Confessions of a Welfare Queen

Monday, April 13, 2020

Confessions of a “Welfare Queen”

Before you judge me, understand that I Glory in the revelation of the identity that God has gifted me with. To place one label on that identity would be haphazard and would diminish all the lessons learned over the last almost three years of this journey. Yet, the most appropriate moniker for the moment would be to call myself a “welfare queen.”

You see, like many of you, and most especially given the current climate of this global pandemic, I’ve had to find life-sustaining resources from the social services sector of my local government. Each decision to enroll, whether in SNAP, Medicaid, or unemployment insurance was at first met with a personal denial that life had gotten so bad; that my grace had slid from a place of independence to a place of grave dependence. But such is my lot.

When I returned from Texas February 24, after a long week of celebrating my mother’s 70th birthday and the wedding of my college roommate, I had every intention of returning to the daily drive. I thought after the week of presumed auto repairs, the transition back to my routine would be seamless. Well, those presumed auto repairs stretched into a six-week back-and-forth ordeal with the insurance company and a questionably competent auto shop. To further complicate matters, it was during this time that the pandemic seemed to be taking a hold to our nation’s consciousness. So, without much choice I was forced into economic exile. 

By week three of repairs, and with $12.75 in the bank and uncertain prospects for future income, I phoned the DC Department of Human Services to inquire about SNAP benefits. I would be emailed the application and abruptly told to phone the office when I had completed and emailed my submission. When I phoned, I was met with an empathetic agent who first asked, “how are you holding up?” Though close to anxious, I responded that I was doing well. She used the next five minutes to assure me that my application would be given favorable review. In fact, in the last moments of the call she placed me on a brief hold, then returned with news that in three days I could secure my EBT card not far from my apartment. Whomever this angel was, I thanked her for her professional help and handling at a time of personal uncertainty. This experience caused me to wonder why my dealings with the DC Department of Healthcare Finance were not equally as seamless and professional, after an aggravating seven-month bureaucratic ordeal to secure Medicaid benefits. However, when those Medicaid benefits were restored, I was again able to resume my weekly group therapy sessions.

Of course, you may be wondering, “why haven’t you secured employment with benefits equal to your needs?” The short answer is that I have tried, albeit unsuccessfully for the last two years to find employment in my profession and even outside of my profession.  The latest attempt was at an upscale assisted living facility in Ballston, Virginia. This seemed a purposeful career redirect, even inspired by the spirit of Mrs. Helen Verrey. And, with hopes high after a successful interview and subsequent conversations with HR, I secured an offer of employment. My projected start date, however, would be preempted by emergency shelter-in-place orders and a presumed hiring freeze at the facility. Still waiting and still hopeful…

In mid-March, on a Thursday I think, I thought to alert my apartment community of the likley challenges with making the coming month’s rent. I was assured that late fees would be removed and, because of the confused uncertainty the pandemic wrought, all residents would have until May 15 to bring their accounts current. I was especially grateful for the relief and again hopeful that things would work out favorably. 

That Saturday morning, I awoke early to make an online application for unemployment benefits. The process seemed easy enough, and one that I had completed before. An emailed receipt advised that I would receive notification of benefits via US mail. By Monday of the next week network news began reporting COVID-19 cases among local postal employees. Needless to say, I was a bit nervous at the prospects of whether the mail, and in particular news of unemployment benefits, would be discontinued for delivery. Worry aside, I checked the mail daily, in anticipation of a little good news. That Wednesday I retrieved a suspicious letter from a local attorney offering representation in an eviction filing with my name on it. I phoned my leasing office to be sure an error was made and that no such filing existed. I was assured it was a mistake. So, I phoned the ambulance-chasing attorney and advised that his research was mistaken. Even after a second review of his records, he apologized for the mistake and thanked me for clarifying the issue. I hung-up with one less worry for the week. 

Then Friday came, and in the mail was a “Notice of Court Hearing” from the DC Superior Court’s landlord and tenant branch. Turns out there was an eviction filing from my community with a court date of July 6. Also in the mail was a denial of unemployment insurance benefits. In the moment it felt like a really bad time to be me; my heard hurt, my pressure was elevated, and I just wanted to evaporate. I thought of all the gains and losses of the last few years, and then thought of the long conversations I’d had with Auntie Joyce. Then I unfurled my yoga mat, read some scriptures and did what felt like two hours of guided yoga. I felt better afterwards.

The next day, I resolved that all these happenings were only part of the test. And, as I’ve always suffered test anxiety, I knew it would require a little extra focus to see to the resolution of these challenges. I was reminded of Auntie Joyce’s words one day at the curb when she said, “you’ve got to put it in to get it out.” What I interpreted her saying to mean was that you’ve got to put in the work to get to the desired outcome. And, that caused me to think on Romans 8:18:

“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared to the Glory that shall be revealed in us.”

With appeals filed, prayers said, and others working on my behalf I lean into an embrace of the sage wisdom of Auntie Joyce and the prophets of old. I trust that my welfare has been secured and that the outcome is what it is…

My Revelations

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

I reckon it was my fourth-grade self that was first inspired by the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, from a PBS broadcast. So much so inspired, that when a local talent show was announced, I thought it wise to exercise my creative dance skills for display. Except when my mother saw my rehearsal performance, she thought otherwise. I sang a song instead. 

Fast forward years into this journey, and by some divine confluence of events, MSC OPAS presented Alvin Ailey on the campus of Texas A&M University. It would be the first of many times I’d see the troupe perform live. What struck me most was the grace and elegance of the dancers; the sheer enthusiasm and joy their bodies communicated. I can’t recall exactly what the repertoire was that evening, except at evening’s end, when ‘Revelations’ was presented, I sat on the edge of my seat anticipating a move of God. Because all those years ago it was ‘Revelations’ that I found most inspiring. I remember being powerfully moved by the duet Fix Me Jesus. Somewhere in my adolescent thoughts I recognized a queer (different) spirit coursing through my body. By the time of the solo piece I Wanna Be Ready, I had realized the mixed metaphors of the art. I had to know more about the creator. So, I went home and researched the person Alvin Ailey. Godincidence: We shared a kinship that bridged several identities.

It was years later-- 1999 I think-- and I had just begun a consulting gig at The Kennedy Center. Our makeshift office (The Banana Room) was located just down the hall from the dance rehearsal studios, and the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater had come to Washington, D.C. for their annual residency. One day, on break to get cookies from the downstairs canteen, I ran into artistic director Judith Jamison. I told her of the great impact Ailey had on me, and I’m guessing I thanked her for her commitment to the art. She asked if I would be attending a performance during the week. My reply was that I simply didn’t have the resources to sacrifice. She said, “give me your name and I’ll leave tickets for you to Saturday’s matinee performance.” Her word was her bond, and I enjoyed a stellar performance from box seats in the Kennedy Center Opera House. I was forever endeared to “Aunt Judy” for showing unmerited generosity and compassion to an undeserving country-boy.

In June 2016, while in New York for weekend respite, I learned that Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater was performing at the nearby Lincoln Center. With great haste, I secured tickets to the evening’s performance. As usual, there was a great enthusiasm among the audience prior to the start of the show. I took my seat in the orchestra level, looked forward toward the stage, and there three or four rows in front of me was Aunt Judy. I debated whether to bother her because curtain was quickly approaching. Yet with a fearless attitude I approached, introduced myself, and again thanked her for the affinity she sowed all those years ago. She was gracious and thanked me for my continued patronage.

All of this is yet another “revelation” of how God moves in mysterious ways!

Alone With God

Alone with God. 

Alone without any Christian friends, without any one to teach, and without any books sat John on the island.

But John was not alone, for God was with him.  

On the Lord’s Day, John was thinking, and thinking, and thinking about the message of Jesus.  He fell into a trance in the power of the Holy Spirit and heard a loud voice behind him like the sound of a trumpet saying “I am alpha and omega, the first and the last. What you see, write in a book and send it to the seven churches”. 

John saw visions of the throne of God, seals and trumpets, beasts and angels. He saw pictures of the last days, the second coming of Christ: judgement day, a new heaven and a new earth. 

How happy John was because Patmos was not a prison to him, but the very gates of heaven.  

The story teaches that God will talk to us if we are at home, in the church, or on some lonely island.

-Sister Shirley Bailey

Beginners Class Teacher

Greater Shiloh Baptist Church

Love is an Action

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Dear Pastor:

Because I know nothing of church protocols concerning the handling of matters like this, I choose to pen this note to seek clarification and express my grave concerns that today’s handling is not/will not become protocol for our care for the addicted, homeless and mentally challenged…

I drove past Tony this morning on my way to church, and even witnessed his stumblings then. I thought it pure God-incidence that I would later see Tony enter the sanctuary during the morning service. When Tony arrived to church and was shown his seat by a deacon (who I assumed was familiar with Tony’s personality), it was evident Tony might be under the influence of drugs, alcohol, or mental arrest. His sudden outburst at your “meddling” was met with scrambled haste from deacons and even a choir member. However, the presence I was most struck by was from a young woman who “appeared out of nowhere” and sat next to Tony. Her presence seemed to calm him as none of the others could. She even took and stood with him during the altar-call prayer. After service I crossed the sanctuary from center balcony to piano-side balcony to say “thank you” to her. Second God-incidence revealed the young lady was actually Tony’s sister and a two-year Shiloh member with her husband and two children. She volunteered her family’s great struggle with getting Tony (and another brother who succumbed to addiction) sober and off the streets. And she is a nurse. I left our sanctuary conversation heartened that someone has tried to advocate for Tony. However, when I arrived outside to the front of the church, I saw deacons (at least three) encircled around Tony, who was seated on the entry steps. As I was offering the knowledge of Tony’s sister to one deacon, and was in process of turning to retrieve her from the sanctuary, I saw she and her two children coming outside front. She came to us and asked Tony to come with her. He easily complied and walked away with her north on ninth street. However, before they could clear the vicinity of the family life center, they were beckoned by an arriving Metro Police officer. Having witnessed all this, I left the scene without an understating of the conversation or the resolution, but most certainly disheartened that a visit to Shiloh resulted in these actions… All this, after an inspiring sermon on ministry to outsiders.

For my sake, and the countless other members who attend church, I would appreciate knowing what our “handling practices” are for Tony and others like him who suffer social distress, social prejudice, and social isolation. Our best efforts to be welcoming must also be accompanied by consistent compassion and respect in our Christian deportment to Tony and others. I would welcome the opportunity to chat with you or other church leadership on this matter.

Tremendous thanks, and God’s continued blessings!

Inspired & Thoughtful Questions

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Ms. Helen Verrey is a walking testimony!... And, while the world may never acknowledge her with superlative or award, I am recipient of her empathetic largess. 

Needless to say, my spirit reflects Thanksgiving for the quiet, incredible presence she has always been in my life. It was in a moment of reflection that I realized I have known the Verrey family for 17 years. For much of that time, our familial relationship was cultivated vicariously through close friendship with her son, Raymond. However, at Fourth of July cookouts at her home, I would marvel/wonder/question why this sweet lady and her sweet husband would entertain the shenanigans of a bunch of pre-professional hooligans whose only motivation and incentive for coming was to pop fireworks in the backyard. Lots of fireworks. Countless laughs would ensue annually. And, Mrs. Verrey would always ensure we never left hungry.

Fast-forward years beyond the passing of her husband, the selling of the family home, and relocation to a “mature-adult community”. She handled it all (from an outsiders perspective) with grace and humility. It was at the “mature-adult community” that my appreciation for her humor and companionship blossomed. She would entertain me--yet again—with stories of her love for crafts, retellings of family vacations (I seem to recall something of San Francisco), and excursions to doctor visits and lunch at the nearby Chinese restaurant. I laughed, cried, and  smiled aplenty in her presence. Even at transition to closer and more convenient care, I’d always beg Raymond for his mother’s location so I could visit. And each time Raymond would oblige; even saying, “you don’t have to do that.”

Growing up, on New Year’s day Mom would always say, “whatever you do on the first day of the year, you will spend the entire year doing.” Well, I went to see Mrs. Verrey January 1, 2018 in hopes that this visit would spur a year-long routine. She was asleep when I arrived; and only because I drove all the way out to Virginia (not that it was far; but it was Virginia), I woke her up. “Boney?,” she asked in wonderment. I confirm that I am, in fact, Boney. And she smiles.

I tell her of all that’s transpired since our last visit October 6: Arthur’s spirited health reversal, interactions with Auntie Joyce, Arthur’s ultimate and timely transition, and the like. And I read her the postings from some of these happenings, especially that which shares her advice regarding “questions.” She too is excited to hear of the impact of her words. I ask her how she feels and how she likes the new place. God-incidence: the new place is located on “Tis Well Drive”… She shares that she is happiest here; that all the staff are kind, and that her favorite person is the young man who picks her up from bed and places her in her wheelchair. There was something reverential in her statement. I noticed she even projected more calm here.

Since I woke her, I promised I wouldn’t stay long. I asked if she needed anything. She said, “just some snacks. Like some club crackers or Tasty Cakes.” I learned later she couldn’t have the sweets. But she tried it!... Following an exchange of farewells and a kiss on the forehead, I was back outside on Tis Well Drive! My spirit had been renewed and I looked forward to my next visit to Mrs. Verrey.

Again I say, be present. The blessing may be yours to receive…

Sunday, August 12, 2018

At the rising of today’s Sunday sun, Mrs. Helen Verrey negotiated an eternal and all-consuming peace. Aided by grace, she conformed to God’s purposeful plan for her life. A life of adventure, a life of constant and remedial learning, a life of child-bearing and child-rearing, a life of questionable and unquestionable faith, and most importantly, a life spent passing the peace and love to those in her orbit.

Now, I imagined that she and I had more days ahead, for the many questions I had formulated. And even at last Saturday’s visit to mark her 68thbirthday, while weak in body, her spirit radiated a joyful calm-- even if seasonal-- that still makes this morning’s news all the more unfathomable... I just can’t wrap my mind around it. Then I was reminded, “our thoughts are not God’s thoughts.”

So to that revelation, and in celebration of the life and unquestionable legacy of a kindred, I’ll continue to “question” my family and friends. Not in an attempt to “know” God’s thoughts, but in an attempt to “see” his thoughts and works made manifest in those I love. It is the great lesson imparted to me by Mrs. Verrey, and one for which I am eternally grateful!

With Thanksgiving

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

In the recent silence of my heart and home, I have had tremendous opportunity for introspection and worldly cogitation. Strangely, I hadn’t realized the time lapsed since my last posting of November 24. The loss of my beloved Arthur seems just like yesterday. Even as he returned home to me last Saturday, December 2 in ashen remains, the plaster paw-print was reminder of the connection we nurtured in the final days through the countless feet cleaning and massage treatments I spoiled him with. Boy do I miss him.

But all that to say, I have been absent here and present in reflection. For all this while, the constant thought and feeling in my spirit has been one of Thanksgiving. Yes, Thanksgiving with a capital “T” to connote genuine article. My heart has been overwhelmed with the rhythms of Thanksgiving! And it is because of so many of you, in this season of loss, that I find reason to celebrate with Thanksgiving.

To my Auntie Jovita Gross: God sent you that week before the loss and even in all the days since, to be a distracting-healing-spirit. Your insistence that I celebrate Thanksgiving with you and your new family—the day before the loss-- was a prophecy-revealing experience. Those hours away from Arthur, in celebration of Thanksgiving with familial-friends, will eternally inspire me to celebrate faith, love and family in every season. I’m calling on God and the universe to show you incredible favor on Christmas Eve!

To Carly Johnson Watters: Your seasonal gifts have been the visual representation of the feeling of Thanksgiving that overflows in my heart. That they arrived within the month of these two joyous holiday seasons and a personal season of great change for me, is of tremendous God-incidence. I was reminded of the great and glorious bond our families share, upon the arrival yesterday of Mom & Dad’s thoughtful card. I am thankful the genuine definition of “family” extends to Cochise and Dogwood!

To Keri Johnson & Pat Wallace Johnson: You both have only ever shown me love. And your phone messages of late have touched my heart and aided in strengthening my resolve to celebrate with Thanksgiving. Please forgive me for not answering, as I just haven’t been able to muster the words for conversation. Know that I appreciate the sympathetic thoughts and prayers, even as you heal from similar loss of AJ earlier this year.

To All Friends: Your written, spoken and imagined thoughts on our behalf are met with tremendous thanks!... I am blessed in this life’s journey to have phenomenally-amazing friends-as-family who raise me up… Thank you Jesus!

Baseball and a Good Heart

Monday, December 11, 2017

*Name changed to protect passenger identity.

I’m a sucker for a good face. And boy did he have a good face!... But, I’m also cognizant and inclined to a good heart. And by the end of our drive together, the aspirational goodness of this man’s heart was abundantly clear.

When the app requested a pick-up for “*Donny”, I accepted and sped to Pentagon City Mall. Speeding was only in an attempt to beat the rush-hour traffic. Yet, when I arrived to the mall my approach was apprehensive. The great dilemma then was, would “Donny” be the older white gent in the suit and wing-tips, or the Latino millennial rocking the sweats and sneaks? Both appeared to be waiting in anticipation for a ride. Turns out, Donny was the latter of the two. And when he approached the car knowingly, I knew God was at work again. 

He opened the door. And in his cool, smoothly-balanced baritone said, “yeah, I’m Donny.” And as I do with all passengers, I excitedly welcomed him in. He said, “thanks.” And with the stroke of the app, we were off to, Regan National Airport?... I dutifully inquired with Donny if the location were correct, because other than the clothes he had on and the shopping bag from Zara, he didn’t bear what I perceived to be the necessities for travel. However, Donny confirmed the destination was correct and that he would be flying Delta.

With the window to discovery now cracked, I asked where he was headed and what brought him to Washington, DC. Well, it turns out he’d been in town for 24 hours for a physical and briefing with the MLB Washington Nationals, and he was headed back home to California... I don’t know much about baseball or sports in general. But, did I mention he had a good face?!

This is Donny’s second-life shot with the team. He came up through the Nats’ “farm system”, and--if memory serves--played at least one big league season before being sidelined by injury. When he spoke of the injury, I could sense how deeply crest-fallen he had been by the experience. I’m not certain the extent of his loss of livelihood by the injury. But it was clear, from the slight tremble in his voice, that he was at a complete loss of something he enjoyed more than making money. He spoke in hopeful terms about his current free-agency and the excitement of returning to Washington, DC. He spoke fondly of remembrances of the Nats’ arrival to Washington, DC and the euphoric spirit that blanketed the city upon the team’s arrival. He spoke as witness to the great change that has swept across the city and fuels this current renaissance of culture and enterprise. He spoke right into my spirit.

As we approached the airport, I bade my wishes for “safe travels.” He responded with thanks and unquestionable worry about returning home to where fires were close to decimating certain communities of Orange County. He thought he might be in the airport a long while, or caught mid-air circling his hometown and not able to land. I then bade him “traveling mercies” for here and there, all points in between, and especially the unseen/unknown places that God will send him. I am persuaded he was sent to be a bright light in my day.

Washington, DC I vote we take Donny. I vote we accept his aspirational greatness and give it a platform. I vote we let him tell his story to our children, friends and neighbors, so they might be as inspired as I was in the time he was present as my passenger… Go Nats!

Change Me, Oh God

Monday, December 18, 2017

You really can’t make this stuff up… It’s why I choose to write about it!

Following a good night’s rest, I awoke with the idea of driving a few passengers before heading to the office. It was a “test” to see if I could institute the practice into my morning routine; cause I love driving Uber!... As the music of Tamela Mann played in the background, I undertook the hour-long task of getting myself ready for the day. However, it were the words of the song that stopped me in my tracks:

Change me oh God/Make me more like you

Change me oh God/Wash me through and through

Create in me a clean heart/So that I may worship you

So I’m thinking while looking upward, “is there something to be revealed in this little adventure-experiment?” By now you know… Anticipating the “first-passenger” of the day always puts me in a hopeful place. Hopeful that whomever the first-passenger is, they will set the “tone and tenor” for the day. Imagine my big chuckle at the “God-incidence” when the app displayed the passenger name “Adam!” My first-passenger of the day would, in fact, be the first-man of humanity!... Onward, as I’m navigating the streets of Eastern Market and Capitol Hill to pick up the first-man; cause ironically, Adam stakes his residence among the many legislators, staff, lobbyists and non-profit workers who call Capitol Hill home. Not so coincidentally then, he wears a suit and happens to be thin (maybe from worry). He hops into the vehicle while confirming he is Adam. I confirm the drop-off location to be correct, and he offers extra confirmation that he is headed to Bible study. You know I’m on the brink now!…

Adam tells me he’s a member of the fledgling congregation at Waterfront Church DC. And while his Bible study meets at a coffee-shop, the church recently acquired a store-front to worship in. On the drive we chat about the beauty of Washington, DC and the current social climate. We talk about the decline of USA millennials attending church, and the groundswell support the African church has seen recently. I mention the sage wisdom of my South African Auntie Khosi, whom I’d met in London this past August. He mentions having traveled to Swaziland for mission work and the tremendous impact the people and culture have had on him. He further offers that while it was his first trip, his father has gone several times. His father, on all of his visits, teaches cataract removal to reginal doctors in Swaziland, and does mission work. Adam and his family are from Oklahoma (when not in the Garden of Eden); and his pastor is from Texas. His presence in my car is a reminder that inspiration and God’s humor are on full display in this purposeful journey called life!

I have to admit, this morning’s experiment also has me wondering, “will Mary make an appearance in my car before Christmas Eve?”

God is all around… Have a terrific Tuesday!

Let Your Presence be the Present

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Even in Arthur’s absence, I’ve tried to make it routine to stop by and see Auntie Joyce (my Shelterless-Kindred). TBH, I haven’t been so good at sticking to the routine. So, this morning on my way to work, I went out of my way—twice—to get to my Auntie Joyce. I’m sure if anyone were watching me cross the street, then re-cross, only to cross again, they would have thought it strange and…typical DC!

The final street crossing put me within earshot of Auntie Joyce; except when I called out, she couldn’t hear me. My successful attempt at getting her attention involved some interpretive dance. But when she removed the new headphones and saw me, she exhibited joy and offered a warm embrace. Then she scolded me. She asked where I had been in the time since our last visit; even saying, “I thought maybe you went back to Texas!” She even asked if Arthur had visited me, because she appealed to him that I not forget her... As the shame became visible on my brow and I was duly scolded, Auntie Joyce said, “I just wanted to give you the third part of your presidents’ gift-set.” Damn ya’ll. I started to cry.

We walked to her usual spot (given all the crisscrossing’) at the train over-pass near 1st & L Streets Northeast. She retrieved a brilliant-colored package and handed it to me. She advised that it might come in handy soon. And I believe her. She also said she was waiting on her usual Christmas miracle. Now, in light of recent cultural experiences, I felt my spirit look upward with revelation suggesting, “I see you’re at it again!”

I shared with Auntie Joyce the writings I composed at Arthur’s passing and at yesterday’s introduction to Adam. Her eyes welled. She said, “Ray I’m so glad you stopped by today.”

With a loving embrace, we said our farewells for the day. I promised to return soon, by God and Arthur’s directive. 

You’ve heard it time and again, and it bears repeating. So, I will… “In this Christmas season, your presence is a tremendously invaluable present.”

Pursuing Hopeful Solutions

Sunday, December 24, 2017

*Name changed to protect passenger identity.

I’d wager the inspiration for this posting dates back to early-October. When “Maria” got into the car that morning she said, “this should be interesting given that you’re a five-star driver.” I politely shrugged then welcomed her in. After I confirmed the drop-off to be Crystal City, she suggested a “very specific” route. I obliged, and off we went!... The conversation was polite. She asked how long I had been driving for Uber. I replied, over a month now. She asked how long I have lived in DC. I responded it had been 18 years. I asked where she was from. She said the Southside of Chicago. I told her of a recent encounter with a fellow-Southside Chicagoan who founded a hospitality consultancy. She said, “it’s what we do; we get things done.” I asked what brought her to Washington, DC. She said she worked in the Obama administration and now for a defense contractor. What followed was profound… She said, “its hard to not be part of the solution.” Seeing the Glory in this statement, I asked her to clarify for my pedestrian understanding. She advised that in pursuit of finding solutions to contemporary social crisis that affect everyday people, she found her most fulfilling work. However, the same sense of purpose is not matched in her current job experience. I totally got it… As I dropped her off in Crystal City near her employment, I told her there was tremendous purpose in our meeting that morning. She thanked me and, even at my refusal, pressed a five-dollar bill in my hand saying, “everyone appreciates cash.” That morning she bought my breakfast.

Fast-forward to mid-November, and I’m in the same neighborhood at roughly the same time when I get a ride request. God-incidence: the passenger was “Maria!” She bounded into the car, ever cheerful that our paths had crossed again. When settled she said, “what do you have to tell me today; how have you been?” I told her she was my “first repeat-passenger” and first passenger of the day, so I felt she had something more to tell me! Her last words, I said, had been so incredibly inspiring that I shared them with family and friends, especially those in lobbying, public affairs and ministry. All agreed that she was onto something. She was surprised that her words had such an impact. I reminded her that words matter. As I pulled to the curb she told me of her plans with family for Thanksgiving. She mentioned her mother from Chicago would be there, and that she was “excited” to be cooking for her. Again, we marveled at the opportunity to reconnect. And again, she pressed a five-dollar bill into my hand. That morning she bought my hot tea.

Then last Sunday… At the last-minute invitation of a new friend (he has a good face), I attended The Holiday Show presented by the Gay Men’s Chorus of Washington. It had been some years since I last heard them perform; but more on that in a moment… The first God-incidence: We only had one ticket for a reserved-seating-sell-out show. However, we approached the Lincoln Theater box office confident, if not disillusioned, that we would find two seats together. We presented the dilemma to the ticket agent who gazed at the computer screen in bewilderment at the absence of two seats together. Then the lightbulb went off. She turned her head slightly away from us and extended her arm across the desk. When she turned to us she said, “I just remembered someone brought two tickets back they couldn’t use. Balcony seats.” I inquired as to the cost. She said, “please, just take them.” I’m thinking, “why me God?!” The answer would be in the music.

TBH, recent events had not inspired my usual holiday joy. So, I viewed this concert as an attempt at a “pick-me-up.” And through the festive opening number and usual holiday carols, I felt my heart smile a little. Yet, by the second “childhood memory” offered by a chorus member, the dramatically-emotional staging of homeless characters, and the riveting arrangements of “Mary Did You Know” and “It Is Well With My Soul”, I felt renewal in my body. I started imagining the great cloud of witnesses. I saw Allison’s sweet face and the countless other friends who were in the cloud. I saw a purposeful path toward contributing to the solution. And I saw Auntie Joyce’s face and the countless other shelterless-kindred who need us all to commit to being part of the solution.

To be part of the solution means “being present” for the opportunity to serve. To be part of the solution is to “invite your whole self to rise to the calling.” To be part of the solution means “coalescing with like-minds who share the faithful-empathy to make an impact.” And, to be part of the solution means “acknowledging the Glory in reconciliation.”

My neighbor Abby (also an Aggie) saw need for a solution and created a GoFundMe for Auntie Joyce. Others, who may or may not know Auntie Joyce, contributed their resources to a solution. Earlier this week Auntie Joyce said she was looking for her Christmas miracle. When I drove by the train over-pass last night and tonight, upon return from Christmas Eve service at Foundry United Methodist Church, Auntie Joyce was not there. My heart leapt and my eyes watered from a deeply emotional place that wanted to scream, “Thank you Jesus!”

I predict the days ahead will be greatly trying for some fellow Americans. The widening chasm of inequality may displace more families, and likely more than we’d ever imagine. But, the greatness of America is always her resilience to see beyond the bleak and to the hopeful. Our collective greatness is beyond the petty bickering, the marginalization, the micro-and-macro aggressive attacks, the misogyny and the disenfranchisement. Our greatness exists because America has a heart. And this heart works to heal both the social and political maladies. 

Our collective understanding should be that regardless of social and political division, America always births new vision and leadership; even in all of her states and cities and small towns and villages. Each of us is evidence of the birth. And, each of us has the power to contribute and impact our continued greatness. 

Pursue hope… “Thank you Jesus (and your father, God) for Christmas!”

They Were Always There

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Mother said they were always there. “The difference is that now you are able to see them”, she ended. And indeed, maybe I am a more woke participant to the sufferings of others. But what have my life lessons taught me?... Be of great faith. Be kind to others. ‘Tis better to give than to receive. God don’t like ugly… 

Surely these same values have been imparted to others, right? However, what does it say of our collective failure to embrace these values, when so many have so little? We fail at faith. We fail at love. We fail at giving. It’s a shameful, ugly mess…sometimes. And yet, the spirit of civility, the granting of mercy, and the promise (read purpose) of humanity have been the only things to sustain us. 

I am my best when convicted by thoughtful moments similar to that of the character Peter in the Netflix series A.D. Kingdom & Empire when he says, “I’m afraid I may not be the person Jesus thinks I am.” It’s in those moments when I’m hopeful that my best actions reflect my thoughts. See, like many of you, I don’t want to be guilty of not showing compassion, to the grave disappointment of Christ.

Homelessness, especially in these times of great wealth and continued greed, must be a priority for immediate solution. Though its ravages are magnified by winter weather, the problem of homelessness persists year-round. Therefore, our solutions must be year-round and mitigate every potential for failure. Our hearts and minds are compelled to care. Our actions must be equally matched. And indeed, humanity (and the likes of Auntie Joyce) is counting on us!

And, as my pastor stated in ecclesiastical-elegance this morning, these times call for “a song of hope and a song of grace.” 

Suffering & Glory

Sunday, November 19, 2017

It is the imagined and real #suffering of a loved-one that leads us down the path of #purpose. Whether a precious child borne to our care until #adulthood, that relies on us for basic and eventual #luxury necessities. Or a royal #dog, whose nonverbal #companionship is likely the most we will ever experience #unconditional #love. We shower love, #affection, and every attainable resource on those we love in an effort to help lessen their sufferings on #earth. This “purpose of life” we seek—the #responsibility and #privilege to help #people and #animal-- is illustrated for #global and microcosmic #reproof in how we #care daily for our #humanity… This I learned from a dog (#god).

 --

 When the passenger name displayed in the app last Monday or Tuesday (the only detail I’m fuzzy on), I looked heavenward and said aloud, “I see what you’re doing.” Little did I know, I couldn’t even imagine the shenanigans he’d laid afoot. I pulled curb-side expecting one, likely-female passenger. There awaited two; one younger male and one mature female...oh, and some contraption in the man’s hands. When the door swung open, I asked the young man, “are you Glorie?” He replied, that was his wife’s name and she would be along shortly with the baby. In the interim he, his mother and I would spend a moment trying to install the base to the baby car-basket. Once we were successful, and as if the cue were rehearsed, Glorie emerged from the building lobby with the tiniest bundle of life swaddled in brand-new clothing. It turns out, Luke (the baby’s name) was three days-old and headed home for the first time. I accepted responsibility for the precious cargo, and we were off through the streets of Capitol Hill, Federal Center Southwest and Chinatown.

I let them know I knew from the initial trip-request this would be a special experience, as I had been meditating on the word “glory” with great frequency of late. They asked if I were Christian. I replied, “something like that.” They voluntarily acknowledged that they were (are you kidding me, Glorie and Luke?!). It was then I shared my meditative conclusion on “glory.” I said, “glory is the intersection of God doing what he does and us having our minds blown.” They affirmed agreement with the statement by asking what church I attended. I said, “Shiloh Baptist; 9thand P is the place to be.” They offered, “Capitol Hill Baptist Church with Mark Dever” was their fellowship. The subject then turned to grandmother when I asked her, “do you have any prior experience at this grandmothering-thing?” The coy yet confident response was delivered with sugary sweetness. “Luke is my 27thgrandchild,” she said. I had to pump the brakes to avoid accidental acceleration!... So, she’s qualified.

When we arrived to their building, I assisted with removal of the base and basket, wished them the best in parenting, and said maybe I’d check-out that church of theirs... Yep. I attended Capitol Hill Baptist Church (CHBC) this morning. And in advance, I learned that vice president Mike Pence had recently attended service there. But remember, the gospel is for all people; without respect of politics (even in Washington, D.C.). With this knowledge, however, I had somewhat tempered my expectations for what the experience would likely be. I arrived on-time with an extra ten minutes to find seating. I was greeted at a minimum of six times by ushers and parishioners; each time a genuine out-pouring of hospitality and inclusive engagement. However, I was stunned when I looked around at the assembled congregants. Thinking I was walking into yet another articulation of the “most segregated hour in America,” what I found at Capitol Hill Baptist Church was the harmonious co-existence of faith and the equitable representation of America’s beautiful diversity. Everyone was at the table, willingly participating, and inspiring those across the aisles in their faith journey. This was the perfection of “whosoever will, let him come.”

Through familiar hymns, theological affirmations, a Prayer of Reliance, and offertory, it all seemed designed like other services I had attended at other churches. Except, this experience was kissed with “God-incidence.” It seems they planned the service especially for me, as every facet of the service spoke to the themes of restoration, justice, faithful deportment, and reconciliation. From Matthew 9:18-34 that fella Mike Dever, in a style reminiscent of university history professor and high school choir director (who doesn’t love their high school choir director?), delivered reverential and convincing discovery that our struggles are not our own to bear. Dever reminded that Jesus helped; Jesus became famous; and Jesus was opposed. Put another way, why would we all not have hardship when Jesus was the savior of the world and was met with hostile persecution. And if crucifixion is good enough for Jesus, then surely a little struggle on our journey is apropos, no?... There were countless other nuggets in this sermon. However, the great take-away for me was the admonishment to “love your enemy and all who oppose your faith journey.” That’s “glory” ya’ll. 

My mind has been completely blown by this entire week’s experience!... And my reflective conclusion from this: “If your presence and praise are genuine and authentic, welcoming and inclusive, compassionate and generous, then you are “the called.” 

The Choice of Homelessness

Monday, November 20, 2017

No one chooses homelessness in a moment of critical decision while considering the potential permanence of their circumstance. Even Auntie Joyce--my shelter-less kindred who relishes her time in God’s nature-- abhors the evils of predatory landlords and rigged social service systems. She says these people and systems show obvious signs of mismanagement and corruption of compassion. Yet, their reform seems never to be a priority of either political party. One party chooses to pile-on bureaucratic hurdles, while the other wishes a total disassembling of these vitally helpful services. America, on this basic human and civil right—touching life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness-- we have to do better.

My heart breaks at the apparent loss of our humanity when—while America’s cities are developing and prospering-- we cannot fulfill this tenant of faith and empathy. Will we allow our corporate desire to prosper to supersede our purposeful calling to help others? When will market saturation dictate a reduction in exorbitant rental rates that drive people either to unsafe living conditions, the brink of monthly bankruptcy, or abject homelessness? When will we trust the research that advises it municipally cost-effective, as well as socially and mentally stabilizing to eradicate homelessness. I would be disappointed if our only response to the issue was a story-line in season two of popular television. People are hurting, hopeless, and dying.

Abundance does not have to be a lot… Nonetheless thankful!

In Memoriam to Arthur

Friday, November 24, 2017

My beloved Arthur succumbed this evening to a life-long overflowing of love and affection!... I rejoice that the 13 years 10 months and 5 days have been some of the most glorious ever lived by human as an offering from animal. I pray the “creature comforts” I provided him were a worthy exchange for the “human comfort” of unconditional love he so richly blessed my life with. And, I thank God for providing me a truly spiritual oracle through which to view his glory and promise… Arthur requests no memorials of thought, except that you show someone or some animal the mercy of your love!

State of Confirmation

Friday, June 1, 2018

On the curb he presented as yet another “dowdy-college-professor” attired for causal Friday; a relaxed elegance in chinos. But, I almost missed him in yesterday morning’s rush hour traffic. You see, the intersection of Constitution Avenue and First Street, Northeast offers the novice driver several challenges to navigating the safe pick up of a requesting passenger. So, as I approached the intersection eastward, I made a call to “Sam” to pinpoint his exact location at the “intersection of chaos and promise.” Traffic was moving at a quick click, so by the time Sam confirmed his location, it made sense to turn right onto First Street (going south), then a sharp left u-turn (going north). It was at that moment that “Sam” said, “I see you.” I was headed in a forward direction, when in the moment I was faced with the nostalgia of where “Sam” stood. In fond reflection, I was reminded of the summer I interned in the hallowed halls of the Russell Senate Office Building (it’s that season again). With one more left turn, I was back on Constitution Avenue (going west). A brief stop, and I had secured the safe pick-up of “Sam”. We greeted each other warmly, and he was the first to acknowledge the challenge of that high-trafficked intersection. He mentions being picked up times before by drivers, with every one an eventual success. I jokingly compared the pick-up to “the chaotic journey of finding one’s purpose in life.” I assume a light went on, because “Sam’s” follow-up question was, “what other work do you do?” I responded that after a career in events and PR, I had settled into the routine of driving Uber after a return from Texas last July. He asked if I enjoyed it. I said very much. And since the door was cracked to a purposeful conversation, I also added that I viewed this work as a ministry of-sorts. I told him of encounters with the joyful and saddened personalities of past passengers, and what is clearly a growing call and need for Americans to express “more care” for each other. He related with a story of his support of a homeless man; how expressions of care are concurrent convictions and joys that touch our hearts deeply. This conversation, I then knew, was going somewhere… 

As we make the traffic transition from Constitution Avenue to Pennsylvania Avenue and back to Constitution Avenue, passing the National Gallery of Art East and West Wings, the Canadian Embassy, the mix of government office buildings (on the right) and the majestic museums of the Smithsonian Institution (on the left), “Sam” looked left to the last museum, the National Museum of African-American History and Culture, and said, “I worked on the committee to open that museum.” It is my belief that this museum represents the legacy of so many who put aside cultural and political differences to erect a “crown jewel” of care in the nation’s capitol. Now, wait for it… “Sam” tells me next that he wants to be counted as one of the “good white people” who showed care for all of humanity. 

“Sam” then tells me he works in the office of international religious freedoms at the state department. Again, seeing the providence, I exclaimed my surprise that State cares about religious freedoms; but, I would reflect and be reminded later that, just this past Mother’s Day, Shiloh Baptist welcomed Rev. Dr. Suzan Johnson Cook; she the former Ambassador-at-Large for International Religious Freedoms. She was phenomenal, and evidence that God does reside at State! The subject of her message was “Give Me What’s Rightfully Mine”... Back to “Sam.” His revelation spurred even a lively discussion on topics ranging from the generational strife of Haitians and Dominicans, the continued plight of all sides of the conflict in Myanmar, and the continued and unfortunate persecution of people of all faiths the whole world over. These were global examples of the need to “spread the care.” 

As we approached the drop-off at State, and with the classical music having provided an exceptional soundtrack to conversation, Sam asked if he could pray for me. I thought, “is this Uber regulation?” I looked left and right, then agreed. It was short and sweet. “God, please keep Raymond safe in his travels. We thank you for the time in this car. Amen.”

When I returned home from all the morning’s drive, I did a quick Google of the Office of International Religious Freedoms. God-incidence: this guy “Sam” IS the “Ambassador At-Large” at State representing the United States!

Aloud I thought, “God, you’re funny!”

Cheerleading Presence

Monday, June 4, 2018

Wow… Wow!... WOW!

The wheels on the RAV4 couldn’t power my return home fast enough from this morning’s drive. I feared that I would forget/skip/omit details of what was a phenomenal drive experience. 

The early morning began with a mediation on 2 Corinthians 1:24… “but [we] are helpers of your joy. For by faith ye stand.” In short, helping is all I look forward to doing each morning and evening, when behind the wheel. But more these days, the conversations with the passengers have been of tremendous “help” to me. Most enter the car for travel to the “obligatory-calling” that is work. And often, I can never be sure whether their spirits are positioned for friendly engagement. Such was the case when Andrew entered the car in the 4:00 am hour. I knew he’d be airport bound because most travel within the hour is usually to the airport. It was further evidenced by the rolling-bags and sleepy deportment. I hopped out of the car to assist with the luggage, to be met with, “careful; those are a bit heavy.” I was grateful he cared, because of my old back. He settled in and confirmed he was headed to Regan National Airport for a United Airlines flight. From the metro station in NOMA we gently strode First Street to North Capitol to Constitution Avenue to the Ninth Street Tunnel. Traffic was de’lite’ful!... “Andrew” said he was headed to Chicago, and I got excited for him. He would be taking a costume-wig styling-intensive at DePaul University. “Do you work in the theater?” was my question to him. He acknowledged that he did, though at the mention of the theater company’s name, I think he knew he’d have some explaining to do. It turns out, “Andrew” manages--to finite detail--the costuming (wigs included) for the Fellowship for the Performing Arts. These folks are a “not-for-profit theatrical production company delivering provocative, entertaining theater from a Christian worldview that is engaging to a diverse audience [FPA mission; website].” The company had been in town at the Lansburgh Theatre for a staging of “Martin Luther on Trial.” Andrew spoke highly of company management. I’ve worked in the arts and know this ain’t normal. He relished the challenges of his work-- though he be in the second year of a career-change-- and praised the administrative acumen of company founder Max McLean. Utopic theater companies do exist, and even in the name of Jesus!... Andrew departed at the curb at DCA intent on the intensive, as well as showing a new radiance for the day’s journey (the intensive begins at 9:00 am CST!!). He thanked me for the classical music!

In the dawn of the 5:00 am sun, she waved her cell phone on the “feeder road” of 395 in Springfield, Virginia to get my attention and confirm that she was my intended passenger. Her enthusiasm was arresting; her name would be inspiring… “Good morning, I’m Karima!” I returned the charity with chipper reply, “Hello, I’m Raymond!” After confirming her drop-off to be Howard University Hospital (25 minutes in pre-dawn traffic), I asked, “What does your name mean?” She said, “Generous.” I told her to get out!... My next question was an attempt to have her prove her name’s worth. I asked, “Do you work at the hospital?” She replied that she was a third-year medical student. My eyes welled a bit. “Generous” is worthy!... On she goes to mention her undergraduate years at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville; and she mentions her “affinity” for the DMV (District-Maryland-Virginia) as reason for choosing to attend Howard Medical. Even as we make our way north on 395 toward the District, we share a mix of humorous and serious anecdotes about this “purposeful path” she has chosen, the impact that Howard University Medical has had on both of us, and a brief retelling of my providential meeting of South African Auntie Khosi in London last August. Since she had connection to place, I asked “Generous” how she was affected by the Charlottesville incident last August. She acknowledged immediate shock and profound disappointment. Further she said, even while reconciling racism is everywhere, she never imagined racial violence would ever materialize just down the street where she would grab Friday night pizza… As her surgery rotation begins today, she was reminded that she would have a to make a choice of “specialty” within two months time. Long calls with her Mom, and still she had no idea in which direction she would go. I advised that she couldn’t go wrong. She had wisely chosen the “purpose” (medicine); and that regardless the “path” (specialty), she should pursue it with inspired excellence. God-incidence: At that moment we were stopped at a stoplight in the shadow of Carter G. Woodson’s statue in the Shaw neighborhood… When we arrived to Howard University Hospital she thanked me. I thanked her for being the generational manifestation of hope and promise (there are lots of them)!

I would make the next pick-up of a passenger two blocks from Howard University Hospital at the hip Atlantic Plumbing building.  She was en route to National Airport for a flight to Colorado, after a weekend visiting her boyfriend. Proof that love will keep “us” together, her boyfriend will travel to Colorado later this evening to spend the week with her!... Her trip was followed by a pick-up in nearby Pentagon City. Unbeknownst, this trip would put me on a course to surprising Glory (that intersection of God doing what he does, and us having our minds blown)! When the passenger confirmed the drop-off to be Old Town Alexandria, my imagination flashed to the nearby neighborhood of a mentor. Knowing from a third-party that this mentor has a penchant for Ubering, I thought, “what are the chances?” As we made haste south on Route 1, the young lady and I shared  a love of the quaint village feel of Old Town. When stopped at the intersection of King Street & Washington Avenue, I looked right. God-incidence: Ann Stock manifest on Washington Avenue and would cross our path! I told the passenger that I HAD to slow down when the light changed to say hello; and right in the middle of the intersection, I was blessed as my eyes locked with Mrs. Stock’s. She said, “oh my goodness! Call me!” And we continued on for a block, where the young lady would disembark with a jovial, “Thanks for the ride!”

I took the opportunity to send Mrs. Stock the following text message:

“Seeing you briefly brought joy to my morning!... Will chat soon!”

Soon was sooner than expected!... I found myself outside her door at 8:15 am headed to The Kennedy Center!... It was at the Kennedy Center that I met Mrs. Stock in February 1999. She was Vice President of Institutional Affairs, and I was a lowly staffer assigned to the Spring Gala planning team. She would go on to work in the Obama Administration as the Assistant Secretary of State for Educational & Cultural Affairs. What I also remember were the animated retellings of her years as Social Secretary in the Clinton White House, vice president for PR at Bloomingdale’s, and as deputy press secretary for Vice President Walter Mondale. She has a story for every occasion and advice for every career quandary. It is the latter that will eternally endear us, because on one of my toughest career days (December 6, 2016), Mrs. Stock phoned me. It was the morning of Aggies United, and I was sleepless, anxious and overwhelmed. Her words of encouragement on the other end of the receiver were the salve to heal my anxiety. She said, “just get it done.”

Our reunion at the curb of her home commenced with a big hug. I advised that she would have to sit in back for the full experience (and the eventual photo); she advised she needed to sit in back to clean out her purse. We made our way through the congestion of traffic on Washington Avenue and the George Washington Parkway, across the Arlington Memorial Bridge, and up Rock Creek Parkway sharing details of success and disappointment from the past couple of years. With hardly enough time to catch up, I shared my thoughts of starting a blog to chronicle the personalities and God-incidences of this entire Uber experience. I shared details of a trip last week that I viewed as confirmation of this “creative calling.” And because her “care” and support are boundless, Mrs. Stock said, “Do it!” 

Each of us needs a “cheerleading presence” to move us closer to our potential, to help filter the distractions of doubt and complacency, and to inspire us to contribute in meaningful ways on purposeful paths. For me, the presence of Andrew, “Generous” and Ann Stock (and the inspiring force of Nature) are confirmation of “necessary-next-steps” in my quest to “Inspire America to Care Again!”… And, I’ll need each of you to help!

Is God the Homeless?

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

And this is how I know God exists and continues to work: I've "befamilied" a shelterless lady named Auntie Joyce. We swap war-stories of life, it's joys and disappointments. And, we offer each other encouragement. When I told her she was a "gift" to people, she asked, "what do I have to give?" I told her it was the "truth of life" that she gifted me with... Today as I returned from a trip to Takoma Park, frantically shopping The Big Bad Woof pet store for anything Arthur would eat, I passed Auntie Joyce. She said she had something for me. And these are her gifts to me (see picture)... What this "gift" tells me is: 1. Keep the faith and continue to resist for favorable outcomes 2. Everyday is a ministry; use it for good and be receptive to being ministered to 3. See God's purpose in ALL people; he manifests himself in others for your good!... I feel my help coming!!!... Have a super day! 

Compact Lights Shine Bright

Friday, October 13, 2017

She has done it AGAIN!!... Auntie Joyce (my “befamilied” and shelterless kindred) stopped me the other day to offer the second half of my gift; this compact yet powerful palm light! She demurred at the modesty of the gift, but I recognized the blessing right away... This compact and powerful woman (who declines to be photographed) has been a brilliant, bright light these last couple of months in DC. 

This morning as Arthur and I visited her, I mentioned an impending meeting, and she advised to seek refuge/counsel in Psalm 5 (there’s something here for everyone!). No sooner than we walked away did I google it on my mobile... Know this: #god chooses his vessel of truth from the most unusual of suspects! Each of you has “light” potential. Use it to great and glorifying affect!

Confessions of a 5-Star Uber Driver

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

I have two confessions to make: Firstly, I’m an Uber driver… Secondly, I LOVE IT!... Never mind the fact that I enjoy a 5-star rating after a month behind the wheel; and, this experience at first only served to be an employment-bridge after re-re-locating to Washington, D.C. What really motivates me in this adventure are the people who entrust me with their safe care and passage. And to all those people (aka passengers), I say thank you!

Perhaps it strange to have robust and thought-provoking conversations with one’s passengers; but as I think back on all of those conversations, truth be told, the passengers started it!... You see, I’m fascinated with human engagement, and feel it absolutely necessary to lend a kind ear and thoughtful response to their socialization. And growing up, Mom would always say, “its just nice to be nice…” Indeed it is! So nice, in fact, that I come away each day inspired by the personal anecdotes shared with me during the day. 

Again, I don’t ask for these revelations, but find it hard to not be engaging when the lady with Cancer, looking for distraction and cheer in the aisles of Walmart after a long morning of doctors visits in her battle with cancer, tells me of she and her college-enrolled daughter’s quest to raise two adorable kittens. Your hug of thanks on your porch after helping with the bags gave purposeful meaning to an otherwise routine day… Or, the young lady from the Southside of Chicago, who has founded a hospitality consultancy for disenfranchised-but-willing applicants in the fields of bartending and waitressing. Your tales of service to your neighbors and the intellectual prowess of a boyfriend concocting a pH-balanced water for African Americans, is the source of a well-spring of inspiration to me and others… Or, the young fella with aspirations of becoming a war correspondent. You reminded me of an early-life aspiration I had of becoming a peace correspondent. I pray for the day we all have greater aspirations for all things peaceful… 

Then there was the Capitol Hill employee and Mom, who after a long day at the office requested a stop to get pizza before heading home. You inspire as the personification of “work-life balance” and all-around cool Mom... Or, the father from Texas with ties to TCU, in DC to visit his daughter. And the mother, en route to the airport to see her daughter run a cross-country meet for Notre Dame, who shared my same surprise at the coincidence of being at the same national track meet at Texas A&M last year. Both of you parents show immense amounts of pride in your progeny. You would serve as inspirational examples to all current and prospective parents the whole world over… 

To the trio of individual passengers (aka UberPool; and all of us DC residents) who entertained me while passing the time in traffic. Your collegial embrace of each other, while from very disparate places and experiences [the likes of which include a female native-Puerto Rican, just back from checking on her parents and volunteering in-relief; a retired native-New Yorker weary of whether her mother should stay in FL post-storms; and the Ohioan farm-boy, who now advocates for wheat growers on Capitol Hill], you all inspire a cooperation so badly needed in our country right now… Or, the many Texans I have coincidentally ferried throughout the city. You all inspire a similar hope I have that a progressive wind would sweep across our beloved native state. And yes, DC does have a state income tax!… 

And, to the Former Marine and current State Department employee, who long after the trip was completed and the meter was turned off, helped me in drafting a global peace accord. It began at “respect” and ended with “reconciliation.”

We all want reconciliation of presence, purpose and perspective. This I have learned from driving Uber... This is my Uber story, and I’m sticking to it!

Texas Family

Thursday, October 19, 2017

“Oh the places you’ll go!”... Next stop, Texas! And here to celebrate the coincidental-confluence of events in the life of a Texas native-son; 25-year high school reunion, family dinner to mark my 44th year, and my first meeting as a member of the Bryan ISD Foundation Board of Directors... This is where I start believing that “life has come full-Circle!”

Friday, October 20, 2017

This morning when my cousin awoke to silence the ringing alarm, I heard her take a deep breath. What followed was prophetic revelation. She said, “Thank you Jesus.” In the moment, my heart leapt because I reasoned why she was thankful. After five minutes of doing whatever else it is that women do before feet-to-floor, she came into the living room. I asked her, “what was it you said and why did you say that?” Before she could answer, I gave reasoning to her words. You see growing up, we would say “thank you” in exchange for favor shown to us from others. In this manner we used it as a form of currency. Think about it… My cousin’s thankfulness what rooted in an adage the ancestors used when they would say, “I thank the Lord for being in my right-mind.” For his protection over the course of the night, when we did not succumb to sleep apnea, or heart arrest, or murder, or any number of other health and social maladies; for showing unmerited favor in light of our shortcomings; for providing another day and endless opportunities for fellowship with family and friends, I join and echo the sentiments of my cousin, when she says “Thank you Jesus!”… And, blessed birthday wishes to my dear cousin!