The Edge of Your Beginning

 

John 16:33

I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.

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What does it really mean when someone says, "You make me sick?" Sick how? Sick why? Sick as in a head cold? A virus? The flu?

Could it mean ache? A longing ache that only the one who caused it can fix? A repeat offender always drives in the wrong direction down a one-way street. They allow you to be privy to their speed demon behavior by leading you to a destination called final. Your stomach flips, your temperature rises and your mind is constantly disheveled. Sick of that type of love. Miserable each time they show their face, hear their voice, or the ultimate heart stopper – hear them breathe. You go to bed and wake up mad for no explainable reason. If you're the continuous receiver of, "You make me sick," treatment, you're at the edge of your beginning.

Have you ever caused someone to say you make me sick? Was it playful, or was their tone hurtful? Are your actions a result of trauma, or are they human nature? Does trauma cause you to react or respond in anger?

We all have habits and quirks. We all have people in our life who we need and have to - it is a requirement for survival, interact with. Family members who we love deeply. Well, sometimes...

When I was a child, I was terrified of spiders. It wasn’t until I had reached my forties that I realized even though they had at least one billion legs, and could move faster than I ever would, spiders no longer held frightening power over me. I’m not saying when I see one I don’t get the heebie jeebies, but my insides don't scream with fear. Walking into an invisible web is another thing. It mysteriously appears and seems to instantly cover your entire body. Without warning, you’re arms flail with fantastic speed in an attempt to remove it from the inside out. No caution tape or safety cone in your way to stop or at the very least, slow down your stroll. BAM! You’re in it and it seems like a fight for your life to get out. That’s the edge.

When the edge is on it feels like an internal inferno. A raging feeling that resets itself without warning. We use things in an attempt to stop bubbling lava, otherwise known as your insides, from traveling up and burning your chest and throat, then ultimately spewing from your mouth. Substances in the form or alcohol, p-funk, the reefers, and people. Yes, we treat people like things when we want what we want. Hey, anything goes when you want to take the edge off.

A few days ago, the edge flared up due to another person's action. I did not react or respond, but instead, I was transported to a childhood memory. The memory reminded me that I am the owner and operator of me, but first I allowed the edge to raise and lower my blood pressure, my spirit and my emotions. It didn’t spew out because some things just don’t matter any longer. You grow and learn and finally realize some things simply don’t matter. The freeing part is twenty-four hours later an epiphany designed specifically for me rerouted my thoughts.

The first step to conquering your edge is understanding. The things that make you sick and the spider web feeling may come over you, but they won’t cover and consume you. The folks who are “just like that” because “that’s the way they are and don’t plan to do a thing about it”, okay. Love them and keep on living. Peace within someone else’s self-inflicted commotion is sweeter than a Peanut Buster Parfait (my favorite, and that’s why I battle the chunk now but I digress…).

 Look on yourself and love what you see. Are you ready to begin anew?

 I luv you.

Invisible Memories

 

Hebrews 8:12

 For I will be merciful to their unrighteousness, and their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more.

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Life has a delicate way of making you live. A sweet forceful push to inhale, exhale, and breathe. Heartbeats, steps taken forward and backward, and at times, tears that seem to never cease. I guess if you are forced to do something, the only acceptable enforcer should be life. We were created to live with all of the "things" it entails, so the complaint zone is null and void when you encounter those, "just can't get right", situations.

Invisible memories are created from life's just can't get right situations. Someone has done you wrong or better yet, you have done yourself wrong. Listening, trusting and believing for something or someone that will never benefit you. It's not for you, doesn't belong to you, yet you try to force life to accept it by giving you what you ask for. Asking for trouble in a nice manner is still trouble, and being the recipient of nice trouble always leaves you with a painful reality. 

Moving fast in slow motion is confusion. Nothing ever lines up. Right and wrong bump into each other and invade each other's space. A wide smile in an attempt to cover a stupid grin that's fighting to hold in tears, hurt and shame is simply dumb de dumb, dumb dumb. Never forget that life is the enforcer.

The posted picture is honest joy in it's purest form. My daughter and I had taken FrankieWeenie - Ball Park Frank, to a vet appointment to get his nails trimmed. The picture was taken after his successful appointment 'cause he sure can act a fool in the car, and before we arrived at a yogurt shop.

Google photos provides a daily slide show of pictures dating back to 2019. Why? I don't know. It started one day after receiving one of the many Terminator updates; they definitely keep coming back. Now my lock screen is pomegranate red and I haven't figured out how to change it. Anyway...

When I saw the picture I smiled, remembering the day and realizing that a few days before I'd made defining life changing decisions. I felt good, was moving forward and excited that everything about me was in motion.

After reminiscing for a few moments I caught my breath, then pausing with light shock. Still happy but just a little perplexed. I forgot. I really forgot. In all of my joy I forgot about the bruise on my face. In all of my forward motion I forgot what happened the week before. Invisible memories.

The picture was taken on Saturday, May 22, 2021. The Saturday before I was punched in my face. The exact location was the lower right side of my chin. I just mouthed negro with a short N, a short I, two short GG's and a long A.

I enlarged the picture and yep, the testimony mark is there. I thought on "that" day, the following week and May 22, 2021 and was still filled with joy. Ain't God good?

Life forced me to live, and if I may say so myself, I'm getting it in! No pain, no gain? Listen here, you can gain without pain. Make a decision, get in position, and live. It did and does my heart so good to look at that picture and see love. I remember on that day I was loved. I know on this day that I am loved. Anything that didn't benefit me was and still is, invisible.

Those tedious, prickly, aggravating things that you choose to hold on to are just that - tedious, prickly and aggravating. To be at a beautiful place in life is amazing. To be "over it", forgiven and free is amazing. For that thing to be right up in AND on your face AND be invisible? Ain't God good!

Keep on living my friend...just keep on living.

I luv you.

Hangtime

Galatians 6:7-8

Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.

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The word hangtime has various meanings. One of the more or most popular may be in reference to a football. When the quarterback throws the ball from the end zone to a receiver at the 50 yard line, that's definitely good hangtime. Especially if the receiver catches it. The phrase is used from sista to sista when either one of them has pretty, silky long hair.

“Girl, you have some nice hangtime!” Then the party that the compliment was intended for whips her mane back and forth, smiles and struts off.

Another use of the word is during girl talk and the conversation is on 10 and lit!

“Giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrllll…that negro has serious hangtime and he knows how to use it!”

“Say what now?”

“Every.Single.Inch…”

“Uhm…”

I have the attention span of lint, so let me get back on track…

What you put into your thing is what you get out of your thing. You reap what you sow. Faith without works is dead. Works without faith is dead. My daddy said it best, though. “Keep chippin’ at it, babygirl. Just keep chippin’.”

I believe one previous mistake I’ve made a few times (yes you can make the same mistake twice in different settings) is trying to include the excludable in my life. We all have gifts that He designed specifically for us. It’s up to you to work what He gave you, and if Mr. and Mrs. Always Got Something Negative To Say Because They Just Can’t Get Right And Don’t Not Nobody Want Their Dried Up Miserable Wake Up Every Day Mad Self ‘Cause They Are The Lead Role In Their All Day Nightmare, then oh well.

Tendencies tend to plague me from time to time. What did I just write? I tend to forget what my passion and my gift are. At 60, I’m still working on a good work/life balance. Currently, work  has a little leeway – eh, maybe 70%, but I promised myself to actively work on that.

The word hangtime popped in my mind this past Sunday. I received an email from Lightning Source Print on Demand Wholesale Sales, the printer that I use for Miss Luv’s Books, MY publishing company (as if I’ve never said that before J) Folks bought my books that were published in 2008! I always say there is no such thing as an old book, just new readers. Miss Luv’s Books has hangtime!

God blessed me with a reminder. I thought of how I’d work during the day and write half of the night. How I drove to so many comedy clubs in NYS and even ventured to Canada. I got a parking ticket in Canada, but I digress... Do I want to do that now? No. I do want to work my gift and my passion. Seems like I need to figure a few things out.

Miss Luv’s Books and Miss WandaLuv are still hanging around. Yah’ll just don’t know what that sales report did for me. I’ve tripped myself up over the years, yet what I put into my thing – faith, belief, other folks aggravation and work, is still out there making it do what it’s supposed to do. I’ll gladly accept that hangtime.

What is your thing? How much hangtime do you have? Is it for you or for someone else? There is nothing wrong with celebrating, supporting or encouraging others. That’s what we’re supposed to do. Just don’t forget to celebrate you. Don’t sit on the sideline watching the quarterback throw the ball to someone who may or may not catch it. You are the quarterback, the coach, shoot, the entire team. I "threw" me out there and I'm still in the air way past the 50 yard line. We have to sow it, reap it, and watch it hang around to bless us at all times. Don't every forget you.

I luv you.

 

Marshall Lewis, You Are Loved

Romans 8:38-39  

For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

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 In June of 1980, I was 14 years old. The school year in Niagara Falls, NY was ending and I couldn’t wait for summer to begin. I don’t know what I was excited to begin, but the simple fact that there would be no more early alarm noise for two months was exactly what I needed.

Writing this reminds me of how good I had it. My parents bought a house on Willow Avenue, 1855 to be exact. I ate every day, wore clean clothes, and could talk on the phone for a good 30 minutes before I was told my yap trap had gone into overtime and it was time to hang up. I’m also reminded that I didn’t have my dog Fritz yet. My father bought him the summer of 1981. Life was grand!

On most mornings, I walked to school with my friend Cynthia. Her family lived on the corner house on 18^th and Michigan Avenue. I would walk down 18^th Street, wait for her outside, and then we would walk down Michigan while having an entire conversation about nothing. It was important nothing, though, so that made it special.

We’d get to the corner of Michigan Avenue and have to cross over 16^th Street and walk though Gluck Park to arrive at North Junior High School. On June 17, 1980, life “growed” us up in a hurtful flash. We looked to the right and there had been a house fire. The smell of wet wood, wet fire, wet smoke and unbeknownst to us, wet death suffocated the air.

My eyes grew large with sadness and my mouth dropped open after the ensuing shock.

“Cynthia…Marshall’s house caught on fire.”

“Ah ha, ah ha, Marshall’s house caught on fire!” She pointed her finger towards the house to make sure I knew which house it was. Of course I knew, but I believe my gaze went from her finger to the house.

“Cynthia that’s not funny. His house caught on fire.”

I can’t remember if we said anything else as we walked the remaining five minutes to school. I do remember a feeling of sadness and I’m sure she felt the same.

Like the other students, I took my seat in homeroom class and waited for attendance to begin. We all settled down waiting for our name to be called and readily answering. “Here.” That didn’t happen on June 17, 1980.

I’m sorry I can’t remember my homeroom teacher’s name. I just remember that she was an old white woman who, now that I’ve lived a little bit, looked like Barbara Bush.

She sat at her desk the same as she did every day. This day there was no smile on her face and no expression. She didn’t call the first name, either. Instead, she stared straight ahead, looking at no one in particular, and said words that probably broke the heart of every teenager in the room.

“Marshall Lewis died today. Marshall Lewis is dead.”

Gasps and silent chatter filled the room. I turned around to look at Marshall’s desk and he wasn’t there. I don’t remember much that happened inside school on that half-day. I do remember getting out of school and having to walk the same route I’d taken that morning - right past Marshall’s house.

I walked alone trying not to look and staring at the same time. I was 14 and this was the first time that I was adult sick. Being adult sick doesn’t belong on a child. A common cold, the chicken pox, maybe even a headache, but adult sick?

My mother made us use the side door because we were not going in and out her front door. All that ripping and running was for side doors. Entering the side door if you turned to the right you could walk down the stairs, which led to the family room/basement. If you walked three steps up you would be in the kitchen. I walked up the three stairs into the kitchen.

I went to the sink and washed my hands because you can’t have outside hands on the inside, and then proceeded to do nothing. I opened up and closed cabinet doors. I picked up a glass and put it down. I look out the window for nothing hoping to see something. I paced a bit and then stood still. My mother had a small radio in the kitchen and although I had been in there for at least a minute, it was the first time I heard it.

One in a Million You, by Larry Graham came on and I began crying. I cried and cried, and cried. And then I stopped. I cleaned myself up and went back to being the 14-year-old girl that I was when I woke up on June 17, 1980.

For 46 years every time I heard, One in a Million You, I’d turn off the radio and proclaim how much I hate that song. For 46 years I have thought off and on about Marshall Lewis. I’ve tried to write about him, but I never talked about him. These last two months he’s hung around, so…

Unspoken words hurt. Unspoken truths hurt. Unspoken words that are true hurt the most. Stop trying to protect yourself from your truth. You end up not defending yourself when you should, put a wall up when you shouldn’t, and become a play toy for people who have no rules.

Marshall used to pull my hair, chase me down the hall, push and poke me. I always said, “Stop it, Marshall, with yo’ black ugly self!” Shoot, that negro didn’t care what I said because the next day he was right back to pulling my hair and chasing me.

I asked God to forgive me for getting upset with Cynthia. She responded to seeing the house like a 14-year-old that was scared. She didn’t know. I have asked God to forgive me for being mad for so many years at the teacher. I felt she should have said more or said it differently. She didn’t know. The 14-year-old me didn’t know how to give grace. The 60-year-old me does.

46 years of holding this, what I believe my truth is, is the fact that I didn’t say anything when the teacher made the announcement. I should have spoken up for Marshall. What would I have said?

I thank God for memories, that I never forgot him, and that I still remember what Marshall looked like. As I write this, I can see him, sitting at his desk in the back of the room, with a little goofy crooked smile on his face. I bet he was plotting what time during the day he'd chase me…

Yah’ll, the state of affairs right about now ain’t right. A smile. A hug. A phone call. A visit. A text. Love on someone. Love on yourself.

I luv you.

One in a Million You

Stipulate My Love

 

Colossians 3:14

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Stipulations within relations (ships)? Hmmmmm...agreements maybe? What's allowed? What's fair game? Is the 50/50 thing true, exaggerated or overrated?

When you truly believe that your heart longs for a connection, you might make wrong decisions. What we accept is in no way acceptable when the only love involved is yours. When the love is not for yourself, but for someone that doesn't love you, the stipulations are never in your favor.

 A simple question with requirements caused my mind to run rampant. A male suitor asked me for a date, and he presented me with three options.

1. Dinner, a nighttime stroll, and late night "activities" at my home.

2. Dinner, a nighttime stroll, and late night "activities" at his place.

3. Dinner, no nighttime stroll, I have to eat everything I order - no doggy bag, and he will drop me off at the curb in front of my house.

Number 3 is hilarious, so much so, that it caused me not to accept the invitation.

Was the invitation asked with stipulations, or was it simply a plan? Probably just a plan. Trying not to cross lines and analyze everything is difficult when you're a thinker who doesn't know when to turn it off.

Stipulations are usually followed with an ultimatum. Does an ultimatum exist when you're in love? Are you in love at all? Why would you willingly want to hurt someone you love? Are you protecting yourself? And why do you need protection from love? So many questions that I don't have answers to.

“If I do that for you, you have to do something for me.”

“Remember that time I did _____________? “

“You owe me ___________.”

“I’m not doing anything until you do ___________.”

"Before we go any further let's talk about a prenup."

Negro - and that's negro with a short I, two medium length G's and a long A.

What kind of stipulations do you desire? If someone says they will love you forever, no questions asked, through thick, thin, trouble, joy and happiness, is that all right? Does that sound like a fairytale or a dream that will never come true? Not to me. Stipulate my love with a dark, sweet cherry on top. I'm here for it all.

Sometimes breaking unspoken rules hurt the most. A connection that cannot be explained, only understood between two is a blood flowing, heart pumping bone tingling love. I’m here for it all.

When you're in it you can't change your mind. No take backs. You take care of me, and I'll take care of everything else kind of love. That’s what we want. Stipulate My Love.

Ask yourself if you're lonely. I can honestly answer no. A lonely heart causes problems. An idle mind invites temptation. The things we accept just because. Nope! Not in 2026, playa, not in 2026.

Stipulate My Love with unconditional love. Disagree in love. Argue in love. Have conversations in love. Love in love.  We owe it to ourselves to accept nothing less. When there is no love or thought in the process, there is no there. You can't change the way folks present their “stuff” to you, but you can control and change the way it affects your atmosphere. You deserve so much more, my friend. Keep living and keep loving...it's on the way.

I luv you.

 

Death Does NOT Become Her

 

I’m not sure of the date, but I wrote this in the latter part of 2017, most likely during the month of August, September or October. Recently, I flipped through my study Bible and saw that I wrote the date 8/13/17 in the book of 2 Kings 4:7 - 5:1. In my study Bible the chapter titles are,                 

1. Elisha Raises the Shunammite's Son.

2. Elisha Purifies the Pot of Stew.

3. Elisha Feeds One Hundred Men.

4. Naaman’s Leprosy Healed.

Written across the top of the two pages are simple words, posed as a question to myself. What has God given me and I’m watching it die?

Sporadic thoughts travel through my mind similar to a sniper rapidly firing in a failed professional attempt to hit the target. The sniper knows if the bullseye is not met, they will be the next. Deemed a failure, or the ultimate – sent to the undertaker without a chance to notify their next of kin. Okay, wait, it’s not that bad. I think I should stop watching hitman movies late at night.

I’ve read the chapters a few times and cannot figure out or remember why I wrote those words in that chapter. I ask myself what has God given me?  Am I watching it die? What is the state of your mind in to allow yourself to sit and watch something die? You have to do something. Try something. Call for help. Watch it die? No, that’s not me at all.

Proactive. Productive. Persevere. Pounce. Push.

It could be that I am in yet another shift. Yes, that’s it. The P-Shift. Last night I woke up from  a deep sleep, a calling the hogs kind of sleep. I can’t recall if I was dreaming, but I sat up, grabbed my phone and typed the words, peace,(heavy on the peace) prosperity (heavy on the prosperity) and purpose (heavy on the purpose).

I stared at the ceiling thinking about my past and dozed off and on trying to figure it out. Questioning myself, and twisting and turning like a broken Rubik’s Cube. Just can’t get right. Answers come from the most beautiful places and always on time Basically, everything is not that deep. Everything is not a 10,000 piece puzzle, complete with missing pieces, that has to be put together in one hour. I don’t have to figure it all out because there is nothing to figure out. Just live, Wanda. Just live.

I’m not watching what God has given me die, but I am guilty of not giving it the nourishment it requires. Seeing those words were the signal for me to come out of hibernation. My signal for contentment to move over, mind its business, and stop me from relaxing in someone else’s comfort zone.

What I know for sure is that He will move you away from what is killing you, breathe life into you as He carries you through, and allow you to watch the beauty of you flourish before your eyes.

I luv you.

Driving On a Dream

 

Deuteronomy 13:1-5

Ecclesiastes   5:3, 7

Matthew         27:19

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How many moments have you missed while being preoccupied with nothing? Something? Uninterrupted bliss that has no meaning, yet you seem to adore the idle time spent. If you sit and ponder years gone by, the inability to count the time not well spent might possibly hurt your feelings.

Dreams, in the same thought process, sometimes, have a meaning. Could the sometimes be always? The numbers dream, the fish dream, and the worst one of them all, the bathroom dream. Trying to figure out the real and true meaning  might cause endless grief. Creating fantasy ideas and attempting to see them through because you had a dream based on mindless activity, is a fool’s paradise on a deserted island.

Daydreaming is classified as creative mind wandering, escapes and premonitions. We’re present, yet not aware of the real-time life that is currently passing us by. Moments that we’ll never see or experience again simply because our imagination has taken over our life reigns momentarily. What is your reality? Is your fantasy more intriguing? Will you manifest it into a living, breathable thing? A thing that you will nurture? A thing that will satisfy you? A thing that is as passionate about you as you are about it?

Recently while driving my mind wandered to a lovely place. The place was pristine and immaculate, so much so,  that I forget I was driving. I know, right? It wasn’t a falling asleep at the wheel wandering because my peripheral vision was on guard. I'd  driven down this particular road many times and have seen deer readying themselves to run the 100 meter dash. A passing car is the same as a starter pistol and most times the deer and the car are never the victor.

My interrupted reality, although brief, was beautiful. I’m not certain of what I daydreamed about, but I am certain that one hundred percent absolute peace covered me. Wandering in imagination and the present met head on. A disastrous collision didn’t occur; the realization that my thing is coming did. I know this without a doubt because God shook me out of the daydream. He allowed me to experience His beauty in the present, as well as what He has in store for me.

The picture above is what I saw when my focused returned. I saw beauty in my future and saw beauty in my present. I didn’t miss a thing! His protection is amazing! Stop thinking it’s you. Stop thinking it’s them. Start believing it’s always Him.

There have been times when I imagine, or daydream about situations I wanted to begin and end differently. There are times when I simply zone out and think about nothing. I’ve been told that I have the attention span of lint (I do have the attention span of lint, but I digress) Do I always dream right? No. Have I learned not to linger long and wrong? Eh, I’m working on that.

I know what I like and what I’m passionate about. I can’t put a title on what my thing is. A portion of it is peaceful excitement. I’ve learned that if “that” didn’t work it’s okay. Frustration and worry are not part of anybody’s goodness.

As always, keep believing, keep living, and keep loving. I’m not suggesting to literally drive and dream, but drive your dreams until you’re able to feel, touch, see and even smell them. Move out of your way and gain understanding. Keep rolling my friend because His dream for you is some kind of good.

 I luv you.

                                                                  My Tommy😊