Maybe I Need to Quit Waiting.........

The temporary housing that my wife and I are living in is rather quiet this morning. She is over at church facilitating what she facilitates for a "ladies Bible class." She laughs and says that her job there is "herding cats." I'm not sure that the elderly women, most older than her, would call themselves cats, but I'm reasonably sure that they would chuckle because of their love and fondness for her. 

In the quiet, I have read a few pages from a new acquaintance, David Lamotte, singer, songwriter, book writer, musician, and speaker. Here is his page. I'm eager to buy his book and read it, maybe again and again. His Ted Talks are pretty amazing. I'd recommend that you check them out. 

One of his life experiences and reflections upon it stopped me in my tracks. 

And it dawned on me. 

I have been waiting too long to live the rest of my life, the best of my life. 

I have been waiting for my body to be cancer-free. 

I have been waiting for the State Farm adjuster to get off of his a** and get things going so that water damage in our house can be repaired and my wife and I can get back to where we started back in August. Yes, if you read a previous post here on this blog, you'll know that we have been at this madness since August 26, and today is January 29. We've been stuck now for five months whereas it all could have been done and over with at the three month mark, or perhaps earlier. 

That lengthy paragraph illustrates the point that I am making. I have been waiting for the State Farm adjuster to get off of his lazy a** and get things moving. 

It's easy to get stuck in a rut, especially when the rut is not of your choosing. Ruts can make victims of all of us. 

This morning one of those moments happened that was indeed a moment of grace on a cold and rainy day. 

I first met Gary Grant, president of the Black Farmers and Agriculturalists Association back in 2005. At that time, I was weary of directing the MFT program at Abilene Christian University. A normal tenure of a chair, or program director was two years, but due to a number of things beyoung our control happened and my tenure lasted close to ten years. A doctoral level associate was ready to take over the reins and I wanted to get out of her way so she could have a fresh start without me onsite. 

I'd been working some with Black farmers and decided that a faculty renewal grant and a semester's absense would be good for her, the program, and me. The faculty committee gave me a sizeable grant so I could travel the South and Midwest and interview Black farmers. First, though, I had to connect with a person who could open doors for me. That person was Gary Grant. 

It was a humbling thing to be tutored by Gary. I swallowed my pride several times as he "coached me up." Thanks to him and to the Vice President of BFAA, Dr. Ridgley Muhammad, in Dawson, GA, I was able to interview many farmers and families. Those interviews are transcribed and in Tillery's Historical Archives in Tillery, NC. 

Since then, our paths have taken numerous directions, and my wife and I love Gary and his family very much. 

Then, in 2019 as Shoun Hill and I were in the process of interviewing and filming for the documentary, our paths took us to Silver Spring, MD and the former director of the Office of Civil Rights at USDA, Lloyd Wright, a gentleman that I'd seen in August, 1997, at a mediation for a Black farmer. From there, we made our way to NJ and to the home of Lawrence Lucas, president emeritus of the USDA Coalition of Minority Employees. Our interview with Lawrence lasted some five hours as he was full of information and perspectives, all of which captivated me and all of which is on video tape as we speak. You'll see photos and a brief bio of both Lloyd and Lawrence as well as the Grant family on the web page for the film. 

And this morning, we all three connected, Lawrence from NJ, Gary from NC, and me from TX. It dawned on me that I was in the presence via the magic of iPhones and three-way calling of a rare opportunity, a moment of grace. I was in the midst of a conversation with two legends in the Black Farmer Movement. I was in the presence of greatness. That is my attribution, not theirs as they are more humble than that. 

Lawrence and I both entered the movement in different ways in 1994, him in DC and me in Texas. He as an advocate and me as a hired consultant for Black farmers cases that were being mediated before USDA and DOJ. I've written that story a couple of times in these pages. I owe James Myart a lot. This link has some of how his story and mine intertwined. 

Gary had entered the movement much, much earlier. His father was a Black farmer. He knew what the challenges were. He saw racism face to face and it was ugly. He and his sister and her son speak of some of these things in the documentary. He had fought tenaciously to hold on to his parents' land for decades and they have succeeded in doing so, honoring his father's request not to let anybody, especially the USDA get his land. The land is still in the family. 

But this morning, three long time friends were on the phone. We talked, laughed, asked and answered questions as to our health, families, and the state of affairs in our country. The conversation lasted an hour. It was intense at times as we discussed the political climate and what we have to face and endure over the next four years, or longer. 

The Movement is important to the three of us. Fairness, equity, and addressing racism and racist policies at USDA runs through our veins. And what makes these men so amazing at what they do, among other things, is their mutual ability to be inclusive in their thinking and actions. They are not jealous of others' involvement. I am living proof of that. For twenty years I have been included in the justice work that involves Gary Grant. For some six years, I have been connected in the justice work of Lawrence Lucas. My life will never be the same again, no matter who long I live. 

At times, many times, during the course of that hour, I simply said nothing and listened. I listened to two of my heroes in the Movement. I didn't have to stay quiet, and I really didn't for long, because these are friends as well as legends. They at different times and different places opened doors for me to walk through as an advocate and participant in the movement. They are the heroes and the legends of the Movement. I sensed that I was in the midst of greatness. 

And so I listened to their discussion, and how they disagreed without being disagreeable. I listened to their mutual fondness for each other and for me, and mine for them. I listened and tried to absorb the beauty of the moment as long-time friends sparred and laughed with and for each other. I listened as they grasped the fact that they were toward the end of their lives, both in their 80s, and me in my 70s, but the DNA of justice still shaped and informed their bodies, minds, and spirits. 

I wanted to memorialize this conversation this morning because none of us know how many more of these moments we will have. We don't know how much longer we'll have the strength to speak truth to power inside the Beltway and beyond. As I quipped to them, "We are the aging of America," and they agreed. 

We have more to do especially during this crucial time with a new president who seems to be more powerful than the last time, as he gathers his loyalists around him, all of whom empower him further. We will be dealing with a new USDA secretary. It looks like she'll be the woman who graduated from A&M who grew up in small town Glen Rose, Texas. 

Each day is a blessing and a gift. Being in one's "right mind" in each day is a gift. It's obvious that we are never promised more than we have at the moment. 

In the words of Mary Oliver in her beautiful poem, "Poem 133: The Summer Day," and her last line, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your wild and precious life?"

Gary, Lawrence, and Waymon are doing what we have planned to do our wild and precious lives.

And today I get to do my life in the company of Gary Grant and Lawrence Lucas, and, yes, just maybe I'm tired of waiting.