Hello Scribes,
The birds are singing a symphony this morning and the classical music playing from my daughter's morning alarm blends well with the atmosphere. I love getting up early to think in solitude while my family rests. Both windows in the office are playing different songs. I think it is amazing that these tiny creatures can make such sweet music and every morning that I am able to enjoy a concert of praise I am grateful. The birds and their simple songs remind me to find my inner song and sing it.
Birds were never a priority for me growing up. Honestly, I don't think I paid attention to them until a few months ago. One morning I woke up early and laid on the floor of my office sobbing. It felt like the weight of the world had fallen on me and I couldn't stand up any longer. As I cried I heard the birds and the music calmed me until I fell asleep.
After Maya Angelou died, "I don't have dreams anymore." I had jokingly said to my husband, "Dreams are for the birds!" But then after I said that I started to research not only that statement, but characteristics of birds. What I learned is that this cliche originated in the 1800's during a time when horses were our main source of transportation. Of course there were no bathrooms for them so wherever they had to go, they would go on the street.
Inside of the excrement would be the grain and seeds fed to the horses for their own nourishment. In turn, the birds seeking something to eat would sort through the dung to get the grain and seeds. People were accustomed to seeing the horse dung knew how to avoid it and they started to say, that s--- is for the birds!
(Welcoming any other additions to this explanation if you have one). But the Bible says that the birds don't have to worry about anything (Matthew 6:25-34) and neither should we.
If you really think about what it means to not worry about your needs being met you can think about birds. At first I was a bit disgusted by the fact that the birds had to root through dung to eat. Now I'm not interested in blood or stool or dirt or pain (you get the picture) but I find it interesting that birds could find a treasure in that which came from a horse's behind. It would be hot and have been sitting in the sun but the birds, hungry and trying to feed their offspring found it.
This makes me wonder what I am willing to do to get to my treasure.
Am I really willing to put in the work or will I only find seeds that are easy to reach? Will I dig deep and press through the pain when lunges and weights betray me, or will I quit? Will I continue to research my dreams and passions or quit because Maya Angelou has passed?
I was frustrated with people not understanding how big it was for me. I had to explain on several occasions that I didn't want anything from her, I wanted to give to her my appreciation and gratitude for telling her story. Her writing impacted a little girl who sat in her closet singing at the top of her lungs because she was hurting and couldn't tell anybody. I wanted to thank her for giving me the courage to tell my own story so I could write like my life depended on it. Maya Angelou was my physical representation of words wrapped in love and I couldn't embrace her. That was hard. What makes it easier is hearing the stories of friends and associates who have met her.
I have done some hard work digging deep through some things I didn't want to touch in order to polish off my seeds and replant them. Some of that is dealing with some very painful realities about life and death, positive and negative, truth and lies.
Today I want to talk about Solidarity. Solidarity is taking a stand for something in support of someone else. It would be like the common strength of the Civil Rights workers who were relentless to build unity or the beauty of a song sung in three part harmony.
Solidarity.
I have wanted to cut my hair for 14 years. I grew my hair instead of doing the big chop but underneath all of my curls was a TWA screaming to come out. I kept it long for my husband and for fear that I wouldn't look good with short hair. But I have always loved short hair. This year, my mom gave me reason to cut it.
I couldn't verbalize to Sissy how much I needed her by my side when I got my hair cut. I just wanted her to see me transform and release the weight of my hair. There was no way to describe how I wanted us to be there for mommy as she began to "walk her journey" into the unknown. I selfishly begged my sister to come with us without understanding that she too needed a beauty treatment to give her a new perspective. In the moments that Mom and I were getting our hair cut she was emotional and verbose in expressing her sadness for not being able to get her hair done. She was making a sacrifice for us and showing her strength at the same time.
So over the next few days I am going to share some of my dreams. They didn't die, they just got drowned out by noise.
Dream 1: Solidarity. Being committed to my dreams because they mean something to me, setting my feet on solid ground and standing there with the confidence I need to see it through.
What is something you can do in Solidarity for someone or something you believe in?
Girl, Pray for Me.
PLJ
The birds are singing a symphony this morning and the classical music playing from my daughter's morning alarm blends well with the atmosphere. I love getting up early to think in solitude while my family rests. Both windows in the office are playing different songs. I think it is amazing that these tiny creatures can make such sweet music and every morning that I am able to enjoy a concert of praise I am grateful. The birds and their simple songs remind me to find my inner song and sing it.
Birds were never a priority for me growing up. Honestly, I don't think I paid attention to them until a few months ago. One morning I woke up early and laid on the floor of my office sobbing. It felt like the weight of the world had fallen on me and I couldn't stand up any longer. As I cried I heard the birds and the music calmed me until I fell asleep.
After Maya Angelou died, "I don't have dreams anymore." I had jokingly said to my husband, "Dreams are for the birds!" But then after I said that I started to research not only that statement, but characteristics of birds. What I learned is that this cliche originated in the 1800's during a time when horses were our main source of transportation. Of course there were no bathrooms for them so wherever they had to go, they would go on the street.
Inside of the excrement would be the grain and seeds fed to the horses for their own nourishment. In turn, the birds seeking something to eat would sort through the dung to get the grain and seeds. People were accustomed to seeing the horse dung knew how to avoid it and they started to say, that s--- is for the birds!
(Welcoming any other additions to this explanation if you have one). But the Bible says that the birds don't have to worry about anything (Matthew 6:25-34) and neither should we.
If you really think about what it means to not worry about your needs being met you can think about birds. At first I was a bit disgusted by the fact that the birds had to root through dung to eat. Now I'm not interested in blood or stool or dirt or pain (you get the picture) but I find it interesting that birds could find a treasure in that which came from a horse's behind. It would be hot and have been sitting in the sun but the birds, hungry and trying to feed their offspring found it.
This makes me wonder what I am willing to do to get to my treasure.
Am I really willing to put in the work or will I only find seeds that are easy to reach? Will I dig deep and press through the pain when lunges and weights betray me, or will I quit? Will I continue to research my dreams and passions or quit because Maya Angelou has passed?
I was frustrated with people not understanding how big it was for me. I had to explain on several occasions that I didn't want anything from her, I wanted to give to her my appreciation and gratitude for telling her story. Her writing impacted a little girl who sat in her closet singing at the top of her lungs because she was hurting and couldn't tell anybody. I wanted to thank her for giving me the courage to tell my own story so I could write like my life depended on it. Maya Angelou was my physical representation of words wrapped in love and I couldn't embrace her. That was hard. What makes it easier is hearing the stories of friends and associates who have met her.
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| I love this photo, I can see my sister's strong arms holding me up, she doesn't even realize it! I want to stand with her in solidarity as she undergoes some medical treatments that may cause her to lose her hair. It is the only way to show support since my sister is carrying the weight of being the oldest (caring for our parents, our grandmother and her son) because I live out of town. Cutting my hair is no comparison of the responsibility my sister has to bear; sometimes it breaks my heart not to be there for my family. |
Today I want to talk about Solidarity. Solidarity is taking a stand for something in support of someone else. It would be like the common strength of the Civil Rights workers who were relentless to build unity or the beauty of a song sung in three part harmony.
Solidarity.
I have wanted to cut my hair for 14 years. I grew my hair instead of doing the big chop but underneath all of my curls was a TWA screaming to come out. I kept it long for my husband and for fear that I wouldn't look good with short hair. But I have always loved short hair. This year, my mom gave me reason to cut it.
I couldn't verbalize to Sissy how much I needed her by my side when I got my hair cut. I just wanted her to see me transform and release the weight of my hair. There was no way to describe how I wanted us to be there for mommy as she began to "walk her journey" into the unknown. I selfishly begged my sister to come with us without understanding that she too needed a beauty treatment to give her a new perspective. In the moments that Mom and I were getting our hair cut she was emotional and verbose in expressing her sadness for not being able to get her hair done. She was making a sacrifice for us and showing her strength at the same time.
So over the next few days I am going to share some of my dreams. They didn't die, they just got drowned out by noise.
Dream 1: Solidarity. Being committed to my dreams because they mean something to me, setting my feet on solid ground and standing there with the confidence I need to see it through.
What is something you can do in Solidarity for someone or something you believe in?
Girl, Pray for Me.
PLJ
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