"Christians who remain neutral and complacent over race matters in contemporary media need to look closer at the life of Jesus. He was NOT supposed to talk to the woman at the well because of her race, but He did. A ministry that does not address the issues of it's members is not a ministry I would like to be a part of. Yes, I am a Christian, but I'm also a black female who understands her position in this world. I refuse to remain silent in order to allow white Christians feel more comfortable. And as far as I'm concerned it's white Christians who speak less about race issues. Speak up for the very thing our God spoke out against! Look at the body of Christ. Your Black brothers and sisters are hurting in their community and you have nothing to say? If a church claims to be diverse and multi-ethnic/cultural, then speak on all issues of all cultures, not the convenient and comfortable issues."

I decided to add my twitter rant after I read the comments on Lecrae's Instagram. I was literally drawn to tears at the things I was reading because of his social advocacy posts regarding the Black community, murder rates, and police brutality. The comments were coming from white (brothers in Christ). Calling Lecrae a racist, claiming to unfollow and even justifying the death of Mike Brown. Someone even had the audacity to tell Lecrae to "keep his mind on Christ and not on worldly things." As if Christ never told us to help the poor and homeless, as if Proverbs 31:8-9 means nothing.

What I've realized is that it's impossible to be a Black Christian. They don't want us to discuss our Blackness. They don't want us to be too Black. Just Black enough. Honestly, it hurts to know that white brothers and sisters in Christ are actually blind and ignorant on these issues. Just as white privilege is real so is white Christian privilege. White Christians, for the most part, are able to speak out on issues, post certain pictures, and do certain things without the ramifications of Black Christians. It's simply the reality that I've grown aware of.

Honestly, it hurts. It hurts that even in a community when we're supposed to bear one another's burdens, members choose whose burdens to bear.

Thank God for artists like Sho Baraka and Propaganda. Lovers of Christ who are Black excellence. God bless them always, all ways.

With you. [II] // 8.10.14

Yesterday I saw the super moon with you as we drove the back roads through rich land.

It was so full, so big, and so bright, like a reflection of our hearts at that very moment.

I would have taken a picture, to put on this here blog, but I dared not let go of your hand.

The last time I saw the sky as beautiful, I was with you.

And it was then that I never wanted to be with anyone but you, while under the beauty of God's creation.

Guest.

It's an early Sunday morning in northern Ohio, a state I've never been before, and I crawl out of the box bed trying not to wake my three girlfriends. Although it's 7 am here, my body is fully aware that it operates on central time zone and tries to remind me that it's truly 6 am. But I needed to get up. I needed to eat breakfast.

After locating the modest continental breakfast, I make a plate of eggs and silver dollar waffles (Who know waffles came in silver dollars??), and a side of warm oatmeal, yogurt, and an almost too ripe banana. I take a few bites to get familiar with my plate and then crack open "Eat, Pray, Love," using my banana as a paperweight to keep the pages down as I scarf my meal.

A lady, whom has been there since I got off the elevator, greeting me with coffee in hand, turned to me and said "What a scholar." I looked up from my book to a bright smile and kind eyes. Thank you, as I offered a smile just as warm. She then walked away to a corner to accompany her husband, leaving me alone with my book at the breakfast bar.

I seem to always do this; more times than not. Granted I don't go to hotels often because I don't travel often, I find a sense of peace and solitude to eat breakfast among strangers who don't know my story and I don't know their names. To get lost in a novel over sub-par breakfasts' while being completely aware of the mysterious presence of others.

I want to always be a guest. I want to always eat breakfast in cities not known, among people who become less than strangers after the first exchange of words.

I want to always be a guest to a city willing to host me. To invite me in with their coffeehouses and friendly travelers in hotel lobbies. To introduce me to their culture and art museums and bad habits.

I want to be anonymous but completely at home wherever I go. I long to be a guest in cities I may or may not see again.

What two year olds have taught me

Today is officially a month since I started childcare, and man haven't I learned a lot.

The World is your Oyster

Or better yet, the world is your playground. If you can't find the fun, then create it wherever you are. For the past few months I've been feeling stuck, as if I'm missing out on all of the fun. What a ridiculous thought. While I'm in my current location and situation, I might as well make the best of it. Wherever I am, at this moment, I have the ability to create my own happiness.

Note to self: [II]