Category: Writings

Rain’s Response

POV of the rain not wanting to be a part of a storm because of the damage it once caused.

Wind, I hear your whispers growing louder. 

I sleep soundly refusing to be disturbed.

Thunder, I will not be taunted by your howls or your thunderous beckoning. 

I will sleep.

Lightning, your crackle and cackle of laugher will not tempt me to open my eyes to view mysteries in the darkness.

I am at rest.

I hear you.  I hear all of you. You do not wish me to remain as I am,  but I will not be persuaded to join your conversation.  You talk of storms as if you do not remember the last one.  I do remember and will not be judged for it again.

You witnessed what happened  before.  I was too much for them to hold.  By God’s power I answered their begging. 

I will no longer give in to their request.  I will not wake until I am ready!  I will not be moved! 

I will not look upon the Earth and pretend to care when hearing her cries.  Let the ground and the lips of her people be parched.  Let the wilting flowers and aging trees wither in the heat.  They will remember me and yearn for my touch.

Humans and Animals alike will not be quenched by the power of my waters.   I will not rejuvenate their rivers and replenish their lands.  My drops will not kiss their foreheads as relief from the overwhelming heat of the sun.  No, I don’t want to see them.  I gave them my all before and they cursed me.  They shall have no more of me until my anger has passed.

Whilst the clouds continue to wrap me in their soft embrace of slumber, I will remain at rest.  

They want me with them and this is where I will continue to be. 

I will not wake.

So Wind, become silent in your pleading. 

Thunder, relax your bold demands.

Lightning, calm yourself and allow your powers to weaken.

I am at rest.

I will sleep.

They shall have no more of me until my anger has passed.

Gram Gram said WHAT?

Yesterday was Mother’s Day.  Happy Mother’s Day to all of the wonderful mother’s and future wonderful mothers out there in the world.  Happy Mother’s Day to the beautiful mother’s of the past, that despite the hardships still mothered.

For many this is an easier day to celebrate than Father’s Day.  For some it used to be an easy day, but the reminder of a mother now gone can welcome those bittersweet tears.  Yesterday I was with my mother, but her mind I’m sure was on her mother, but it might have also been on her grandmother.  Lately she’s been thinking a lot about her grandmother, whom she affectionately called “Gram-Gram”.

Gram-Gram lived a life.  Born in 1884, she remembered when them “Wright Boys flew that plane” and she remembered how life was before electricity and television.  She was a mourning survivor of the Spanish Flu, and a mother to 19 children.

She lovingly told Lil’ Katie, “We didn’t even have no radio back den!”  

As Katie, sitting on her grandmother’s lap looked into her grandmother’s sincere eyes in astonishment, her sweet little chocolate arms began to hold on to her grandmother tightly.  She nestled her round face onto the cusp of her Gram Gram’s warm neck. Katie was hiding a question and was hoping this would be a good time to let it loose.  How accurate were the history books of 1968?  Katie mustered up the courage and began, “Gram Gram…” 

“Yes, baby,”  Gram-Gram lovingly answered. 

“Were you a slave?”  she whispered.

“Speak up now, say it again?” Gram Gram replied.

Katie, born to Gram-Gram’s son, lived with her family up north in Chicago, but every summer they would make the drive down to Tutwiler, Mississippi to visit family.  Years prior, her father grew tired of the limited future of being a sharecropper and dealing with the open-racism he experienced for being a black man in the deep south of the United States of America (where the states were only UNITED if you looked a certain way) left.  He and his sisters journeyed during the great migration when multitudes of black folks eager for a better life, began to leave the south for a more promising life in the Northern states.

Ten-year-old little Katie had been learning about Slavery in school and was trying to understand why people could treat others in such a hateful way.  When she would ask questions about this during their family dinners back home in Chicago, her daddy would reply, “If they don’t see you as a person, but as an animal, it’s easier.  It’s easier to be cruel to something that isn’t a person.” 

With a mixture of Gram Grams coca butter scented body mixed with vanilla from the cake baking in the stove, she timidly asked again, “Gram Gram, were you a slave?”

Katie tightened her eyes to barricade the gush of tears she knew would break forth. 

“Oh, No baby.  I was born after that, but my parents was slaves and dey was freed by Abraham Lincoln.”

“Momma! Gram Gram said WHAT? That means…okay, hold on!  If Gram-Gram is your grandmother, then she is my Great-Grandmother.  So that means that my Great-Great Grandparents were … slaves?” I asked in astonishment.

“Yep, and my Great-Grandparents were….  That’s Crazy”, my mom said.

“Momma, that was just around the corner.  That wasn’t that long ago”,  I responded in disbelief.

“I know”, She said, “I know”.

Happy Mother’s Day Gram Gram!
pictured 1958.

Life After Death

While writing this, my thoughts were all over the place. As you read if the tone feels this way…I
m still not over it…I’m still not there yet.

Memories

I continue to write your birthday on my calendars, but the memory of your departure is also etched in my brain.   As either day approaches, “it” gets a little tough.  The memories of our time together come in harder.  The hate for you leaving is stronger. The acceptance of you being gone is weaker.

The Hurt

It hurts.   It hurts like Hell. This pain is unforgiving because my loved one caused it.  I miss them and I can’t stand them for what they did to me.  It can often feel unbearable. A suffocating helplessness. The feeling of hopelessness, of confusion, of uncertainty. Each day with them gone, I feel weaker…How could they just leave? Why was it allowed to happen?

Celebrate what?

Life is bittersweet.  Everyday someone dies and someone is born.  These are moments of pain and moments of jubilee.  Some cultures see death as a celebration. A completion of their time here on earth to begin their next phase into the afterlife.  

I don’t celebrate this.  Maybe I’m selfish… but I don’t want them to go.  I’ve been told countless times to be strong for myself or for another person when a loved one has died.  Am I not allowed to grieve?  I’ve been told to not cry or not to be so hurt because one day I would see them again.  That’s fine, but I want to see them as they were! I don’t want my last thought of them lying in a casket.  I want to be with them now.  I want to speak with them now…not speaking words into the air, wondering if my beloved hears me. I want to know that they’re receiving the text I still send to their phone and not wonder if a stranger is reading it.

YOU

I miss you and there is nothing anyone or anything can say or do to quench the desire I have for you.  How do I continue to live without you?  There’s a huge part of me that’s missing.  Nothing can fill it, except you…but you’re gone.  No matter how much I scream for you or cry out to you, you’re not coming back. To see you, smell you, and touch you again. 

One Day

They say the days will get better. That one day I’ll be able to think of you or discuss you without crying, without this anger you caused.  Maybe one day it won’t be so bad.  The grief will get better, it will become easier,…it will feel lighter, but I’m not there yet.

*To the reader,

The way this was written feels all over the place. This was how I was feeling at the time of writing. I hope it shows the frustration of emotion from the grief of losing a loved one.*

In My Solitude…

In my solitude, I sit along the sand and I energize myself from the tender touch of you.

In my solitude…

I sit along the sand as the winds lightly blow the waves against the beach.  The sounds and gentle silence relax me. My mind is clear and refreshed.  I am alert and unafraid.  Painful memories ease from my focus. They no longer hurt, they are no longer binding.  I feel peace.

In my solitude…

…my hands are outstretched and my feet are bare.  I energize myself from the tender touch of nature.  A sea of green grass delicately brush against me in the vast open field.  As I open my eyes I gaze into the aquamarine sky above.  The rays of the sun wrap me in warmth.  From a stream, the sounds of flowing water glide across rocks into a brook and enhance the melodies of a bird’s song. I feel calm and alive.  

In my solitude…

… The northern city sounds of horns and sirens are shut out by the security of the doors leading to the second house.  I rub my hands along the mahogany colored wood as I climb the winding stairs and breathe in its familiar scent. I’m Here!  I prepare to be engulfed in overwhelming familial Love.   I am deep in the south amongst the shadows of a hating past, but in the safety of Our land.  In the nearness of my people, and the strength of our history.  Standing near the unseen, of those that came before.  Knowing they are proud of the continuation of what they started.  The traditions will continue.  I feel complete,  I feel pride, and I feel family .

In my solitude…

…I’m with you, held in your embrace.  Feeling secure knowing worry isn’t an option.   Daily experiencing your love for me and only me. Never having to wonder or settle. Never a reason to doubt; I am where I’m supposed to be.  Creating memories… laughing at the past while being a comfort in the present.  Continuing to hope for a greater future. United as one until the glimmer of the stars fade away and the light of the sun overwhelms itself.  I feel me, I feel Us, I feel Forever.

In my solitude.

Continue

It was the worst of times, but we were able to continue.

For some reason during the pandemic I thought I would have a lot to share and have a lot say. With the constant showing of murders, marches, and worldwide deaths shown on the news, I didn’t express much about what I was hearing and witnessing. Maybe because so much seemed to be happening all at the same time. I instead wanted to disappear just to feel safe.

I felt as if I had nothing more to say. Maybe it was too overwhelming to find the words that truly captured the confusion and fear I was internalizing.  My America and Our World was in open chaos. All at a standstill with people looking towards anything or anyone for answers and a true sense of hope.

When I wasn’t consumed with the reality of the world around me, life was …peaceful. I enjoyed the solitude of being shutdown while at home. Being at home became a necessary distraction for me…my Wardrobe, my Leaky Cauldron, my Pandora. The world seemed to be stuck in disarray. This would be a time history would never forget.

So much has happened since 2020. There’s been so much change.   Though the world is no longer at a stand still, confusion and fear still manage to find a way in, but that’s just human nature.  We all have those moments… . I don’t think we’ll get back to a place where all of the world is shut down, but we are still flourishing in a chaotic state. The pandemic brought about improvements in the areas that seemed to be the root of some stagnant issues that erupted during this time regarding medicine, technology, and civil rights. Positives did come out of the negative events taking place.

On a daily basis we are still reminded of the madness and darkness of mankind. When will it ever get better? It’s been 3 years since I have written on my blog. What do I have to say now? That despite the coldness of man’s heart and the evil that walks about the earth, we have to keep believing that if we made it then, we can and we will continue.  

What is Juneteenth

“What is Juneteenth?  June 10th?  Am I saying it right?  Is it a made up word?,”  My mom and I looked around in confusion because we had never heard of this word before.  See, I’m not originally from Texas, and in school, I had always been taught that slavery had ended in 1865.  It wasn’t until I moved to the “Great State of Texas”, that I learned this wasn’t the case for all of the enslaved Africans.

It was then explained to my mom and me, that Juneteenth was a day to celebrate the official ending of slavery in the state of Texas.  With eyes wide open and mouths gaping, it was a surprise to learn that not all slaves in the United States were given freedom at the same time.  These people found out two years later, that they no longer had to endure slavery and that they should have already been free.  The slave master’s knew about it, but wanted to continue slavery for the monetary gains their crops would pull in. How horrible, but incredibly American.  We love that mighty dolla!

I was in the 7th grade at this time and looking back, I still never learned anything about Juneteenth in school, and I was living in Texas at this time.  This information seemed to be left out of the history books.  If it was in the books, it must have been in the back of the book.  You know in the part that’s usually skipped because its near the end of the school year.  I’m a history teacher now, and yep…still not there.

So again, what is Juneteenth? Today, June 19, 2020, marks the 155th anniversary of Juneteenth.  This day has come to be called Jubilee Day, Liberation Day, and Cel-Liberation Day.  On this day in 1865, two and a half years after the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation to free the enslaved people of the states in “rebellion” by President Abraham Lincoln, Federal troops arrived in Galveston, TX.  They were there to gain control of the state and to ensure that all enslaved peoples were given freedom. 

I’m sure this was a bittersweet day.  Finally, 250,000 slaves, over some time, would no longer have to answer to the hardships of a master and would be free. This was a generational prayer answered for freedom from oppression. Only thing now is continued survival in the midst of having nothing. Now, what would they be able to do being black in America?

Facts from History.com

Featured Image: atlantaintownpaper.com

From minuteman-militia.com

I Said it…I Mean it

Tears for George Floyd

Symbols are all around us.  They can be as simple as representing the Golden Arches of a company or they can have a more serious meaning and represent the ideals of spirituality, prosperity, or evil. In high school, I loved analyzing the archetypes and symbolism read in literature during English AP class.  I was amazed at uncovering…

by Kat's Eye View
Change

Black and Bullied

When we stand up for injustice, we are told that we shouldn’t.  Whether peaceful and silent, or loud and violent we’re continuously told that it’s best to keep out of it, but what about the bullied?

by Kat's Eye View

Tears for George Floyd

Symbols are all around us.  They can be as simple as representing the Golden Arches of a company or they can have a more serious meaning and represent the ideals of spirituality, prosperity, or evil.

In high school, I loved analyzing the archetypes and symbolism read in literature during English AP class.  I was amazed at uncovering the “hidden” meaning behind what a character said and did. There was purpose in why the character looked the way they did and in the many details of a scene. From the colors used to the placement of shadows. From the time of day to the type of weather…It was all important. Every detail was done on purpose and added life and mystery to the story. I sometimes tend to look at life in this same way.

Last week it seemed to rain everyday in the Houston area.  I could easily say the rain was an effect of the hurricane that was in the Gulf, but I believe the rain represented the tears of the city. With grey and gloomy skies unable to suppress their tears, the city of Houston mourned the unjust murder of her son, George Floyd. May his death never be forgotten, so that justice will come and that same justice will stay. 

Black Lives Matter

Mural created in memory of George Floyd——Houston,TX.
Change

Black and Bullied

When we stand up for injustice, we are told that we shouldn’t.  Whether peaceful and silent, or loud and violent we’re continuously told that it’s best to keep out of it, but what about the bullied?

by Kat's Eye View
History

What is Juneteenth

“What is Juneteenth?  June 10th?  Am I saying it right?  Is it a made up word?,”  My mom and I looked around in confusion because we had never heard of this word before.  See, I’m not originally from Texas, and in school, I had always been taught that slavery had ended in 1865.  It wasn’t…

by Kat's Eye View

That Time I Tried to Cuss

“I don’t give a damn shit!” I blurted out.  I had done it!  I finally said a curse word…out loud! I know, I know.  I wasn’t pairing the words up correctly, but oh this felt good!

Today, while the Huz-band and I were out for lunch, we heard a young guy, possibly around 18 or 19, use the F word (Fucking) around his mother to describe how great a friend of his was.  We both looked at each other like, “Did he just say that in front of his mom”?  We would have never thought to say anything like that in front of our parents and we’re much older than he is.

This led me to thinking about curse words.  I didn’t grow up with profanity being used in my home.  My parents didn’t use them so the only time I would hear a “bad word” was every now and again on television, whenever I wasn’t watching cartoons, or by the “bad” kids at school.  I remember a time in 5th grade when my classmates decided to start using curse words.  This was a big deal.  The words would be used in the privacy of our peers of course, and during recess.  Pretty much anytime an adult’s ear wasn’t around lurking.

I can remember really trying to decide if I should or shouldn’t participate in this.  Since I grew up in a Christian home, my parents really did their best with trying to instill in me to only do things that would be pleasing to the Lord. That meant that cursing was not an option.  My friends knew that I was a “church girl”, but the peer pressure was still on.

One day a teacher changed their mind on allowing me and a few classmates to do something.  I don’t remember what it was, but the teacher had said we could do something, then they changed their mind and said we couldn’t.  We were all upset, and my friends started cussing away, as best as any fifth graders could do.  I too was very upset, mumbling, and complaining, but I never cursed.

Then my friend Julia said, “Come on, curse.  You know you want to.  It’ll feel good”.

This was 5th grade temptation at its finest.

My response was, “I don’t know how.”

Julia continued with, “Girl, just say whatever you want.  It doesn’t matter.  Just get it out!”

I remained quiet as I thought about Julia’s words.  “Should I give in?” I thought to myself.

“I don’t give a damn shit!” I blurted out.  I had done it!  I finally said a curse word…out loud!  “She gets on my mother-damn nerves!” I added.

I know, I know.  I wasn’t pairing the words up correctly, but oh this felt good!  “That stupid shit woman always messing everything up!” I added.  Yes, I am aware I needed practice and my current students could have cursed circles around me.

Remember, I told ya’ll I wasn’t around people that cursed.  I mostly watched cartoons, so I was doing my best!  I was saying the only words I felt comfortable saying.  I had no idea how to say them so they’d make since, but the point was I had cussed.  Miss Goody-two-shoes had done it!

Julia put her arms around my shoulders and said, “Okay. That’s enough!  Don’t you feel better?”

It did feel good to get the frustration out, but I didn’t feel better.  I felt bad.  I felt horrible.  I quietly asked God to forgive me because I knew I hadn’t made Him proud.  I had done something that wasn’t me.  Something that made me appear to be just like everyone else all so that I could fit in.  This was the last day I used that type of language at school.  Even to this day when Satan’s little minions are working my nerves, I never release the harmonious phrases that swirl in my mind.  Nay will I utter such vile expressions towards the young inhabitants I edify.  Nay I say, Nay!  Although tempting, because they hear these epithets at home and sneakily use them in the hallways, I dare not do the same…I pray.

On a more serious note, the older I get the more I realize why I hear people of the church use profanity.  It’s not because they don’t love God and are not striving to live a life pleasing to him, it’s possibly just because sometimes…a little more vocabulary is needed to express one’s frustrations or even joy.  Sometimes the only way to reach someone is to speak to them in a way they truly understand.  I know there are many places in the world where words considered as curse words, are no big deal whether you go to church or not.  It’s just a part of their daily speaking like saying Hello, Bye, or Leave me alone.

Cursing, I believe, can be an art form.  Some people are truly talented in this area.  They know exactly how to place those words, exactly where they need to go.  Whether to make a story comical or just to be used in general speaking.  To this day I admit that I am not a true participator in the art of cursing and I do make an effort to not use them, but who knows what the future may hold, so don’t try me.  I’m grown now and I have a better grasp on how to put them words together.

Even still, I could never use profanity in front of a parent like that young guy I spoke of earlier did, no matter how grown I am.  These lips would be rattling on the floor.  Could you and would you be able to get away with it?

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Check out a few of my previous posts below:

Featured Image obtained from: rd.com

A Divine Perspective 18: Pride & Retaliation

No longer do we continue to think with our heart or with understanding, but we end up making emotional decisions that can have us walking around looking like a jackass.

Quietly and anonymously I sit, in one of my favorite places.  Surrounded by thousands of words, silently expressed and shared through the medium of literature.  I’m in the process of brainstorming a post for my newly Sunday posting called A Divine Perspective, but all I can focus on is this man walking very closely to me, and a sudden foul odor.  I know this man didn’t just do what I think…did he just walk pass me and fart?  In this type of situation, what do I do?  Should I confront this older gentleman, or nah?  What would this solve? All that would do is get me kicked out, although it would allow this very small population of people to know that I didn’t cause the Funk that is now hovering in the air.

What is that smell

Since I am one to never want to add to the stereotype of the so called “ghetto, loud, aggressive, angry, black person, I chose to not make a fool of myself.  However, as I find a new seat, I will allow him to hear my disgust as I use my inside voice to utter my displeasure and rebuke him for allowing Satan’s minions to exit his boom-boom room.  That’ll teach him! Now he knows how I feel. Hmph!

This made me think about retaliation and how far some people will go to get back at someone who wronged them.  Is it really necessary?  Why do we as a human race feel the need to get back at the one who we feel has wronged us?  Why is this so important and why do we feel “getting back” would bring us satisfaction?

The world is all about the Get Back, Getting Even, the I’mma Show You.  It’s like we have this need for Retaliating.  You see this especially on the reality television shows.  On these shows whenever someone feels insulted, a fight is sure to happen.  Drinks, fists, shoes, and wigs start flying all over the place, because someone’s pride has been damaged and they must retaliate. In other words, the ONLY way to let you know what you not gon’ do and how you not gon’ talk to me or how you not gon’ treat me, is by introducing these hands to your face along with having a nice session of C.Y.O (Cuss You Out) therapy.  In the end, no one is satisfied, everyone involved is hurt, and sometimes laws are broken. Friendships and reputations are challenged and ended because someone had to retaliate.

People!!!  Here me now! We’ve got to do better.  I don’t want to say be the bigger person, but like the Five Heartbeats said, “Two wrongs don’t make a right”.  We become so upset and frustrated because our pride has been chipped, cracked, and shattered.  Then retaliation rears its angry head.  No longer do we continue to think with our heart or with understanding, but we end up making emotional decisions that can lead to biting us in our boom-boom room and have us walking around looking like a jackass.  All of this because of our pride being hurt.  Proverbs 16:18 in the Bible says, “Pride goeth before destruction”.

Don’t allow your pride and your desire to get back at the person that hurt you, bring you to a place that destroys you.  Don’t allow your pride to get the better of you and cause you to end up in a regrettable moment that now has you shaking your head in disbelief, and embarrassment, all the while asking yourself, “What have I done”? Don’t be that person. Think about your family and what this decision could do to them.  Is the situation really worth it?

Someone once said, “He who angers you, conquers you”. Don’t allow anyone to conquer you.  Whether it be yourself or someone attacking your pride. Don’t allow your hurt to cause you to make an emotional attack because your pride has been conquered, and you just had to retaliate.  Be smart in all of your choices no matter how angry you feel.  Think, will this choice have a positive impact or a negative impact?  Be the bigger, better, and smarter person and walk away.  You’ve got too much in life to look forward to, than to allow 30 seconds of anger get the best of you.  Now, go out and live your best Life!

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Read some of my previous Soul Food Sunday Posts.  My Sunday Posts are now called A Divine Perspective.

Read some of my previous posts from during the week.

New Blog Posts Every Sunday, Tuesday, & Thursday

Life, Liberty, & the Pursuit of Being Me

If you’re interested, then you can journey with me as I continue to learn about myself and express my thoughts on Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Being Me.

I’ve thought about changing my blog and starting an online gossip magazine.  It would feature the latest news and gossip on celebrities.  It’d probably get more views am I right?  The thing is, it’s easier to write about the lives of other people. To give opinions on the way they live their lives is easier and possibly more interesting, but it takes a lot of guts to write about the journey you are on.

To expose your own imperfections and inner thoughts.  To share with the world the experiences you’ve had is courageous, I think.  All of those various situations and circumstances I’ve attempted to conceal due to shame from childhood till now. This isn’t something I have to do.  No one is asking me to share these tales and these thoughts. This is something I’ve chosen to do.  To release myself to the thoughts and opinions of others, but on my own terms.  The way I am most comfortable doing so.

It could be due to the fact that I’m fully aware that I have been misunderstood majority of my life.  My dad and I joked about this a few weeks ago because not too many people grew up like me.  Being aware, even at an early age that I am sometimes unrelatable, I’ve attempted to blend in.  It’s been a survival method for me. Not wanting to appear too different because differences lead to being noticed with the possibility of receiving negative consequences.

I use this platform as a way to explain myself.  To showcase why I am the way that I am.  Allowing my introverted-ness to have a voice because you won’t consistently hear it on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or any other Social Media platform.  I just can’t be on Facebook every hour posting something.  I am not a selfie poser that must check the lighting to show the outfit of the day or my newest hairstyle.  I feel uncomfortable doing these things on those sites.  Ironically, I feel more at home on my website, my blog, which is my place of release doing those things.

So this is where I am most freely showing you who I am and the place I feel most safe to do so.  All at my own pace, about whatever I want, and however I want.  I will always as best as I can be respectful….

I’m now okay with being different.  I no longer have the desire to try to blend in and conform.  I am finally okay with being me.   If you’re interested, then you can journey with me as I continue to learn about myself and express my thoughts on Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Being Me.

Thank you for reading. Please like, comment, and subscribe!

Please read my previous blog post: Venting: Feeling Unappreciated

Accomplish Something

So as I’m thinking about this topic and formatting it to black and white, I realize that I’m wrong.

In one of my last posts, The Follow Through, I mentioned that I wanted to accomplish something.  That’s not to say I’ve never accomplished anything in my life.  The official definition of the word accomplishment is something that has been achieved successfully. Technically, I’ve done this.  I have been successful in life, having therefore accomplished certain regular life goals.  For me though, I see an accomplishment as something done that isn’t a part of the regular routine of life or a challenge.

I became a teacher and have had the privilege of teaching close to 2,000 students all of these years.  That number doesn’t include students that I’ve had to encourage and reprimand that weren’t on my class rosters.  I’ve been married to the man beyond my wildest dreams for 12 years, happily, which in itself is no small feat.  Not everyone can say the same while smiling.  However, these aren’t the things I’m speaking about when it comes to my definition of an accomplishment.

I see an accomplishment as living in another country for like a year or backpacking across Europe (it doesn’t necessarily have to be Europe).  Making a living from a hobby, losing a tremendous amount of weight, preparing and running in a marathon, or becoming an entrepreneur….  These are the types of things I feel are accomplishments because they aren’t necessarily planned out, not the regular and expected, but the unexpected.  They aren’t the typical things that go along with the the everyday plans of life.  They’re just things that one chooses to do and follows through with it.

So as I’m thinking about this topic and formatting it to black and white, I realize that everything I said I don’t count as an accomplishment actually is an accomplishment.  Getting married and twelve years later still enjoying it are two accomplishments in one. Attending and completing college is another, I went through some unplanned challenges but was still able to succeed in walking across that university stage.   Even my career of being a teacher.  You may not believe it, but teaching is umm, how can I say this?  It’s not for the timid and it isn’t the colorful world of crayons, bows, and story time.  It’s uh,… wooo, something else, but I’ll leave the details (the good and the bad) in another post.  I will say that dealing with depression, self doubt, and the feeling of inadequacy from administration and colleagues can be a lot, but making it through is an accomplishment.

The problem is me.  I have to change my view and the way I look at life.  Accomplishments are more than just the big write the vision and make it plain things.  They are the dictionary definition.  Those memorable situations that brought along with it some challenges.  Not just the challenges themselves.  Accomplishments are things done that aren’t part of the routine of life.  It’s just not fair for me to only acknowledge accomplishments, through one frame of thinking.

We all have achieved something successfully, whether it was planned or unexpected.  No matter how it’s viewed.  Go ahead and give yourself a pat on the back, say a thank you God, and know that you were meant to succeed in that past or present endeavor.

Being Successful in whatever you’ve put your mind to do is making an accomplishment.

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Back after Break

I can’t believe how ready I was to return to school.  To be back from break.  This year has been different.  I’m not as stressed as I would normally be.

I can’t believe how ready I was to return to school yesterday.  To be back from break.  I had a good two weeks off and of course I wouldn’t have minded a little more time off, but surprisingly I was really looking forward to returning to school.  I honestly don’t know when the last time I’ve felt this way about a holiday break ending.

This year has been different for me.  I’m not as stressed as I would normally be.  This school year is more relaxed, which is taking some getting used to. This is the first year that I’ve had this sense of freedom EVER in my career.  I’ve never not taught a state tested subject until this year, so I’m starting to feel as if I can be like famed singer Jill Scott and “live my life like its Golden”!

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The pressure is gone.  This would normally be the time of year that I would be preparing my students for their test, with intensity.  Obviously preparation begins as soon as the first lesson is taught in August, but after Winter Break lessons are taught with even more rigor.

Yesterday, before I left to go home, I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.  For one thing, I was able to leave  work on time.  I’m normally not able to do that, so it felt odd.  Like there was something that I had forgotten to do.  There seems to always be something for me to do that didn’t get done during the day or something that urgently must be handled for the next day.  There’s always copies to run, power points to complete, parent calls to make, emails to catch up on, grading, or revising lessons.  I’m not used to this feeling of release; at least not in January. I normally tend to feel burden-less after my subject’s state test has been given, which is around April or May (school ends in late May).

Testing Season

There’s always this pressure for your students to do really well.  As if their scores are a reflection of the teachers ability to teach.  This can be a bit stressful since it’s as though many students seem to not really care about testing or classwork until it’s actually time for testing or report cards.  I’ve always been made to feel that the only way to prove I’m “doing my job” well, is if my students show that they are passing these mandated state tests.  A high passing rate means a teacher is fulfilling their job requirements of teaching! #sarcasm

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If these tests were very necessary for student scholastic success, then why aren’t they required in private schools?  I’ve always gone above and beyond in making sure my students are prepared and ready, but the excess pressures that are added on to an already stressful job is unnecessary.  It begs you to ask the question, “What did I do in life to deserve this torturous hell on Earth”?

So again, yes.  Yes, Yes, Yes!!! I am glad to no longer be under the heal of oppression.  It’s actually helped me to look forward to coming in to work…on a Monday and after a two week break!

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Read my Previous Post: A Divine Perspective 15: Looking Back

Read my Previous Post: Divorce is NOT an Option

  • Featured Image Photo Credit: weareteachers.org
  • Photo Credit: Jill Scott album cover/UK version:Sbme Import
  • Photo Credit: Bugs Bunny/Daffy Duck/: freedomworks.org/Looney Tunes
  • Photo Credit: Comic Strip: Oregon Saving Our Schools
  • Photo Credit: memegenerator.net

 

A Divine Perspective 16:Walking in Expectation

As children of God we should have the same expectations for the promises of God, that my pups have for the food from my plate. You’ve got to have the faith to believe that God will do it and then walk with Expectation.

A Divine Perspective 16: Walking in Expectation

My puppies, have such a great life!  They have their toys, snacks, and as much playtime with mommy and daddy as we possibly can manage.  Every blanket we have for tv watching somehow becomes theirs, and they then become snuggle blankets.  These pups know they are loved.  Friends and family say they are spoiled.  My response, “They aren’t spoiled, they’re just well taken cared of.”

They do have a tendency to be barkers towards strangers and anything out of order, and they get excited when it’s time to eat.   Let me clarify, They get excited when it’s time for my husband and myself to eat. They seem to believe that the Huz-band and I are supposed to share our food with them.  Meaning, they beg.  When it is time for us to eat, all of their focus is turned to us.  Kody uses his eyes for intense staring, Kasey holds his front paws together while moving them up and down as if he were praying, and they both sometimes become vocal with low growling, since obviously we aren’t noticing their attention-grabbing ways of begging.  They have such high expectations, and faith that we will eventually give in to them and sometimes we do.

As children of God we should have the same expectations for the promises of God, that my pups have for the food from my plate.  They’re so used to getting blessed that even when we bring shopping bags in the house they try to look and see if anything is for them.  Like them, we need to be looking for and seeking out our blessings.

Our heavenly father is the creator of the universe and the giver of marvelous ideas.  He has everything you need.  Just ask, in his name.  Have the faith that he will provide and then walk in the expectation that God wants the best for you.

That idea that you know could have only come from God: Do It, Stay Focused, & Follow Through with it!  If He gave you the idea, why wouldn’t He help you to see it through? He’s blessed you before.  He’s shown himself to answer your prayers and to give you the desires of your heart before, so why wouldn’t he do it again? You’ve got to have the faith to believe that God will do it and then walk with Expectation. Once He’s provided, share your testimony with others, so that they may know of the goodness of the Lord.

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My Puppy Boys: Kasey (Polar Bear) & Kody (Panda Bear) begging while I’m eating.

Read my Previous blog post : Divorce is NOT an Option

Read my Previous Soul Food Sunday post: A Divine Perspective 15: Looking Back

Divorce is NOT an Option

It was April 1992 when my parents finalized their divorce.  I didn’t know what the word meant, but I didn’t like the sound of it. I knew that nothing good came from it.

Divorce is NOT an Option

*If I’m not mistaken, it was April 1992 when my parents finalized their divorce.  Being an only child, this was difficult to deal with… alone.  I remember the time that led up to this immortalized memory.  The time when it seemed things were looking worse for my parents.  They were arguing more than usual and I remember days when my mom wouldn’t get out of the bed.  I didn’t know what was happening nor what any end result could be. I just tried to act as normal as possible.

*I remember the day I was told that my parents would be getting a DIVORCE.  Hearing this word was like a sudden punch in the gut. I didn’t know what the word meant, but I didn’t like the sound of it.  It was a word that sounded mean, evil, and disastrous.  I knew that nothing good could come from it, and for some reason I knew that my life would be forever changing. This was a decision that, at the time, my parents believed was best for them.

When my huz-band and I were dating, we knew we had found “the one” and because of my experience with divorce, we decided that divorce would be “against our religious beliefs”. I don’t believe anyone wants to go through the agony and pain of divorce. We would do everything within our power to prevent that word from being a choice. Divorce would not be an option. We promised each other to discuss everything, no matter how challenging it may be, and to continue to always work on our communication.    I’m sure the Huz-band has had times of thinking “What the hell have I gotten myself into”?  If I’ve thought and murmured these words, I know he has… but we have never once lost faith in Us.  We both have had our moments of being the more challenging one. Of course we will because challenges will come, but we have never allowed our pride, emotions, or frustrations to cause us to walk away.

I thank God that I was blessed with a spouse that continues to be patient with me even when I can be difficult and emotional and spoiled and unsure.  He’s never tried to change me, but has only encouraged me to be my best self.  We lift each other up.  We hold each other accountable and have realized that we are partners, a team orchestrated by God…not by chance.   We started off as friends, and unexpectedly our friendship grew into something magical.  I was recently asked if I could imagine myself without him.  I could, but I’d desperately be trying to get him back.  There’s no one else for me.

Happy Anniversary to Me & the Huz-band!!

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*In no way was this meant to insult, embarrass, or degrade my parents. I love them dearly and understand that sometimes difficult choices have to be made in order to gain personal peace.

Check out my last Blog Post—>The Follow Through

December 29, 2018:  Love is You!

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