When I was a little girl - I used to try to disappear, to be invisible, unseen, unnoticed, unheard, un - un. My naive little self thought that if they didn't see me, the monsters who lived and breathed fire, they wouldn't hurt me. Most of my growing up, a full decade, I was afraid. Petrified, even. Survival meant being nice, kind, quiet, compliant, nondescript, absent from any "prettiness" that they said was my late mother whose face I carried. How could I be the incredible shrinking girl and stay in a corner until it was safe to use my voice, my words, to protect others so they would never feel that heart-thumping-heat-filling-terror.of.existing. As we enter this season of Lent, the discussion very often among those who practice this season of contemplation, confession, and contrition is about what one is giving up - a pleasure or activity; we often don't discuss what we are taking on for righteousness and justice. Let me consider this as I mentioned as the st...
life, really, and a latte by Tayé Foster Bradshaw