His NAME Is Great

Last night I watched the re-make of the mini-series Roots.  I didn't like it.  I should have known that I wouldn't because I have the entire original series on VHS and I've learned the lines word for word verbatim.

The scene that I particularly didn't like was the scene where Kunta Kinte is whipped to the point of submission and proclaims that his name is, in fact, Toby.  Though I didn't particularly appreciate the new dialogue, in that moment, something spoke to me.

Kunta Kinte tried to hold on to his true identity even to the point of death.  With every lash, he defiantly proclaimed that his name was Kunta -- Kunta Kinte.  But as the flesh was torn from his back and pain became more unbearable, he finally acquiesced and decided to become who THEY said he was.  He became Toby.

As I watched that scene, I thought about the black men of today.  My father.  My son.  My husband.  I thought about how they have had to fight the names that have been thrust upon them.  How they fought the labels of lazy, liar, thief, womanizer....but with every lash, it is harder to fight.  It is harder to stand.  It is harder to be who they were actually created to be.

As a black woman, who loves black men, it is difficult to watch that scene on TV and in real life.  We watch our men take the lashes of white supremacy, the lashes of a criminal justice system that is designed to entrap them, the lashes of their own community that tells them a man must rule his home with an iron fist and he must have multiple women.

We watch them take those lashes every day and we can do nothing.
We can love  them.  We can encourage them.  We can even wipe their wounds with our tears but we are helpless to the attacks on their minds that tells them they will be Toby or they will die.  We are helpless.

Or so it seems.  Unlike the women back then who watched a fine black man being beaten to nothing, as Godly women of today, we have a right and responsibility to say, "Enough!  It is enough!"  We can't protect them in the natural.  We can't beat up the bullies on their jobs, at their schools, in their minds.  But we can live a life on our knees, bombard heaven and engage in intercession that will heal them from the lashes they have already received and prevent any further lashes from landing.

So today, I encourage every woman, to take the posture of prayer when it comes to YOUR man...not somebody else's.  We as women always have been and always will be warriors when it comes to the men in our lives.  Make a decision to speak healing to his soul, his mind and his spirit.  And by all means, do not add to the lashes with your angry tongue.

Call that man by his name for his name Prophesies his destiny.  His name is Great.

Take Me Back!

I wrote this  a few years ago and I felt led to share it with you now. I hope it blesses you like it just blessed me.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ObMFJrQFwM

I went in my bathroom in an attempt to keep my children from hearing me cry. I slid down the wall doubled over in pain asking God why. Asking Him how. "Why is this happening, God? How could they do this to me? How could you let them? How could you, God! What in the world did I ever do to deserve to hurt like this! What ever I did, God, I'm sorry! Just show me what I did wrong and I promise I won't do THAT ever again!"

As I cried out to God over what I was going through, He reminded me of something I witnessed years ago.

A long time ago, I went to the health clinic to get my daughter's immunization records to register her for school. While waiting, another little boy was getting a series of shots. He cried up a storm after the first one. He pitched a fit after the second one. And when the nurse tried to give him his third and final shot, he turned to his mother and said, "Mama, please! I'll be good! I won't do it no more!"

The mother broke down and cried. She cradled her son in her arms, but she held him down and let the nurse give him his final shot. She had to let him experience that minor pain to protect him from something far more devastating that could attack his body later.

God began to say to me, "Just as that mother's heart broke for her son, my heart breaks for you. It breaks my heart to know that you think I am allowing this because I am punishing you. No. I am allowing this because I love you and I know that if I rescue you from this, something greater will come later and it could take you out. All I can do is hold you and wipe your tears. All I can do is comfort you until it doesn't hurt anymore. So be a big girl for Daddy. Take it. I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm trying to protect you. You are being inoculated for what is yet to come. Because of this you will be able to take that..."

If you click the link above, you will hear what began the process of finally setting me free. Everything I've gone through was setting me up so God could TAKE ME BACK. When I watched Yolanda Adams sing that song, in a flash, I saw myself as a little girl who was once so hungry for God.

I saw myself running around that tent and speaking in tongues at the age of 7.
I saw myself laying on the altar and the ushers having to take me in a separate room so my pastor could do the benediction. They knew not to disturb me because the spirit of God would be on me so heavy. 

I saw myself having Bible study on the play ground.

I remembered when I prayed and God moved.

I remembered when I preached and folks were delivered.

I remember being a Minister of music and hearing God whisper in my ear during praise and worship.

I remembered when I sang under the anointing and I felt God's presence, just like Yolanda did on that video.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

My broken heart didn't matter. Who left, who stayed, who was coming back, who was there, who wasn't there...none of that mattered to me any more. And it still doesn't matter. I don't give a rip about who got a problem with me. You heard me? I know that I'm on my way somewhere and greatness is in my IMMEDIATE future. My destiny, as Paula White says, is not tied to anyone who leaves. I'm blowing 'em a kiss and waving goodbye.

All I want now is to feel God like THAT again. I want him to take me back to the time when I sought Him, craved Him, desired Him above all else.

I'm saying to Him:

Take me back to the place where I believed all things were possible!
Take me back to the time when I trusted you completely!
Before life happened...
Before I found out that everybody cryin' holy isn't really holy.
Before I found out that people can have gifts that don't match their character.

Take me back, Lord! Take me back to where I first believed!

So I give God the glory for the things that HE has done!

This morning, I can tell you with an assurance that IT'S OVER! The trials, the travail, the agony, the struggle..IT'S OVER! I'm walking into my destiny.

And I got to do what He told me if I want the things He showed me.
I'm looking for Him to fulfill the promises He made me and He's looking for me to submit to His plan and His purpose for my life.

My soul says, "Yes."

Black Men, Let's Talk About Rape by Chuck Hobbs Esquire

This is masterfully written commentary by my friend, brother and colleague, Chuck Hobbs.  Feel free to follow him on Facebook and Twitter for some of the most prolific ideas you will ever encounter.  

May 5, 2016

This week, my undergraduate alma mater, Morehouse College, made news not for its prestigious history of producing leaders like Dr Martin Luther King Jr, filmmaker Spike Lee or current Secretary of Homeland Security Jeh Johnson, or for adding to its lead among HBCU's in producing Rhodes Scholars. No, the news featured yet another allegation of rape by a young woman who attends our equally prestigious sister school, Spelman College.

Many of my Spelman Sisters were immediately apoplectic; many of my Morehouse Brothers immediately launched into "protect our brand" mode more than specific concern about the allegations, specifically, and rape on our campus in general.

For reasons that are far too complex to adequately address in a blog (or even two), Rape remains one of the most polarizing subjects among Black people. The root of this reality, I believe, stems from the fact that American Black culture by and large is similar to the same Christian dominated, patriarchal social structure that was the norm among Whites during early American history, a period that encompassed our ancestors enslavement by White men who often raped enslaved Black women with impunity.

Because of such sick and deeply shared histories and cultural mores, whenever a public incident of rape or alleged rape occurs, the anecdotal evidence that I have observed strongly suggests that there is a knee jerk reaction among many Black men--- and a strong number of Black women---who scrutinize the accuser far more than the accused. Well, that is if the accused is a Black male; when Officer Daniel Holtzclaw was accused and convicted of raping over a dozen Black women out in Oklahoma last year, Black media and social media went in hard on him, in part, because he is "white" (mixed, actually, but I learned long ago that among many Black folks, a mixed person with no discernable Black ancestry is White; see, for reference, George Zimmerman, Trayvon Martin's murderer).

But in the court of public opinion, when the alleged rapist is a Black man like former NFL star Darren Sharper, Florida Gators wide receiver Treon Harris or legendary comic and philanthropist Dr Bill Cosby, to name a few, the cloak of protection and defense among many Blacks for the alleged rapist is swift and absolute. The victims are run through the typical "slut shaming" questions such as: 1.Why did she have on a skirt and no panties, she must have wanted it, 2. Why was she at his house, apartment or dorm room that time of night because my momma told me that ain't nothing open after midnight but a convenience store and some legs; ergo, she must have wanted it; 3. Why did she drink, smoke weed, pop a molly, roll beans or snort coke with that man---surely she should have known what would happen next; ergo, she must have wanted it.

The aforementioned questions are not restricted to Black women, mind you, in fact, when the alleged victim is white and the accused is a Black man, Black social and traditional media light up with the additional reminders that false accusations of rape by White women led to many Black men dangling as "strange fruit" from southern and Midwestern trees from 1865 to the late 1960s. I, too, often incorporate this history as reminders in any rape case to use caution and allow the facts to hail forth first before condemning someone, such as the alleged rape case involving former Florida State University Heisman Trophy winning quarterback Jameis Winston from a few years back. As a former prosecutor in the very Tallahassee office that was considering charges against Winston and as a defense attorney who routinely handles (and often wins) cases against the same, I took it upon myself to carefully review the evidence in Winston's case once released where I concluded (and still conclude) that Winston was falsely accused of rape by his alleged victim.

But when the facts are there, to Hell with caution...

You see, for every falsely accused man like Winston, there are thousands upon thousands of cases where the accusation was legit---regardless of color. Some cases see a courtroom but many others do not, as victims fear the inevitable scrutiny that such events will entail.

As such, I say this morning to my Black brothers that chances are VERY great that you are related to or know women who have been raped. They collectively are our mothers, wives, sisters and girlfriends---many of them just may never tell you/us because they have listened to you/us defend alleged rapists without much scrutiny. They have listened to you/us blast Tupac's line "....alot of real G's are doing time, because a groupie bit the truth and told a lie."

Tupac's line, mind you, is absolutely true in SOME instances---but not all. Not by a longshot based upon my career experiences.

Equally compelling is the fact that while many of us know women who have been raped, we also know many men who have raped---or were about to rape someone's mother, sister, child or future wife. In my lifetime, I have intervened in three instances where I am convinced that if I and/or my squad had not stepped up, three women would have been victims of gang rape. Ironically, two were at Morehouse, once during my freshman year and again during my junior year. The last time was a few years ago when, while serving as a volunteer at the HCASC quiz bowl tourney in Orlando, if I had been a minute late to 3 am airport duty to help the students load their bags on the van, I would have missed a clearly inebriated young Black female being led like a lamb to slaughter to a hotel room by four young men who were ready to ravage her. How do I know, when I used my booming command voice to shout "Hey, what the Fuck is going on," those young men took off like roaches when the lights flip on. Fortunately, I was able to get the young woman safely to her hotel room and roommates.

Further, lest we forget that many Black boys and men get molested and raped, too. The recent revelations that rap music legend Afrika Bambaataa of the Zulu Nation may have molested hundreds of boys has been met with a collective yawn among many Black men. Oddly if not perversely, the same slut shame questions asked of girls and women are being asked on social and in the traditional media comments sections by some brothers about the brothers who were victimized by Bambaataa. Even worse was the response by one of my favorite rap artists, KRS-ONE of Boogie Down Productions, who recently averred: "For me, if you keep it hip-hop, nothing can be taken away from Afrika Bambaataa..But if you want to dig into dude’s personal life and accusations that’s being made and so on, personally, I don’t give a fuck..If somebody was harmed or whatever, y’all gotta deal with that shit. That don’t stop what you did for hip-hop. It don’t take away none of it. History is history. But deal with that. That’s personal."

I beg to differ, KRS-ONE, you have to give a fuck. We all do. Why? Because until we, as Black men, can begin to move past the trite dismissals of rape conduct and a culture of apathy where we shame the accuser more than analyzing the facts against the accused; when we as Black men automatically defend the accused regardless of the evidence offered by the accuser; when we, as Black men, worry more about the "brand" of the Cosby Show or the good name of Dear Ol' Morehouse as opposed to making sure that women and girls, men and boys, can confront those who violate their bodies by rape, then we, collectively, are no better than those evil White slave masters who violated our ancestors by raping them years ago.

My God.

Miracle Bars!