25 Sep 2011
by lswatkins
in Uncategorized
I thought I’d stop by to say I’ve been out (will probably be until December) for research. My workload is tough. I’m teaching, learning, writing, and managing familial relationships (as well as mine with Elohim), so I have had very little time to report a whole lot of information. Still, I thought I’d let you know that:
Also, I am not blogging myself right now, but my husband has launched a blog on eating according to the Bible. Visit Eating the Whole Truth to find out more.
Still journeying
LSW
17 Aug 2011
by lswatkins
in Uncategorized
This post comes with much provocation. I am ashamed, appalled, and apologetic. Not because of something that I have personally done, but because of racism that I have witnessed and ignored (or not spoken up about). Today I speak up.
A late entry to my summer reading list was Beverly Parhurst Moss’s Dark Exodus: The Lost Girls of Sudan. I’d never heard of the book before running across the title during my weekly browse on Half Price’s clearance row. It was a dollar—only a dollar and of the seven other treasures I stumbled upon that day, this was the best find.
Moss pushes her “God loves America and the rest of the world should too, especially the poor black folks,” message quite heavily in each section, but the interviews with the sixteen women—sixteen survivors of the ongoing civil war in Sudan (which is in no way without Western influence) are breathtaking. Almost all of the women, whose photos accompany their stories, trekked through the desert without clothes, food, and water. All of the women had lost family, seen others attacked by lions, hyenas, and Janjaweed demons. Some talk about surviving by drinking their urine or the urine of refugees willing to share, running on blistered feet, and eating bark from trees or grass. None of them could quite understand or explain how or why they survived, and all found refugee in my home state—Texas.
With all the things these sisters suffered, they all mentioned the persecution they felt and heard under the gaze of African-Americans. Some said they had never been ashamed of their skin tones until they came here. Those who came over and attended high school recalled taunting by blacks because of their dark skin tones. When did the American reject become so high and mighty? When did the rejected become rejecter?
I’ll tell you when. When we became wrapped up and entangled in American patriarchy and ideals of beauty. When we hated ourselves with the same hate slave holders and Jim Crow hated us with. When we bought that dark is dumb and ugly. It makes me sad that we don’t understand how deep our history is—how rich it is—how Yah it is. I can’t blame us…completely. The hiding of the truth is deep, but I see the piling of customs on top of other ugly customs. We should really embrace the authentic us, and We don’t get more authentic than Africa. When we learn to connect our African-ness to our American-ness, and be proud of whom we are and where we came from, then shall we know true beauty.
The question of beauty has gone unanswered in a worldly sense. However, western ideals of beauty have inspired some to create their own definitions. See my post Who You Calling Ugly? The Bible speaks of beauty. See Psalms 139:14 (the image of Yah, which is his works, ways, and knowing and keeping them), Samuel 16:7 (Yah looks at the heart; not the nose or the skin), and Timothy 4:8 (spiritual exercise).
Perhaps, black beauty has been decided by the unblack, and because blacks have been influenced more by the deciders of beauty, We (black Americans) are not even viewing ourselves through the eyes of blacks. It is important that we realize that bleaching creams and expensive hair weaves aren’t necessarily true beauty. If Yah measures beauty from the hearts of men, smiles instead of snickers at those sisters that had come a long way from a long mess would have been the most beautiful thing in the world. There’s still pain all over the world. It’s not too late to be beautiful.
Note: Though the author clearly has an agenda, which was to spin white America as the angelic savior, I recommend this book as a way to gain insight to the struggle in Sudan.
LSW
21 Jul 2011
by lswatkins
in Uncategorized
I’ve been quiet for the past few weeks, but that’s okay. I’m growing. Since the harrowing road to my MA thesis I’ve been interested in etymology (study of word origins). While visiting my university today, I ran into a colleague and sister in YHWH (true name of God). We were conversing about the translation part of the program—something that she is encountering and I recently completed. She expressed her belief that she is just one of those people who can’t learn another language. I empathized with her. She is a brilliant Holocaust scholar and fully capable anything (in my opinion). Still, there was no way I could comfort her here because I see myself from the same lenses. That’s okay. She helped me to realize that I don’t need to be fluent in Hebrew, Greek, or anything else to dig my way to the truth.
We discussed being believers (my substitute for Christians) in the open, which leads to persecution on small and large scales. We talked about receiving Bs versus As because we’d mentioned the Savior a few times too many in class or in our work. I welcome this. Why? For the past few months my family has been studying the customs that we have inherited throughout history (Christmas, birthdays, Easter, calendar, etc.), and it has been quite a journey. I am gaining interest in things that I never cared about, and finding plausibility in ideas that I rejected in the past. For example, when I learned the derivative for CHURCH I was appalled, but understood the truth and how words=existence. The Old English word for CHURCH was CIRICE also spelled CHIRCHIE. This form was from the West Germanic KIRIKA, based on the Greek deity, CIRCE. Check this out, Circe was famous among Pagans for turning men into pigs (other animals too) by using drugs (Lew White, Fossilized Customs). I’ll let you judge the connection of the Greek deity to the modern-day institution for yourself.
Needless to say, some people think I’ve lost my mind. Carrying the beauty/burden of the truth is something that I have been dealing with a lot lately. Yah is leading me to more scriptural and critical information every day. At first, I was afraid that people would think I’m crazy. Now I don’t care. At first, I said “Okay, the name of the LORD (which means Ba’al) has been translated. So what? He still hears me when I call.” Now I know why it was done, and why it’s so important that the World keeps the true name of the Father and Yahushua (Jesus<— you should really trace name) blotted out as long as there are believers on earth. I have been entrusted with a responsibility that has incited a new walk and talk from me. I no longer fear who will and won’t receive who I’ve become and whose name I come in.
My message—His message will be as it has always been. Love. I just call him YHWH and his son Yahushua. Now let me ask you a question. What’s the use in learning another language if I don’t even fully understand key words and names from my own?
LSW
23 Jun 2011
by lswatkins
in Uncategorized
I admit… this is almost becoming my own personal Nollywood blog. Hey, what can I say? This is where I am in my research efforts.
Anyway, I noticed two interesting character types this week: the gateman and the first wife. For my MA thesis I wrote a paper about stereotypes in African American literature, so quite naturally, one of the goals for my overall graduate studies grew into comparing and contrasting African stereotypes to African American stereotypes. Moreover, I would like to determine influences of stereotypes from each group.
There is no gateman type in African American literature or film, but this is a common character in African literature and film. Nigerian writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie mentions this type in her novels and a high percentage of the Nollywood films employ this type as well. In most cases, gatemen are service workers who are often treated as children. They are loyal to a fault, ridiculed to a point of being called stupid, and often the recipients of misguided anger and evil. I have even seen gatemen in films hit and slapped by visitors and employers. However, gatemen have a subtle power. Because they are often poor workers from villages, their employers think they lack the intelligence to understand the schemes and plots that seem to be part of all Nollywood films. They hide little from them. In fact, they treat them as furniture. They bring lovers (from affairs) through the gates right before the eyes of gatemen, as well, they make other sneaky little gestures that indicate trust in secrecy from these men or awareness that not keeping quiet means getting fired. In one film, a sad film, the gateman was comic relief. He protected and guarded the gate, but his actions and responses to the abuse from his employer were funny. For example, the wife was keeping a secret from her husband and a lover from her past came home with her spouse as a business partner. Since the gateman had met him, when he knocked on the gate later (when the woman’s husband was away) he was granted entry. The woman later scolded the gateman and told him to never allow the man entry again, but when the ex-lover reported this to the husband (his business partner) he came home enraged. The woman told her husband (in front of the gateman) that the gateman was stupid and misheard her words. She told him that she had instructed the gateman to let the man in any time he came. The gateman made a “whatchu talkin’ bout Willis” face, but willingly took the lie as a mistake of his own.
While the gateman is the often subjected to abuse and humiliation, he knows everything that goes on inside the gate (which by the way is always comprised of tall stucco walls with an equally tall steel or metal door that disables anyone from the street from getting an actual view of the dwelling; I will discuss this more in a different post). He is sometimes a sly advisor. I have seen gatemen give advice to their employers without their employers knowing that they have received advice from someone they see as beneath them in status. In many cases, gatemen are responsible for saving the protagonist from doom because they are always aware of the sinister plots and plans.
The gateman appears to be a mere opener and closer of the gate, but like the mammy, buck, and welfare mother, he is so much more.
Since I’ve spent so much time and space on the gateman tonight, I will save the first wife for later. Until then, I leave you with this question: Who’s watching your gate?
Note: I realize the Nigeria I am watching is fictional. I am aware that Nollywood is mostly comprised of Igbo affluent who have a tendency to cast Igbo people as the rich political giants and business millionaires as well as the hausa-speaking gatemen to keep with the true events as seen on the street socially and historically. I realize that they are actors acting, and like our own Hollywood, there is more to the casting of these stereotypes politically.
21 Jun 2011
by lswatkins
in Uncategorized
I was at a community swimming pool with my sisters and our children on Sunday, and a rather buff 26ish dark-skinned African American male, a smaller just-as-dark (rather handsome) 17ish African American male, and a muscular dark-skinned 18ish African American male were swimming gin the company of two mulatto (sisters, I think; 17ish and 18ish) girls. I escaped the company of my own sisters, who were both positioned in the sun, and went to a shaded area, which happened to be closer to the aforementioned assortment of swimmers.
Apparently, the girls were from Los Angeles because when they expressed to the guys that they hated Texas, they were met with a barrage of expressions that all pointed to the wonders of Texas. Finally, one of the guys (the older one) asked, “If y’all hate Texas so much, why y’all don’t leave.”
“Cause our momma here. Where we gon go?” one of the girls replied.
He countered with “why y’all hate it so much?”
The same girl answered, “Texas got too many black people. They need more light-skinned folks.”
What the what? I think the young girl’s comment kind of hit the brother below the belt because he grew quiet and eventually exited the pool. I thought about his response and how black people have been told for so long that black is not beautiful that they/we sometimes feel inferior when faced and ridiculed by those who are taught or believe that they are the true images of beauty. When did light-skinned become not black? When did mixed become better? I hated to see that brother walk away with his tail tucked between his legs, but it did bring a very important issue to light for me. How many dark-skinned African American women do we see in mainstream Hollywood, representing images of beauty? Men?
Paper bag standards are alive and kicking, but the question we should be asking ourselves is: why do we allow them to be when we are the only people with enough knowledge about our own beauty to define? If we don’t gain our own sense of pride, who will?
15 Jun 2011
by lswatkins
in Uncategorized
I just had a Shug Avery coming home kinda moment. I was taking my bath, reading my review novel, and ran across a particular phrase from Psalms 91 for the second time this evening. It is quite often that we run across subliminal messages in media and dismiss them as something else. We grow too comfortable with the power that media venues have and allow the negative to seep through as normal parts of life. We ignore important phrases, gestures, and images, but I have come to a place in my life where every word–every gesture–every image matters. I choose not to dismiss this one.
Anyway, the first time was when I was viewing Ghost in Love, a Nollywood flick about a vengeful spirit set on harming the lover (and his whole family) she believes is responsible for her death. The lover’s family finds Yahweh through a priest, who shows them how to cast out this evil spirit by calling on the name of our Savior and believing the Word that He left. As the little black priest chanted in broken English, I was moved. Especially when he said, “Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.”
As soon as I got in the tub and cracked open Vanessa Davis Griggs’ Redeeming Waters to where I’d left off, one of her characters was rapping a song with those exact same lyrics. Can somebody say YHWH is trying to tell me something? Now, I know some of you are thinking that’s just a coincidence. To you I say, shut up.
I don’t know what lies before me, but I do know what I need to do to understand. Grateful for the signs that YHWH chooses to use when speaking. Whatever battle is headed my way, big or small, it shall not come nigh thee.
10 Jun 2011
by lswatkins
in Uncategorized
Last night I watched an African movie titled Total Love. The tale had a pretty good premise (despite a few developmental hang-ups). An ex-military general’s only child thinks she’s deeply in love with a handsome African man residing in Canada. Daddy (Olu Jacobs) hasn’t completely let go of his military ways, so he invites his daughter’s cutie (Van Vicker) to their luxurious compound in Nigeria and commences to torturing the poor guy… military style. Daughter gets fed up and fakes her own disappearance. Daddy and cutie bond, daughter shows back up, and the rest, as they say, is history. If you’ve ever seen a Nolly or Gollywood film, you know their split—split in two parts to be exact. The summary I just gave is from disc one. The father tells his daughter, Louisa (Jackie Appiah), that the man she loves is not right because he does not possess the heart of a soldier. He explains that she needs a man who can protect her, provide for her, and create strategies to maneuver around his own feelings to accommodate hers.
I thought the old man’s argument was quite developed when I finished watching disc 2, which featured the father shedding his soldier mentality and falling for a twenty-four-year-old woman (Tonto Dikeh) who only meant to use him for his healthy bank account. Louisa returns home when her father calls and tells her that he is about to marry the woman, and hires an investigator to trail the woman to find out what she is all about. She digs up dirt and tells her father, who forgives the woman without knowing her crime. In the meantime, Louisa’s husband is in Canada cheating because he feels abandoned and lonely (his words). Her father ends up begging his son-in-law’s forgiveness, but only after admitting that the soldier’s heart he spoke of in part one is hogwash.
But there was something of substance in his disc 1 speech. If you look past the patriarchy and stereotypical hogwash of the role he was impressing on her husband-to-be, he was speaking to the heart of marriage, love, and friendship, right? As partners or friends or lovers should we not protect our mates at all costs? Give what we have to make them happy? And not put our own selfish feelings ahead of theirs? The daughter’s husband cheated because he couldn’t get past his own selfishness. He hurt her deeply (her words) and ended up on his knees begging her forgiveness. She exhibited the heart of a soldier by looking past her own pain, but she did something else when she gave him another chance. A soldier does not always act out of love, but moreso, out of obligation or duty. She didn’t give her cheating cutie another chance out of duty, but out of love, right?
The father, on the other hand, shed his soldier stubbornness and allowed room for compassion and forgiveness. This made him easier to love, but he was still stern with his orders. When he learned the young girl had been deceiving him he told her that she did not have to. He had given his heart freely and anything he had was hers. “Whatever you are doing,” he said with tears in his eyes. “Stop. Just stop it now.” And she did. I must say that Olu Jacobs is a very strong voice and image on screen. I have seen him in several Nollywood films and I would equate him to Hollywood’s James Earl Jones or Forest Whitaker. He commands attention and respect, and portrays a soldier easy.
In any case, I think he was onto something in that soldier’s heart speech. While those aspects he listed are important, which was proved when his daughter’s husband, who possessed none, cheated, more than just a soldier’s characteristics are needed. Olu Jacobs’ character proved this by only being loveable after shedding some of that soldier stuff. I think a more developed and complete ending to the tale would have been one where Jacobs reissued characteristics of a couple’s heart to his daughter. I walked away with the message that the heart of a relationship is entwined and one, but I’m not sure that it was the one that the director meant for me to gain. A lot of these movies end with fluffy happiness. I’ll admit that it’s refreshing considering all the mess we get from reality TV and Hollywood films. But these films have such powerful messages that I think they would get more recognition if those messages were explored.
In any case, the heart of soldier is an idea that resonates with me. I’m not sure what type of a heart one should aim for in a mate, but it must be one that blends well with their own. My husband has the heart of a businessman and I have that of an artist. We balance out, I suppose. I don’t think I’d do well with another artist. We’re crazy.
07 Jun 2011
by lswatkins
in Uncategorized
For the past two years I have spent 95% (per my husband and children) of my time in my office. The office–my office was a blessing and a curse. Because of that place, I have been able to escape when I don’t feel like being bothered, work behind a closed door (complete silence when I need it), and daycation whenever.
Alas, motherhood is bittersweet (at times). I have been asking Yahweh to create a solution to the complaints of my family. They all feel that I spend too much time in the office, even those who don’t live with me. My sister expressed last week that she no longer enjoys visiting my home because she has to sit at my desk and visit with me in my office. “You don’t get up and make us coffee or anything anymore. I won’t come see you anymore,” she complained. I understood her problem but it has seemed to me for some time that I cannot control my attachment to the office.
I prayed.
Yahweh answers prayers. My children are growing up and I did not think a time would come when they would need their own space, especially the twins. They have always fought, but I have constantly been hearing their silent, violent battles through the wall that separates their room from my office for the past six months.
The youngest of the twins finally came to me and asked for her own room. My husband was reluctant. As much as he wants me to come out of my office, he is an advocate for my rights and space and time and happiness, so he was against it. I think, too, he sees the twins as a pair. The idea of separating them took some time for my whole family to accept (similar to their decision to stop dressing alike).
Anyway, today I gave up my office space for my daughters and all three of my children saw how much of a struggle this was for me. When I was hanging the letters that spelled her name across the wall of her new room–my old office, Dymond placed her bigger-than-last-year-hand on the small of my back and said, “I know this is very hard for you. I can tell you want to cry, but thank you. I’ll take care of this room. I promise.”
I cried, but not because I was letting go of the room. My girls deserve their own room. They earned it this academic school year. They learned and taught so much. They passed the TAKS, received presidential awards, and graduated from elementary school. They learned to iron their clothes, set their alarms and get up on their own for school, and respect the time of others this year.
I’ve learned that I don’t want to miss next year because I spend too much time in my office. My new space is not as comfortable as my old space and I’m sure I won’t want to spend 95% of my time here.
02 Jun 2011
by lswatkins
in Uncategorized
Why Psychology Today thought it was okay to let Satoshi Kanazawa post/publish “Why Are Black Women Less Physically Attractive than Other Women” is beyond me, but I’m glad they did. This proves that I am not just paranoid or picking when I say that black women are sometimes viewed differently because of stigmas impressed upon us by western civilization, history, and skewed perceptions of womanhood. In some cases, black women are not seen as beautiful just like women from any other race, but this has nothing to do with what truly is or isn’t beautiful. This is a matter of the media and subliminal messaging. I hate to take it here; but after waiting forever for a black Disney princess, little black princesses were met with a black servant who was only able to be more than a servant by yielding her will over to whites.
Such hogwash! In a world that sends subliminal messages of black is NOT beautiful and black femaleness is worth even less how can people be expected to appreciate the beauty of black women. This is what I was referring to in my previous post, “Translating Beauty.” Graphs, polls, statistics, and studies cannot gauge beauty. This is impossible. Beauty has been funneled and translated to a point where we think animal fat and silicon makes us look better than we did when we came here. My fellow blogger, Javetta Mercadel, once said beauty looks a lot like love. How does one quantify that in numbers and graphs and place it in an essay?
The most important and correct statement Mr. Kanazawa makes in the article is that “There are many biological and genetic differences between the races. However, such race differences usually exist in equal measure for both men and women. For example, because they have existed much longer in human evolutionary history, Africans have more mutations in their genomes than other races.” Yet, he misses it. What does the fact that Africans have existed longer in human evolutionary history mean? That would have been an extremely interesting discussion. Instead, he goes on about how these mutations decrease physical attractiveness. But whose perception of physical attractiveness is commenting on? While some think injecting extra fat into their lips is attractive, Fulani peoples of West Africa tattoo and dye their mouths and lips as symbols of beauty. Can we judge either as beautiful to the people practicing those traditions? Nope. We see beauty through our own eyes, right?
In his recent research of Afro-Brazilians, Henry Louis Gates, Jr. found that most Brazilians (even those who consider themselves Anglo in descent) have at least some African ancestry. Compared to the traditional three categories of race in America, Gates says that Brazil has 136 kinds of blackness. Gates argues that while one drop of African ancestry makes you black in America, one drop of white ancestry makes you white in Brazil. Like Gates, I find this fascinating. The claim of whiteness can make life better—easier, but this is not what signifies beauty. This signifies effective messaging.
Slavery, lynchings, and other forms of oppression have contributed to the ugliness associated with blackness. Mammy, Jezebel, and Sapphire have helped shape the ugly. The mammy figure was impressed upon black women as a way to justify and explain the complicity of the black female as a good and happy servant or slave. Have you ever seen Aunt Jemima? Is there anything externally beautiful (per what we are taught to believe beauty is) about her? No. She was created asexual (unattractive). Like Mammy, Jezebel and Sapphire were created as devices to box black women into specific roles. Ugly and evil roles. (Note: Black writers, critics, and artists are redefining these stereotypes, but there is/was an agenda behind the original forms)
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I could go on about this all day, but I won’t. I have a fifth grade graduation to attend (beautiful little black girls). I will say that a friend asked me a few months ago, “Why do black women get so angry when they see black men with non-black women?” I must admit, some of us are ignorant, but some have a problem with black men who specifically avoid dating/relationships with black women. Mr. Kanazawa points out in his post that black men can compete on his silly scales and studies of beauty. After sticking by black men through years of oppression, black women feel slighted when they are deliberately and permanently benched. Some grow frustrated when brothers say, “I want me a white girl” (Asian, Indian, etc.). Love is love and it has no race, so why stipulate it with that limit? That becomes betrayal…self-hate if you will. If you can’t see my beauty, you can’t see your own.
Black women love themselves and see their own beauty. The strength, struggle, and sacrifice of their beings are things worth marveling over (I’d say). The photos below are of women whose journeys (from the distance of my view) are beautiful to me. If polled, others might not agree. **shoulder shrug** Beauty is not concrete. It has been crushed, melted, translated, and spoon-fed to us all by the media. *warning–cliché ahead* Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder. Black women–black people are beautiful… in my eyes.
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| Alek Wek-model |
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| Ini Edo-actress |
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| Cicely Tyson-actress |
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Mercy Johnson-actress
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31 May 2011
by lswatkins
in Uncategorized
The first few weeks of my summer (= before the kids get out for theirs) were supposed to consist of mass reading/research. I was able to begin The History of White People by Nell Irvin Painter, but Ar’nt I a Woman? by Deborah Gray White, the wonderful essays in African American Literary Theory (edited by Winston Napier), and Middle Passages by James T. Campbell are all sitting in stack under my desk.
But oh joy, I am a wife and mother, which means I must always be prepared for detours. I guess it all began when our dryer went out last weekend, then the fence fell down, and the dogs got fleas, and raccoons decided to tear holes in the roof. The expenses from these catastrophes plus summer planning (trip expenses, food expenses [feeding teenagers and preteens is crazy], and other summer entertainment) have somehow taken over my time and mind (as I have to adjust my workflow to fit a whole new budget). Plus, I am slated to review five forthcoming novels for a credible fiction organization, contribute to an anthology (story due in July), whip up a third novel by August, and some other stuff that I can’t quite rattle off because everything is blurry.
Needless to say, I will not start my research in June (maybe not even July or August). However, I did complete Gwendolen Gross’s The Orphan Sister Saturday (will be released by Simon & Schuster in July), and will complete Terry McMillan’s Getting to Happy this week, and Vanessa Davis Griggs’ Redeeming Waters next week. While these authors have written some really great books on some really interesting subjects, I don’t think there will be a whole lot here to work with as far as translating strange fruit goes.
What these authors will help me do is prepare for my own workshop submission (which is just around the corner, I think). I think my most recent Nigerian and Ghanaian film addiction will help me with this as well. While I admit these movies have major flaws compared to our Hollywood cinema, there is a certain theme of honor and will to do good that I find very attractive. I thank Yahweh for my iPad. I watch and work for most of the morning.
Alas, only three more days remaining before my full days belong to the children. Anyway, summer is supposed to mean catch-up time (for a student, I guess), but with detours and roadblocks, I’m looking forward to the fall.
Previous Older Entries
I’ve been quiet for the past few weeks, but that’s okay. I’m growing. Since the harrowing road to my MA thesis I’ve been interested in etymology (study of word origins). While visiting my university today, I ran into a colleague and sister in YHWH (true name of God). We were conversing about the translation part of the program—something that she is encountering and I recently completed. She expressed her belief that she is just one of those people who can’t learn another language. I empathized with her. She is a brilliant Holocaust scholar and fully capable anything (in my opinion). Still, there was no way I could comfort her here because I see myself from the same lenses. That’s okay. She helped me to realize that I don’t need to be fluent in Hebrew, Greek, or anything else to dig my way to the truth. 
I was at a community swimming pool with my sisters and our children on Sunday, and a rather buff 26ish dark-skinned African American male, a smaller just-as-dark (rather handsome) 17ish African American male, and a muscular dark-skinned 18ish African American male were swimming gin the company of two mulatto (sisters, I think; 17ish and 18ish) girls. I escaped the company of my own sisters, who were both positioned in the sun, and went to a shaded area, which happened to be closer to the aforementioned assortment of swimmers.
I just had a Shug Avery coming home kinda moment. I was taking my bath, reading my review novel, and ran across a particular phrase from Psalms 91 for the second time this evening. It is quite often that we run across subliminal messages in media and dismiss them as something else. We grow too comfortable with the power that media venues have and allow the negative to seep through as normal parts of life. We ignore important phrases, gestures, and images, but I have come to a place in my life where every word–every gesture–every image matters. I choose not to dismiss this one.
Anyway, the first time was when I was viewing Ghost in Love, a Nollywood flick about a vengeful spirit set on harming the lover (and his whole family) she believes is responsible for her death. The lover’s family finds Yahweh through a priest, who shows them how to cast out this evil spirit by calling on the name of our Savior and believing the Word that He left. As the little black priest chanted in broken English, I was moved. Especially when he said, “Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.”
As soon as I got in the tub and cracked open Vanessa Davis Griggs’ Redeeming Waters to where I’d left off, one of her characters was rapping a song with those exact same lyrics. Can somebody say YHWH is trying to tell me something? Now, I know some of you are thinking that’s just a coincidence. To you I say, shut up.
For the past two years I have spent 95% (per my husband and children) of my time in my office. The office–my office was a blessing and a curse. Because of that place, I have been able to escape when I don’t feel like being bothered, work behind a closed door (complete silence when I need it), and daycation whenever.
