A Letter to the 16 year old me

I've wondered, time and time again, what I would say to you. What words could I use that you wouldn't completely block out. You're stubborn. And though you're bright, conscientious and reflective, what could I say that won't sound preachy. You hate preachy. But I would be remiss if I neglected to let you know the basics - at least the basics.

That is, I love you. No really, listen to me - I absolutely love you. The people who tell you this really mean it. They love you. Not because you're a good student who doesn't get into much trouble. Not because you're on the football team. Not because you're any more special than anyone else. They love you just because. You'll come to cherish this later. It's a love you'll learn to give to others. It'll make you different from your peers.

At this point, you haven't really made a mistake. You define the world through rose colored glasses, a perfect lens that only shows the good. But your world will come crashing down soon, and you'll need to let go in order to make it through. The good news - you're victorious. You win. You survive. The bad news - there is scar tissue that you'll carry from this into adulthood. But there are some things I want you to remember that will help you - us - to take those first steps to grow.

We lose "mama" this year. Our grandmother, our rock. The person who had you recite "Hey, black child" more times than you can recall. The woman who told white lies to protect you, who spoiled you against your parents' wishes. Yes, her. She leaves you - us. I want you to cry. I want you to actively miss her so that the dreams I experience now are not so riddled by her presence. Let her go. Get angry - for once. Be envious of those who have grandmothers. I don't care what it is. Just feel. I give you - us - permission to feel. And when she's on her deathbed and you're asked to tell her your final words, speak confidently and let her know that you love her.  Let her know how much you mean to you. What she has given you these past 16 years is a confidence only a freed slave can appreciate. Let her know this!

You're going to start dating this year. You'll be asked to many proms and winter formals. You'll find yourself a magnet for the young ladies. You'll think about and want intimacy with a woman more than ever before. Don't fret. In due time, all of this will happen. The acne will go away. Your second growth spurt is just around the corner. You'll appreciate it later - but for now, just prepare to buy bigger shoes. And you'll become a fairly good driver - with the exception of that speeding ticket. Shhh. it gets pulled later. :-)

You'll lose some friends as you transition from High School to college. But, I want you to enjoy this time as if these were your last days. You'll look back one day and smile, a very pleased expression confirming you exhausted all outlets for fun and excitement. You need that. Don't worry. You'll make new friends and lose some of them too.

Don't put as much confidence in your physical appearance as you do in your faith and intellect. You develop a keen logic during this time but you won't fuse that with emotion until many years later. It's okay. What you bottle up now will make its way out of you, through the tear ducts of your eyes and the vibrations off your vocal cords. You'll be whole one day. Just give it time.

Don't be afraid to love God. I know you don't understand life. And the sheltered parts of you can't conceptualize struggle. But, you'll lose. You're a chemist, my friend. A brilliant chemist who will one day change the world. And the house you are moving into is about to be the brithplace of your love affair with chemistry. This won't be your home for long. Actually, after these years, you never look back.

A young lady will come into your life - Antoinette is her name. Treat her well. If you can avoid being a selfish brat with her, do so, though something tells me you'll fail at this one. But beleive me, things come full circle. You will love her. She'll lay the foundation for you to become a true romantic. Let her challenge you, change you for the better. Those late night conversations will be but a forecast of what is to come. Love and enjoy this time. It's going to teach you a lot.

Lastly, I want to address your (our) fears. People will die - but they won't do it to spite or abandon you. They do it simply because God has a greater plan for them - and you. You'll witness young and old pass away. Michael Jackson won't live to see 100 like you think. Real R&B will fade away and these years will become a memory. But approach it all head on! Be bold. Be free! When you're heart flutters due to apprehension, use that fear to catapult you to become greater, better.

We are victorious in the end. Remember that. We are successful in the end. It's our destiny. We are open to love in the end. Imagine that!

I love you my friend. God loves you.

You'll be just fine.

We'll be just fine.

Thankfulness

I'd stare at them, face askew and tilted, while they jumped up and down, eyes swelling and hands stretched, as to reach the ceiling or some invisible apparition to which I was not privy. It was comical, and sometimes frightening to see bodies, once under human control, now limber, serene, connected to the unknown. They'd cry. More than cry. They'd weep - a stream of tears so genuine that it felt foreign to me. I was not a part of this community though I sat rows away from these sights and sounds. But how could I understand? I was someone who had sworn off emotion as a coping mechanism to maintain some socially constructed idea of masculinity. How foolish was I.

Some of them would run, a fire lit ever so strategically in their shirts near the position where the heart lay behind the rib cage. They would pant. Others ran to extinguish some burning that had taken hold of their feet. I had never felt it, so why did they. This too was funny - and yet frightening.

I'd turn to my grandmother on these Sundays, face shown with half amusement/half curiosity and I would ask "Why do people do that? Why do they act like THAT?" She'd calmly turn to me, bright chocolate face with the whitest pearls of teeth, and she'd whisper, "Baby, you gotta go through somethin' to understand why people act like THAT."

That message, though simple, never left me. But it also didn't make sense. Go through something? How unfair -  that my belonging to a group was dependent solely on an experience I had yet to have. I wasn't sure that in my lifetime I would ever go through something. I'd never be a part of THAT community.

I was wrong.

In reflection, now, I can see that my grandmother never put a stipulation on the act of praise, the outcry of pure thankfulness to the creator. I made that part up. She was simply putting life into a perspective that I, as her sheltered grandson, could understand.

Now after all these years I get it. I get the reason why, when a certain song is sung by a choir or soloist, one can't keep still. Why sitting and thinking about the possibilities of life and how the negative ones have been miraculously avoided can cause someone's eyes to swell with tears. I now know what those people were reaching for. There's never been an invisible force or apparition. They were simply doing what they humanly could to be fully immersed in praise - to show the creator that they, indeed, were

THANKFUL.

And grandma was right (Ms. Agnes Brimmer always was).. I had to go through something to truly understand. To be catalyzed into a community that knows that nothing that occurs in this life is a random, chance happening.

I sit sometimes and experience those tears of thankfulness. I imagine the many times God has pulled me out of the worst situations and placed me back on my path. How despite my shortcomings and those of my family, community, and city, I am still able to receive new grace and mercy everyday.

To feel like I can't fail because I'm covered, protected, shielded from harm - for this I'm thankful. For a loving family who supports me in my endeavors and when I fail - for this I'm thankful. For a breath of fresh air, a body free of disease and ailment, a working mind, countless second chances - I AM THANKFUL.

I could go on and on. But just know that I am and have always been a part of that community of thankfulness. It just took going through something to reveal that to me.

fin.

Prayer and Praise: A Year In Reflection

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name....

I grew up saying this prayer. And yet, before this year happened, I never grew to make this prayer a true prayer, a personal experience - a conversation between me and God. My praise, as well, was restricted to me saying 'thanks' to God for answering my prayers in a fashion I deemed appropriate. Immature at best.

But, what happens when I make the hugest decision in my life up to this point, leaving a life, career, comfort, and existence behind to follow God's voice? To put pure faith to the test in light of EVERYTHING telling me I should run in the exact opposite direction? 

In this context, prayer and praise HAD TO CHANGE. They had to grow.  They had to become owned experiences, personal occurrences that were birthed from the most vulnerable, sincerest parts of my soul. 

I stand today triumphant, and honestly it is a triumph that I know could only come from a God of infinite power and unconditional love. 

People see my smile - I wear it purposefully. But what they wouldn't be able to comprehend is what the smile masks. See, prior to going to pharmacy school, I was fired from a job for making a horrible judgement call. And while my heart and intentions were honorable, my methodology was irresponsible, callous and foolish at best. Along with this, I lost my condo. Bills and payments were piling up on me and I simply couldn't afford the expenses of life. I hid my depression from everyone, embarrassed by the reality of my humanity. For someone who had been so successful before in life, the brick wall of failure that I ran into at 100 miles per hour was a wake up call that affected every atom of my being. The RULE: tell no one but my mother. But I learned quickly, that the truth will shine bright, even if locked away in a dark closet. 

I was not in control - like I thought before. I was not above failure - like I believed. I was not incapable of lying and bringing grief to those who trusted me - like I claimed. I had been and done the exact opposite. 

And yet, God still loved me. 

My prayers had no choice but to become an outcry, a reality session with my humanity, my imperfections.  And slowly to my amazement, I started noticing God's unconditional love materialize in ways that I couldn't and wouldn't have ever been able to predict. 

Slowly, I started losing 'friends,' people who I thought would stand by my side as I had done theirs so many times before in their moments of failure. This wasn't the case. He allowed me to see that these people were friends with an image, a facade - not the real Johmyrin. I shouldn't have expected much more from them than a 'good time only friendship.' And therefore, I needed to be rid of those connections. But, my healing from this didn't stop there. God allowed me to love them in spite of their criticism, their backbiting, their treachery of my loyalty. He allowed me to forgive, genuinely - lovingly. To let go the hurt I felt so that I could make space for real, long lasting friendships. 

Next, God gave me a home to replace my house. He put me in a situation where he could answer the prayers of a 14 year old version of myself, a child whose main prayer was to live with his father, to grow to understand why I did certain things like sniff uncontrollably or laugh contagiously at the smallest things. Now I know. I see my reflection in my father every day I wake up. Only a loving God who listens could do something like this for imperfect me. Words will never be able to express my appreciation for God being just who God is. 

Lastly, in my search for forgiveness and true repentance, God gave me a job opportunity that wasn't just immediately valuable but that will impact my profession in ways I don't think I have even imagined. Only God. 

So, my PRAISE had to change. 

I reflect now and tears start to flow - genuine tears of thanksgiving. Tears of Praise. I'm doing okay. Actually, I'm doing extremely well. In all that I have lost, what I have gained is so much more valuable. My discernment is clear. My connectedness to what is good in this world is strong. I am empowered by my own ability to understand that no one in this world is perfect. That we all fall short. But that God's love is real and active - everyday in our lives.

I know I've just begun this journey. There's much more to endure. But I see victory. I feel triumph. And at the end of the day, I know that this year has been about God making me into the man I need to be to do his work. I don't know why I've been hand-picked, but God's been too good to me for me to dessert his promise now. 

My prayer and praise is real.  

fin. 

"You aint special!": Life Lessons in Real Humility

I'm not sure about most people, but for me, humility has been the most passive expression. It's what I don't do in light of others. What I shouldn't say at key times. How I shouldn't behave in certain situations. 

For instance, humility has meant, not talking about my GPA when others around me struggle in certain classes. Or, not boasting about opportunities I've been granted in light of so many who needed those same ones. Not talking about my salary in a public arena. Etc.  

What.The.F*ck.Ever. 

And then, like most of my 'coming of age' experiences, I woke up with the sour, lasting realization that I needed to make a major paradigm shift in order for me to adequately survive AND live in this world, as it unfolds in front of me.  

I've been doing this thing called humility all wrong - as if it was something to do and NOT a mindset I should freely accept. This whole time, I've treated courtesy as humility. And now. I can see they are totally different. 

Let me give you some background on this: See I was raised with everything I needed and wanted - much of which I was not required to work to get. I asked for things, and, most times, they were given to me. I was a 'good person' and I treated others with respect and dignity. Therefore, in my mind, I deserved all the good the world had to give. People should want to be nice to me, should go out of their way to treat me fairly, should act in my best interest, and should feel obliged to choose me over others because I 'worked hard.' 

Ha. 

No one ever took the time to tell me that the world doesn't quite operate like that. 

Who cares if I'm a good person or that I work hard. I'd like to believe that the vast majority of the people on this planet subscribe to those same two descriptors. There were plenty of good, hardworking people in the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001. Some excellent, creative, beautiful spirits that rested on the coasts of Japan when the Tsunamis hit in 2011. Vibrant, good-spirited individuals who camped in the Waco, Texas compound run by David Koresh in the early 90's. And yet, all these people - each and every one of them, were the inheritors of ill-fated tragedy.  

Now I can honestly say that "I aint special" and smile courageously. I'm not perfect. I make mistakes. And I may inherit the mistakes of others at some point. 

See, I've asked "why me" for far too long. "Why, Lord, am I going through this?" "Why me, out of all the people on the planet?" 

Foolish, man. Simply foolish. Because at the heart of my complaint rested something that was the antithesis of humility. Some subtle spirit of selfishness. The true question I had been asking all along was "Why not someone else?"  

I've felt this sentiment way too often in myself and people I've met throughout my life. And while I can only pray for their "Come to Jesus" moment of awakening, I have full power over making positive change in my own life. 

"I aint special" and it feels great to say that. I realize now more than ever, that I live my life on borrowed grace and mercy from God above. By being granted a measure of favor that should be acknowledged and appreciated. By pains and inconveniences that are sharpening me to be the sharpest knife in the drawer. 

I've learned that, ultimately, humility is about being genuinely thankful in knowing that though you are not special inherently, God specializes in using the imperfect, downtrodden and underprivileged to be vicars of his infinite love. 

No. I aint special. But I've been called to do special work. 

And I'm okay with that. 

fin.