Renewing Moments

I am a true INFJ

Really.

An introvert.

That doesn't mean I don't talk to people, I do, or even that I am petrified in crowds, I'm not.

It just means that I refuel by my alone time, that I am deeply introspective and intuitive, that as an empath, my emotions are my spiritual radar, and my judgements are made based upon careful consideration of possible outcomes and impact.

Over the past month, with so much happening in the world, really ,the past year, my "being in tune" has been on hyper-speed.

The effect has been like a ball of air in my stomach or a pit of fire in my heart.

No, it wasn't a personal crisis.

It was the combination of watching everything around me, advocating for others, and realizing that I needed to attend to my heart, that compelled me to do a step back.

I went for a walk along the shore.

I read some poetry.

I talked to a trusted friend about transitions.

These are deeply spiritual and meditative practices for me, maybe for you.

When we are bombarded with so much on the news - whether we get it from TV, social media, radio, or opening the newspaper - it can feel like a lot because it is a lot.

We are in times we have never been in before.

Every generation has that statement, but this is incredibly different.

I live in the Northeast and we had the aftereffects of Hurricane Ida, some places are still trying to dry out from the inland flooding. For folks in Louisiana and parts of Mississippi, this has been an incalculable loss.

Then Covid-19 and the Delta variant are still wrecking havoc on lives, truly a pandemic of the unvaccinated and children under twelve who are suffering the consequences of adults.

Nevermind the twenty years since 9-11 and the pull-out from Afghanistan that has many people wondering what in the world we were doing there for that long anyway and if it was the right thing to leave or even if anyone can reign in the terror of the Taliban while terror looms in the air here.

In the time since summer started, we learned there are more non-white people in the country, school boards have had an all out assault against anything resembling reckoning with history, and denial is on hyper-speed.

I needed a moment.

So I did what this Advocate knew to do, but do it for myself.

I asked myself what did I need in this moment, how was it with my should.

When the answer left me wanting, I went to the shoreline, I pulled out my pens, I looked at the trees, I breathed.

None of us know what will happen in the next breath.

That can feel scary.

But it is also empowering

Why waste time waiting for someone to recognize your talent? Go and do something else.

Why lament what has already happened with the climate? Go and do something else about it.

Why just scream and post about the bans-against-women's-autonomy? Go and do something about it.

Even as an inner thinker and observer, I knew there was something I could do, so I did.

I took to the pen, that has been my gift, and I lent my story, and I donated and I spoke about it.

So much can make us feel powerless and that is actually how these things get to keep on happening, it renders us immobile, but if we look up, take the time to reclaim our heart, and then decide on that one thing we can do, we can renew.

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...

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...

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...

The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

Search This Blog