Continuously Happy New Year

I am a strong believer in how you start the new year will leave a mark on all the days to follow.

Last night, we were blessed as a family to start it with my husband's long-lost sister.

We fellowshipped in her lovely mansion amid the two cats, the kids declaring their approval of her media room, and Keziah exclaiming "this is the home of my dreams!"

I tried as much as possible to dip in and out of the room and just absorb the love and connection that was transpiring between my husband, his baby sister, and his newfound sister. They were rolling out family histories and comparing their experiences with the father that connected them all.

It made me smile and made me hope. They reached beyond expectations and touched their hearts.

They made a choice and their choice was to embrace, empower, and enhance one another as ten turned to eleven.

My heart was rejoicing for the three of them. Their smiles were exuberant and for a brief moment, these forty-somethings were children again, meeting a new playmate, and sharing their toys.

She greeted us with love and hugs and warmly walked us through the renovation she had been undertaking for the past two years in an historic part of St. Louis. The food was spread out as if kings and queens were coming to visit, and the room splendidly decorated. It gave me pause for a moment and I stood in the middle of her piano room and just breathed it all in.

There was nothing flashy about her or the work she had done, she didn't have children but took care to make sure that if any or all of her nieces and nephews visited, there would be something for them. She had the Wii and the media room all ready for the kids, she had popcorn and popcorn bowls and an entire floor of the house that was set for when they come for a sleepover.

Again, I just stood there and took in the unconditional love that knit these siblings together as if they had all grown up under one roof.

Their connection made my heart sing, for I knew, somehow, brining in Eleven in this beautifully arrayed mansion, was a little taste of heaven right here.

The night went on with the siblings chatting, the kids and I relaxing in the media room, when the two of them burst in the room with the hats and noise makers - it was Eleven! Happy New Year! Again, I could only smile and the pure joy I saw on their faces.

We packed up and promised to stay in touch, now that they were all in the same city at the same time. The kids asked (repeatedly) if they could spend Spring Break at her house (yes) and Summer (yes, the pool will be open then) and they jumped up and down with delight. The teenager tried to just look cool and calm until he thought about that huge bathroom that would be part of his retreat. They all hugged their Aunt Mayblene just looked as if we gave them a gift beyond anything they received a week earlier.

The connection and the gift I think was knowing that there is someone else out there in the world loving and encouraging and accepting you for you and sharing their joy together.

That is how we brought in the new year, with family, with love, with promise. Eleven only has to produce the same. Happy Joyous Amazing Prosperous Continuously Wonderful New Year!

Hannah's Song

We came together last night and sang Hannah's song. Family from California was in town, it was the night before Aunt Hannah's Home Going Celebration. We met at my house late in the evening to fellowship, remember, hug, eat, and laugh. Thom felt the love in the room and I'm sure his mom would've appreciated us doing what she did all her life - love. Aunt Hannah was a gracious woman. Her gentle spirit, sparkling eyes, and constant smile will be remembered. She has left us physically, but never spiritually. The laughter was like music in Thom's ear. For the first time in weeks I saw my cousin relax. He has been in a tornado for the past four weeks from his mother's diagnosis to her death. Even in her final stage, Aunt Hannah was granted her desire. She asked to not suffer long when it was her time to go, she had been a caregiver her whole life and I'm sure her prayer was for her son. In the last days of her life, she still greeted well wishers with a wa...

Ashes to Ashes

This is Ash Wednesday. For a lot of Catholics and Anglican Christians, it begins the holy season of Lent. We remember we are but dust and to dust we return, ashes to ashes. It is a somber reminder of our humanity and the finality of life. We are a mere breath. Today, as a Hospital Chaplain Resident, I am imposing ashes on patients, family, and staff. It is a visible marker of a shared faith and belief. We look with anticipation to the finished work of salvation on the cross and in eager hope of the resurrection. As my day progressed, I noticed how much hope was in the eyes of the ones giving and receiving this reminder of our existence. It was both a somber moment and a joyful moment. Two things can exist at the same time. Like the world we find ourselves in. Even as it seems like the darkest, certainly the darkest I’ve known in my six decades on this earth. Completely imperfect as a nation, there was still a glimmer of light until the nightmare became reality. We wonder abo...

Brothers, Can we Talk?

I'm a Black woman, born of a Black woman and a Black man. When my mother died, it was my father who nurtured me and instilled in me a sense of pride of self, of my race, of my abilities to do whatever I put my mind to do. He never imposed limitations on me as a Black woman. The only caution he ever gave me was to not burn my candle at both ends and to be mindful of my health, I am an asthmatic. He never stopped me from trying anything and always encouraged me. Daddy was a strong Black man who introduced me to Shirley Chisholm when I was a little girl. He reminded me of the fortitude of my late mother's quest for gender equality in the workplace and of the namesake who marched at Selma. He is the one who gave me my pseudonym, Tayé. Daddy was a strong tower of empowerment and fought all the way to his last breath for social, gender, and racial justice. It is in remembering my father this morning that I'm asking the brothers, can we talk? What is it, especially those of my g...

The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

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