Post 19: Residual Effects

When I think of Haiti, I don't think of pristine beautiful beaches...

But, I think instead of the abject poverty...

And now, I think of the Hait.ian catastrophe, the earthquake.

This morning I spent some time reading history: the history of earthquakes, the history of Haiti and such. I make sure to sit and read about all the areas involved when something so catostrophic occurs. I learned much this morning about plate tectonics, revolutions and the like.

It's still tough to understand that in roughly 45 seconds a country's capital was virtually destroyed.

That blows my mind. The plates in the earth crust shifted, and caused all the damage we're now seeing in the news. So many people dead. Just messes my head up.

And so many children orphaned. Hard sigh.

I think of something else that I think of every single time I see tragedy unfold.

Residual effects.

In the context of the following:

Not only is the tragedy immediately devastating, but the long term residual effects of it are devastating, even much so.

I probably didn't word that right. But you get my meaning.

There was an earthquake. 45 seconds. Followed by aftershocks. I suppose if you total all of that timewise, it doesn't amount to much time, maybe as little as a few minutes.

But the residual effects... the "residue" left behind, will take more than a few minutes to correct.

For one, there's the cleanup effort. The Presiden.tial Pal.ace fell to the ground. I imagine that was the best constructed building in the country. Many government and business buildings were destroyed in the earthquake. All of that has to rebuilt.

Then there are the shantytowns and villages. Those poor areas - how will they even clean all that destruction up, let alone rebuild them? Will anyone even care about people so poor to consider such?

Moreso than the physical devastation, I think of the mental devastation.

The residual effects that this whole catastrophe has on the mind and the spirit.

The residue, the stain, of those events left on the hearts of the people.

Residual effects are like tentacles: they spread wide, they grab hold. It takes much to get loose from them.

Sometimes they don't let go.

I am sure the people who lost loved ones in the World trade Center terroism tragedy some 8 years ago are still dealing with memory in different ways.

And let's not even talk about what happened in New Orleans with the hurricane.

These were two of the biggest tragedies in my lifetime, and even though I wasn't part of them, I have friends who were. I am sure that not a day goes by that they don't deal with the mental and emotional strain of loss of loved ones, property, their hopes and their dreams...

The residue of such must be rubbed off the heart... and one must rebuild.

Somehow.

And I don't think it is all that easy... seemingly impossible.

Looking back over my near 40 years of life, I think of many of the personal tragedies, trials, failures, and disappointments I have experienced. And in looking, I understand that I've never fully come to personal terms with any of them.

A person asked me yesterday how long I had been divorced. I had to think for a second, but responded that it has been a little over 6 years. I chuckled to myself. 6 long years ago. But I still deal with the mental and emotional effects of the thing. It took a couple of years to forgive myself for it. And getting married again? I don't know, I could take it or leave it. I don't have fairy-tale dreams of such. I think of the hard work involved, and I'm not sure I have the maturity to handle it.

I am affected much by all I went though to get my educational degrees... a Bachelors, Masters, and a Doctorate in an area of science that I love. But I had to do all that despite my race and my gender. I will forever deal the residual effects I have because of the treatment I received because I wasn't the correct race or gender. I know it still affects how I deal with life professionally... I understand when and why I don't get the same opportunities that my fellow white or asian male counterparts enjoy. I don't like it, but it is what it is.

I suppose worst of all, I have residual effects rising from my relationship with my mother. It is nonexistant, and I must admit it bothers me. But I'm always looking for the root of where things started, where things went wrong, and I have to admit that in this stiuation, it was when as a 6 year-old, I saw her boyfriend stab her 100 times. My innocence was lost, and at the same time, when it was all over, and we both survived, she never talked to me about it. Life went on as usual. Trust was lost then. I remember laying in bed as a 7 year-old at night thinking about how I really need to be better about looking after myself, because she may not really care. I never looked at her the same way again.

I didn't understand that until a couple of years ago, over 30 years later, while reading it from a journal in my journalling group. It has helped me deal with the pain of it all, all these years later... somehow.

It is the reason that I am so elated when my friends, who have children that are still in their young formative years as I was then, praise their children and think so highly of their children. It is the reason why I shed tears when a child talks of how proud they are of their Mother, how glad they are that their mother is their mother.

All I've ever felt are the "residue" of events in my past. The residue of feeling unimportant, unloved. It has taken time to get rid of such residue. I almost feel like I've spent years rubbing away at that stain, and watching it disappear.

That's the work that must be done. Actively, aggressively, consistently... with faith.

Faith in a better than Windex and 409 combined.

I myself have never experienced the tragedies of terrorism or natural events such as 911 or Katrina.

And I have never experienced what the people of Ha.iti are experiencing right now.

But it is my hope and prayer that all will be well with their lives and their hearts.

And it will take time, maybe even a whole lifetime.

But I hope and pray that they will rebuild and renew and find a way to go forward...

And I pray that they find the things we all hope and long for: peace in our heart, minds, and spirits.

Post 18: Me and My Anger Isshas, Part 2

ANGER

Such a small word, but it is full of bite.

And it is an emotion that I fight to control within myself. It is, and has been, one of my worse personal characteristics.

As a result, I've had to attack it. Try to smother it in some way.

And as a result, I got the answer to one of the most interesting answers to a prayer I've ever gotten.

Now, like I said in the past post, I'm extremely passive aggressive. Which I feel is a lot worse than being open with my anger, as I tend to internalize my anger. And I am sure that affects one's emotional and physical health.

However, I will get so fed up at times that I blow. And it is never pretty.

This has happened at work from time to time.

Always some mess going on. I tell you, man... Our management is very very special.

Several years ago, they were extra special. One of the managers was sleeping with the chick that was in charge of the scientific division of our building. So apparently, since dude was laying it down, he pretty much had run of the place. He hijacked equipment from my lab (and of course, my boss blamed me for this, which made me MAD.) Anytime there were job announcements for promotion, I would interview, and dude would be on the panel, and made sure his peeps got in.

It was the worst of times, man. I remember I didn't get a picked for a promotion, and I got called into this black chick's office. She was on the panel. She was so exasperated. "Dr. LadyLee, I'm looking at your curriculum vitae and it is stellar! I fought for you! You were the best person for the job! Please tell me what's going on!"

So we talked. I told her, I know that I'm stellar. I am BRILLIANT.

But the powers that be are screwing. And there is nothing I can do about people sleeping together.

Decisions being made in the bedroom. That has NOTHING to do with me and who I am and my qualifications.

(You know, it's bad when that comes into play).

Yep, I was MAD about stuff. I was coming out on the wrong end of stuff. Anytime there were special projects, these jokers were looking at me. Calling me into special meetings. (Man, this happened even now, 2 days ago. HARD SIGH. Have you been looking at the news? HARD SIGH!). Yet, I can't get the promotions.

Hmmm.

Pissed me off.

I say all that to say this. I'd been internalizing much of this, chewing on it, always thinking about it, mulling over it, meditating on it. Just upset over it all.
Letting it incubate and grow.

It was all in my heart, and whatever's in the heart eventually comes out...

And I had all kinds of blow ups about it.

I was too ashamed to pray about my cuss laden outbursts, but man, I needed some help. I didn't like that part of my psyche. Not at all. I've always been considered a mean person, because I am very quiet. But to open my mouth, and remove all speculation is another matter altogether.

I look back, and I understand a bit about working on establishing and having faith in my relationship with God. I had to get some understanding of Him loving me in the midst of my imperfections, when I was at my most unlovable. I myself tend to look very closely at and tend to develop a very deep admiration for people who freely admit their idiosyncrasies and then commence to working on the spiritual aspect of the problem.

It is my personal opinion that any tangible issue grows out of some deep seeded spiritual problem within myself.

Hence, anger is an expression of fear.

I talked about that in the last post. I must say, I didn't believe it, and had to ponder it, examine my own life, etc... I mean, it's just too simple.

I had to pray for a solution to my problems. I started handling my fears. Started casting them down, replacing them with faith filled words. (Uh, I have a long strongholds post coming up on Sunday).

That worked wonders for the Oldgirl!

BUT, in the process, I got an answer to my anger issue, a most unexpected answer.

"If you're angry, wait 72 hours before you go say anything. If you feel the same after 72 hours, then feel free to let her rip!"

Interesting. My thoughts (as usual)... "That's bogus!"

Or is it?

I had a bad temper, was ornery, and was thought of as dramatic. Yes I was. Because jokers were piling work on me. Busters. And me, who already don't talk much as it is, started tripping out on peeps.

It was my way of doing things, you see. My solution to the problem. I figured out that if people thought you were a tad bit "touched" in the head (just a little, not much) they would walk away.

So, I started (very reluctantly, and under much direst), putting this answer into effect. It felt silly. I remember looking at my watch and thinking "Okay, in 72 hours, I'ma have my say!"

You know what happened?

By the time 72 hours had passed, I was no longer angry. I was like "Whatever man. I don't care. I'ma do my work, do the best I can, and keep it moving. Ya'll win. Who cares."

Then... I noticed something else happened. Something more incredible.

The mess I was upset about was taken care of in that 72 hour period. It was a trip. Now THAT is hard to explain. Situations I was angry about, where I could see no way out of it... well, miraculously, other solutions were found that didn't involve me.

And honey? That was find with me.

It increased my faith. Which began to drown out my fears.

Definitely a great answer to a prayer. One that I still incorporate to this very day. It works 100% of the time when I act accordingly. (And you know I have ditched it a couple of times. And the results were horrible! Disastrous!)

I was talking to a friend about the 72 hour time period. You know me, I like to ponder stuff backwards and forwards, from side to side, lol.

She said, "You know Oldgirl, that's 3 days, the time between Jesus' death on the cross and his resurrection."

I told her "Girl, you deep off the pages. Just fell off the page of the book. Go sit your deep tail down somewhere."

LOL

I prefer to think of it as the time needed for me to cool down. Some people need 10 minutes in the nearest bathroom stall. I'm a bit touched - I need 72 hours.

And for God to take care of a few things for me in the process is a bonus.

And you know what? That's good enough for this Oldgirl.

It really is.

Post 17: Me and My Anger Isshas

I know all ya'll think I am perfect.

And that's a good thing.

You know, there are people who, when they cuss in my presence, they apologize.

That makes me feel special. (And I suppose they don't know that I tend to open my Good Book of Cuss ever so often. Sigh).

But there are things that I just don't like about myself.

And if you've read my blog long enough, you should've picked up on it by now.

I have severe anger issues.

And that is something that I absolutely HATE about myself.

For I would like to be like everyone else, always bubbly, happy all the time.

Go to sleep smiling. Wake up smiling.

But I'm not like all of ya'll.

I get angry.

But I must admit that I've gotten better in the past few years... MUCH.

I'm "special" with my anger, too.

Now, my Mama is someone who I consider extremely violent. I mean, she and I don't get along. I know if I say the wrong thing to her, my tires would get slashed, and my windows will be busted out. The last big blow up we had, well, if my brother wouldn't have been there, to seperate us, then I would've been fatally hurt.

People tell me to write a letter to my my mother. I say, "Uh, you don't know my mother."

My Father, from what I know of him, and having spent some time with him early last year, is a very quiet and docile man. He and I have a lot of the same characteristics. I am extremely quiet like he is. We have the same sense of humor. I looked at the man, and I could not imagine him having an angry bone in his body.

Now I have both of these people's genes. And you know what that makes me.

"Special". Very special when it comes to my anger.

I am VERY passive-aggressive. VERY. VERY quiet with my anger.

If I'm mad, I just don't talk to you. I don't acknowledge your presence. And this gets confusing, because I am rarely mad at folks. Rarely. This can get confused with situations where I'm not mad. I know good and well that I don't need to be bothered with you, and I am ghost.

But I was never allowed to express my feelings growing up. So it is rare for me to express them now. I just do the passive-aggressive thang. And if you push me, and keep pushing me, well...

I will verbally whip your tail. And I'm putting it mildly, and as PG as I can.

Believe that.

That is something I don't like about myself. And it has to be some genetic craziness. (I am a closet geneticist. I am fascinated by genetic implications.)

But like I said, I've lightened up. The older I get, the more I lighten up.

Especially since I understand something that I heard about 5 years ago:

ANGER is an expression of FEAR

I heard that when we had some crazy long series at church on negative emotions, and how to handle them. I thought to myself, "That is bogus! He need to move on to something else!"

But when I thought about it, it really wasn't.

And once I got an understanding of it, I began to solve a few of my anger issues.

Right now, I'm not angry about much. Interestingly, my anger has pretty much been centralized in a couple of different areas over the years.

One of the anger issues is concerning me and my Mother. I won't write about it, as it is such a distant issue to me right now.

The other anger issue surrounds my job. And you've been witness to that recently.

Uh, let's just say, the anger you saw late last year resided just beneathe my skin.

The anger some five to seven years ago ran bone deep.

But that phrase above, the mysterious anger-fear connection is rather interesting...

ANGER is an expression of FEAR.

In other words, anger comes from fear.

FEAR is the root of ANGER.

And if you turn that sentence around, it would sound funny.

FEAR is an expression of ANGER.

Na'wl man... Look at that real close. That don't sound right. Has to be the other way around.

I remember, back then, I REALLY chewed on that phrase. Chewed on it like a wad of that hard bazooka gum.

I didn't believe it.

Until some mess went down at work.

We had (and still have) something crazy going on at work:

The white people don't work as hard as the negroes.

It is what it is. Nothing anyone could do about it at the time.

But, I got caught up in the mix.

For, I, LadyLee, am extremely brilliant. I am very knowledgable. Really, I am. 'Tis true.

And the white people knew this. (If they didn't, they wouldn't have messed with me).

To make a long story short, I was working like a DOG in my own workgroup. And it is already pretty upsetting to watch the white people of another group sip lattes all day, take 3 hours lunches, and enjoy life.

(Shoot, we had a white dude in our group that didn't do much work. I wrote about dude here on this blog before. It still upsets my boss when I tell her she need to stop "Breast feeding" that dude.)

Well, a situation came up where there was special work that needed to be done in another group (the white people's group), and they wanted ME to do it.

ME. LadyLee. LadyLee who already worked 12 hours a day. LadyLee who works 12 hours a day with a chronic illness. TIRED LADYLEE.

Pissed me off.

And I let it be known. Talked plenty sh**. (Please excuse my language.)

And my boss wouldn't protect me. (Still lost on that. I guess she needed to look out for her ownself.) These jokers would say stuff to her about me, and she would, I don't know, believe them?

WOW.

Man, this was on my mind 24/7. I was always pissed about it. I think I mighta prayed about it, but they were some anger tinged prayers that went no furhter than the sound of my voice.

Man, I was HOT. I'd get so mad that my ears would get hot.

And you know when people talking about you. You know, you walk down the hall, and you speak to them, and they don't speak.

That REALLY made me mad.

Bustas!

Anyway, things got worse. I was working like a dog, and having to have a front row seat to these white people enjoying the good life.

And something happened one day. And I can't remember it, but my workload was about to get jacked up with something the white people could be doing, and Man, I tell you, I was so upset that I left work. Told my boss, look, I'm turning in a leave slip, and I'm out.

I left work, and I was so upset and angry, that I don't remember leaving work. I don't remember getting in my car. I don't remember driving.

I just remember pushing a cart around the local Who.le Foods store. I was sooooo upset and pissed that I don't remember anything.

And I truly understand what people mean when they say they black out and tare up stuff.

No I didn't tare up stuff. Just disappeared for a few days. (Did this a few times prior to that, I think.)

But I remember leaving the grocery store and sitting in my car at a stoplight on Courtland street, and hearing very clear in my heart.

"What are you afraid of?"

And that right there to me was a very profound question.

And it was there, at a stoplight that I understood one thing.

Don't deal with the anger. Deal with the ROOT of the anger. Deal with the FEAR behind the anger.

And that is something I had to seriously sit down and deal with.

Because I knew right then, if I could face the fear and deal with it.

Then my anger would dissipate.

Sounds far-fetched don't it.

Next time you're angry, sit down and think on it... and think about it from the point of view of what you're afraid of.

(And if you read Terry's Cheap Seats post today, you will understand that it's just not a time to lie to yourself. It is a time to be TOTALLY honest with yourself.)

You may ask, "What were you afraid of, LadyLee?"

I will tell you what I was afraid of. And this is something that I have never admitted to anyone, only to myself.

I was afraid that they would work me so hard that I would die.

And I was mad about that. Because I like my life, and I don't want to die because some job stressed me out so bad that I fell out dead.

That is a HARSH thing to admit, even to myself. But hey, I'm revealing the dark side around these parts up in some of these posts, and that is a look on my dark side.

I was already working hard. Now you want to work me harder.

And I have lupus, which is very much a stress related condition. If I'm stressed, I get sick. I start having complications. And honey? I don't care for complications at all. And I deal with that when I am working too hard. Gives my doctor a fit, and she and I have battled over my working like a dog.

But I had to deal with that. I had to admit it to myself, and just start praying about it.

And I had to anniliate that.

For if you destroy the ROOT of the tree, you're not going to have anything associated with that tree showing up - no leaves, no fruit, no branches, no pine cones - nothing.

No healthy thriving root = no tree.

Kill the root, then you kill off the fruit. Anger is the fruit of fear. (Well, one of the many fruits. Now THAT'S something to pontificate.)

And that's what I saw with my anger.

The more I dealt with my feelings of fear, the better I got concerning my anger.

And it was one of those things where I was like "God, I'ma do my part, You do your part, and we cool. We straight."

For I understood that my anger was getting in the way of things. Which meant my FEAR was getting in the way of things.

FEAR is the great paralyzer. It will keep your feet, your heart, your mind, your spirit, EVERYTHING, just stagnant... stuck in one place.

And FEAR is the reciprocal of FAITH.

If fear is there, faith is not present.

So... let's just say I realized how important it was to be agressive with my fear.

I got aggressive. I spent the time necessary dealing with it. I didn't talk to anyone about it. I think me and my doc had a convo, but that's about it.

And due to that, interesting things began to happen.

I was left alone at work. They blackballed the mess out of me (which was cool), but I got out of it what I thought was an impossible situation. Shoot man, that's all I wanted.

And something else very interesting happened in the process of me making a sincere effort to deal with my fears...

One of my most important instructions concerning dealing with my anger issues.

One of the most important answers to a prayer I've ever received.

(Stay tuned...)

(Dedicated to that Oldgirl Chele)

That doggone Original Oldgirl Ladylee...

That girl know she can cook!!!

One nice spring afternoon, she had a little get-together for a few of the bloggers over to her house.

Just a little sumthin', sumthin'.

"Are you going to cook anything?" Serenity asked.

"Whatchu talkin' 'bout S23... I'ma cook it down, gal!" LadyLee said.

"I got the fried fish!"





"You know I don't like fried fish, LadyLee," Serenity said.

LadyLee nodded. "Yeah, you the only sista on the planet who don't like fried fish."

"But I do have the barbeque chicken and ribs!"

Serenity smiled hard like Miss Celie.

"LadyLee," Hassan said. "Uh, you know I don't partake of the swine."

"That's cool, big bruh. I got the grilled shrimps and the grilled crabs. Just for you!"

"And I got that good Tequila Lime Chicken." (courtesy Blogger Darius Everydaycookin.com)

"I like that, LadyLee," The Lbeezy said. She tied her Souljah girl bandana around her head. "I'll have a plate of that right there."

Ladylee opened the cabinet and grabbed a stack of plates. She handed them to LBeezy."You can have whatever you want, girl! There's plenty for all."

"LadyLee?"

"What is it, Hassan?"

"You know Chele likes fried chicken."

LadyLee looked over at the stove. "Dude, don't you see that chicken frying on the stove?"

"Oh, my bad," he said.

"Yeah. You know I got my girl Chele covered. And that chicken'll be ready by the time she get here."

LadyLee put a pan of cornbread in the stove. "Speaking of Chele, has anyone seen her?"

Everyone shook their heads. A chorus of murmered "No's" filled the room.

"Well, I told her to stop by the store and pick me up some toothpicks. She'll probably be along soon."

Just then there was a commotion outside. Car tires screeched. A car door slammed so hard that the car window broke.

Everyone in the House of LadyLee ran to the window.

"It's Chele!" Diva in Demand yelled. "And she's beating someone down."

Everyone in the House of LadyLee ran outside.

"Chele, what are you doing?" LadyLee yelled.

"I'm kicking FEAR's behind!" she yelled. She threw a hard left punch.

"We have to go help her," everyone yelled in what felt like one big united voice.

"Na'wl," LadyLee said. "Na'wl, let Chele handle her business. This is something she have to do for herself."

Everyone continued to stand around and watch the beat down.

"Chele," LadyLee said. "Come on in the house, now. You've beat up on FEAR enough. Time to eat."

"I am not afraid!" Chele yelled.

"Yes, we know you're not afraid, honey. We know. Come on in the house."

"I saw FEAR walking up the street towards me, and I had to get him!" Chele threw a right hook. "I am NOT afraid!"

"We know that Chele."

The Lbeezy took off her Souljah rag, ran up on the fight and started beating FEAR with the rag.

"Beezy! Get back over here."

"I had to get some licks in, too!" Beezy yelled.

Everyone continued to watch the beatdown.

"I AM NOT AFRAID!" Chele yelled.

LadyLee looked at her watch. "I'm not sure how long she's gonna be. I'm going back in the house to take the chicken out the grease. I don't want it to burn."

No one said a word.

"Ya'll just leave her alone. Let her work it all out."

LadyLee went back into the house.

LadyLee came back out a few minutes later. Everyone was in on the beatdown.

"I told ya'll not to bother her."

"We had to get in on it!" everyone yelled.

LadyLee looked down at the skillet of hot grease in her hand. She'd just finished frying up all the chicken.

Might as well get in on it too, she thought.

Hmmm...

Alright... that was a cheesy story.

Just a bootleg thrown together story for you all. It continued, got a little rambunctious. Chele threw my beloved toothpicks at FEAR. In addition to my skillet of hot grease, I think I brought out a glock or a shotgun. (You know how violent I tend to get).

But I shortened it...

And in the process, I made you hungry, didn't I?

LOL... Thought I would feed you all this good Thursday morning!

You know, I am so encouraged by Chele's battle with fear. I get so much from her posts concerning such, as she has been quite candid about her thoughts...

And I know if FEAR was a person, and just so happened to walk around a corner right about now, Chele would commence to beating him down... with her fists, her purse, and her high heel shoes.

And I have learned from her that whatever issue I am tackling, I have to get mighty violent and aggressive about it. I mean, really get serious about it. Chele is over there reading books on handling fear, giving her thoughts on it, meditating, thinking about it.

Soon, we'll be calling that Oldgirl a "Faith Giant".

Yeah. That's what's hot.

So thanks, Chele, for being honest about your issues with FEAR.

As it has allowed me to be still and examine my own issues with FEAR.

Stay tuned...

Post 16: Envy? NOT! (Part 2)

ENVY

'Tis a jacked up emotion, it is.

'Tis first cousin to jealousy, covetousness, and a host of other negative emotions.

But I read an interesting piece of scripture, Psalms 73, posted in part I of this post, that made me understand that it is indeed an emotion that everyone has had in their life at one time or another, and it helped me understand something else very interesting:

I am not alone.

I am not alone when it comes to envy. It was something I had in the past, and since yesterday, I've been thinking really, really, REALLY hard about it.

Am I envious of anyone?

The answer to that question is an unequivocable NO.

And I must say that I feel for anyone who has envy issues. I really do. Especially when you get my age. That was more of a thing of my teens and twenties. When you get my age, those well rooted negative emotions, well... you gotta do some hard work to uproot them.

Much like trying to dig up a 100 year old oak tree with a toothpick.

(And ya'll know how I feel about my toothpicks, lol).

But something happened that stopped me COLD.

Let's just say, God must've been fed up with me whining in my prayers.

Come to think about it... this stuff that happened, it changed the way I pray.

And that's a good thing..

So, let's get into this. It was a bit incredible, and looking back, it still feels incredible.

But I am glad it happened. And it happened during a dark time in my life.

Sometimes, some craziness has to go down to set your heart straight.

~fuzzy wavy lines, stepping back in time, circa the year 2000~

In N.ew Orle.ans back in the year 2000, right after I had come off of a bad depression and was in the process of renewing my relationship with God, I was caught up in a terrible marriage, living away from my family, and what-not.

My marriage was so bad that I wouldn’t even go home most of the time… I would show up just enough to get home and get my mail, wash clothes, etc… Basically, I just wanted to show my face, so that I wouldn’t be accused of anything weird like abandonment…

I had a lot of friends all over N.O. that I stayed with, without too many questions asked. They all pretty much knew my situation: bright, smart, and successful sister stuck with "Oldboy".

I remember two of my married friends in particular…

For the purposes of this post, I’ll just refer to them as “Jane” and “Rita”.

Jane, a custodian at my place of employment, had been married to her husband for approximately ten years. She didn’t make much money, and her husband was the breadwinner of the household. They had a very nice simple three bedroom, two bathroom home. She had a three older kids (who were adults) from a previous marriage, and a ten-year-old daughter with her current husband. She didn’t drive, but her husband would pick her up every day from work. I was strung out without a car at the time, and since my apartment complex was on the way to their homes, they would drop me off or pick me up for work.

Rita was a scientist that I worked with. She had been married to her husband for approximately 20 years. They had two bright teenage children. They also lived near me. Rita was another person that I sometimes bummed a ride home with from time to time. (I hated catching the bus!).

But I spent large amounts of time with both of these couples and their extended families. One of the only things I absolutely LOVED about N.O. was the size of the families, and how everyone got together on holidays, etc… I spent so much time with these people and their extended families that you would have thought I was a cousin or something… It just did so much for my heart to have somewhere to go in the midst of all my mental anguish, and not be in my awful apartment, away from my own family, who were back in the ATL.

Well, I remember early one morning sitting in my office having a little quiet prayer time before I got my day started. I remember saying something to God that morning. I had been thinking (meditating) on what I prayed to Him about for at least a couple days…

“Oh God, how I wish my marriage was like Jane’s and Rita’s marriages. Please make my marriage like theirs!”

I think I had been crying a little bit, because my husband and I had had a huge push and shove fight the night before, a night where I actually decided to spend some time at home. All I know is that it was one of those days where I did NOT want to be at work…

I heard extremely clear in my spirit….

“No you don’t.”

Shoot… I know that THAT didn’t come from me.

I remember saying too fast… “Yeah, right!!!”

I even rolled my eyes…

“And I will show you why you don’t.”

Now, I have to admit, I did something that I know that God has a problem with me doing to this very day…

I got pissed off.

(Hush. I'm much better about not being that way as I get older. Really, I am).

I mean, here I was, hating life because I was stuck off in N.O. with Oldboy, caught up paying bills and rent all by my lonesome because Oldboy had decided that “he needed his money for other stuff”… I had no car, I was away from my family, fighting depression and loneliness, just hanging on to a bit of hope, had just started going back to Church, had just started back praying and learning to believe God again for a bit of help…

And God was speaking to me… He obviously was speaking to my spirit, because that didn’t come from me…

“Trippin!!” is what I remember saying, and immediately turning on some music and getting to work…

“You got to be kidding me!!” I exhaled aloud, my voice shaky because I was about to start crying again.

I’d decided it was too doggone quiet, and I needed to stop praying because I was obviously hearing things… And I didn’t need to hear anything else to have me all upset…

A few hours later, while I was still sitting in my office, Jane’s 18 year old daughter “T” came into my lab. She was an intern downstairs with a scientist in my group. I remember her peaking in my huge office window, and raising her eyebrows as if to ask if she could open the door and come in… I was a bit miserable at the moment and really wanted to be left alone to brood in peace, but I waved her in.

Let me interject here that the younger folks who interned around the building liked me a lot, and enjoyed coming to my office because I liked the same music they did, and we could always shoot the breeze, or I would help them with homework, etc… And I enjoyed their visits. It felt good to hear a coworker say, "My child don't talk, but he will talk to you. He looks up to you."

So, I was VERY popular with the youngsters.

Well, T, she quietly opened my door, walked in, and quietly shut the door behind her, like she was scared. This wasn’t like her… She was always so bubbly, and made sure to talk as much as possible, so that I could laugh at her thick N.O. accent.

“What’s up, whoadie?” I asked, as usual.

She was quiet.

I turned my music down. I noticed that the auburn weave she had gotten the previous week was gone. “You alright, T?”

She shook her head no.

I sat there and waited for her to say something…

“Matt [Jane’s husband] jumped on me last night,” she said in a voice so small that I could barely hear her.

I sat there thinking, while she weeped a little. I mean, I’m thinking… Nice Matt? The Matt who picks Jane up everyday, gives Jane money, takes Jane everywhere she needs to go… the Matt who always spend so much time with his ten year old daughter?

Nice, sweet, happy Matt jumped on her?

T went on to tell me about what happened the night before. (Jane wasn’t home). She said that she was suppose to keep the younger daughter the night before, so that Matt could go somewhere, but she was late getting home. He ended up getting physical with her, throwing her on the floor, snatching the weave out of her head, smacking her around, etc.

“What?” I asked in disbelief. “Did you tell your mother what happen?”

She nodded her head. “Yes.”

“Well?” I asked, after she sat there for a moment.

“She kind of just walked away. Said there was nothing she could do about it.”

“What?” I asked.

“I need you to talk to her for me, LadyLee. I can’t go back there. He put me out.”

Dayum, I thought. I was trippin’ over what she was saying.

Now, I don’t have any children. I only have my brother, who might as well be my kid. But there is one thing I know: if a dude hits your child, all hell should break lose up side that negro’s head. And I couldn’t believe Jane didn’t immediately call the police or somebody on that dude!

“Please talk to her for me, LadyLee!” T wailed.

“What you want me to say, T?” I asked. I mean Jane didn’t call the police or anything.

What WAS I suppose to do?

I gave T a hug, and she sat in my office for awhile. I think she wanted to be somewhere where she could just be quiet and gather her thoughts. She needed to figure out what to do.

I left and went downstairs looking for Jane. She was sitting in a room where a lot of the custodians gather, but she was alone. I walked in and closed the door behind me.

She greeted me with the usual “Hey Dr. LadyLee!”, something that I always hated, but a lot of the black folk in the building were so happy to see a black person walking around with an official title that they absolutely refused to call me by my first name. So I had gotten use to it a little.

“Yeah, um…Jane,” I started.

“How’s it goin’, Doc?”

I hesitated a moment, kind of trying to collect my thoughts. “Yeah, um, I talked to T. She’s up in my office right now. So what happened?”

Jane broke eye contact with me. “Look,” she said, “Matt said that he and T had a little disagreement, and she was being disrespectful, and you know, that’s all that happened.”

*Crickets*

I didn’t know what to say, or what to do for that matter. I just left and went back upstairs to my office to talk to T. I told her what her mother had said.

“LadyLee, I ain’t lying about this! Look at my hair,” she wailed while turning around for me to see the back of her head. “He snatched my hair out!”

I knew she wasn’t lying. It looked real quick to be one of them situations where Matt had basically said she was lying or something. I had been around T for a couple years by this time, and she was basically a normal teen: going to school, working her intern job, hanging with friends, getting ready to start pre-med in college, etc… She, like a lot of the young people around there, always came to talk to me about all of their business, etc… She wasn’t a fast tail girl or anything…

“T, calm down,” I said for lack of not knowing what the hell else to say. “What are you going to do? Where are you staying? Do you need some money? What do you need from me?”

She said she was straight with her money, and she was staying with a friend. She said she was tired of Matt’s bullshit.

When she said that, that let me know all was not too well in their household for a good minute. This wasn't something out of the blue. There had been crap going on long before this incident occurred. And that freaked me out.

Jane pulled me to the side later on that afternoon, trying to explain why she didn’t call the cops on Matt. “Look Doc, I’m here, you see I’m a custodian, I can’t take care of myself and my youngest child alone. I have a nice house and all. I had to make a choice.”

Had to make a choice. Damn.

That made my head hurt when she said that. I didn’t respond, just let her talk… She rambled on, making excuse after excuse.

I was standing there wondering why a mother would let a man abuse her child. I didn’t understand then, and I don’t understand now.

I was sitting at home later that evening, thinking about the day.

And I remembered my prayers earlier that morning, how I had wailed about wanting my marriage to be like somebody else’s…

“No you don’t… And I will show you why you don’t.”

Since this post has ran a bit longer than I would’ve liked, I won’t really go into Rita’s story…

I’ll just let you know that I saw, that very same week... that Rita’s marriage relationship was not all it’s cracked up to be. Rita had come to my office one afternoon to chill and for a couple of hours, expressed how she had a deep hatred for her sorry ass husband and how she didn’t respect him. She detailed all of the crap she hated about him…How she’d been feeling about him for the past 20 years…

It all shocked me something terrible. I mean, I still loved oldboy, but I didn’t HATE him. We were just growing apart, and I was hurting, but there was no HATE…

Man, I had to listen to Rita's cuss soaked craziness for 2 WHOLE HOURS. I couldn't run. Heck it was my office!

Rita’s marriage was definitely not a model for what I wanted my marriage to be.

God allowed me to spiritually “see” a few things that week… and I must admit, I was a bit unnerved over it all…

Geez…

I had to learn that lesson the hard way: Stop envying people. You don't know WHAT'S going on behind closed doors. You should trust me on that. I bet the house on that one.

No idea whatsoever.

I do appreciate a spiritual chin check from the Lord when I really need it. Seems like such experiences affect the course of my thoughts, which eventually affects the course of my life.

These days, if there is any doggone semblance of me looking at anybody sideways thinking, “Gee, I wish I could be like them! Why can’t my life be all great and perfect like their life?!?!…

…I scratch all that. I’m real quick to repent of such crazy thoughts…

As a matter of fact, I can't remember the last time I've felt that way. Maybe it was waaay back then, in the year 2000. Because after that, I ain't even letting the thought enter my mind of wanting to be like someone else or have what they have...

Because I know that God knows what’s really going on with people…

No wonder He looks at the heart!

We’re all under construction, you see. We all have our own God-given assignments, purposes, and portions. Enough so that there is really not enough time to be pondering other folks “seemingly” perfect lives.

Of course, there is a healthy side to all this. I believe God places mentors in our lives. God brings people across our lives who serve as positive role models, who help us in a time of need, who build us up, etc…

I have SO many mentors. (Shoot man, some of them don't even know they are mentoring in certain areas.)

And I have people in my space who I truly admire. But I truly understand healthy admiration versus wanting what someone else has.

People who's purpose is to be of a help to you in this life walk, to help you be all that you can be, in fulfilling your dreams, goals and purposes.

I learned a painful lesson that week… to the point that I seriously sit down to this very day and REALLY get before God and REALLY check myself if I so much as THINK I may be getting too close to wailing about wanting my life to be like someone elses… I just can’t have that… And if I am being like that, I need for him to point it out to me there in prayer, NOT by showing me what’s up with folks…

There was a bunch of me just running around saying quietly to myself "Lord, I-, I-, I- am so so so sorry. I do understand now! I really do. I won't envy ever again. I am SO sorry!!"

I don’t EVER EVER EVER want to experience what I experienced back then again!!

I have to walk out my own path… I don’t know what God has down the road for me.

All I know is that God was looking out for my mental well being future-wise that week…

Because being envious and covetousness can be a terrible way of life…

I have a full understanding of that now, down to the very core of my being…

An understanding that no one can ever take from me.

And for that, I am grateful…

Really though.

My old pastor in New Orleans said that you want to be able to pray and listen to the still small voice in your heart and do what you have to do... If you being hard-headed, someone's will come along and say, "The Lord said A, B, and C!" And if you still trippin' then you get the crazy "burning bush" experiences like above.

"You don't want any "Burning Bush" experiences, like what Moses had," he said. "Just pray and learn to do what you have to do."

That there, what you just read, was LadyLee's Burning Bush experience. In the midst of all my imperfections.

I don't care to go through that something ever ever again.

But Lord, if that's what it takes to bust up some negative emotions from my soul...

Hey... I welcome it.

That was a really strange transformational time of my life back then. But it shaped me... it has help me understand a few things about our complex human nature and situations.

And that what I just described... let's just say, I will never forget it.