Friday Night Rewind

So what does a forty one year old woman who's trying to pull all of the pieces of her life together again do on a Friday night? I laugh to myself at this question because I am coming up with very little indeed. This trying to get my life back on track is interferring with my social tendencies. Normally in my newfound state of having no young children around I would find something to do but this pesky little ordeal of rehabilitating my life has managed to keep me in hermit status. Earlier today after a much needed simple conversation with God I pulled out some music that I had not listened to in quite some time. My gospel music collection in CD form has not grown much over the years so it reflects much of my foundational years in gaining a relationship with God. Everything modern is, well was on my IPOD which as of yesterday was mistakenly erased. Apple products and the Itunes store I abhor you!! Anyway, the music that I found myself listening to all this afternoon and at this very moment brings back such pleasant memories. The sounds of Fred Hammond, Yolanda Adams and early Kirk Franklin all chronicle my coming of age spiritually. I was in my very early twenties with a young son just coming to know and understand the Creator of the Universe for real. I was so young, so honest in my desire to learn and love God, so sincere in teaching my son about Him. Many Friday nights were spent just like tonight at home listening to music that uplifted, encouraged and soothed me. When my son would go to visit his dad those were also some of the loneliest Friday nights. The momentum of the week came to an abrupt end on Friday evenings after returning home, making sure my son's overnight bag was neatly packed and he was ready to leave me for two whole days. By the time his dad had come and whisked him away I was left alone in a suddenly quiet house. There was no video game or Nickelodeon blaring in the background just silence. Before the loneliness overtook me I busied myself with chores. I washed clothes, did dishes, swept and mopped the kitchen, anything to keep me busy. When I could no longer continue to keep moving and the silence tapped me on the shoulder I turned my music on and let the soul stirring lyrics minister to my lonely soul. Alone in that little, empty house I connected to Spirit and poured my heart out. I told God all about my pain, my problems, my fears and my uncertainties. I cried about my inability to face some situation alone. When a bill came due that I had absolutely no idea how I'd cover I mopped and had a little talk with Jesus. Here I am twenty years later and its the same story with a few variances. I am alone on a Friday night and I find myself rewinding the tape back to a familiar time in my life. I made it beyond those interesting years where I matured. I think to myself tonight as Fred Hammond encourages me to "praise Him through the night" that this too shall pass. I may be undergoing yet another midnight hour and if I've learned nothing I've learned that in the midnight hour is when God does His absolute best work.

My Grace Period

This morning a very dear friend ministered to my soul in a way that comforted and challenged me beyond my state of despair. The turmoil that I have been dealing with in reestablishing my life has been difficult to say the least. I woke up this morning in complete discontent. Normally I try to embrace the day with gratitude but this morning the overwhelming feeling of drowning gripped me with a desire to pull the covers back over my head.  I just didn't want to try my hand at this day. I felt as if I had nothing else to offer. All I've wanted was to simply get back on my feet, to become vertical again and retain some semblance of normalcy in my life but this has failed to happen. My friend phoned with a morning greeting and something within me reached for the phone as if reaching for a lifeline of sorts. I tried my best not to sound pathetic. The one thing that I do not like to come across is as a chronic complainer. I shared with him my pain and he shared with me the possibility of viewing the space that I now find myself in as an opportunity to reconnect with Spirit at a greater and deeper level. As he imparted this wisdom to me I listened but the heaviness that blanketed me refused to hear what he was saying. The heaviness constructed a dark wall against all that he was sharing until he mentioned one profound suggestion to me that demolished that wall altogether, "Terrea, you must ask for a grace period." A ray of light broke through in that very moment. This was more than a recommendation but a plea. My friend challenged me to ask God for a grace period.  I whined about my circumstances and questioned what had I done so wrong that invited such difficulties that I was facing. Why were things going so wrong? My dear, dear friend begain to share more with me that I definitely agreed with wholeheartedly.  You see I believe in the law of sowing and reaping or as one of my favorites, Marianne Williamson puts it, the "divine law of compensation". What we put out both in favor of or in fear of we receive back. I realized through this extremely therapeutic conversation with my friend that although I am not denying my error in thinking in my past mistakes, there have still been actions made where the correlating reactions are reverberating in my life even now.  I began to think about the places that I have been and the relationships that I have been in. The people, places and circumstances that I have found myself in and connected to created a gateway for spiritual forces of darkness to gain access to my life.  The torment that I now feel, the overbearing weight of despair and depression that has been weighing on me has come as a result of all that I have been connected to. I've made mistakes and poor choices and I have asked God for forgiveness and direction but I do not think that I have truly given sober thought to the invited visitors that I have allowed into my life spiritually.  My very wise friend suggested that I get beyond the mere idea of asking for forgivenss because I have already done that. He shared that it would be beneficial if I'd also stop thinking about the consequences of the choices I've made. I am obviously experiencing them. This is a fact beyond question. My friend encouraged me to get down on my pretty face, his words not mind and ask God for a "grace period". A grace period? Yes, a grace period. I need a grace period just like in other payment coming due, a grace period is usually granted. He informed me that I need a time of relief and revival so that my strength can be fortified and my resources pulled together in order to face what is ahead.  I am in a weakened and weary state and I need this type of grace I so agree. I am not ignorant of the idea of grace period but never have I looked at it this way before. How I thank God for having my friend call at such time. Just like in any other situation, a foreclosure, a light bill, cell phone bill, car payment, etc there is the date that a payment is due and another date of disconnection, foreclosure or repossession, etc. The time in between those two dates is the grace period. There is a lot that can be done in that grace period. A great deal can be accomplished in a matter of days that may have taken months prior. Yes!! This is exactly what I need, a grace period. I need the darkness to be put at bay for a bit longer. I need enough time to regain the strength necessary to stand under the pressure of the payment due date. I need the storm to be calmed for a moment that I might see clearly. I listened to my friend. I did not pray a pretty prayer. I asked for a grace period and I am believing that He's granted it and during this time I will know what to do and what not to do. In the meantime I am quieting down but not as I had been in these past few weeks where depression held me in its grip daring me to even think about moving an inch. I rarely left my bedroom. Although I experienced glimpses of normalcy, for the most part I never left my bed. I talked with friends ocassionally but the cloak of discouragement still weighed on me. This morning after that conversation I saw a lifeline that I grabbed at with everything left in me. I asked for my grace period and I know that God heard me. He granted this grace a very long time ago.

The Road To Reinvention

These past few weeks I have been completely enamored with the idea of reinvention. Everywhere I look I see reinvention. In every book I read I see reinvention. If I become completely bored and want to turn my brain off for a moment and not think, I turn on the television and there it is again: reinvention. I think God is trying to tell me something. I feel some rambling coming on. This theme is seemingly overtaking me and I am truly fascinated with the concept. It is afterall a tale as old as time and the moral behind this concept is a thread that runs through the fabrics of faith, fairytales and fantasy.  The idea of reinventing one's life is tempting because either on the big screen or within the pages of any novel or biography, I've seen what it looks like and the overall idea is compelling.  A person can take on the task themself or commit themselves to the hands of a gifted mentor. Their reinvention can come as a result of their own idea that their life can be taken to the next level with a nip and tuck here and there. A person can decide for themself that if altered in just the right places and repackaged, their life can indeed be enhanced.  A person can choose to accentuate the positives and eliminate the negatives within altogether.  They can simply reveal the swan thats been there all along.  Quite possibly a person never knew there was in fact a beautiful swan within as they struggled to fit in on the duckling pond of life.  Thank goodness for the tutelage of the great and gifted artists of reinvention.  The Michaelangelos of makeovers can see the David, the massive splendor hidden within a chunk of stone and can carefully and meticulously chip away until true beauty is displayed for all the world to see.  Anyone who can take raw beauty, talent and potential and can cultivate it, position it and enhance it through proper placement and development is an artist indeed.  This is reinvention at its finest. 

Sometimes reinvention takes place at the hands of another as in the case of Berry Gordy and the countless talented individuals that came through Hitsville, USA. Although names may have been changed, glamorous wardrobes created, and artists groomed on the power of presence and poise the overall genuine talent was the foundation where a collection of pretty neighborhood girls who could sing became Martha and The Vandellas, The Velvettes and magnificent groups like The Supremes. Can you say reinvention? It was undeniable that Stevland Hardaway Judkins' talent was stellar which in turn made Lil Stevie Wonder all the more remarkable and an presentation to offer the public. Reinvention showcasing true talent and potential is unstoppable. Reinvention is the platform. A cute little group of boys from Gary, Indiana who just so happen to be able to sing and dance was not at all unusual but when placed in the hands of Berry Gordy and with the direction of Suzanne DePasse, transformation was inevitable. Again, its a story as old as time yet so absolutely fascinating to me. I know I am corny. I admit and embrace my corniness fully, thank you very much. I am just beyond interested in this!! Over and over again you see persons of great character and talent placing their potential and futures in the hands of very capable mentors.  I find that these mentors have done much more than guide the careers of others.  Real life has no fairy godmothers instead there are the Berry Gordys, the Suzanne DePasse, the wealthy benefactors and countless others with a keen eye for potential.  There are also the unlikely mentors who never asked to steer the lives of their protege. In the Bible, Ruth placed herself and her future in the hands of her bitter, worn and tormented mother in law, Naomi. A widow who was beyond being down on her luck and without a plan for her future saw something in a tired old woman that made her follow her and commit her life and future to her. I don't think that Naomi wanted to take on the task of reinvention but in her hands a destitute Ruth evolved into a true bachelorette that made a wealthy and distinguished gentleman sit up and take notice. The trajectory of her life and history changed as she was repackaged from a poor, foreign widow to a prime wife material.  I find it truly interesting how an adult can see that their life has spun out of control and willingly places themself in the capable hands of a person of wisdom. I absolutely love that. The idea of being teachable seems to be a foreign concept today but I know that it has its place. Trusting someone else to steer your career or romantic life takes a lot of guts I would imagine. Reinvention is not for scary cats I suppose. To me it appears to be much more than a mere makeover.

With the onslaught of reality television I've unfortunately had an opportunity to witness again reinvention at its height. I am embarrassed to admit that I've found myself studying some of these shows. I can't help it. This phenomena has established, resurrected and launched careers into another stratosphere altogether. Individuals have built brands based upon the idea of reinvention. Can you say Skinnygirl Margaritas? Names that most of America had long forgotten about have now become reintroduced due to their zany efforts at reinvention. Former Miss USA, Kenya Moore chose the rode to reinvention via a reality show without being a housewife at all. Fading celebrities have taken it upon themselves to check into rehab, dance the jitterbug or become an apprentice with hopes to regain some form of relevance.  Could it be solely for the fame or the fortune? Who knows? I just know that it works and I think its high time I learn a bit more about the art of reinvention. 

Norma Jeane Mortenson elevated the idea of reinvention to an exquisite art form. Marilyn Monroe was so very much more than a bottle of blonde hair dye and an act. Because Norma Jean fully and completely bought into every aspect of Marilyn and made her come alive she became a legendary icon. Before she was the illustrious Josephine Baker, Freda McDonald had a fire inside her that was lit and could not be doused. Before she ever donned a bananna skirt and shook her shimmy she had it in her all along to takeover the world. Paris had been a part of her pulse even as a poor little girl in St. Louis. This woman took the idea of reinvention and ran with it. I find that reinvention is born out of necessity most often and supercedes the pursuit of fame. One of my favorite stories is that of Sarah Breedlove who out of desperation created her own opportunities. Her tenacity and years of hard work resulted in her becoming the first female self made millionaire.  She promoted herself like none other. Reinventing yourself in the midst of a life that is not working for you in the least has to require brutally hard work. I suppose you must be relentless in reprogramming yourself, conditioning yourself, convincing yourself that you are no longer the person you started out as. Reinvention then is the routine shedding of your self limitations, doubts and your previous life story.  Who you once were and who you aspire to be cannot meet.  These two entities will never be on speaking terms.They cannot coexist. I think you absolutely must be determined to repackage yourself into the ideal in your mind's eye. Nene Leakes, another current reality show star has transformed herself to transcend her beginnings as Linnethia Monique Johnson former stripper into a 45 year old actress. She seized an opportunity and a platform to make her dreams come true. The one redeeming lesson that I gleaned from the reality show foolishness is the way some of the players have grasped their moment in the spotlight like a skilled expert. No one gave them permission or instructions, they ran with it. They took their one moment in time and did something with it. They reinvented themselves and capitalized greatly from their efforts. I may not agree with how they did it but some of them became "veeeery rich".

Gabrielle Chanel took her orphanage upbringing where she learned how to sew and later in life when presented with the chance she ran with it also. A formidable fashion and lifestyle brand was born from this woman's reinvention of her own life. Coco Chanel is synonymous with style and elegance. How ironic when the founder's humble beginnings were that of poverty.  Pamela Digby cultivated her shallow education befitting an aristocratic young woman of her day into a 20th century courtesan turned wealthy political trustee of the Democratic party. Pamela is another one of my favorites who built upon her relationships with affluent men to strategically position herself. She is definitely one of the great ones. All of these women echo some of the most interesting stories of I've read of reinvention where there was absolutely no pair of ruby slippers, no Glenda the Good Witch, no fairy godmother only a strong desire to walk, run, or march down the rode of reinvention. I admire the willingness of grown women to take counsel from others but when its time to hit the rode they did it themselves. The majic was in their executive. The fairy dust was in their follow through. They had the audacity to simply believe they could and they did hit the rode to reinvention. So, what's my problem I wonder? I guess I'll figure it out someday.

My Giddy Bone Is In Good Shape

"So I met this guy" seems to be the intro to many a story from an enthusiastic woman still retaining an optimistic grip on the idea that love can happen any moment. It doesn't matter the age if bitterness hasn't set in like full rigor mortis every woman hangs onto the hope that the man of her dreams does exist and is not a figment of her imagination. I am just such a woman and guess what...I met this guy!! Well, actually I've known him a little over a year now and he is such a man, a real maaaaaaan. I sit here and I am amazed, totally amazed at the person he is.  The friendship that we've formed still astounds me. I am tickled that I still have the ability to be tickled, to be impressed, to be smitten, yes I said smitten. After all I have put myself through in love and for the sake of love I thought the ability to experience excitement over the potential of a man had all but evaporated. If there were such a bone in my body that responds to profound potential I would call it my "giddy bone" and I am delighted to say that my giddy bone works just fine. How sweet it is to know that my many love fiascos and relationship trainwrecks have not left me deaf to the deep abyss that love calls from. My ears still perk up to the sound of a man conveying his thoughts with razor sharp wit and a school boy's charm. Every fiber of my being is aroused when he speaks. He has this uncanny way of detailing a story or idea that he is trying to get across to me, its like he is tutoring me or something. I feel at times in his presence like a silly sixteen year old in awe of him, hanging on his every word, yet trying desperately not to appear like I am. I absolutely love learning from him, picking his brain. There are only seven years between us but his wisdom runs deep.  I adore his stories that begin with the words "my daddy used to always say".  We established a friendship over a year ago and just our conversations were enough to keep me coming back for more even while I went through some pretty turbulent times. I am learning so much from this treasured friendship with him. In fact, the friendship has completely revolutionized my thinking. I have always questioned whether two adults can retain a friendship while admitting an attraction. My fellowship with this fine specimen of a man tells me that it is so. He has not attempted to purchase my affection or to remove the difficulty from my life financially. He has not come to my aid like Superman. He has been my friend, an encouraging presence and well able hero.  As I cling to my independence in the wake of my woes he stands by and respects my stubborn "I can do it myself" stance. I am still on the fence about how I feel about that but I do cherish the moments of reprieve that I get to experience when with him. He doesn't take the easy way out and gain my favor by throwing money my way. He has done much more than that. He has made me question like Ruth "what have I done to have gained such favor in his sight"?  I recognize that things are but a mere request to him. The "Boaz" in him can make things happen but for the first time in a long time I realize that I do not want the things.  I want to better understand him, to enjoy being in his company not for an exchange that would be far too easy.  He could bring relief to any my circumstances simply.  I am intrigued with him.  Being near him is much more of an intellectual comfort than anything. He doesn't speak down to me but caresses my intelligence and guards my tenderness.  When in his presence I exhale. I rest safely and peacefully. He plays music for me and allows me to lounge in the buttery warmth of his favorite chair and simply be. I am well attended to when with him. This turns me on completely and for that I am grateful. The little things have always meant so very much to me. To be with a man that makes my presence in their life not about them is so refreshing. In every relationship that I've been in I have been the caretaker and sustainer of the "us" that existed. It just feels good to be tended to sometimes and he does it so well. He is in every sense of the word a grown man. His maturity I see is what I have longed for. I am just so glad that our friendship was priority for both of us so that now if anything transpires our foundation has been firmly established. This relaxed friendship is in no danger of being devalued or limited. I vowed to myself not long ago that I was taking six months to a year off from the exhaustive work of a relationship and I am indeed doing just that. I will not break that promise to myself.  I will however, receive all that this gentleman has to offer.  I will however celebrate that I can still respond appropriately to the right kind of man.  Just the mere pleasure of knowing my "giddby bone" is fully functional delights me so. I am very Cleopatra minded with him. I can stretch out and be adored and doted on, my fantasy come true.  I receive his respect like the crown jewels and offer it to him with complete reverence. He deserves it. He is a distinguished gentleman, genuine and down to earth yet regal and experienced. He is no novice to treating a lady like a lady. This is plainly seen and experienced. Yes, he makes me giddy I say giddy, downright giddy I tell you! He kicks back and lets me be giddy and silly and sensual. I double over with extreme delight. He is my six foot chocolate treat that I savor. I throw my head back and revel in this moment.  It may be only a window in time so for now I am greatly pleased to join Stella and "get my groove back". Maybe I'm his female version of "Winston", who knows but I will groove on.

Beyond A Bad Dream

Was it a dream or a bad memory? I awoke about two hours ago with my heart pounding and a blanket of fear weighing heavily upon me that the reality of the scene playing in my subconcious dared me to question its authenticity. It was as if this nightmare dared me to wonder whether or not it was real. With a pounding heart I found myself inwardly strategizing over ways that I could escape. The nightmare was a replay of terrible and abusive events that I found myself in only a few years ago. This weird dream was an ongoing vignette of episodes where I found myself being tormented by a man who was torn between his allegiance to me and a chemical that had him in a deadly grip. Every scene of this nightmare was a bitter memory of those bad nights or days when his addiction made my life a living hell. I've been away from that madness now for some time and now I wonder why are all of these images resurfacing? Why? I sit up in bed and listen to the birds usher in the day and I think maybe just maybe these memories are returning because its time I dealt with them. I've heard his voice since then. We've made amends. I have forgiven him. I think I've forgiven myself, I think. But I have never conquered and quieted the why behind that dark moment in life. After I escaped the abuse and mental torment I found myself returning over and over again. I count myself a somewhat intelligent person so I wonder why did I do that? After completely leaving rather than allowing time to digest the despair I forged ahead into two premature relationships. I was a broken, fragile, easily rattled caricature of a woman at that time. I functioned for all of the world to see as a sweet, kind, caring person. I was responsible and ready to move forward into a committed relationship or so I thought. With every slight action, word or deed that my new love interest would exhibit that remotely reminded me of the disrespect from that abusive relationship I fought. I waged war in my most redemptive Tina Turner defiance. If I did not rebel physically I did so emotionally, financially, verbally or mentally. It was my insane way of drawing a line of demarcation that separated me from a man that I felt was devaluing me in some way yet I stayed hoping for love to be reciprocated somehow. I continued on with this watered down version of rebellion until I fully unwrapped the gift of goodbye and I exited stage left each time. I left hurtful things, people and situations without understanding my contributions to those circumstances which inevitably allowed me to recreate the situation.

So I am fully awake about to have my morning tea and I ponder to myself the meaning of all of this. My boho journey thus far I see is allowing me the necessary time to heal and deal appropriately with my mistakes. I cannot run anymore. I am all out of places to hide. There is no way of escape aside from God. In the silence that is early morning I wonder where will I go from here? The memories, the sound of his voice, the demonic threat to snap my neck in two still resounds with a haunting clarity in my mind. I feel strangely like I am finally ready to sit down with the fear and pain. I do not want to negotiate their presence in my life any longer but rather escort them to the door. They were useful in some ways. I learned that in the presence of fear and pain I can survive somehow. Although there were many moments where I thought I would break, where I would crumble in the grip of every assault against me. I was at times an emotional rag doll a mere breath away from a nervous breakdown but I didn't snap completely. I clung to my one claim to life itself, my son. I survived abuse for the sake of seeing my son again and the promise of the life he would and could live. I wonder this morning if what I am experiencing is a fraction of what a soldier feels once home from a tour of duty in full combat? I learned survival tactics in a hostile environment and once things settled down outwardly in my life the war raged on in my spirit and psyche. My soul was in chaos and now here I am in the quiet and odd calmness that is my parents' home. The memories are resurfacing. The feelings are flooding back in. What to do with them? What to do with them?  

Nourishing My Roots

Who knew reclaiming my life or re establishing it would be this difficult? As unconventional and non traditional that I claim to be I still seek some routine in my wandering. I love the concept of roots and wings and at this point in my life as bohemian in spirit as I am want and need a home base. I may be flighty at times but I am that bird who still seeks to return her one tree branch. This is what I determined to accomplish by returning home nearly two months ago. As I strive to redesign my existence here in my home of origin I am often encountered bymany people I've known all my life. They are such sweet jewels to me, the men and women I've grown up around. They speak without uttering a word to the consistency that is home. Many times through social media I reconnect with other old friends and acquaintances that no longer live in my hometown. When asked how do I like being back "home" my response is that I actually love it. I may be bored and close to climbing the walls but I love it. I enjoy the familiarity and slower pace of life. I respect the genuine people that I am surrounded with, with them, what you see is what you get. I adore that. Being home is a breath of fresh air, well maybe not literally due to all of the petrochemical plants, but you get the point. Southwest Louisiana is home. I have not been banished here. It is not purgatory, nor am I on house arrest. I am free to come and go as I as I please. It still amazes me how silly and superficial some people can be. Remember, I am still working on ending my judgmental ways but it truly shocks me to unbelief how adults can place so much unnecessary weight on things such as where a person lives, what they drive or where they're employed. To me its all relative. The exterior landscape of my life means little if my internal is empty and void. Who wants a plush exterior when the interior is starved? I would rather be fueled from within and live on a small scale and be afforded the autonomy to travel as I desire. Yes I want a home and a nice benefits package that only a job can provide but I have no desire to collect things that will prevent me enjoying experiences meant to enrich my life and my son's. I still dream and I guess that's the roots and wings combination within me. I relish the opportunity to someday very soon go into my brand new field trip here in my hometown complete with a lovely benefits package and enhance the lives of my new coworkers and the clients I will serve. I will really look forward to using my newfound wisdom of leaving the day's ordeals on my desk when the clock says closing time as I exit stage left to my colorful life of service and experience. The real living is not the compensation that I will receive in the form of a direct deposit but the living is in the life that I plan to share and take joy in outside of my existence on someone's job. When you are not defined solely by the work from nine to five this can be achieved.

My wonderful hometown has its challenges just like any other place on the planet but its relative quiet, marginal cost of living and unpretentious way of life makes it an ideal place for me. Here I have family and the wherewithal to begin again. You can practically get anywhere here on either a bus or bicycle, of which I plan to try. I can maintain roots here at a very reasonable amount while still living an enjoyable life. I now toss my former complaints of there not being anything to do out the window. My maturity has kicked in and I remember that I am still reasonably young and the last I checked the interstate still runs through the city, I10 runs east and west with a host of other means of exiting the city should the need arise. Instead of frowning upon my roots and what's lacking here I am choosing to nourish my roots, to invest time in the beauty of my origins. This place is where I am from and is embedded in me.  No more wishing it were a different place.  Its not nor is it progressive, but it is my little piece of solace right now. I plan to water my roots, invest time in some small way in making where I've come from a better place in some small way. I will fertilize my roots with the optimism of my wings. Contentment and optimism can coexist.  While here on the daily I enjoy the sweet simple things such as long walks and visiting with the ducks by the lake. Spending time with my son is a neverending joy and challenge. I am contemplative and careful these days to find within everything something to be grateful for. I read and I read and I read some more. I have roots and wings. What could be better?

Me & My Poet

So a little over two years ago some light was shed on my son's interesting personality. My son has Aspergers Syndrome which is on the Autism Spectrum. The eyes through which Devyn sees the world and the unique way that his brain is wired still astounds me. Its a struggle at times for me to grasp the complexities of his divine design nevertheless I am indeed humbled to call myself his mother. Our mother/son story is an unconventional one. He came into my life when I was clueless and naive but so willing to know true love. I found it in his eyes when I was age nineteen, a mere baby myself. I discovered unconditional love staring right back at me in those adorable brown eyes. From the very beginning he was always such an agreeable child. It still amazes me how he entered this world and found his way throughout the years in such a non assuming manner. From day one, Devyn has had a reliable laid back manner. Although his father and I were nowhere prepared to be parents we struggled to figure it out even in the midst of our short lived relationship. We were young and completely mismatched as a couple could be. My son and I grew together. We came into our own together, yet apart. I attempted to raise him with a solid foundation that was relationship based where God was concerned. I raised him in my home church which was a Baptist setting where we attended Sunday services and weekly Bible studies. He was enrolled in a Christian preschool that tenderly catered to him and his pint sized peers. He was a lovable toddler who was surrounded with love and acceptance until things began to change when he placed in public school. My boy seemed to be having what I thought was a bit of culture shock in the first or second grade. For most of Devyn's life he had been in an environment that was accepting and encouraging. Here he was now in public school in a less accepting and loving environment where name calling was the order of the day. I can still recall my very first teacher conference. When I received the call that my son's teacher needed to meet with me my heart sank. I wondered what was wrong and how would I fix it. I came prepared for my meeting with my trusty notebook so that I could jot down her concerns and make personal notes as to what I should do. I was aimed with a plan without even knowing what was wrong. His teacher greets me and thanks me for coming, I sit and brace myself for what's to come but it doesn't. Panic had set in and had become deflated with the words, "Devyn has been hugging the children". What? Hugging the children? This was my son's offense? Hugging? His teacher goes on to explain that Devyn hugs all of the students and it makes them uncomfortable. I sat there dumbfounded that I had taken off from work early for this. The teacher politely shared that she saw nothing wrong with it but many of his classmates did not like to be hugged and had begun to call him names. My heart broke when she shared the name that these young children had called my child. Wow. I explained to her that my child had come from an environment where he and his classmates hugged each other all of the time and usually at the beginning of each school day but that I would ask that Devyn try not to hug the children anymore.

This was the beginning of something that I did not understand at the time. I simply just assumed my son was having a difficult time acclimating to his new school. The truth of the matter as I see it now he was unable to read a social cue. Devyn simply didn't understand that his gesture wasn't being received well and that he shouldn't continue. He didn't read into why. He just did not understand. As my Love continued to progress in elementary school his third grade teacher expressed a concern that he struggled to focus in class and would often stare off at times. She recommended strongly that I have him evaluated for Attention Deficit Disorder. I saw that recommendation as an assault against my parenting abilities but did so anyway because I did not want my son to struggle in school. With his evaluation and prescription for Adderall in hand I observed my child and tried everything that I could to help him. I told him the medicine would help him to focus in class. We prayed and struggled and cried and prayed some more. I changed his diet and read and read and read some more. Things improved and his prescriptions and dosages varied. I refused to give up. I believed that there was nothing wrong with my beautiful, bright son and refused to have dependent upon medication. In fact, the day he came home and announced that he didn't have his pills so how would he be able to do well in school was the day that I decided that he no longer needed them. Call me a bad mother but my fifth grader would not believe in the power of a prescription nor be dependent on it. I became his support and advocate and he excelled as I knew he would.

He was still somewhat awkward in social settings and in his interactions with others but I always believed it would be something that he would outgrow. Fast forward several years and he never did. His father and I switched primary parenting roles when he was in the eighth grade. A decision that I regret to this day and I have yet to see growth in him socially. My heart ached over what I believed was my fault for not being there to guide him and place him in environments that would foster his interactive development. I couldn't get past the idea that I had dropped the ball, that I had done something wrong, that I had somehow failed my child. My baby was growing up but somehow not blossoming and it was all my fault. After his dad and I finally settled into the concept of what was really going on with Devyn he had just completed high school. I read and read about Aspergers and was flooded with an overwhelming sense of guilt, relief, fear, trepidation and concern for my son. I wondered how would he navigate through this maze of a world? Would he be okay? Will he be happy? Is he lonely? Will he have friends?

After getting past the overwhelm of information and sitting down and speaking with a counselor that I happened upon at a children's event, my heart was comforted to comprehend that everything would be and is perfectly fine. I began to see my son for the very first time through a different set of eyes. Aspergers is not his diagnosis but his divine imprint.  It is the artful way that our Creator chose to wire his brain cells and allow him to view the world. Devyn's name means "poet" and for me remembering that I am so blessed. When I named my son it was never planned. I wanted a daughter and had a name all picked out for her. His dad suggested having an alternate boy name just in case.  This was of course before the era of everyone being informed of their child's gender prior to delivery. I chose Devyn Paul which was close to his father's name. I didn't realize it then but his name was extremely on point for who he was and is as a person. He is in every way to me a "humble poet".  Just as in a poem I have learned such a great deal from him, if and when I look a bit deeper.  When I try not to understand him but to simply experience him I am taught so very much. We are redefining our relationship in his young adulthood. I am humbled step by step in the process. Each moment of frustration brings me closer and closer to releasing all judgment of what and how things should be. When I allow myself to I can learn a great deal from this humble little poet of mine. He has emotions like anyone else but is not ruled by them. How awesome is that?!!! My son's inability to process social cues or be led by them may just have liberated him to heights untold. He won't have the same struggles as I have and for that I am grateful. He will not be enslaved to what he should do or be based upon anyone else's assumptions. He struggles to read those assumptions or cues, so there! He's free! Devyn's wiring keeps me wondering if he's angry or distant with me because he is so very monotone and a bit mechanical in his exchanges. I am learning through my son how not to project what I'm feeling onto someone else. My poet is all reasoning with little rhythm. He tutors me in the art of simply being in the moment for the moment's sake, in engaging in a thing without engaging in every aspect of it, in seeing something without overanalyzing it of which I am great at.  He struggles at connecting the dots of personal interactions but it doesn't define all of who he is. He is content. He is loved. He is loving. He is enough. Gosh, I can learn so very much from the simplistic complexity that is my son. Thank you God.