Archive for April, 2012


God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Taking one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a path to peace.

Taking, as Jesus did, this cruel world as it is, not as I would have it.

Knowing that you will make all things right if I just surrender to your will.

So that I may be reasonably happy in this life, and supremely happy with you in the next.


– Reinhold Niebuhr

They say that grief has five stages, and the last is acceptance…

Kesner lived, Kesner loved me,  and Kesner died.  I cannot change this, nor would I want to change our  love story.  I accept those things I cannot change. I surrender.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

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Kesner’s mother invited me over for dinner one evening in the fall, after my semester began.    Beautiful Simone and I talked and cried together that evening, as she showed me pictures and told me more stories about Kesner. It was so nice to meet her in the context of her home and to imagine what it must have been like for Kesner growing up. Simone is such a powerful woman, a single mom who sacrificed to put all five of her sons through Catholic school and  then college.  She is amazing. I was there until midnight that night, sitting at the kitchen table and talking.

At some point I told her about the dream I’d had that Kesner had a stroke and not a heart attak . When last we spoke, I’d told her that I thought it was a heart attack; but now I was certain it was a stroke. “Kez wouldn’t have wanted to live like that..” She said.

I also told her again that Kesner was indeed taking his insulin shots. More than anyone, I wanted her to know this; I wanted her to know that I saw him take those insulin  shots day after day. “But what about the high blood pressure medicine?”

I couldn’t speak on that, I never saw Kesner take his high blood pressure medication. In fact I remembered him having frequent mild headaches.  And high blood pressure is a likely cause of a stroke…  I didn’t understand why Kesner wasn’t taking his high blood pressure pills. Neither did his mom, we discussed it for a while and neither of us could figure it out.

The following week I volunteered at a stroke awareness workshop that my sorority was hosting in Trenton. A male cardiologist spoke that afternoon about men and high blood pressure. “A lot of men will not take their high blood pressure medicine, because they believe it will impact their ability to have an erection…”














© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

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Things seemed to be working in my favor. It was the first week of school and I continued to simply show up each day while I waited for my PhD funding situation to be resolved. I was not registered for any class, but I showed up anyway.

I had an hour commute from my new home in Princeton to my campus in Newark. Initially I thought I might take the train each day, but I found driving to be very therapeutic. I drove and cried all the way to school and all the way home each day. I was still listening to that Alicia Key’s and Swizz Beatz song also, thinking about how ready I was to love Kesner fully. Ready too late.

From time to time I’d think about what would happen if I died. That might be nice, I thought. Then I could end my worldly suffering and be with Kesner eternally.  I’d actually had this joke with my sorority sisters while we were in New Orleans earlier in the summer: “If I get hit by a car, don’t help me! Just leave me there to die,” I told them. We’d all had a good laugh about the visual of me laying in the street trying to shew away paramedics.

I mentioned that my humor took an interesting turn after Kerner died…

But in the car on the way to school, I thought about death more rationally. Death wouldn’t be so bad. The only problem with the whole dying scenario was that everyone that I love would be sad, damn. The thought of that made me sad. So with no resolve on the matter, I just kept driving and crying.

On one particular day, as I was having these rational thoughts about death, I decided that it was probably time for me to connect with the counseling center on campus. It had been a priority on my “to do” list anyway. After showing up to class for the day, I went to the counseling center to fill out an intake form. It was explained to me that I would have to fill out the form and then I would later be contacted to set up an appointment.

So I sat in the waiting room and answered the questions on the form. “Have you ever considered suicide? If so, when?” – one question asked. hmmm…  well, I hadn’t considered suicide, per se, but since I’d been thinking about my death that day, I wrote: “yes, earlier today.”

It all felt very casual to me and I handed my form in and was preparing to leave when the receptionist said “Wait! We have someone who can see you NOW!”

It occurred to me then that answering yes to the suicide question had propelled me to the top of the appointment list. I should have been more clear: I’d only been thinking about death….     But, as it was, I would get to see someone that day and that was probably a good idea. I sat back down in the waiting area.

Minutes later I was called into an office of a counselor who I will not name because he was awful – for me, at least. I didn’t realize it right away. He spoke softly and asked me to talk about my suicidal thoughts. “Well really I was just thinking about death in general..” I began to explain.

He seemed confused by me.

I told him my story and he  asked me if I had a supportive network of friends, “yes I have terrific friends..” And then he went on to tell me some things I already know about the necessity for positive relationships with others.

When should I tell him that I am a minister? – I wondered..

I left his office that day with an  appointment to return the following week. I did feel a little cheated, however. Since I’d answered “yes” to the suicide question, they’d put me with the person who was available immediately; rather than being matched with the right counselor for me. He didnt seem to know much about grief and all of it’s various waves..

Oh well, I thought, I’m sure this soft speaking man has some purpose in my life. I will return.


My first week of school was complete and it was a good week. I’d had an encouraging talk with Dr. Clear, I’d showed up for class each day and I’d connected with the counseling center.

I did have one more thing I needed to deal with, however.

My hair.

I had a mo-hawk and it really wasn’t working for me. It wasn’t a good fit. I’d spoken to Talithea about this and told her my thoughts about shaving it all the way off. “The haircut that you’re talking about is called a Caeser,” she told me. That made sense to me, what I was describing to her is the way that Julius Caeser wore his hair. “I think I’m going to call White,” I told her.

White (short for D’Wight) is a barber friend of Talithea’s, who I’d also gotten to know. He had just opened a shop called “Game Time Cuts” in Trenton. It was time for me to go pay him a visit.

Assuming that I would not know what to ask for, Talithea had already called him before I arrived and told him I wanted a Caesar. I’m sure he was shocked by this, as I’d had a head full of hair the last time I saw him.  I walked into the shop and he said: Sunshine! What happened to your hair??”. It was just him and me in the shop that day and I explained everything about Kesner. “Yea I remember him,” White said , “he came to me to get his hair cut once..”. 

It occurred to me then that White had given Kesner one of his last haircuts.  This news made me feel so comfortable. Kesner sent me to Game Time Cuts! He’d sent me to a barber who I could trust, and more importantly, he sent me to support a business owner in his beloved East Ward  – this is where he ran for city council.  White would become my barber.

As White began to shave off the remainder of my hair, all I could think was:

Natural is Nice.

“Natural is nice,” Kesner said one Sunday in the park. We were at the annual picnic for the Mercer County Big Brother’s Big Sister’s Program. Kesner was there with me and his little brother in the program, Yanni.  Someone at the picnic was wearing a tee shirt that said “natural is nice.” To which Kesner offered his endorsement.

This all made me feel pretty convicted since I was wearing Hawaiian Wavy weave that day…

But Natural IS Nice.

And now I was finally 100% natural. As White turned me around in the chair and I looked at my new do, I agreed with Kesner and whispered in my soul: Natural IS nice.

Natural is Nice

It was..

I didn’t love it yet, but I would grow to. It was much better than the jagged 2inch afro, and the mo-hawk, and the weave…

This was my new look: the Caeser; and it was nice.

And it was new.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

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The next morning I headed to Rutgers; it was decision day. Not having very many clothing options, I decided to wear a black and white polka dot dress with a white scarf. I also wore my colorful beaded necklace that Marcella gave me with the healing stones on it. It all felt a little strange because the dress and necklace didn’t match and I had a mo-hawk that I wasn’t completely comfortable with, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on that; I had to get to campus.

I spent the first part of the day in a PhD orientation that felt endless. My meeting with Dr. Clear wasn’t scheduled until 1PM and the morning seemed to drag by. It was torture. I listened to presentation after presentation about student life, and academic integrity, and parking spaces and blah.. blah.. blah... It was very difficult for me to focus on seemingly minute details when I didn’t know if I would be staying at Rutgers at all. My future at Rutgers rested on what Dr. Clear had to say at 1:00PM.

At some point in the morning, Dr. Clear came into the orientation to introduce himself to the new students. I was surprised to see that he was an average person, just like the rest of us. I think I’d hoped he might glow, or have a faint halo hovering above his head; but he was a regular white man, average height, average build. He did have a special energy about him, however. I could hardly wait to speak to him privately.

We finally broke for lunch at 12:30, and by this time my anxiety level was through the roof. Rather than eat, I decided to take a walk to collect myself before my meeting.  I could feel tears welling in my eyes; I was overwhelmed. Sad…  Anxious...

I had to take an elevator to get downstairs and a happy young black woman joined me on the way down. This young woman struck me because she had so much joy. She introduced herself and welcomed me to Rutgers. She told me that she was in the criminal justice master’s program studying major art theft, and that she’d gotten her undergrad degree from Princeton. We struck up a conversation about Princeton and art theft, and I began to feel a little spark of interest. It occurred to me then that the field of criminal justice is very broad and fascinating. I had not considered becoming an expert in art museum theft, but how interesting to encounter someone who had.

She also asked me about my interests. I told her about the women center; our rise and our fall. I told her about how Governor Christie eliminated our funds from the state budget, and how we’d fought tooth and nail to save the center. “We were unsuccessful, and now I’m here,” I said. “Hopefully I can do the type of research that impacts policies that will positively impact disenfranchised women,” I told her.

“Wow,” she said. “So you’ll be like a Pheonix rising out of Ashes..”

Whoa, I thought..

She had no clue, but that was exactly what I needed to hear in that moment. She was referring to the women center, but she had no idea that she’d just spoken life into my circumstance.  God had dispatched an angel with a very important message for me:  some day, some how, some way, I would rise out of the ashes of my circumstance…

Just like a Pheonix

Just like a pheonix..

I was ready for my meeting.


Dr. Clear’s office door was slightly open around 1PM; I knocked before entering. He invited me in and gestured for me to sit down on his office couch. He got up from his desk and came to sit directly across from me in a chair. I told him my story, all of it: The women center…  Kesner…  He put his hand over his heart, squeezed his eyes tightly, and let out a sympathetic gasp when I told him about Kesner. He understood.

“Just give me a chance,” I said. “I am not fully recovered from this, but I promise you that when I return to me, I will make one hell of an advocate…” I fought my tears. I wanted him to know my passion, the sparks of it that still remained.

The truth was that I hadn’t thought critically about the crisis of the US penal system in the time since I’d been grieving Kesner. But I remembered what it was like to feel so passionately about the many injustices inherent in American “Justice.”

My passion will return to me,” I vowed. “Just give me a chance.”

I told him that if I wasn’t funded, I was prepared to go home. “Don’t go,” he said, “I don’t know how, or where we’ll find the funds, but I’m going to work to make sure that you are funded. In the meantime, just show up to class.” Classes were to begin the following day and I was not registered. What Dr. Clear was suggesting was that I just show up to class anyway.

I could do that.

I left the office that day with hope. Nothing was in stone, but I was encouraged that Dr. Clear had said he would do all that he could to help me. In the meantime I would select the classes that I was interested in taking and I would just show up and see what happened.


That afternoon I went to see an old friend, Denise. Denise ran a women center in Newark and we sat on the same board together while I was directing the women center in Trenton. To call Denise a friend would have been a stretch at one time, because we often disagreed in our monthly board meetings. When the announcement was made that we’d been zeroed out of the state budget, I was wildly upset and Denise was very calm. It made me angry that she wasn’t as mad as I was, she was a black woman who was about 20 years older than me. She seemed so accepting of everything. I was mad at her for not being mad… And to her, I seemed very naïve.

I went to see her after my meeting with Dr. Clear and we went for a walk around the campus and talked. “You were so angry,” she told me, “you took the loss of the women centers so personally. But what you didn’t understand was that God was trying to move you. The foundation that you were standing on was too weak to hold you, God wanted to re-plant you in fertile soil.”

And in that moment, I got it: I had treated the women center as if it were my own, as if I owned it. I took it personally when we lost funding. But Denise was right that the foundation was weak.  Could it be that God wanted to re-plant me in a place where I could grow? Where the impact of my work would stretch far beyond the confines of one community? Could it be possible that what seemed like a terrible loss to me was truly just the process of life? The movements of God? 

With each step on our walk around the Rutgers Newark campus, I could feel the ground beneath me. This was my new home, I could feel it. It was all very clear. I had been replanted in fertile soil; in a place where I would grow.

I had been replanted in the fertile soil of Rutgers University; and suddenly I felt overcome with possibility…

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

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I was supposed to head to  New Jersey on Sunday, but by Sunday morning I’d made no attempts to pack or prepare myself to leave Cleveland. Instead I woke up, went to the den, and watched television under a blanket. “Are you leaving today?”- my mom asked. I just shrugged, I didn’t want to do another thing.

Technically I was supposed to leave. I’d told Mrs. B that I would arrive in Princeton on Sunday evening, and I had my meeting with Dr. Clear on the following Tuesday. But rather than prepare myself to hit the road, I chose to function (or not function) in a state of complete denial.

My mom didn’t push me. Instead we decided to have fried chicken for dinner. “Let’s invite Courtney and Cory over,” she said. That sounded good to me. Neither of us, my mom or myself, was ready for me to leave.

Courtney and Cory

Courtney and Cory came for dinner that night. “When are you leaving, Kim?” Courtney asked. “I’ll leave tomorrow,” I told her, “as long as I get there by Tuesday for my meeting with Dr. Clear…”  Before Courtney left that night, she told me to call her if I needed any help getting out of the door the following day. I think she sensed that I’d made no strides to prepare myself for the journey ahead.


The following morning – Monday –  I woke up overwhelmed. I absolutely had to leave, I had no choice. I couldn’t wait another day or I would miss my Tuesday meeting. But I hadn’t packed a single thing.  I sent a text to Courtney: “I’m cracking, I need you.” She was there within the hour.

The first thing I needed to do was pack. Mom and Courtney sat with me as I went through my clothes. I had so many clothes. I didn’t want to take all of that stuff with me into the next chapter. I left the room for a moment and came back with garbage bags.

“What are you doing?” My mom asked. “I’m giving away everything, I don’t want any of it anymore.” In a frenzy, I began stuffing my clothes in garbage bags. My plan was to drop everything off at the GoodWill store.

“All of your beautiful things?” – my mom asked; she looked pained.

“All of them”

I only kept the bare necessities. My clothes represented the old me, I was different now. Plus God had taken so much from me already, why not have everything?  I couldn’t even take my cat with me, she would have to stay with my brother. So since God had taken so much already, I figured I would give it all up. I would walk into the next situation completely naked; completely dependent on God to provide.

So I stuffed all of my clothes in garbage bags and I dropped them off at the GoodWill store.

I also had to deal with the 50lb box of leftover orange protest tee-shirts. I’d been driving around for a month with my “Prevention is Cheaper Than Incarceration” tee-shirts in the back seat of my car. Rather than drop them at the GoodWill store, I decided to put them in a dumpster in my mom’s building.

“9-5 Beats 10-Life”

Tyrone, one of the maintenance men in the building, scolded me for throwing brand new tee shirts away.  “Can I keep them?”- he asked. “I’ll give them out to my friends,” he told me. “Sure. Do whatever you like with them.”. I didn’t care. I just wanted them gone. He took the box.

My next order of business was to deal with my hair. I had to make a decision. I had two options: either go to the hair store and buy new wigs, or shave it off.  I decided it was time to shave it off. It was time to stop hiding.“Courtney can you take me to a barbershop?…”

She took me to a shop in her neighborhood. I sat in the barber’s chair: “What do you want me to do?” – he asked. I didn’t know and I didn’t care, I just needed a style.  “I think you should shave down the sides and leave a little on the top, since you have high cheek bones,” Courtney said. That sounded fine to me, I didn’t care.

I ended up with a style that looked like a mini mo-hawk. Fine. Whatever. “That will be fifteen dollars,” the barber said.  Fifteen dollars???  Considering what I had spent to get my hair done over the years, fifteen dollars seemed like the best deal in town!

I was traveling light. I’d finally shaved my head and I’d given away all of my clothes. The last thing that I had to do was get an oil change. The plan was for Courtney to lead me to a jiffy lube right by the interstate; I would get on the road from there. By this time it was 4PM.

My mother walked us down to the garage to say goodbye, it was emotional. We were both afraid. I was afraid to leave and go back out into the world, and she was afraid to let me go. If it had been left up to the two of us, I would have stayed there with her forever. We needed Courtney to get me out of the door.

I said a tearful goodbye to my mom and she waved to me as I pulled out of the driveway. Also waving were Tyrone and several other building staff members who were, by this time, clad in my orange protest tee-shirts.

Courtney lead me to the Jiffy Lube as planned, and then I had to say goodbye to her also. It was time for me to go, for real this time.

I drove in the night. The entire time I listened to the same song on repeat; Swizz Beatz and Alicia Keys, “Un-Thinkable (I’m Ready)”

I thought about Kesner; I was ready…    but it was too late.

I cried for him while I drove. Longing. I felt a desperate intensity for a man that I couldn’t have..

Occasionally I’d allow the cd to advance to the next track, “Soldier of Love,” by Sade. That song seemed appropriate…

But then I’d just go right back to my Alicia Keys cut, I played it over and over and over, for seven hours straight as I drove and cried. There was only one star in the sky that night. It was Kesner’s star; he was with me.

Kesner’s Star

I arrived in Princeton at 11PM. I called Mrs B to let her know that I was close and she gave me directions to the house. And as I pulled into the private community and up the driveway of the sprawling estate, all I could think was: wow. 

Mrs B greeted me warmly and helped me unpack the car. She showed me to my space, it was beautiful. A large bedroom with high ceilings and a private bath. A warm reddish color adorned the walls and there were large windows that surrounded the room with Laura Ashley floral drapery.  The bedding matched the drapes and the bed was covered with an assortment of decorative pillows, and in the center of the bed was a  white linen Cuddly Bear. “You don’t have to keep this stuff, you can move your furniture in if you like…”

I didn’t want to change a thing. The Lord had prepared a place for me, far be it for me to move my old stuff in..

There was a welcome note on the bed and a gift from Mrs B: cachets, drawer liners and fragrant soap. Mrs B had also prepared dinner for me, and she’d bought me a few groceries: bread and jam, fruit, cereal.

The Lord had prepared a place…

for me.

I even had my own private kitchen, and sitting areas – plural. it was surreal.

That evening I began to settle in. I unpacked my few things, there wasn’t much to do as I’d given most of my stuff away. Then I laid back and looked around my new beautiful, comfortable, space.  Days had been hard and there would be hard days ahead. But the Lord had prepared a place for me; I would live comfortably…

Tomorrow would be the day that I would meet Dr. Clear face-to-face. The conversation could go one way or the other. If Rutgers was not able to fully fund my education, I was completely ready to turn around and go back to Cleveland. It was going to be all or nothing. And that was that.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

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On the wednesday before I left to return to New Jersey, I had lunch plans with my father. He’d called a few days prior to invite me to a large family dinner. “No,” I told him, “You haven’t spent any time alone with me since I’ve been here;” It felt like he’d been avoiding me. In response to my refusal to attend the family affair, he scheduled a private lunch appointment with me. We would meet downtown.

It was Wednesday, and I was planning to leave on Sunday. I was still pretty sad. And angry.  I’m not sure what the trigger was, but by Wednesday morning I was bubbling over with anger, in fact. Why had my father been avoiding me!!? Why did my mom have to bear this all alone?!!  It all seemed so convenient that he hadn’t been involved in any of this. He was happy and I was miserable!!

My resentment was mounting.

That morning I went to SportSpine to workout with Roberto. With each rep in my circuit I got more and more angry. My father had been acting as if nothing had happened! So many people had been there, they’d laid their hands on my situation and helped! My friends had been amazing, they’d done more than my own father!!!

I was working myself into a frenzy with all of these thoughts. By the time I was finished with my workout I was overcome with rage!


..Just in time for lunch

I decided not to shower or change. I would go straight to the restaurant. I also decided not to wear my wig, I wanted him to see my crazy haircut. I wanted to look bad, really bad. I needed him to see me.

I needed my pain to be visible to him.

My poor father never had a chance. By the time I arrived at the restaurant I was a ball of fire. I was as evil as a rattlesnake. I wanted him to hurt like me. I wanted him to feel it. I was cold and mean. I laid into him about how absent he’d been. He was visibly affected by my rage, I could tell. His eyes began to tear a bit and I could see his guilt.

I know my father loves me a lot; he really is a nice man. He just didn’t know how to love me through this.

But I was not rational in that moment, I was angry. And I wanted him to feel it. It made me feel powerful to blame him. And he kept defending himself, that made it worse. “I didn’t know how bad it was… I guess I didn’t really think about it …  I didn’t know how to deal with this sadness at such a happy time in my life,” he told me.

With every defense I became more and more frustrated. He’d spoken to Kesner, they used to talk on the phone. Kesner used to call him for campaign advice. I didn’t understand why he’d been so distant. The worst was when he said that his new wife knew how I felt. “She was critically ill once and her boyfriend at the time wasn’t there for her…” “Whaaat?!? I retorted! “Is he still alive???  Unless she walked in his house and found him laying dead on the floor, she has NO idea how I feel! …”

Oh I was pissed!

Needless to say we didn’t part on good terms. He sent me a text after lunch to say that I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. To that I barraged him with a series of hateful messages, filled with the worst things I could think of to say to my father. I told him I never wanted to speak to him again..

All of this made me feel better in the moment but, once the dust settled, I felt horrible. I felt horrible about the whole thing. Horrible that he hadn’t been there for me…  And horrible that I’d been so cruel to him. Maybe he couldn’t deal with it, but why did he get a free pass? Its not like anybody else had a choice. I certainly didn’t. Why hadn’t he been there for me? The whole thing was awful, and I didn’t know how to come back from it. I’d cursed my father, I’d hurt him. But he’d hurt me too. It was all bad, all around. I’d completely cut ties with him.  Time would have to heal that situation.

God would have to do it. 
I didn’t have much time to dwell in the mess I’d created because the Links were coming to town. I had to be present with my mom. I had to be lovely.

All summer long, I’d watched as my mom gave careful attention to the selection of her leadership council. She’d been intentional about appointing people to jobs that they could excel in; each according to their level of expertise. Everybody that she approached said ‘yes, I’d love to work in your administration…’ I was so proud of her, she was so good for the organization. And now this group was coming together for the first time for a leadership summit in my home town.

The first group arrived on Wednesday evening (the same evening that I cursedmy father) and we had dinner at the Ritz Carlton. I wore my wig and received many compliments on my pretty new “hair style.”

By the next day the entire council arrived, about 80 incredible women. We commenced summit activities and once again I was swept up in the awesomeness of the Links Incorporated. Hazel Dukes was there, and my buddy from Houston, Monique. And Marcella, my God Mother. I was full.

By Friday the summit was in full swing, but I had to step away for a few moments; I had a phone appointment with New Jersey unemployment. I’d applied for my benefits the month prior and had been waiting for this appointment so that I could begin to receive compensation. I figured I’d be able to sustain myself with unemployment benefits while I was in school. I stepped away and went to my mom’s suite to take the phone call. It was short: “Ma’am, it doesn’t look like your former employer paid into the system. It looks like there was a loop hole because they are faith-based…”

I didn’t hear anything else after that. No unemployment? Not even that?  I’d worked so hard, how could they treat their employees like that? A loop-hole?

I couldn’t breathe.

How would I survive? I had no savings. I never made enough money in social services to save; I’d lived paycheck to paycheck in the time since I’d accepted my call to ministry.  I had $300.00 in my bank account and no guarantee of funding from Rutgers. Where was God in my situation?

I lost it.

I sent a text to Monique. I was having a complete emotional breakdown; a panic attack. I needed her to come to the room and sit with me. I needed help. Where was God in my situation?! Everything had been so difficult, why couldn’t this just be easy?

Monique came and we sat and I cried. I told her everything. About my Dad and unemployment and how everything just felt so overwhelming. “It’s not fair! Why can’t this just be easy?”

She didn’t have the answers but she ministered to me with her presence. She sat with me while I cried it all out.

Before long I was able to pull myself together enough to return to the summit. When I walked back into the session, my mom saw me from across the room and mouthed “are you ok?” I wasn’t, I was barely holding it together, but I nodded my head to say ‘yes.’ My mom is so amazing; even in the midst of her leadership event, she was present with me.
A few minutes later, Marcella walked over to me. “I have a gift for you,” she said. She pulled out a colorful beaded necklace with two smooth stones on it. “These are healing stones, rub them, they have positive energy.”

How did she know that I needed that necklace right then and there? Monique, who was seated next to me, just looked at me in amazement. How did Marcella know that I needed healing stones in that moment?

I put my necklace on and rubbed my healing stones all afternoon; it was comforting. And later I sat with Marcella privately and I showed her pictures of Kesner and me. She had her ipad with her and I showed her my facebook album entitled “Kesner;” we went through every photo. I was grateful for her time and attention, it helped.

I shared our photos...

I didn’t sleep that night, however.  I had so much on my mind: that awful lunch with my dad, the uncertainty of my financial situation, my emotional health and mood swings, my hair.. 

Courtney told me that if I ever needed to, I could call her in the middle of the night.

I needed to.

I called her at 4:30AM and she answered. I needed to talk it out. “Why can’t I just have a normal life?” – I cried. “Why must I persist in taking this road less traveled? Why don’t I just have a normal 9-5 job? Why is everything so hard? All I want to do is be still and paint my nails! I’m tired!” I also told her about the drama with my Dad..

Courtney talked me through. And she prayed for me. She talked me off my ledge in the wee hours of the morning.

The Links Summit ended that afternoon, Saturday. I was to go home and pack, as I was supposed to leave the following day. But I didn’t feel like packing. I didn’t feel like doing another thing. So instead I went home and watched TV under a blanket in the dark…

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

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