dam good job.

Finding This Negro…

I wake up so many times…I wake up all the time…I guess the good part is that I wake up. Thank you Lord. I wake up…from days of darkness, apathy, cluelessness, loneliness…I always wake up. I have no one to thank for that BUT GOD.

Over the past few months, I’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions. I’ve made decisions based upon the opinions of others and acted and reacted, retreated and retracted out of fear. I’ve found comfort in complacency and anger has aged me.

Over the past few years, I’ve struggled with my own identity as a man, as a Christian man, as a Black man, as a musician…The different identities seemed to war within me as one seemed to be more important than the other, one simply would not let the other be, and the other could not be because of fear; fear that I would seem too radical, too pro-Black, too militant, too arrogant.

I do not believe in coincidences. I believe that every event that has taken place in my life has been a crafted event from God…my creator. Everything I see on television or historic events I witness is for a reason and has a purpose. I believe the purpose is that I learn.

I’ve made excuses for myself and my stagnancy. I’ve allowed my location and my inability to travel cage in all of my potential. There’s so much inside of me. There’s so much energy inside of me. It’s like lava…You can see the bright reddish-orange and yellow glow peeking through the cracks, but on top is a dark, crusty layer that has formed.

Indeed, I do fear that upon writing this blog, I may retreat again, but I’m going to try my hardest to break free. 

My oldest friend pulled me out of my room to come to a coffee shop with him, and I have to admit, I fought in my mind, and almost verbally (peacefully of course) to stay at home. Even when I got to the coffee shop, I fought to stay at home, in my mind, but though I hate admitting…it helped me.

My callous heart has come to from constant criticism, correction and scrutiny of one of the very things that makes me who I am; my art. It’s always constructive criticism, but sometimes you want to do things and just let them BE…you know?

Back in 2006, I spent a full year in an Christian community with men who, under the greatest intentions and beliefs, introduced me to a life where law and rule governed their relationship with Christ… In so many ways, my thoughts on freedom and Christian liberties became a box…and the only things that fit were the things that my brothers fed me. I told myself that I would never be in that place again. I told myself that I would never be told that I shouldn’t worship in this way or that way or that I have to pray in a specific way. Basically I was being told how to love.

Now, in 2012, I don’t know exactly where I’m headed, but I know that I want to experience freedom in Christ and no other way will fit.

Early Monday morning or late Sunday night…I was pulled over by two Brazoria County Police Officers for driving too slow in a fast lane. I was asked repeatedly if I had drugs, alcohol or weapons in my vehicle. I was pulled out of the car and questioned about my arrival and departure from my parents’ house. The policemen then tried to confuse me with asking about my departure with days of the week that I never stated. Then they ran my driver’s license and told me that I had some expired Protective Orders against me… (I’ve never been in a fight, verbal confrontation or anything like that with roommates or family members)

A few of my friends mentioned that something similar happened to them that SAME weekend…but the only difference between our very SIMILAR situation is the color of our skin. I was a victim of the very REAL racial phenomenon DRIVING WHILE BLACK. I’d never imagined that it was real until it happened to me. It happened to me…I didn’t really know my rights, nor was I going to try to outsmart them because my position was to remain calm…They had nothing on me.

But as a Black man…as a Black CHRISTIAN man…and a BLACK CHRISTIAN MUSICIAN…Something sparked in me…as it often does after months of unnecessary sleep: Reclaim your identity.

RECLAIM YOUR IDENTITY.

I’m not what my fear says that I am.

I’m not who doubting folks say that I am.

I may not be going on any pilgrimages to Africa any time soon. Although I so DESPERATELY want to go. I may not be immersed in rich, urban culture any time soon, although my heart yearns for such a thing. So, I’ll just escape in my mind and in books and on the internet. Through images and words and music…until I can get there…I’m gonna get there, and when I get there…I’m not coming back.

JIROD

Trayvon Martin

All of a sudden…a slain young Black kid from Florida is now a gang-banging thief from a BROKEN HOME…

All of a sudden…wow…his death is starting to make sense to cowards who’ve been searching for reasons rather than searching for a killer…

When people fear the truth about tragic situations…when they refuse to accept the truth…when things don’t make sense, they develop theories and ideas that make sense to THEM…Theories that help them sleep better at night…a recovered photo of Trayvon Martin with his boxer drawers showing; flipping off the camera, discovering that he’s from a “broken home”, the fact that they can produce no receipt…THESE things become THEIR reason, and THEIR reason is why a killer still walks free…THEIR theory is why I’m so hard pressed on this issue…THEIR theory threatens a specific culture…a specific race…Because Trayvon Martin was from a “BROKEN HOME”…this contributes to his problematic behavior? THINK AGAIN…

I’m honestly trying to wrap my mind around the recent video I just watched about Zimmerman’s friend saying, “If [Trayvon] would’ve stated his purpose in our neighborhood…There’d be no tragedy…” or some bullcrap like that. Since when does ANYONE have to explain where they’re coming from with skittles and Arizona tea if they’re minding their own business?

Seeing millions of facebook profile photos replaced with Trayvon Martin’s now “famous” hooded picture…or pictures of my facebook friends themselves with hoods on…It made me happy to see people unified through social media…but it’s going to take more than a picture to stop these senseless killings. It’s numbing to know that it took a young man’s LIFE for people to wake up and realize that these things are happening….

THEY’VE BEEN HAPPENING…

Rekia Boyd…another tragic shooting victim…Google her story.

So…Geraldo Rivera is blaming a HOODIE for the cold blooded killing of a young boy begging and pleading for help? He’s blaming a HOODIE for the killing of an innocent boy after Zimmerman was told “We don’t need you to do that…” And Geraldo is blaming it all on a HOODIE…GET OUTTA HERE!

As I’ve said before…I’m not one to play “THE RACE CARD”…because those cards don’t belong to me…I KNOW who owns the deck.

But to look at this case and NOT see it for what it is…it’s like locking your car door on the low when you pull up to red light and a homeless person is by your window asking for money…You know it’s there…you just don’t want to be bothered by the fact that it’s happening.

It’s bittersweet…Black people…but not JUST Black people, but BLACK people are waking up and seeing what’s going on.

NOW…at the end of it all, GOD is in control and through all of this, we have to look to HIM for our understanding because before we turned on the NEWS Channel or logged onto Facebook or twitter…God already had this under control.

and HE still does…

robots & soft spots.

1:13 in the morning and it’s raining, children.

Mmmm. Probably my favorite sound in life…
…hearing the rain interrupt the silent surface with each drop; in a cadence all its own.

A thought entered my head and prompted me to blog.

“What is the purpose of a machine?”

A machine manages power to complete a task.

Can people be machines?
I guess in popular culture, a machine with human characteristics would be considered a robot…or an android.

Have you ever felt like you work for a machine or a robot? You know…someone who manages (man)power to make sure that a task is completed by any means necessary?

I wonder if that, in turn, would make YOU the machine.

Can a machine manage or control another machine? Of course it can.

But every now and then, something goes wrong(right)…a malfunction of sorts…a hiccup…a glitch in the system…a message failure delivery…between the managing machine and the controlled machine.

It’s almost as if the controlled machine has a mind of its own…
It begins to realize its own components, its functions…its strengths beyond its tasks assigned by the other machine. 

Machines do what they are assigned to do until something falls out of place, or something breaks down. Their actions are to function as designed, but sometimes grinds, gears and screws are worn down from the perpetual motion…I want to say habitual motion…but these are machines…they do not feel…they’re designed to function…not to feel.

How about this…when two machines…the controller and the controlled are functioning properly…sometimes the controller upgrades the task or changes the course, and the controlled machine, who parts are synced and grooved in habitual motion, now has to learn the new ways of functioning…upbruptly…

we’re all machines i guess…the thing in the center of our chests that beats and pumps this life liquid throughout our entire body would suggest that we do possess more…but sometimes…even THAT is considered just a machine…just part that helps us to continue doing what we need to do…to get things done…

All U Gotta Do Is Say “Yes”

As I lay down between the oddly still-crisp sheets of my baby brother’s usually vacant bed. (He’s in college), I can smell the sweet aroma of swine cooking in the kitchen. Whether it’s fried or baked, I know it was meant for me and at the appointed hour, I for it.

Rousing out of my sleep, I began to ponder when my mother would bust through the door demanding that I wake up. It was Sunday morning and I’d already perfected my reasons as to why I would not be attending church with them that morning. My baby sister walks in, pokes her head in the doorway and says, “Bubba, Mama said ‘Get up’.” It was at that moment, not unlike moments in the past, when my blood began to boil. I mean, “Doesn’t she know I’m tired?” “Doesn’t she know that I’ve driven 4 hours and haven’t gotten much sleep?” “Does she realize that I’m not even BAPTIST any more?!” All of these points came up in my head. With each point making me more and more enraged, a thought came to me. “Just say…’Yes.’”

The church that my mother and sister attend is a very nice church. It’s a Baptist Church and my parents have been attending for about about 3 or 4 years. The Pastor of the church is a really sweet man who sprinkles his sermons with stories from his past; making key points and scriptures more relatable to the congregation.

Dragging my body into the living room was a chore and I was bombarded with comments and questions from a very awake and chipper mother. “Iron your sister’s skirt for me, mane,” she said. I immediately thought of fifty reasons why I shouldn’t iron it, but something inside me said, “Say ‘Yes’”.

She asked me if I was going to church with her and my sister, and I immediately had 237 reasons why I didn’t want to attend. Historically, I’d attend church with my mother and the Pastor would ask me to sing, but he didn’t know my name. After three years of coming and being asked to sing, he didn’t know my name. I admit that it bothered me that he didn’t know my name and I told my mother that. Besides the fact that my own personal pride was hurt, I’d also been recovering front a huge concert the night before and my voice was shot. But something inside me told me to say, “Yes.”

We got to the church and I’m greeted with warm smiles and embraces as a lot of the members hadn’t seen me in months. I sat down and began joining in the singing of old hymns I remember from my childhood church…and that’s when the SPIRIT (As we Church Folks say) started moving.

The Pastor got up to preach and although I have the attention span of a gold fish, there was something that kept me glued to the pulpit; listening attentively. My stomach was in knots toward the end of his sermon because I feared that he would call on me and I had no song to sing; much less a voice with which to sing.

“I’m gonna ask Elaine’s boy to come up here and sing…I’ll get your name right one of these days…” I smiled and as I sat there thinking of every reason to say, “No” but something inside me said, “Say, ‘Yes.’”

As I walked to the front of the church, a song came to me. I whispered the song to the Music Minister who would be accompanying me.

“I’ve had some good days. I’ve had some hills to climb. I’ve had some weary days and some sleepless nights…” Those were the words that came out of my mouth. “I Won’t Complain” was the song that came to my mind, sat in my heart and flowed from my lips.

As I sang, I felt the Holy Spirit drenching me…covering me as the words I sang began to ring true and the Holy Spirit filled the church and people began to praise The Lord.

It wasn’t the first time I’d ever sang that song, but it was the first time that I just completely gave myself away.

All I had do was say, “Yes.”

Those are the lyrics to a song by Floetry, but it is so true.

I don’t always listen attentively to the Spirit, but when I do, the blessings seem to pour and it prepares me…

Every Day

Every day…when the sun sets and the moon rises; then disappears and the sun resumes its place in the sky again…

I take another breath.
I take another step.

I have another opportunity to make good on old promises.
Or really just another chance to make some new vows.

The passing day covers my blemishes as if I never had one bump.

The changing time soothes the sting of resentment.

The next day’s grace licks my wounds.

The day, coming in from night, kisses my forehead and I remember less and forget more.

The hours’ reset does my heart a favor.

Sleep is my sweet amnesia.

Every day I grow stronger and wiser than the day before; having nothing to prove to any mortal on this Earth.

Every day I’m reminded that my disappointment in others should never overshadow my appointment with The Most High.

Every day, those moments of clarity become much more clear.

Every day I understand more, regardless of whether I stand or fall.