The worst sound is a phone that never rings. Such is the story of my life as a single woman. Equally disturbing is an unfulfilled promise to “Call you later…” Seeing the non-caller’s real time posts on social media dispels all myths of their busyness, illness or sudden death. Instead it means that you’re simply not on their list of things to do, they’re sick of of you, or you’re dead…to them, lol.

Today almost everyone has their own cell phone, even some of my 1st grade students. Yet with nostalgia my mom still speaks of party lines. Copper wire being of short supply, once upon a time people actually shared phone service. Private calls didn’t exist, but instead subscribers, anyone in the neighborhood who had the same number or was “on your party line,” could listen in on your conversation.

Frightening.

Using phone books and 411 for information is also obsolete. Switchboards, tangled cords, busy and off the hook alarms are all communication of old. And so I was jolted by the present reality, when my phone recently and unexpectedly made a loud noise to warn and text me about the resurgence of the pandemic. It seems these smartphones now have a Ph.D. Cell phones are the new black book, clock, encyclopedia, flashlight, navigation system, planner, FEMA…you name it. But don’t leave home without it. Even sheltered-in-place I bet your phone is within arm’s reach. There is, however, someone who knows more than Google, delivers better than Amazon Prime and with no need for PPE, one who sticks closer than any brother. There is one who will always answer. Jesus.

These last 8 or 9 months have allowed me to put a lot of distractions on silent. I’ve come to realize that while I’ve upgraded my phone, my faith not so much. I go around carelessly speaking more death than life, the enemy all the while listening.

Frightening.

I sometimes forget that Jesus is on the mainline and instead tell any and everybody else what I want. In emergencies I refuse to free the line and allow God to take care of it. Then when He doesn’t answer as fast as I would like I complain, “Can You hear me now?” All the while it’s me who is disconnected. I am grateful that it is never too late to restart. I don’t have to worry about losing everything because Jesus saved me. Even when my signal is weak, The Holy Spirit has the power to get me through.
Any other message to the contrary is scam likely.

“Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.”
-Jeremiah 33:3

Verzuz is an online series created as a source of entertainment and education. It was created in an effort to add excitement to our now mostly inside lives, as well as to enlighten and open the eyes (and ears) of viewers to past and present hip hop. Two very prominent producers battle over who is best for our listening pleasure. At the end of the day, it is up to the audience to declare a winner for themselves.

A music lover, my mood determines what, or who I listen to. Work, play, exercise, praise—all evoke different genres. When I’m writing, instrumentals if not silence is the background. Anything more would be a distraction. Upbeat and high energy are the rhythm to my recreation, whereas words are everything when worshipping. My life in general has only two artists in particular on its playlist, God and Satan.

I would love to tell you that my soundtrack is a Psalm, but that would not be the gospel truth. I have listened and got caught up in my share of “trap” music. You would think that I would be bored with the melodies of DJ Deceiver. Though he never seems to tire of spinning, his beats are always the same. Steal, kill, destroy. Repeat. Steal, kill, destroy. Repeat. The volume might change; what starts out as a subtle slow jam, can turn into a concert of convincing, confusion and condemnation. If I’m not careful his tune gets stuck in my head all day. Beezlebub got bars; he can rap the clothes off of you…literally. He is the Father of Lies and the king of the remix. He samples The Word of God, and tries to scratch out lyrics in an attempt to discredit the original composer. But in the cypher of life he is no competition. Although not always popular, if I commit to accepting Christ and making him #1, He promises to give me a new song. I misstep daily, but I declare that I am determined to let Him lead.

“He has given me a new song…Many will see what He has done, and be amazed. They will put their trust in The Lord.”
–Psalm 40:3

Black History Month, observed every February, is exactly four months away. But in light of all that is going on in the world to those whose skin has been kissed by The Son, every day that we feel His warmth is reason to celebrate. It is one thing to teach about the achievements and roles of African Americans in U.S. history, the race we continue to run. It is another to know an actual achiever and to bear first hand witness to her taking the baton. I had the experience of the latter– of learning from the life of Airickca Gordon-Taylor.

Born on October 2nd 1969, Gordon-Taylor celebrated her 50th birthday last year. Her life’s work, however, spanned generations as she dedicated herself to carrying on the legacy of those who came before her as well as hoping to lessen the load of those to come, “Remembering the Past and Educating the Future.” From the time we met in 6th grade, proud was an understatement in explaining how she felt about the fact that she was the cousin of the late Emmett Till. In August 1955, at the age of 14, Emmett was murdered after being falsely accused of flirting with a White woman in Money, Mississippi. His mother Mamie Till Bradley, held an open casket funeral exposing “not only Emmett’s body, but U.S. racism, the barbarism of lynching and the limitations and vulnerabilities of American democracy.”

If Till’s brutal death “helped energize the civil rights movement,” Gordon-Taylor’s life was certainly the charger. As an adult, and with her pride turned into purpose, Airickca became a civil rights activist. In 2009 she named her foundation after Till’s mother, calling it the Mamie Till Mobley Memorial Foundation. In February of 2020, she was instrumental in the effort behind the passing of the Emmett Till Anti-Lynching Act. Every day in between she fought for the value of life.

In this era of “I can’t breathe,” Airickca’s work refused to let us forget the horrible and habitual acts committed against people of color. As an advocate, educator and public speaker, she resuscitated the need for legal and lasting change until her very last breath. For that, I celebrate her. As a teacher, she taught me the definition of “the twinkling of an eye,” and to consider placing a comma (grace) instead of a period (giving up) in relationships. For that, I appreciate her. As a human, she showed me the importance of fighting– yet forgiving, of airing things out. For that, I thank her.

Happy Heavenly Birthday Airickca.

“Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with The Lord.”
–1 Thessalonians 4:17

*chicagotribune.com
*wikipedia.org

This time last week I was standing in the 31st St. parking lot. The remnants of fireworks strewn all around, paled by comparison to the sparks I was feeling. I was on my first face-to-face meeting with a guy I met on a dating app called Bumble.

After a morning walk along the lakefront, I decided to dive in and meet him au naturale with the hopes that he would be solely attracted to my heart. Baring no make up and letting my guard down, we laughed and talked for 20-30 minutes, an awesome follow up to hour plus conversations on the phone. What would normally seem like torture in July’s 80 degree temps, felt fine like a summer breeze. We “clicked.” Internet pun intended. We parted with the strong possibility of booking our next trip (meeting). A polite text, “It was such a pleasure meeting you. I look forward to seeing your smile again…soon.” and a few more phone conversations later, and we were on our way. He planned our first official date. I moved through the week buzzing with excitement. Friday finally came and with a new hairdo, new dress, and new shoes in tow I arrived…only to go from floating like a butterfly to being stung, like a bee.

It wasn’t like he was Ivan the Terrible or anything. He was, and is a great guy. He brought a ray of sunshine through the window of this shelter-in-place summer. It’s funny how much more getting out of the hives of our lives means now. But masks aside, the line between boundary and barricade is indeed thin. What’s too much to ask? What’s too little to expect? Cupid must have a side hustle as a baggage handler with all that is carried from one relationship destination to another. So much so that I’m wondering if I missed love’s flight because I refused to check my own bags in. But the turbulence of being stood up left me feeling unsafe to move about, wondering if this was destined to only go one way. So I made a beeline for the nearest exit. The black box (cellphone) revealed that he was willing to meet a few hours later, but I feared that the way this thing took off is exactly how it would land. Flattery may get you everywhere, but who wants to travel with just peanuts? I want, and I’m willing to give– first class. My head held high, my heart slightly worse for the wear, I must keep my eyes on The Captain…and believe that my Honey is out there…somewhere.

“They (God’s Words) are to be desired more than gold, than much pure gold; they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the honeycomb.”
Psalm 19:10

Few people knew it happened.
The experience has no doubt left its mark on me.

Led through a side door and down unfamiliar stairs, to say I was nervous is an understatement. As I closed my eyes and saw the hand slowly covering my face I thought two things: Lord please don’t let me sneeze. And please let me like my eyebrows. Exactly two weeks ago today, I went to Arched Beauty for microshading, “a tattooing of small points along the browline to ‘shade’ in sparse areas” (harpersbazaar.com).

While briefly waiting for owner and operator Shantell to sanitize and set up for my services, I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a dictionary and GED study guide on a nearby shelf. A bookworm, I am generally comforted by all things academia. My calm was short-lived, however, at the application of numbing cream and the announcement, “Here is your unopened needle.” Surely the shocked raise in the little brows I did have, rivaled the Gateway Arch of St. Louis. “Dang, this is like a real procedure” I thought to myself. I stammered and struggled with small talk, subtly slipping in questions about her years of experience. There was no need. She was professional, her own brows fabulous and eyes focused on the canvas of my face. Shantell is nothing less than an artist. I tried to lie still as a corpse, imagined death by dye and lamented, “Well at least if something happens my face will be fierce.” I focused on the music that was faintly playing. Some young man was singing about his trust issues, how all he needed was some closure– asking a girl to come closer, tellin’ her she don’t need to take no Uber…

Before I knew it I trusted her and was taking a nap. Shantell had me so relaxed that I was in the palm of her hand, literally. Somewhere between the lyrics of Ashanti and Arianna Grade, us singing to her iTunes brought the difference in our ages closer. Soon we found a rhythm and she shared more while I rambled less. A bad experience getting her own brows done led to her learning and lending her talents to others. When she finally finished and showed me to the mirror I almost immediately loved the new shape of my brows. They have since gone through a peeling and itching stage and will lighten in color about 50%. I think I would get them a little thinner if I were to have them done again. But I like them! It was definitely an adventure. Turns out the brows I had, what God gave me– was enough, just maybe needed a little help to frame my face. Beyond my own looks I admire Shantell and I left proud of her and her entrepreneurial spirit. Suddenly my shut eyes and closed mind were able to focus more clearly on the sparkly fabric, decorative throw pillow and cool logo of this self-made salon and young businesswoman. Most of all I was able to see and appreciate her determination, drive, and the dream she is achieving. Her beauty was in the eye of this beholder.

Psalm 119:37 “Turn my eyes away from worthless things; preserve my life according to your word.”

For more information and to book your brow appointment please visit:
Arched Beauty
https://shantell402.wixsite.com/archedbeauty