The Black Man I Hate

It was in the furthest most depths of my soul
that I first recognized I was becoming the black man my own mother would not condone
How did I get here I often wonder?
How could I cause pain I’m called to heal?
How could I oppress what I was sent to deliver?
How could I sell out to my own evil carnality –
Leaving others to bare a cross made by my cleaver mastery?

How did I become the Black Man I Hate?

This time it was my baggage that caused the drama
that placed my walk, confession, faith. and relationships six feet under.
I see the scoundrel every morning
who should be found guilty for his criminal activities that caused mourning.
Another black man found guilty
But not by racial hostility
Not by social economic circumstance
Not from never getting a chance
Not from a lack of education
Or a father who spread his seed across the nation.
But by his own heart, neglect, choices, and pride.

How did I become the Black Man I Hate?

Please forgive me for all the trouble I’ve caused.
Believe it or not our reality was not my intention at all.
But that was before I realized I was already in the middle of my fall.
I have found out that the only difference between a Good Black Man
and a Bad Black Man is one decision.
Just one,
One misstep,
One mistake,
One distraction,
One trespass,
One sin,
Just one…

How did I become the Black Man I Hate?

And so, here I am in a place of desperate need.
For I am the person who the preacher longs to reach
I am the one who has wondered from his destiny
causing the creation of new enemies.
That’s right another Black man has become my enemy.
There is another Black man I don’t wish to see in the streets.
For I fear the harm he may cause me and the others I love.
The only problem is…this Black Man is me.

How did I become the Black Man I Hate?

To be continued……

I Messed Up

(I wrote this one a little over a year ago and thought it would be good to post.)

Sometimes I tend to spiral downward into a self capitulated, depressive mindset due to the mistakes I have committed in my past. I then run from the reality that I mistakenly or inadvertently created, not wanting others to view me in light of my errors. True, not everyone possesses the Godly love for me that would enable them to ride with me through my mistakes. However, for those who are such a friend, I hold close and cherish them as a loving mother would her new born babe. We all mess up, and we will mess up in the future. Not confronting, admitting, repenting, and learning from these mishaps will cause us to only fool ourselves and unavoidably make the same devastative errors, as we witness relational bonds with loved ones disintegrate and our since of purpose for life fade. No longer should we hide our mishaps but confess the mess that we truly are. I have messed up more times than I can count. In attempts to help, I have caused hurt. I don't have to hide that, but I must learn from it. Christ has covered me, stayed with me, and helped me when all others have forsaken me. Therefore I continue on, with the boldness and faith to know that some day I will make it to my promise land.

Lifehouse's Everything Skit

This skit is so powerfully presented that I don’t want to take away from it by adding my words. Make sure you watch all of it to understand it fully. The most significant part, in my opinion, is when the young woman’s shirt changes. Watch that closely and tell me what you think. Enjoy.

A River Made by Me

The cycle runs deep, as I reflect on things from my past. Emotionally confused and frustrated with my humanity, it appears that I have robed people of their dignity; not deliberately, I'm just trying to find me. Unable to give them what they want and quench their heart’s desire, tears seem to have built over the years to the point where they now have formed a river in front of me that is impeding me from getting to...me. As I look on the other side of the river I can see who I should be and who I long to be but the river impedes me. I see me but I’m separated from who I am and who I long to be by a river made by me. I would try to swim but the currents may overtake me, burying me deep under the river that was made by me. I would try to go around but the continuous flow is endless and I would grow weary, and fatigued, expiring from exhaustion in a failed attempt to get around the river made by me. So, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit I started to construct a bridge, with the help of some friends. I will work day and night until at last it is complete and I am able to cross over the river made by me, to be with…me.

I Am...Alone

I have concluded that I fear being Alone.
In grade school growing up, when I got in trouble they put me in “time out” so I could be Alone.
My parents sent me to my room so I could be Alone.
Even in prison one may find his or herself in solitary confinement if erroneous behavior is exhibited because we hate to be Alone.
There is something in the substratum of humanity’s soul that detests being alone;
So much that alone serves as an effective instrument of reprove for both children and adults, both me and you.
I am Alone.

We search for family, friends, partners, and lovers; willing to lose ourselves – sacrificing our sacred spaces of sexuality, soul, and mind only to find ourselves stuck in the solitary we were trying to avoid in hopes for solidarity.
I am Alone.

Alone, not physiologically, but emotionally:
I live around hundreds of people and have plenty of friends
Yet I am Alone.
I have a great family and a gregarious personality
Yet I am Alone
I am an educated, black man, without child, criminal record, angry past, or history of substance abuse.
Yet I am Alone.

Memories of love and moments of companionship seem to be short lived
As I travel along this inevitable road of being Alone.
Sometimes it’s my fault.
Sometimes it’s your fault.
Sometimes it’s both our faults.
Sometimes it’s geographical location.
Sometimes it’s God.
Sometimes I don’t know what it is.
However, one thing is clear
I am Alone.

Alone, because no one seems to understand or comprehend the complexity of a man, that is me.
Alone, because those who find themselves penetrating the impenetrable shell of mystery that is my heart, only appear to be visiting or vacationing; as they soon embark on their next emotional expedition.
Not even cleaning up behind themselves and leaving me to clean up the mess they made all by myself.
I am Alone.

Surrounded by multitudes everyday, but alone;
Loved by many, and wanted by a few, but alone;
Looked to for advice and admired by some, but alone.
A mess of a man in my own eyes, but no one else seems to realize.
I am Alone.

But it is in this place of solitude
that I find my source of rectitude.
While others may leave for various reasons of inevitability
There is one who is there handling all his responsibilities.
It is in my solitude that I am reminded of the one who was there in the beginning
and promises to be there in the end.
Through my mistakes he remains and his love refuses to change.
It fills me up when I am drained
and I get chills when I hear his name.
Jesus help me to get through this fear and always remember you are near.

I am Alone, but am I?
It is at this point that I realize
what I really am searching for is an incarnate Christ.
A wife, lover, and friend
who promises to stick with me until the end.
One who will help me to bare my cross
And replenish my reservoir when I am in a drought.
No doubt, in my mind I know she is already out there
and if I can hold on a little longer I will soon be running my fingers through her hair.

I am Alone but not forsaken;
Alone,

but not broken;
Alone,

but not dismayed;
Alone,

but no longer afraid.

For Christ is with me and his spirit guides me
Through the precarious, desolate book called The Life of Me.

One day the hour will come.
One day I’ll hear that drum, playing a perfected rhythm in my heart
because this woman will never depart.

But

until the providential wind blows her into my direction,
At the right time and perfected intersection –
and we unite bringing love into conception –
I am Alone.