the monster

People believe that monsters are figments of one's imagination. That they're big, scary, furry or out-of-this-world ugly in terms of their appearance. 

Many don't stop to consider that sometimes, however, people can take on the form of monsters, especially when what's on the inside of them can no longer be controlled to stay there. Those emotions must come out, and so must the monster.

I know a monster...who does his best to hide in the shadows. Who is crumbling on the surface, whose temper is fighting to remain unseen.

I know a monster...who stalks to and fro looking to find something. What, he doesn't know, but he's looking all the same. Determined that guilt is to be had, and someone will pay the cost.

I know a monster...who is consumed with what people think about him, because heaven forbid someone sees through his facade, and into his temper. 

I know a monster...who craves control, and will stop at nothing to get it. 

I know a monster...who wants to be hailed as a "good guy," yet in his thoughts and actions he's one fist away from assault and battery.

I know a monster...who notices how easily the woman's skin bruises and how easily the skin of their seed, bruises too.

I know a woman. 

A strong woman. 

A scared woman. 

A tired woman. 

She sees through the monster's charms, and craves so badly to run away from him. Yet, she knows that as long as she's alive, her monster will find her, and he will make her subject to him. One way or another. She wants to run to this person and that person, yet the only person who is strong enough to deliver her from her monster...isn't a person at all. He is a force. And so she's praying that this force will render a supernatural answer so strong that it will release her of her monster; henceforth and evermore.

And in the meantime, she's praying for the fear to subside within her because... 

Twas' fear;

That attracted the monster to her in the first place.

Imagine?

“Imagine there’s no countries. It isn’t hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too.” These are some of the lyrics to “Imagine” which was both written and sung by John Lennon. It is a timeless song that wonderfully imagines a host of possibilities about life. There are those, who despite the songs tempting and lofty ideas, couldn’t imagine a life sans religion, or faith. Though the ever increasing presence of xenophobia exists, it can be argued that so does the willpower of those who practice any religion, and who dare to persevere and not conform, while running the risks of being lambasted or rejected for refusal to endorse the status quo. Perhaps what the world sees as a religion, faith practitioners see as an undying relationship, to a deity or deities, for whom they deem it is worth to suffer.

The Middle

It is pretty fair to say that I was born in the middle. I am not the middle child. I am my father's only remaining child, and my mother's only child. The statement about being born in the middle comes from the role that I was assigned by my mother and grandmother. I have been in the middle of their on-again, off-again contentious relationship for as long as I can remember.

Fast forward to now, I tend to still be in the middle. I try not to take sides, but rather acknowledge fault on both sides and strive to remain peaceful. I don't tend to tell either of them where I find them to be at fault, unless there's some blow up that causes me to lash out. 

Throughout my life, I tend to be the person that other people come to--to vent. Sometimes about one another, and sometimes just about life. I have learned to not repeat what I'm told, and to remain neutral. Open to listen to both sides, and quick to remain loyal to both as well.

This can sometimes come at a cost. A very high cost, especially when people take my passivity for weakness, and believe they can bully me. There is a lot I know, and that much more I can say in response to being insulted. Most times, I try to be the bigger person. I try to take the high road, forgive, and move forward.

What I have recently, and very painfully recognized is that there comes a time when silence is not the best answer. When a response to insensitivity and bullying must be called out for what it is. A family member recently popped-off at the mouth so viciously that upon reading her text, I was nearly shut-down.

I couldn't think. I wanted to cry. I wanted to curse. Instead, I shared it with my husband as calmly as I knew how and together we shared the truth behind the person's mean words, and from where they were coming. We acknowledged our hurt and our pain. Then we sucked it up and had fellowship with our brothers and sisters in Christ.

I know the latter part of that paragraph may appear to be full-on mush, but it's true. We decided that we weren't going to allow this person's distorted version of the truth shape our actions, and how we chose to spend time as a family.

Can I tell you that we are still hurt by the words this person threw at us. I am still angry, but I refuse to lose joy, to stop living my life over the misery of someone else.

While I believe in the power being in the middle provides me such as, serving as an intercessor or mediator; I do believe it's vital to walk away from this person to assess how to remove myself from being her target. 

My response to this person closed with "I don't know what's wrong with you, but I didn't do it." "Take care." Translation: We both know what's wrong with you, but only you can do something about it. In the meantime, you don't have the right to bully me through text. You don't have the right to speak recklessly to me. I don't have to take your crap. I am not your target anymore, and until you can treat me with respect and not intentionally seek to wound me with your words, I release you.

I am not a victim. I am not a pushover. I am no one's target. I have removed the bulls-eye from my back. And no one will put it back. 

ON

Back in the day...Saved by the Bell was my jam!!! I lived for Saturday mornings where my cousins and I would eagerly await new episodes. Even back then I would chuckle at some of the show's cheesiest moments, but I still loved it nonetheless. The above clip comes from one of the funniest episodes to me. Though the issue at hand is of no laughing matter, it's the character's response to her stress that I find humorous. In fact, every now and then, I joke to pulling a "Jessie Spano"...I know...I'm ridiculous, but there's something to be said about always feeling as though you have to be "ON."

There are times when I just don't want to be bothered. With life. With people. With myself. I want to be "OFF." I want to be reckless. I want to tell people what's really on my mind. I want to curse. I want to get physical, and NOT in the Olivia Newton-John sense either! Yet as I become older, I am keenly aware of what I have at stake...and I know that to risk that for a brief moment of being "OFF," isn't worth it. 

Everything doesn't need to be said. Starting sentences off with "I feel like," or "I'm just saying" are not options for me in this season. Feelings can be very deceptive. In this season I'm saying to myself, Jasmine, "Shut up!" Not, "Be quiet." Not, "If you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all." I am saying to myself, "SHUT UP!" If I said everything that I felt...everything that came to my mind I would be detested. I would speak word curses over people, that would cause wounds no apology could ever heal. 

I know the power of my tongue. I know the poison that can drip from it when I lash out. I'd rather process my anger at 34 then to give myself a pass to be in my feelings.  It takes a lot to get me upset, but once I'm there--it's very hard for me to calm down. When I was younger and I got upset, I had to burn something. Setting something on fire would calm me down. Guess you could say that I was quite the little arsonist! I let that go--to embrace needing to break something. I've had my Muhammad Ali moments. Where before I knew it, I was jumping in the air and preparing to swing. 

I don't share that proudly, I share it because I have learned that it's always best to walk away. To shut my mouth, and hold my peace. Life and death are truly in the power of the tongue, especially mine. 

What am I saying? That I'm always "ON?" No, far from it! But when I'm "off" it tends to be in the presence of God because I would rather fall into his hands than the hands of man any day! With God there's mercy, there's not always mercy with humans. I give God my ugly, my screams, my pain. Sometimes I curse, but I give it to Him. I let him know how unfair it is, how I really want to respond, and once I get that all out of my system, I can gradually work my way to being "ON" again.

Christ died that I would walk in the light. That I would choose the light over darkness. I use to think that being "on" involved me being fake. And sometimes it is fake. What I am projecting isn't always what I'm feeling, but I'd rather project kindness and allow that to seep into my heart, than to settle for being wicked--for being reckless. 

I don't know who's watching me. I don't know how my influence is affecting those around me, but I do know that I've come too far from where I've started from to be "off." Hence, I chose to be "ON."

The Interview: Father's Day Edition

As a wife and mom, it would be very easy to share my thoughts about Hosea as a Father. In all fairness though, I thought it would be unique to hear what he had to say about being a Father, and to instead record it in his own words. His responses represent the questions he was asked by me.

JP: Did you feel like a Dad throughout the 9 months leading up to Zay's arrival? Or did you feel like a Dad when you first laid eyes on him?
HP: When I first laid eyes on him.

JP: What thoughts or emotions did you experience when you first laid eyes on Zay?
HP: It wasn't thoughts, as much as it was emotion. I felt a new love...a whole notha kind of love.

JP: How many Father's Days have you celebrated?
HP: 3.

JP: What about fatherhood brings you joy?
HP: Having someone who looks up to you, seeing Zay grow, and being able to be there for him spiritually, mentally, and emotionally.

JP: What's hard about being a Father?
HP: Learning as I go...

JP: Favorite things to do with Zay?
HP: Watch movies (Bumblebee, Black Panther, Ant Man 1+2), wrestle, and pray. I also love when he lays on me and shows me affection.
JP: I love seeing the two of you wrestling on the floor, and hearing Zay laugh uncontrollably from the excitement of it.

JP: How do you speak into his life?
HP: I pray over him, and I tell him to be a good example, to be a leader, and not a follower.
JP:What else do you say to him?
HP: I tell him he's a leader of God.
JP: That's my favorite thing to hear you tell him, and I especially love when he repeats it.

JP: Favorite memory with Zay?
HP: Him saying his first words, and taking his first steps.

JP: How has becoming a Father changed you?
HP: It has taught me how to be more patient, and more importantly it has caused me to see things I've needed to change, and the things I can no longer do.

JP: What are your fears in raising Zay?
HP: That he will be a victim of police brutality, and be overcome by the darkness and cruelty of the world itself.

JP: What do we do consistently as parents with Zay?
HP: We pray over him, give him unconditional love, show him kindness, teach him the meaning of forgiveness and caring. 
JP: I have personally come to love that we pray at night as a family in Zay's room before he goes to sleep.We also read to him almost every night. 

JP: Final words?
HP: I didn't have a Dad who was there spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. I want to care for Zay's heart. I want to be present. Caring for him and being there when he needs me...I want to be there to wipe his tears. His Heavenly Father will always be present, but I want to be here as long as I can taking care of my responsibility. I don't want to make promises, I can't keep.

JP: Thank you for being the Father Zay deserves and needs. Thanks for wanting to be in his life, and for helping to raise him. Happy Father's Day baby 💓💕💕💕💕💕

SISI

Michelle Yvette Kendrick was born on Sunday, May 27th, 1962...Sisi is African...and it means born on a Sunday. She is the only girl her parents would have together, and is the only girl out of eight brothers. If you think she was protected and adored by all these brothers, think again. They were raised with strife, and still struggle to this day to be there for one another.

"Life, sho'nuff, ain't been no crystal stair for her." She knows abuse very well. Knows what it feels like to have an older brother physically abuse her. To later have a boyfriend also abuse her. Knows what it's like to be told she would always be on welfare with a bunch of babies, by her mother. Knows what it's like to be raped. Knows what it's like to be homeless. She is more than a victim. She is more than a survivor. She is my mother. And this portion of her story occurred before she had me at the tender age of 22. She prayed for me, and knew as early as her youth that if she ever had a girl...she would name her Jasmine.

Growing up with my mom was emotionally a lot. She and my grandmother have had a contentious relationship since I can remember. Often times, if feels like I'm in the middle, even now. But I love them both, and though I will never completely understand the trauma and pain my mother's story has caused or continues to cause her; at the hands of my grandmother, she will always have my compassion and my love.

One of the earliest memories of my mother involves the time burglars broke into our home. We managed to make it out of the house, but that didn't stop them from pursuing us. She was holding me and trying to run, but mom quickly realized that wasn't going to work. She put me down, and told me to run. There we were, holding hands, and running down the middle of the street, as a car with bright headlights nearly ran us down. I still remember those headlights to this day...

Mom would later tell me that the people who broke into our home were crack addicts, who were no less our next door neighbors. Our home on Ellsworth was in a bad neighborhood, but it was never intended to be our forever home. Mom was in Nursing school working us up out of the hood. And she did. She did. #determined

As a teenager, I had a love/hate relationship with her, which may not come as a surprise. Mom cursed a lot. She still does, if I'm going to be honest! When I was growing up though, I hated when she would curse at me. It was such a blow to my self-esteem. I have since come to realize that this was done to her, and unfortunately, she didn't know how to break the cycle with me. 

My mother in general is one of the most honest persons I know. Seriously, if you don't want the truth, don't ask her!!! She's gonna give it to you straight, no chaser, period! We have two completely different communication styles. Where I prefer to be mindful of my words and be gentle; mom, is much more straight to the point, with perhaps a few choice words here or there. Sometimes, stuff just can't sound pretty, it is what it is. I have learned you cannot be afraid to call stuff out for what it is, but doing so with some tack along the way, won't hurt either!

Her strength knows no end...like fo'real. My mother is the strongest woman I know. I can count on her. No matter what. She's an even better Abuela to Zay...the way she loves on him warms my heart so...Our relationship has been to hell and back, but Michelle is still my favorite girl. And nothing will change that. Ever. This is why it never ceases to amaze me when people believe they can talk about my mother to me. I experienced that as a child, which is why when I experience it now, I am quick to shut it down. 

I don't know where people get off feeling so comfortable as to think they can ever talk about my mother to me, but it's not cool. Don't ever think you're gonna get a pass trying to blast my mother to me because I'm not here for it. You will be checked, regardless of your gender. Did you grind through Nursing school to get me out the hood? Did you feed me? Did you provide a shelter for me? Were you there when this one or that one broke my heart? Didn't think so...#longliveSisi

20644

 "May the LORD bless you and keep you, may the LORD show you his kindness, may he have mercy on you, may the LORD watch over you and give you peace." (Numbers 6:24-26)

Zay was not a planned baby, for his father and I. We were receiving revelation from God that we were going to have a baby soon, but we didn't sit down and say when we wanted it to happen. He was born on Friday, November 25, 2016, after 12 hours of labor. 

Even during pregnancy my way of thinking changed, and I began to see life differently. Still, I was not prepared when Zay arrived...emotionally or communicably. I remember sitting on our couch, a few days after giving birth, and weeping at the idea of bringing someone so precious into such a corrupt and ugly world, at times. I was overcome with dread as I considered one evil scenario after the other happening to him, and feeling defenseless to protect him from it all. 

A few months after Zay was born, I layed him in his crib. He wasn't a fan of his crib in the beginning. He was sleep, but I didn't know if he would stay asleep once I put him into his crib. I was passed being tired...I was exhausted, but I was still holding on to the idea of "keeping watch" over him. As I stubbornly tried to stay awake, God reminded me, "who is keeping watching over you and Zay?" I knew then that I needed to entrust my sleeping child into God's care.

The hardest part of having a child wasn't the late night feedings or the sporadic sleeping schedule, it was learning how to communicate and trust God with his care, especially when his dad and I were not present. The most hurtful part of having a child has been expressing my feelings and being rejected and attacked because they didn't line up with the beliefs and/or opinions of others. 

Every parent has a right to express his/her beliefs about raising his/her child. To shame a parent because you don't agree with his/her parenting style is wrong. Even when you don't agree, you can at least listen. I had to learn to listen, but also accept that just because I shared a different belief from what I heard, I was not a "bad" person.

Jasmine, pre-Zay, didn't speak up well for herself. I took whatever mostly because of my fear to speak up. I didn't care enough about myself to be honest or confront problems. I ran from problems. Suppressed my hurts and pains because I didn't want to be rejected. When God blessed us with Zay, I knew that if I didn't speak up when it came to his well being, I was still going to be held accountable. God was not going to give me a pass for being passive when it came to co-parenting. 

Fast forward to today, I can see how becoming a parent has changed me for the better. Zay is not my everything. God is. I am grateful that I don't see his existence as my sense of being. My sense of purpose. That little crumb-snatcha has his own purpose. That doesn't mean he doesn't motivate me...having him has helped me to find my voice.
I am also very grateful that his father and I are married, and that he gets an unlimited supply of love from the both of us, in a shared setting.

What continues to help me to trust God when it comes to Zay is prayer. I pray what I have come to  dub as "the Hannah prayer." Hannah was barren and wanted so desperately to bear her husband a child. She prayed that should God bless her with a child she would offer him back. When God blesses her with Samuel, she eventually "gives" him to the priest, Eli, so he can begin to carry out his service to God. (Read 1 Samuel 1)

Imagine praying for something so passionately, receiving it, and then giving it away...that's ultimately what Hannah did. Her story humbles me. It inspires me. Every day, Zay is not in the care of Hosea and I, I pray a prayer of blessing over him. It starts like this, "May the LORD bless you and keep you, may the LORD show you his kindness, may he have mercy on you, may the LORD watch over you and give you peace." (This is a blessing that Moses spoke over the Israelites.) Jesus will always protect you, Hosea. God, I ask you to cover his eyes and ears from things that he should not see or hear. I close saying, as Hannah gave Samuel back to you...so I give Zay back to you..."

20,664...that's the number of hours Zay has been on this earth. I cannot give the exact number, but I can say that many of the minutes leading up to those hours have been saturated in prayer from my husband and I praying for him collectively, and individually. I spent 12 hours in labor with Zay, but what's more important are the hours I've spent praying for him since then.

If you're a parent and you want to know how to live your best life...you should first start by praying for your children. Parents, how can we live our best lives, if we're not actively praying for the lives of our children, and their children? After all, who they grow up to be is a large reflection on how we've shaped them...

Thank you for taking the time to read my blog! I pray that my transparency encourages you and leads you closer to Christ. Everybody has a story. And everyone should be able to share that story unashamed--without fear. It is most hoped that you can share parts of your story in the same way. In Jesus Name, Amen. 

Peace & Blessings,
Jasmine