/Alameda CA

Medaled Miles to date: 12.4 miles

Total Raced Miles to date: 15.5 miles
12 Medals To Go ǁ 14% Complete

Paying Off All This Debt. . .

So, I guess we’ve got a theme for a day each week. We get churchy up in this joint. Let me define churchy so you know just what I mean.

churchy adj [church – y; chur-chee]

…of or pertaining to something I overheard in Church; a thought inspired by something I read in my beat-up Bible; idea that magically popped into my head about Jesus and I just started writing about it; a prayer that I should have prayed when I thought about it but #pride prayed it too late, etc, etc, etc…

On today, we’ll be talking about LOVE for a few reasons:

ü I write about it often. It’s simplicity perplexes me;

ü God is Love (that shoulda been #1, but I gotta be honest about when I thought about it, so);

ü CJC gave me a great idea to write about the Bible verses that have infected my heart; and

ü …that wretched day for singles (and some couples) is drawing nigh.

Before we begin, I have to admit a few things because I tend to tell on myself:

ü The words you are about to read, were only intended for this one person. They were his, and meant to be his alone. Because I said yes, to a question he asked January 31, 2013.

ü I cried #realtears re-writing these words. Just a few.

ü Last time I wrote about them, it was February.

ü Though we don’t mean the same thing, their meaning has not changed. They are the same, they remain the same and they will always be the same.

ü You’re probably tired of these lists and wanna hear it, so…

Here It Go…

There are two statements that I CANNOT stand to hear. First being, I ain’t gotta do nothin’ but stay Black and Die. I mean really Joe Clark? That’s ALL you HAVE to do? C’mon son! Believing in God or not, something tells me your life “to-do” list is a little longer than that. Whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve got a few other things that you HAVE to do. Get over it, and get’r’done.

Then there’s the other, Nothing in life is certain but death and taxes. Tis true, those things have complete certainty. You will die, and before you die, you will pay taxes. Either you’ll front the cash, or you will get your Lauryn Hill on. #trust IRS be on that Boondocks… They both coming, so get ready, Get Ready, GET READY! And seeing that people fronted those shillings in the Bible, and hello, Crucifixion? These are indeed true. But can they be the only certainties?

No.

And you have to do more than stay black or alien (or whatever you are) and die.

Sallie gets too much of my $$ already... #debt

So I was reading my tattered Bible one day and I came across this passage in Romans… Owe no man any thing, but to love one another: for he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law. #Romans13:8 Paul wasn’t just writing to the Romans. He was tryna’ta tell us something too.

I had two thoughts immediately after reading that. First, this applies to “she” as well. See, they didn’t have an EEO compliance office when they wrote the Bible, so you have to fill it in sometimes. And number two, I can really go to jail for not loving other people too? Dang Jesus.

Then the real #important thought. We indeed owe the world our life and as Daddie says we will press a dying pillow one day. While I’m here, I’ll have to remain Black, though Michael Jackson almost proved otherwise. I’ll even pay taxes each year #H&RBlock #ItsTaxSeason. Because all of those things are certain. Necessary. Absolute. Required. They are on my life “to-do” list. But I never thought that love was part of my “things to do before you die” whether you like it or not.

                     

Those aforementioned statements about staying black, dying, taxes and ish have always unsettled my spirit. Always. I never knew why. I learned that fateful day as I came across that passage the reasons #EWF why. I am God’s child. I am my father’s baby girl (still, some 30 years later) and because I am them, I am love. I don’t have a choice in the matter just like I didn’t choose my DNA. Because I am love, I have to love. I owe it.

So, my “to-do” list is longer. And so is yours.

Don’t love something because it loves you. Or someone because they love you. Or shoes because you got them on sale and they make you look good. Or it, because you birthed it. Or even because it’s Valentine’s Day and Hallmark (another one of satan’s spawn) guilt’s you into it.

Love because that’s what you are. And you have to be what you are. And do what you are. And yes, everything about that will be hard. Love anyway.

…and you don’t want to go to jail. Orange is not the new black. And some of yall don’t look good in stripes.

Trust me.