Black Lives Matter Too

The passing years have seen the phrase “Black Lives Matter” as the catch-all for discriminatory or inflammatory acts to be referenced in our social hemisphere.  Typically these horrific events center with the justice system or civil unrest around poor interactions between African-Americans and those of privilege

Take a step back and re-read the last sentence. Those of privilege. Bubbling under the radar for years has been the dissonance between Men and Women of African ancestry. Too often oppression is seen as an external force, but quite frequent is the dismissal of persons within the African American culture by one another.

Easily one of the most divided ethnic groups whose historical context paints an accurate picture of self-hatred. Over centuries, the African-American culture has fought for visibility and humanity while secretly at home fighting marital abuse, neglect, hunger, rape, incest, alcoholism, colorism, and many other obstacles that separate the fabric of our homes.

So, why “Black Lives Matter Too?” Some days of the week, as an African-American female, I have to hold up a mirror to remind others who self-identify in similarly that we matter. We have to role model what matter means from time to time. I’m not digressing from the traditional movement but we have to look inside.

Just this summer, I served in a temporary capacity before relocating from the South to the Midwest. I worked with an amazing team minus an incident that took me back 100 years that I have yet to live. I had the unfortunate experience of being supervised by an African-American Male who made harassing jokes about my identity. The culprit dismiss reminders that this day in age such conversation has no place in higher education. He would laugh and utter “angry black female.” I remember taking a phone call and having the same belligerent male standing over me calling me an angry black female in the midst of my phone call with a customer. I’m not one for passivity, but my need for sanity overrode the need to report to HR. I had 72 hours before relocating to my new state and I had to make a choice in favor of my health. Some who have never had to report hostile environment to HR have no idea how taxing the process is.

It’s important to make these reports but my health was far too important for me to educate a man who knows better. Yet, the same male supervisor stands clueless to his words being as lethal to the bullets that have taken lives of many African Americans in a three-year span. Such cowardly, self-hating persons do not see the impact of their actions. Hence, I hold the mirror today to remind all that the life of a Black person matters. Especially, those who hold that verify identity.

Et tu King James

King James.

The version of the Bible named after the King.

The NBA player who sports about several Championship rings.

Commonality?

Both human.

The latter finds himself beloved by many and despised by an equal amount of persons.

Why King James as my topic for the hour?

I can relate.

Not too long ago, I was driving around my hometown and passed by a familiar place from my high school days. My thoughts raced to different memories and persons of interest.

Suddenly, the sweet taste of filtered memories of ages past was interrupted by the tart, tangy memory of being someone’s standard.

Intersection:

There have been times throughout life that when I failed, others felt vindicated if not esteemed. My failure in some feat or goal made others suddenly come alive or reach some level of self-efficacy.

Disgusting. Disheartening. Frustrating.

I remember scowling in a classroom anytime someone jeered when they outperformed me in some arena.

I’m not your damn standard. 

I didn’t have those words at such a young age, but I did ask the unanswered question of why my performance solidified someone else. I even had a Coach who taught social studies come up to me in lunch and jeer, what’s wrong with me (plot in a random name of a kid that generally goofs off academically in school) did better than you. Oh, the tears welled in my throat.

See, I never had the opportunity to marinate in academics just for the sake of it…not before Graduate School at least. No, my intelligence and uncanny ability to thrive in educational settings was my golden ticket and goose. I was athletic but it was underdeveloped due to no money and no support.

But, my intellect was unstoppable.

Yet, even then it couldn’t be pure. I had to hustle my intelligence to reach the next 2-4 stages of life and others emasculated it when there self-worth couldn’t foot the bill.

Why? Same reason why anyone bullies or enjoys in the defeat of another.

So, let me hop off the horse for a moment.

You don’t have to be a King James fan to understand Lebron is human.

He has goals and aspirations. He has a history that served as a motivating force to maintain his current stride.

But don’t forget, he’s human.

Yes, he’s not a toy nor a target for your tantrums.

We all make decisions others may or may not like.

Like Lebron, I know what it is to leave a hometown before others think you should.

I know what it’s like to take your talents elsewhere and know you are still on a puppet string of performance.

I know what it is to be misunderstood and told you are shallow because your outlook on life.

Funny, the only thing shallow is someone else critiquing the miles in another’s shoes.

After the NBA finals, I quietly released an Et tu King James.

I understand being so close but not clinching something that is greater than what it appears.

I cheered for the other team because of preference but still find respect for the man they call King James.

See, we Eagles fly alone. Our destinations do not call for flocks.

Eagles travel the way of  the unpopular while sustaining the jeers, calls, and blame when suddenly a standard , we become.

Stop making another human your standard. Stop tearing down someone else’s dream, vision, or flight plan out of your own fears.

But until then, Et tu King James, Et tu.

She’s Crying Out

America is crying out.

We continue to treat her symptoms with allergy meds, cough suppressant, and nausea pills.

Not working.

I remember the last time the phrase ‘crying out’ surfaced in my life.

It was during my last year of Graduate Studies at WG.

My supervisor and I were having a one on one meeting (weekly or bi-weekly professional development meeting for my non-student affairs friends).

Janine looked me in the eye, face filled with concern.

“Coretta, your students behavior is crying, if not screaming out for your attention. They are asking you for help via their behavior.”

Until that point I was numb. I was juggling interning as a Counselor, maintaining my graduate studies, balancing a part-time bank gig, keeping my staff together, and duct taping the back of my head to ensure none of my remaining marbles would slip out.

Janine was right. There had been a series of piss poor decision based incidences that occurred in my hall. The behavior reflected a lack of self-love and self-esteem in my residences (or the lack of critical thought) which threatened safety and well-being.

Like a good steward, I had previously employed every ‘reactive’ measure to restore balance/safety into our community. However, in truth, I was only bandaging an oozing wound.

Long story short, Janine’s words jolted me awake. I would go on to partner with fellow dept. colleagues and seek out collaboration from our Patient Advocates, Peer Advisors, and the Director for Alcohol Education. Prior to departure for Thanksgiving break we hosted an on-campus event at one of our largest facilities on campus which included a guest speaker used to break open conversation. After 20 minutes of presentation-we created over 25 table groups of people to have facilitated dialogue.

Yes, nearly 250 students and professionals talked through surface to deep related issues that involved truth.

See, I came to that program willing to get on their level. I created spoofs or mock videos of the behavior that was questionable with the help of my dept. friends/colleagues and showed the students a reflection of what was debilitating our living environment.

This allowed ownership and authorship to show up. Students negatively impacted by the behavior spoke their concerns and were able to look across tables and talk with culprits. Those who were responsible for the questionable behavior were able to speak up and voice their perspective.

Roses did not emerge. There would be smaller level issues. Those are typical and why I was employed.

The bigger picture was the putting a face behind hurt, distrust, and pain.

Back to today.

The latest news with the Officer shooting the unarmed man in SC is symptomatic of a systemic problem.

America is crying out for help. She’s telling us all is not well. What we’ve done in the past will not work today. We cannot look away or break out bandages for deep-seated wounds.

Our fabric has a whole in it. It’s not okay to be right and not learn how to work through fear and ignorance.

She’s crying, hurting even. So Am I.

Displaced

Roughly three weeks ago, I was in the kitchen having a conversation with my mom about the politics of local Church. Somewhere the conversation took a turn towards one of the favorite places of worship we love to visit. At some point, she looked me in the eye repeating the pastor’s words of “sister you’re out-of-place.” Mom repeated those words again, but made her reference plural.

Oh, how the hairs on my skin stood up for justice (they really did).

“Uh, No. Don’t make it plural. He was talking to you. That’s your message.”

Had no idea I was triggered. It’s only through today’s quiet time with the Lord and after reading a book on whitespace (spiritually resting) that I came to realized the gravity of that day.

This book on whitespace really delves deeps into the author’s plight with anxiety and stress. It’s the very thing that made me grabbed the book. See, when I’m good. I’m really good. That means I am calm, focused, but in an open free to follow God space.

The opposite, is just that. When I stress, worry, doubt, fear, turn myself inside out, it becomes a monstrous affair. Somehow, reading the words off the second chapter of the book told of my insomnia journey i dealt with between 2012-2014. The author talked about not being able to sleep or rest and busying self with numbing behavior like reading, tv, internet, etc.

Wow, she must have been right beside me.

I completed the little exercise at the end of the chapter but had no idea what Jesus would go on to reveal.

I began asking Jesus what I was or have been feeling.

My initial responses were the words  sad, frustrated, angry, hurt, and ended with afraid. That was until my Dad, fresh out of surgery asked me to move my car because the satellite provider needed to troubleshoot our internet connection.

Snap. That very thing I felt in that conversation with my mom. That “I feel some type of way” air…started heating up my blood. I can feel it. That deep in the pit of your stomach uggggggggggh.

Pause. For those of you on the surface, you’re think sheesh. Just make way for the service provider. Simple request.

Now, let’s hit the play button for truth.

My truth is that I am displaced. I do not fit anywhere at the current moment.

But, I’ve always felt this way. I love my hometown and even my home state, but truthfully that’s not home.

I normally tell people I’m a wondering gypsy in search of something greater every moment I take a breath. At least, that’s what my inner soul tells me.

Exit confusion, enter clarity.

My soul was at rest with the word displaced. Yes, that what is it.

My heart would even dig further. Is this what I’ve been feeling my whole life?

Such a simple accommodation. Wait, I’ve been making accommodations my whole life with none being made for me. Move here, do this, don’t inconvenience so and so. You just do the adapting and adjusting.

Oops, time for the “turn up.” Boy this word displaced has opened the can for sure.

My mind raced around the corner and would bring some more friends to the party.

What is that?  A nice bright shiny package from the depths of my soul.

Perhaps, this displacement stems from feeling like you were born to be everything for everyone else.

Like people who have kids to make themselves feel better or connect with love? Selfishness.

Suddenly, my heart took another detour. Expectations and boundaries.

All these disjointed thoughts around displacement are tapping on the issues of expectations and boundaries.

I am an eagle who will most likely pass through more places than settle. I’m game for the travels and looking forward to these adventures.

But clearly, for my soul to finally begin to de-clutter years of wear and false truths, I must  get clear on what I need.

I can move my car out of the driveway, I can comply to simple requests.

What I cannot do is continue realigning myself for the vision or needs of others.

My soul is crying out for me to awaken so I can put voice to expectations and boundaries I need to live the fruitful life I am destined.

Such a journey requires rest, a quiet place, and the freedom to explore without regard of others who cannot bear any truths that are revealed along the way.

Truth about Supervision

Just the other day, I was blessed to receive a call from one of my Graduate friends. My friend and I talked about upcoming plans and some of the progress notes we have made thus far in the new year. Somewhere along the way the conversation took a turn towards supervision. In particular, someone who I briefly met felt some type of way about my leadership style. In all truth, the person really did not have much to go on. I chuckled part way through that conversation point because I realized this person was new to leadership and is still wet behind the ears.

However, I did enjoy that the information was brought to my ears because it helped me journey back down memory lane to some of the mistakes that I have made in supervision over the years.

Here’s a highlight reel of the ones that come to mind:

• Not always making enough time for staff vs. tasks
• Not saying “No” more frequently
• Not always realizing when I am not respecting someone’s time (specifically my co-supervisor)
• Using a 1:1 for my own vent session (yikes)
• Stopping others from abusing or hi-jacking my calendar (which put my staff at a disadvantage)
• Not developing my emotional intelligence sooner (thank you to all my supervisees who responded with grace)

Not to mention the challenges that come with supervising:

• “Nothing is ever enough”-supervisors are the funnels for complaints above and below them
• No regard for the things you do well and the time it takes to complete them
• Constant resistance towards development from above and below
• The need for one or more versions of yourself for the tasks lying at hand
• The vast amounts of resiliency that you must absorb to function at high levels daily

By now most of you are resembling ‘bobble heads’ as you nod in agreement along the way. The world of supervision is both taxing and rewarding at the same time. I believe the number rule of thumb is that you have to give your self a margin for error. You are going to make mistakes, hurt or misunderstand others, and lose some valuable lessons along the way. In stark contrast, you will shape the lives of others for a lifetime, you will develop the potential in employees that will lead to a better tomorrow, and you will learn more about yourself through the mistakes that you make.

You have to make the mistakes to grow into the developer you are meant to be. But, you also have to be willing to respect the past, make no excuses for today (own your own ish), and constantly be open to the innovative offerings of tomorrow. So, I still chuckle at anyone who blames another supervisor, colleague, boss, etc. for what they wrestle today. That’s the largest clue that you are an amateur supervisor. Anyone that has been around the block long enough will tell you that there is no ‘one size, fits all approach.’ However, there is always the opportunity to learn from those whose style and work challenges you out of your homogenous sip of tea.

Words from Lloyd

Just wrapped my 3 volume series on self-acceptance which was just in time for the Cupid week of love. Funny that this very week, I wrestled heavily with my own acceptance. I kept re-hearing Lloyd. Lloyd is an old colleague of mine that questioned me once upon a time. He questioned my broken record of “I’m just rough around the edges.” Others never payed me mind when I made that statement. Others perhaps used that statement to their advantage. Not Lloyd. It was a Summer night in 2014 and we had arrived back from an outing in Anderson I believe. For some odd reason, I wrapped a sentenced with “I’m just rough around the edges.”

Lloyd called it out. Lloyd asked had soneone told me I was rough around the edges.

I was shocked, taken a back. I actually had to think back-and I had no answer. For years, I felt like I was perceived as an angry black woman or misunderstood at every opportune moment. So, somewhere along the way I took on the insecurities or labels others had bestowed upon me (real or imagined). And for the first time, Lloyd asked for the origin of my broken record. He told me in fact that I was anything but rough around the edges. I was direct and very “tell it like it is.” But, no where in his mind was I “rough around the edges.”

That moment of affirmation did so much for me. A year or so later-I find myself repeating a different broken record. I caught myself mentally assuming a similar statement. I realize the more that I repeat certain things in my mind and heart, it simply takes root and shades my vision of self/others.

Today, I mentioned a similar story to a friend and it was refreshing. Refreshing because I am taking time to hear what I say and question my lens. I am learning to reject flawed speech and the inability to believe myself to be enough. I’m rejecting the inability to ask for what I need and want. I’m rejecting any broken records that do not conincide with my truth.

No More Excuses

Simply put, no one can excuse fear.

I’m referencing the core of racism, sexism, fascism, classism, and all the little isms lurking around our American fabric. This is a universal ill but my country is slowly eating itself in shame by serving every dish with a side of fear. The recent verdicts just reflect our ability to create fantasies of what we want to see versus the truth. It’s the same reason why people are addicted to sex, lying, food, gambling, and murder.

Killing unarmed youth and Blacks has replaced the lynchings of yesteryear. We fret at the mention of increased oversight yet we have no answers for when those sworn to protect end up killing  the unarmed.

We’re too comfortable. Everyone has grown apathetic and immune to the protests, the loss of lives, and the weeping mothers left behind. We shrug it off and go back into our fear laden worlds. Look at every riot that ever erupted in our country and you’ll be able to tie it back to fear.

Fear allows us as individuals to lose sight of a human face. Have you ever walked into a mall, attended a concert, or even pumped gas and at some point realized you couldn’t make out any of the faces you saw? Well, that’s the same thing that happens when three to four officers are apprehending a man while in a chokehold. At that moment, procedure was first (albeit illegal) while the cries of a human being were muted.

I can actually understand how it happens. It’s the same way we can become so fixated in a matter (cell phone app, people watching,etc) that we miss what is right in front of us. Typically, someone will profusely beg for our attention until we snap out of the trance of occupation and back into reality.

Unfortunately, in New York there was no snap back moment. The fear laced approach to addressing illegal solicitation took priority over simply verifying a man’s story. There was no middle ground, just action. There was no reasoning, just zealousness. No weapons or mal intent was displayed from the apprehended father.

Sadly, several Officers that day sided with procedure over instinct. Instinct can hear or motion for us to slow down in our decision-making because there are other details to consider. No, on that day knowledge won. Knowledge, is the head sense that puts facts, figures, and procedure over a life or cry for air. On that day, fear of not following protocol (albeit illegal) took precedence as well as taking a father from his children and wife.

Now, we that remain behind have an obligation. Stop making excuses. Stop excusing your actions by blaming others. Stop excusing your apathy and fear based logic without exposure to difference. If you don’t know or understand privilege, learn. If you cannot understand why people are protesting, ask (not your buddies who make racist jokes on twitter but smile and hug everyone at the water cooler). Get out of your comfort zone and actively engage to rebuild connections. It’s okay if you are racist, a bigot, (no matter your ethnicity or race) or whatever label you subscribe. There’s an app for that. It’s called no more excuses.

We cannot move forward as a community, state, or nation until these weak, fear laced excuses for inclusion and respect stop.

It’s Free to Listen

It’s free to listen, yet somehow we struggle and find ourselves on the costly end of communication. About two weeks ago, I was surfing online and a great dialogue between an African-American and a Caucasian contributor was recorded. I enjoyed the viral video because it illustrated why the country finds itself divided on every topic imaginable. Simply put, listening is free but we don’t do it. See in this video the African-American male was very aware of his own biases and the biases that others bring to discussions. What grabbed my attention was the Caucasian male stating what he interpreted which reflected the art of not listening. It wasn’t about understanding someone’s else perspective. It was about hearing what was said at that moment.

This post isn’t about that discourse or race. It’s about those missed opportunities to listen that leave us embarrassed or disconnected from potential opportunities or even worse-the ones we love. 

Recently, I have been paying close attention to moments of when I listen to hear, listen to take over, and barely listen at all.

Listening to hear is like combing or detangling your hair (shout out to all my naturals) with nothing (no debris or product) pre-existing in the comb. It’s a blank canvas moment where something great can happen (I happen to think detangling is a great moment if I do say so). It means the party listening isn’t blocking or filtering communication with their past experiences, victim cards, vendetta, future goals, or just the clutter of their own perspective. It’s what we all long for when we want to share experiences, dreams, or even fears.

Listening to take over is simple debate and even sometimes part-time conversation. This is when someone shares with us current events of the day, day-to-day nuances, or anything to catch us up and we tune in long enough to pull the topic away. We never mean to run down monologue lane but it’s so fun. Before you know it, we hi-jack a well-meaning shareable moment or exchange and soap box the conversation down as if we are running for election (I’ve done this a time or two-my apologies). Thus, leaving the person who began the conversation bewildered for even trying yet again to talk to us.

Yes, I see that your hand is raised. You want to know whether or not you have done this to someone. Oh, my friend. I’m quite sure. See this listening to take over isn’t limited to just snatch and grab conversation. It also occurs when every other line of the conversation is interrupted with questions (my deepest sin) instead of listening/following along. Sometimes this occurrence sounds like a bad soap opera as someone who is stuck in their issues finds every possible analogy or similarity between your reveal and their unfinished business. Please don’t have me illustrate with an example. That would probably hurt us all-honestly!

Now, we have my all-time favorite conversation price buster…*great time for some storm trooper theme music from star wars* Clears throat.  Barely listening at all is the name of this game. We are all guilty. This is when we begin to listen and then just slip on to the following:

• the night
• a land far away
• some place we would love to travel
• the television show we are watching
• prayer
• honey do list
• grocery shopping
• the next day at work
• plug-in your favorite escape

Yes, these are some of the great places we escape to when we are not committed to giving someone our presence and attention. This is an excellent way to encourage the ones you love or work with to slink back to whatever they were doing before talking to you. For those yearning for more explanation…this is what we do when our gadgets, entertainment, or solitude is more inviting than those vying for our attention. It happens when people begin to talk and we look up with no clue of the last 5 minutes of conversation. It occurs when we are asked a question or solicited for feedback that we cannot give because we went rogue after the fifth vowel of the first sentence. We never mean any harm but we are usually the most offended when the tide turns and we are ignored in this same manner.

Now that we covered that ground, let’s address the point of this blog. We cannot truly understand each other until we are willing to show up and listen with our hands down. That’s right, put down our perspective, campaigns, and gadgets. That is the only way to really show up in conversation. We are too plugged and overly opinionated. There are so many opportunities that lie wait-but our attention is the key to seizing those moments. Let’s take the make it to 2015 challenge beginning now.

When we are busy-let’s just ask that people come back to us when we can willingly listen.

If being a busybody is your excuse-then now you will be alone in more ways than one when you least need it.

Give similar and dissenting views a chance. Just because you relate-doesn’t mean that you really have to. There is a thing called over relating (not a word). Sometimes people just need to be heard.

Lastly, commit to being present. People can kick it with themselves. Instead we all try to share our time with people. Don’t make others regret sharing their time with you. Pull back, disarm, release, perk up your ears, clear out/declutter your mind, and listen.

It’s All in the Delivery!

My journey back to Georgia has provided me with a wealth of behavioral reflection to behold. I have watched over the years different friends and family transition and transform as butterflies emerging from the cocoon of change. In short, my time away from mainstream hustle and bustle affords me time to see myself and others in rhythm. One of the funniest things that I have observed time over is our delivery of messages to one another.

Managerial communication was my favorite course in undergraduate studies. The class helped me see the barriers with sending and receiving communication. I think a lot of times we use these wonderful tools at work but abandon them once we enter the thresholds of our homes. Before leaving my previous employment late Summer I was privy to facilitating an ice breaker called ‘airplane.’ Communication was the objective and everyone had a specific role to play.

The game stands out in my mind because each participant had a letter, role, and a set pattern of who and how to send messages. Before the game began, we as facilitators, helped everyone in our groups understand their role and how to communicate messages. Once the game began the hysterics came out of the closet. Mid way through the game, my most patient and fun-loving friends were ready to snatch me dry because I stopped delivering their messages to one another. See if the messages were not addressed with the specific heading or subject line, the mail (me) did not run. I would tuck the message aside and only deliver messages that were properly addressed within the parameters provided before the start of the game.

I chuckled a couple of weeks back when this game back to remembrance. I also think of this ‘delivery’ of message or mail from the game in relation to the way we as human communicate especially when there is confusion or discord. Perhaps if we consider the following barriers to communication alternate means could be employed to ensure the message or delivery makes its final destination.

• Personal intent this is where we size up what is achievable or desired in our message.
  • What do i hope to gain from my message (debate, suggestion, relatable story, or rebuke)?
  • The previous bullet asks for us to be honest with our intentions because that will affect the choice of words, illustrations, and non-verbal cues we employ to send our messages.
• Missing information
  • When messages are not properly transmitted or received-slow down and acknowledge what is missing.
    • Ask open-ended questions to ensure what you are interpreting is what the sender intended. So many times we are on two different planes smiling and waving.
    • Parrot back messages so the sender has an understanding of what you are hearing. Our personal experiences filter what we hear.
    • If something does not make sense think about where you found yourself lost and speak from that place with the same tone you prefer others to use with you.
• Ownership
  • We are responsible for meeting each other part way. There cannot be an argument if two people are committed to respect.
  • If hurt feelings surface, ask for what you need. Do you need a time out? Maybe you need the person to repeat words to verify statement. Are you and the speaker operating with different communication styles? Use old conversations to help yourself identify triggers and poor communication habits.
  • Name calling, low blows, physical attacks, and silent treatment are masks for hurt feelings. Don’t resort to these. Drill down to your roots by admitting you have been triggered and remove self from conversation until you can be present without bitterness or resentment.

I want us as we wrap up the Fall and Winter of 2014 to enter 2015 with stronger communication in our lives. That happens we begin to assess our pitfalls and desire to understand how to find healthy ways of approaching difference in opinion, objective, or view-point. Ultimately, our messages like the mail remain undelivered when we do not check the barriers that stand in our way.

Letters to Coretta Vol. 3

Auntie Coretta,

I promised last go round that I would follow-up our next conversation about the LGTBQIA community. I procrastinated on this letter to you far longer than any of the other ones. I wrestled with my standpoint and what I wanted to share. I have been paying attention to the testimonials that have been circulating social media. I was inspired just moments ago to shift my thoughts to my own personal journey with becoming an Ally.

Auntie Coretta, it really started for me when I met my beloved friends from Miami. They are my angels and I would do anything for them. They literally bring me sunshine daily from miles away. A few years later, I would meet three instrumental individuals that would educate me so much through interactions about the LGTBQIA community and why the work is never done to lend support. Around this time, there was a huge influx of state amendments supporting the outlaw of same-sex marriages.

Over the years, my relationship with these individuals and many more helped my eyes to widen regarding the injustices and inhumane treatment for anyone belonging to the LGTBQIA community. My status as a African, American (Creek Native too) female could relate on what it felt like to be regarded as less than human. It was that sentiment that helped me to begin to sift through my own beliefs about human rights for all especially this community. See, I align as Christian. The ideals that I grew up with advocated that certain lifestyles were unacceptable and were not to be recognized. However, my focus would become the love that Jesus has for all and the justice that everyone deserves as human beings.

I understand and do not believe we all must think alike or co-sign on the lives of others. However, I do believe that since I am of the Christian faith I must love as Jesus loves. The Bible highlights a whole host of unacceptable behavior and living. I don’t know the last time I walked up to a ‘whoremonger’ and condemned him or her. I can’t remember the first time I lobbied for those who covet thy neighbors belongings to not receive benefits for their partners. Auntie, I’m not trying to be loose with the Word. What I am focusing on is the core of Christianity. My love for all surpasses expression and identity. No belief will allow me to discriminate against any. No ideal can justify any human not having access to services, benefits, and respect in general.

See, I’m not interested in trying to recite literature in this letter. I’m interested in tugging the hearts of all so that we can do our part to learn to listen, share, and respect. Notice, I didn’t ask for anyone to co-sign, condone, or believe. Give someone your heart and listen to their story. Give someone the time of day by operating in love. Learn to respect and accept those that are different from you by allowing services to benefit all. We can’t continue to reference ourselves as free if we don’t make time and regard all communities/identities under the sun.

I say thank you Auntie Coretta. Before you left us years ago, you made mention of the need for justice for all including the LGTBQIA family. The key word is family. It’s time to allow family not to just have a seat at the table but to be cloaked in the acceptance that the word family truly connotates.

PS_that picture above is of my former Graduate Assistant who continues to fight for the equitable rights of all!