The Strange Life of Grief

Grief is what we feel when we read the newspaper or watch our preferred news channel only to learn that 17 lives have been destroyed in Florida.

Grief wearies the body

It troubles the soul

It can be about life or death

Or about dreams untold.

It may speak of unspoken hopes

It can be about ideas or places

When it has us against the ropes

It keeps us longing for those other spaces.

It takes hold, sneaks up from behind.

Its clutches are strong and forceful,

It has many things to remind

And no one is respected, no one.

It comes from wherever it comes,

And it goes wherever it goes.

Grief strangles with its hands,

Squeezes the neck of joy.

Wherever it may land

While it removes the colors from the rainbow.

It makes the tastiest of

Morsels taste bland.

Grief asks a lot of questions

It gives but few answers.

It tells us not where we are destined

It forces us into chasms of hang on and let go.

Its forces are vast

And uncontrollable.

It thrives on the past

Its thirst is like the desert or a rainstorm that appears from nowhere.

Its hunger is like an

Animal that is

Lurking about looking for prey.

Grief is like the grave with

No body found down deep inside it.

Grief dulls the senses, robs one of

Words, and

Makes itself the focus as people stare.

Grief keeps us up all night

Filling us with fright.

Grief keeps us occupied all day

Creating things to hold at bay.

Grief reminds us of things we wished

Telling us that all is still amiss.

Grief beats us at every turn

Reminding us that we’ll never learn.

Grief tells us of those who are gone

Reminding us that we’re not really strong.

Grief may let us know who is here

Whispering to our  souls not to hold too near.

Grief is a circle goes round and round

Driving us all right into the ground.

Grief has no beginning or end

When it will leave can only depend.

So, I’ll continue to give voice

To the grief in my soul.

Until that day I’ll rejoice

With all its stories finally told.

Grief. A strange thing.

Grief. A very strange thing.

Grief. It gives us hope.

Summary: African American Land Acquisition and Loss: Reconstruction to the 21st Century

Here is the summary paragraph of a manuscript that is now off to the editor.  Maybe the document will be worthy of publication or it won't.  Maybe the editor will recommend minor revisions or major revisions. Now is the time of waiting the editor's professional opinion.  That opinion counts.  

In retrospect, here are some things I have experienced in reading and researching the last several months:  1) racism has a long, long, brutal history in our country; 2) we have not resolved it yet, and maybe we'll never resolve it; 3) America is a country that has embraced violence from the very beginning; 4) African Americans at Freedom were way, way behind the curve in terms of wealth, property, and belongingness as equal citizens; 5) I cannot escape my own history of whiteness and enslavement of Africans; 6) life here in the USA under the current President* looks very similar to life in the USA before, during, and after Reconstruction; 7) we still live in a land of the privileged and the not so privileged; and 8) as a nation, we have never repented of what our ancestors did to American Indians or enslaved Africans. 

"The path from the shores of Africa to modern day farming via the Antebellum South, Reconstruction, and into Freedom was an arduous and painful process that few can begin to imagine. As millions embarked and ten percent fewer disembarked, a dark day in American history had dawned. Removed from their countries, cultures, and languages, these enslaved Africans both toiled under the brutal whip of slavery and invented ways to maintain their personhood. Their African worlds involved a rural, agricultural context. This was not lost as they were forcibly removed to the U.S. They inventively created ways and means of preserving some sense of dignity that involved economics led for some to property ownership and ultimately to landownership. While the overwhelming majority of freed Africans did not come to be landowners, significant numbers did eventually own their own land, tilling the soil the ways they did in Africa and in the days of slavery. Following a period of immense growth in ownership with all of the attendant features pertaining to owning the land, a precipitous slide toward disenfranchisement and land loss occurred, which remains relatively unabated to this day. Primary and secondary data sources were used to capture land acquisition as well as loss across regions of the South. The data sources are not without their problems and must be explored tenaciously with a high degree of academic acumen. The reasons behind land loss must also continue to be explored including systemic racism, USDA policies, heir property and partition sales, and other factors. Stories of land loss must be heard because their stories are worthy of the hearing."

What Are Those Tears in My Eyes?

What are those tears in my eyes?

Do they take me to another place

or do they remind of that space

and will they help me find the grace

and to continue to trace

the ways so as to someday see your face

or do they give me the energy to continue the race

of life to chase the never ending ways that memories intrude

and when the Holy One exudes

that majestic go and preach to the people beyond your reach

to those whose lives are lived on the edge of the chasm and teach

us that this ongoing battle over who owns

their soul

and who stole

and who throws the stones

and over the world still roams

and yet they have the right to speak

and eat and live and cry and die and not so meek

and before that to feed their children right from the start

and to feel their own need and to give us a generous heart

to heed their yearnings to build them a house

to place the possessions of the man his children his spouse

not by the color of their skin

feeling deeply the sin

of those who dwell within

the house of the evil one

who still lives under the same warm sun

of all of us

but to embrace the grace

that embraces us all

lest we fall

into misery of judgment and hate

and find ourselves with an empty plate

heaped up and running over with the fate

that we deserve

when we failed to serve

and when we have become a shell

on our way to hell

and of what service there could have been

had we loved all of God’s children

less than the big gun

from which we run

and on the walk-ways we see the blood

the deep red blood

where once they stood

now they cower in fear

that the end is near

while we ponder and pontificate

until it is too late

for that which we hate

and while we wait

another one plans the scheme

of which they dream

to tell a story of suffering and woe

and we are the foe

we have become

when our time is near we stop and pause

know that we spent our lives in a sacred cause

and retrieve the world from the grimy paws

of the evil one

because our race is run

but Lord you gave us strength

that brought us from the brink

of doubt and fear

and you were near

every step of the way

of the journey when you fed our souls

and you made us bold

to proclaim the truth

that cuts to the root

protect the babies and in them we hope

that when we are at the end of our rope

that we find strength to cope

with a world gone mad

and we find it sad

that we love our guns

see us make them run

just lead us out of the wilderness

of our own morose and madness into a better place

where we can see your face

because it looked a whole lot like those of another race

and their cries of sorrow and joy

it all began in the stable with that little boy

when evil and good

could be divided like we knew it would

just like that Red Sea of old

when they made it across

and they knew that you were boss

they left behind comfort and all that they lost

and the land was dry

and every tear-filled eye

and every heart was undivided and relieved

but on to the destiny of a wilderness wandering

that would lead them all to pondering

much like today when all around us we see and despair

there is too much to share

so we find our own people

who may not be inside under the steeple

for they may be out and about

looking for things about which to shout

and when I stop and listen

I know I am home

never more to roam

just to stand and sing

and let our hearts ring

for what is true and just

we have found it we must.

We find no peace at the end of a gun

When our race we’ve run

At the grave we stand

Not really part of your plan

forgive us we pray

lead us into a better day

when the life we save

this side of the grave

may be that girl or boy

now playing with that worn out toy

may we find more joy

before the children we destroy

What are the tears in my eyes?

Hanging Out with Jesus Might Get You in Trouble

Hanging out with Jesus

            Or so that text seemed to say;

Those folks were pretty new to him and him to them

            So they moseyed off by themselves to get more acquainted.

Hanging out around the nets

            Or the tax collection booth or under some tree;

But now they’re hanging out with the Man from Nazareth

            Just wondering how it played out.

How much was Him laying it on the line

            Or telling stories;

How much was a question and answer period

            As they decided whether to continue the journey.

Or, were their minds already made up

            So that this hanging out together business

Was just a deepening of the relationship

            Prepping for what was ahead.

Who knew that the woman at the well was coming

            Who knew that the woman taken in adultery was next

Who knew that the man with leprosy was somewhere down the road

            Who knew that the seas raging was going to be part of the plan.

Did they know how their views of life would change,

            Did they know that what was sacred would get flipped,

Did they know that things they’d always known would get scrambled,

            Did they know that the rules would be turned upside down.

Surely they did not know that He’d weep with those who wept,

            Surely they did not know that women would support His ministry,

Surely they did not know that the privileged would be threatened,

            Surely they did not know that the blind would see and the lame walk.

Maybe they had an inkling that the poor were his focus,

            Maybe they had an inkling that justice was His middle name,

Maybe they had an inkling that they would see a different righteousness,

            Maybe they had an inkling that they did not have a clue.

The blind could see, the deaf could hear,

            The pushed to the curb invited to the inner circle,

The untouchable would be embraced,

            The ones left beside the road would be taken to the inn.

What are we to learn about the Man from Nazareth,

            What are we to learn from the way He walked,

What are we to learn from the hard-headed followers,

            What are we to learn from their time of hanging out together.

What if I were to hang out with Him for a while,

            Who would I stand up for and who would be embraced,

Would it be the immigrants, the poor, the LGBTQ, the person of color,

            Or could it maybe be those without insurance or those who are homeless.

Would I yell for justice to the leaders of the land

            Who say disparaging things about women or the disabled,

Would I scream from the rooftops against those who have sold the church

            And the Kingdom for a nationalistic agenda.

Would I march when some are sitting satisfied,

            Would I write words of discomfort to those who’ve already decided,

Would I donate to the causes of justice that trouble the privileged,

            Would I join up for those who are leading these efforts.

Hanging out with Jesus just might get some of us in trouble.

Something is Happening in America

These words are not my own. They come from a young woman who writes and says it better than anyone I know. Thanks, Shena, for allowing me to share your story on this page. I hope those of us who read this post will read the words and weep. Read them. Weep. Do something. Do anything. Do something. Do something that makes racial profiling a thing of the past.

"A sad reality of being black in America. The guy in his Snapchat put as his caption “Racist, lol,” but there’s nothing funny about it...

Just like it wasn’t funny a few weeks ago when I was looking for my new office space, and the owner, upon seeing me, brought me into the conference room and grilled me for 15 minutes about the type of client I would be seeing. He kept asking me questions about their noise level, telling me he can’t have any kids running around his building, stating how this is a professional building and needing me to understand that they keep a “certain type of atmosphere” here, while interrupting me to ask me the same questions again.

Foolishly, I still put in a rental application because the space was gorgeous, and upon calling my references, he still calls me back and says “it just doesn’t sit right in [his] gut what I’m trying to do.”

What?!! What am I trying to do? Since when is therapy provocative?

He proceeds to try to ask me the same questions as before to which I cut him off and say I’m not answering any more questions and will be moving on.

This happened 5 minutes from where I live.

And then at HEB, my favorite place on earth, I was chased down by a CSM who thought I stole some post-it’s, after spending $100 on a previous order at the self check out.

Again... what?!!

In that instance, O and I walked away incredulous in silent shock at first at how small that questioning made me (us) feel, before doing what you have to do when these things happen which is shake them off (O made a joke to break the tension) and keep going.

These experiences, though common, are never those I never get used to. Sometimes I live in my little diversity bubble of friends and serving black and brown kids at the school and my rainbow of private practice clients so much that when I step out, I’m sadly reminded that the rules are different for me.

To some, I am ghetto, unprofessional, a thief, a danger, ignorant, poor, etc until proven otherwise.

To those who read the article below and watched the videos and thought, “Well, I understand where they’re coming from... they have to do their job...” your thinking and excusal of this is part of the problem. You are biased and have racist thoughts, and need to challenge it if you want to grow. You need to assess why this level of scrutiny was appropriate for him, and I hope you would land on that it wasn’t."

James Conley III added a photo and 4 videos — at Old Navy Jordan Creek Tc.

January 30 at 6:03pm · West Des Moines, IA · 

Today I was racially profiled by the Old Navy store in West Des Moines, Iowa in Jordan creek. I was accused that I didn't pay for my blue bubble jacket that I got for Christmas that I wore into the store. As I was checking out to purchase some hoodies, I was asked if I wanted to also purchase the jacket that I was wearing. First, I started laughing because I didnt believe what I was hearing. The store manager Beau Carter was very unprofessional and stereotyped me because I was a Black male. He says "anytime someone wears Old Navy clothing they have to always scan that customers clothing to insure that it was previously purchased". (Where do they do that at?) Every time I go to this store I have on my same exact winter blue jacket and have never been asked to scan my clothing and the previous "non-black" customers had on identical apparel as me from old navy but was never asked to scan their clothing. Then after they scan my jacket they try to make me repay for it?? Finally the District Manager Shannon (who refused to give out her last name) came out and I made her check the surveillance tape to prove that her and her fellow employees were in the wrong for racially profiling me because of the color of my skin. Once she confirmed that I was telling the truth (after watching the tape) she never came back out to apologize to me nor did the store manager Beau Carter as you can see in my videos below. #RacialProfiling #CrazyWorld #NoMore #OldNavy #VeryDisappointed#ThankGodForKeepingMePoised #Repost #Share

Patient Continuum Services in Translational Settings: Theory and Technology to Advance Specialized Counseling

The authors of this poster session are deeply concerned about the quality of services delivered in the field of regenerative medicine.  We are also concerned that services are available to all, not just to those who can write the big checks.  We are hoping that stem cell research will advance and that cures will be found, and that along the way, the health insurance industry will do what is right,  cover the costs of the procedures. Please click on the image if you'd like to see the text that accompanies the visual.