Faith, Fiction and a Whole Lot More

This past weekend I participated in the Faith & Fiction Retreat in Orlando, Florida. It was a well-planned, well-executed event that I truly enjoyed, thanks to Tiffany & Brent Warren and the F&F staff.

I made plans to attend as soon as the conference info was released, but up until last week, my attendance was seriously in doubt. But God has a way of opening doors that I cannot see! Angela Benson needed to find a roommate to take her place since her mom was joining her at the conference. That meant I could afford the hotel costs! My uncle came up with the airplane ticket at the last minute and off I went!

After landing in Florida, the first person I met on the shuttle to the hotel was Rhonda McKnight. Though we’d never met in person, we’ve chatted online for months. Rhonda is so sweet and knowledgeable and we talked the whole trip to the hotel. She was so kind to introduce me to some of the other participants at the meet and greet. (Praying for you Rhonda!!!)

After checking into the Villas of Grand Cypress (which is an amazing and elegant resort), I headed for the Meet & Greet in our hospitality suite. There I reconnected with Daphine Glenn Robinson (my BWRC friend) and met my roommate, Linda Leigh Hargrove. Linda is a an author and such a down to earth, sweet person with a terrific sense of humor. (Okay, she thought I was funny, but that’s not saying much.) I also met Angela Benson (first time in person) and other authors and readers. Tiffany and her staff made us all feel so welcome, and we spent time getting to know each other and share in our love of reading and writing (among other things).

The next day, I overslept and nearly missed the first session. But the entire day was filled with wonderful discussions. Authors Angela Benson, Pat G-org Walker, ReShonda Tate Billingsley, Tiffany Warren, Tia McCollors, along with Linda, Daphine and Rhonda were all excellent presenters with so much information to share. Our book discussions with Tiffany, ReShonda, Angela and Tia were so much fun.

Lunch and dinner allowed for us to just enjoy each other’s company in informal settings. All the authors were funny and kind and willing to share everything about the writing process and the industry itself. (The Author Mentoring Q & A  was my favorite session.) We had spoken word by Stella and Ashe, which was another highlight.

Sharing with the book club reps was also a treat, as we were able to introduce them to new works and they in turn shared how they choose new books and were able to tell us what they enjoyed about our writing.

The only hiccup was the book orders that did not come through. This was in no way the fault of Tiffany and Brent (who were so apologetic and upset themselves) but in the book chain they had worked with who failed to do their job properly. (It’s a national chain that I’m not going to call out, but if you want to know, email me.)

I left with a renewed sense of purpose and energy in my spirit to continue writing what and how I do. Now if I can just get my body to cooperate!

I’m going to post a more detailed account as soon as I can get my energy up!

Not With My Bible, You Don’t!

Actor Jon Voight has called President Obama “the Messiah” and a “false prophet.”

What a load of crap.

I get so sick of right-wing nut jobs calling Obama these names. Not just because they are so wrong, but because they are trying to use the Bible to justify their hatred of the President.

I realize the Republicans are still upset over losing the White House and Congress. They have no one to blame but themselves. (Okay, they can blame Bush and Cheney. And Limbaugh. And maybe Sarah Palin, but to be fair, John McCain is to blame for her.)

What I don’t get is why they seem to think that Obama is this side of the anti-Christ and try to use the Bible to spew their venom.

Obama has been in office for less than six months. He’s been working hard to undo the messes it took 8 years of Republican “leadership” to create. As he himself has said, it’s not going to be easy and it’s not going to be fixed overnight, but we have to start somewhere. He’s also said that if someone else has better ideas to bring to the table, he’s willing to listen.

So far, all I’ve heard from these blowhard “conservatives” is a load of hot air – and a lot of crap.

Still, with their disappointments and bitterness, I keep wondering why they’re using the Bible as their particular whipping board.

Then it hit me. It’s part of their history.

They used the Bible to justify slavery and the systematic destruction of non-European people in this country.

They used the Bible to justify lynchings and murders in the South.

They used the Bible to create the KKK and sustain segregation.

They use the Bible to create fear and divide our nation and our world.

They use the Bible to create an “us” vs. “them” mentality, vilifying other religions as “intolerant” without seeing the irony of their own intolerance.

Enough.

I’m calling out Jon Voight, Rush Limbaugh, Newt Gingrich, Sarah Palin and all their ilk, right here, right now.

I don’t care what you think of Obama and the Democrats and gay marriage and abortion or any other issue. Use whatever words you choose: inexperienced, bull-headed, dumb, stupid, ignorant, intolerant, misguided – take your pick. I’ll put my Flip Dictionary up against your limited thesaurus any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

But you will no longer use my BIBLE – GOD’S HOLY WORD – as a way to denigrate my President or my nation. (Note to Sarah Palin: look it up, sweetie.)

Those of us who know who THE MESSIAH is know that Obama ain’t it. Nor is he a false prophet. According to the Bible, false prophets were those who led the people from God and his Word. Obama has never done that and in fact, has encouraged us to turn to our faith during this time of crisis.

So go on, spew your venom all you want. You just make yourselves look pettier and smaller than you already are.

Just leave my Bible out of it.

Stony the road we trod…

It’s not lost on me that yesterday, we celebrated the life of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and today we celebrate the inauguration of the 44th President of the United States, Barack Obama. There has been much discussed about the fulfilling of Dr. King’s dream, the election of the first African-American president, the ceremony and all the festivities. And there has been much coverage of all the celebrities and dignitaries that will be present. I know Oprah will be there, weeping on some stranger’s shoulder, Muhammad Ali will be there, Tom Hanks, George Clooney, Beyonce, Denzel Washington and many, many more will be there.

But there will be other guests that will be there. They are the ones I will be watching for. When Barack stands and places his hand on the Lincoln Bible, he will be surrounded by his wife, daughters and the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. But they won’t be the only ones standing there.

Martin and Coretta will be there. Malcolm will be there. JFK and RFK will be there. Medgar will be there. Cheney, Goodman and Schwerner will be there. Emmitt will be there. Rosa will be there. Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Nat Turner, Phyllis Wheatley will be there. Frederick Douglas will be there. Addie Mae Collins, Denise McNair, Carole Robertson and Cynthia Wesley will be there. They and many others will be there, standing sentry, standing guard, heads high, hearts full, spirits proud.

They will be there and as Barack takes the oath, I will join with them in saying, “Yes, we did.”

Feeling Fine in 2009

As each year dwindles down, I typically make my resolutions for the new year. By January 2, most of those resolutions have been broken.

This year is different.

I have not resolved anything.

I have, however, set some goals.

For my health, my goal is to start working on losing 20 pounds. To that end, I am watching what I eat and trying to lay off the Pepsi. I am also going to finally crack open that exercise DVD that I’ve had for over a year.

For my family, my goal is to spend at least 10 minutes a night reading to and with my son. I also vow to kiss my husband more frequently and randomly (excluding our hello/goodbye pecks). My other goal is not to take my family for granted.

For my writing, my goal is complete my WIP by May 15. I will complete my short story by January 31 and get it to my editor by February 1. And somewhere in there, I will promote the heck out of “Journey to Jordan” and participate in “The Write Stuff” program. I also plan to blog at least once a week and not get hung up on Facebook and Twitter.

For my spirit, my goal is to read Scriptures at least once a day and pray more often – concentrated prayers, not just grace and the one I rattle off before I fall asleep.

That’s about as many goals as I can handle. Now that I’ve actually written them down and put them out there, I have no choice but to honor them.

Anybody willing to hold me accountable?

God Save the People!

Saturday, I had a blast from my very distant past. I watched Godspell. I remember watching it as a first-grader. Aside from the music, I found the movie rather disturbing. I think it was the imagery; seeing the Gospel played out by clown-like hippies – especially the scene where Jesus is crucified – freaked me out as a 5-year-old.

The film is 35 years old and I decided to watch it again to see how I would react to it. And again, I was disturbed, but not for the reasons listed above. But before I get to those, I have to say I had some interesting surprises. The first were two of the actors: the late Lynne Thigpen (who had a beautiful singing voice) and as Jesus, Victor Garber (Mr. Andrews in Titanic, Alias, Eli Stone). I knew he could sing (I saw him in the remake of Annie), but as “Jesus,” he was barely recognizable. He was so young and thin and his voice didn’t have that slight British accent that I love. (I don’t know if his accent is really British, but that’s the way it comes across.)

The second surprise was the Biblical accuracy within the music and dialogue. Though it doesn’t completely follow the chronological account of the Gospels, it does stay fairly close to Scripture. Also, the beautiful theme of “Day by Day” should be everyone’s prayer:

Day by day, day by day,

Oh, dear Lord, three things I pray:

To see thee more clearly

To love thee more dearly

To follow thee more nearly

Day by day.

But here’s the one part that disturbed me. The movie’s climax is, of course, the crucifixion (“Oh God, I’m dying”). As the disciples carry Christ from the “cross” into the deserted streets, they disappear around a corner, only to have the hustle and bustle of the streets to resume without any resolution. The reason this disturbed me is because Christ’s story is incomplete. Without the resurrection, there is no hope of salvation. So when the movie ends in a chorus of “God Save the People” and “Day by Day,” I felt the real message had been lost – and that was the real tragedy.

Still, I’d take Godspell over most of the other movies made about the Gospel of Christ (The Passion of the Christ being the exception). At least in this version, Christ’s disciples were made up of all colors and genders – and none of them had a British accent.

It wasn’t the Kool-Aid, stupid…

I was 9 years old at the time. I had just arrived home from church and turned on the TV. CBS was running a special news report and announced that more than 900 people were dead in Guyana in an apparent mass suicide. They had all drunk Kool-Aid laced with cyanide. There were men, women and children.

At the time, I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. There were bodies laying all over the ground. Surely some of them were just laying there. They couldn’t all be dead, could they? Where was Guyana anyway? And who was this Jim Jones they were talking about? This was some church, some cult, what?

Today marks the 30th anniversary of the Jonestown massacre and I’m still trying to comprehend the magnitude of what happened.

After watching a couple of specials on MSNBC and CNN this past weekend, I know there were survivors and I listened to their stories. I know of the terror that was inflicted on them and I know the guilt and pain they have had to live with. I also know that it wasn’t Kool-Aid, but Flavor-Aid (and if you’ve ever had the two, you know the difference. As I reminded my husband, this event is what propelled “don’t drink the kool-aid” into our lexicon.) I also know that many of those who died were actually murdered; children were unwillingly fed or injected with the poison, many adults were injected after being threatened, some were shot to death trying to escape.

But here’s what confounds me. One survivor said he chose to leave but left his son behind. How? How could he do that? Was his survival more important than protecting his son’s? I’m sure there was some reason in his mind (and I know that many parents were forced to give up custody of their children through illegal means), but still, if it came down to it, why didn’t he fight to take his son? He knew what was coming or at least had some inkling; otherwise, why did he feel the need to leave? I look at my own son and I believe that if it came down to it, I would die before I’d give him up. But then, back then, those people were so brainwashed and disillusioned, maybe they thought it was the right thing to do. I do feel bad for that man, though, along with the others who survived.

Another thing confounds me: how did they get sucked in by Jones? By all accounts, he started out as a preacher on a mission and devolved into a megalomaniac. The people who joined Peoples’ Temple in the early days were also on a mission: to achieve racial equality, feed the poor and take care of the children and elderly. That’s what Scripture says true religion is. And I believe they had good hearts; they also had what Scripture calls “itching ears”. They heard what they wanted to hear and ignored what they wanted to ignore.

I believe by the time they reached Guyana, they were too far gone. Jones had systematically destroyed them physically, emotionally and spiritually. And when the final day came, most realized it was too late. Their fates had been sealed.

Some of the survivors have reclaimed their faith, though they rebel against organized religion (understandably so). One survivor has become a pastor; he says he has found a true and personal relationship with God. The father I mentioned above has rejected the Christian faith and has embraced a multitude of religions; I believe he still has itching ears.

I may never fully comprehend all that led up to the events of November 18, 1978, just like I will never fully comprehend the events of 9/11. I can only pray that we will learn our lessons from the past and never repeat them again.

I also pray for all those who survived Jonestown and were left behind to mourn the dead. I pray for peace and comfort for them on this day and every day. And I pray that one day their faith in Christ – not man – will be fully restored.

No Matter What…

“What manner of man is this that winds may obey?

What manner of man is this that even the seas obey?

The Great One, for He created the heavens and the earth.

God can do just what He wants.”

- Ricky Dillard

When I woke up this morning, my first thought (after “I hate my alarm”) was this song. It’s been going through my head all morning. Our choir sang it on Sunday in a tribute to our pastor. I haven’t heard the song in years, but this morning, it’s going round and round in my head.

Why am I sharing this with you?

Because I am a person of faith. My pastor has been preaching for the past few weeks on being dependent on God. That idea is resonating with me, especially this morning. There’s nothing I can do to control what happens in the next few hours. So I’m done worrying about it.

If Obama wins, God is in control.

If McCain wins, God is in control.

Will I be disappointed if Obama doesn’t win? Of course – severely and bitterly. But I won’t worry about it. I won’t even pack up to move to Canada.

I am strangely calm today. And yet, I’m anxious – not about the election, but about the things that God is showing me for my life. It’s not even anxiety, but excitement. Like Obama, I’m fired up and ready to go! 

So, no matter what happens today, remember that God will do just what He wants; He’s in control.

The Neverending Hudson Family Nightmare

Like many people, I was shocked and saddened by the senseless tragedy that befell the family of Oscar-winning actress and singer Jennifer Hudson. Because she’s a native South-sider of Chicago (like me), a Christian (like me) and a bit on the curvy side (like me), I found a kinship in this woman and all her successes. Like many people, I desperately prayed for the safe return of her nephew, Julian. Sadly, this morning it appears that the answers to those prayers will be no. The Suburban was located and the body of a black male child was found. As of now, there has not been a positive identification, but it’s becoming increasingly clear that Julian is dead.

In the days and weeks to come, the press will focus on the more sensational aspects of the case: Jennifer’s statement, photos of her grieving, how she reacted at the funeral. Eventually, there will be more coverage: the People magazine article, Jennifer’s first public appearance, the first TV interview, the first time she performs, etc. Because she is a star, it’s to be expected. Truthfully, I’m also curious about these things, so I will follow the coverage.

But that’s not really who I’m concerned about.

My thoughts are for Julia, Jennifer’s sister.

The alleged suspect in the killings is Julia’s estranged husband. The man is an ex-con on parole and it’s been reported that he had threatened to take Julian away from her.

I don’t know if he’s guilty or not; that’s for the courts to decide. But if he is, the tragedy is compounded on so many levels.

For Julia, not only has she lost her mother and brother but also her son. She has to wonder how she could have brought this person into her life – and the lives of her son and the rest of the family – knowing that he has a criminal record and a violent past.

I believe that everyone deserves a second chance. And maybe this man had made mistakes and was trying to turn his life around. Perhaps he was a good man, a working man trying to take care of his family. Perhaps.

But I’d bet not.

In the days and weeks to come, the focus will move solely to Jennifer. And in her interviews, she won’t blame anyone but the person responsible. And maybe she’ll mean it.

But privately, she’ll probably question her sister’s judgement, as will Julian’s father, Greg King. Anybody that’s human would.

But the doubt, the recriminations, the guilt will be Julia’s alone. In those sleepless days and nights to come, she’ll bear the burden of “What if?”

The Hudson family declares they are a family of faith. It’s their faith that will sustain them through these dark hours.

And it’s my prayer that Julia will find some comfort and peace for the many dark days to come.

Lest We Forget…

I remember September 11, 2001 clearly from the moment I first heard Felicia Middlebrooks on WBBM-780 announce that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I remember thinking it was probably a small plane, an accident. I started to go to the TV to watch the news coverage, but I had to get going or I’d miss my train and be late for work. It was a beautiful, clear, warm sunny day.

And then I arrived at work. I saw the newscasts. I remember, the shock, horror and awe and the whole surrealness of what was happening. I remember thinking that this kind of thing only happens in the movies and surely we were watching a movie, right? Will Smith is going to join forces with everyone and save the day, right? I remember the panic and the fear and the unbelievable quiet in the streets as downtown Chicago seemed to come to a standstill. Then going home and walking through the park and seeing kids out playing basketball and thinking, “Don’t you even realize what’s happening in the world?”

Older people can tell you where they were when they heard about Pearl Harbor, or JFK, King, RFK and Malcolm being assassinated. My first big “where were you” moment was when Ronald Reagen was shot. Then came the Challenger and Columbine and Oklahoma City. But they were nothing like 9/11.

Even after watching “United 93″ and “Flight 93″ on television and all the 9/11 specials on the History Channel, seven years later, it still hits me sometimes in the pit of my stomach: the horror, the loss, the senselessness, the heroism, the sacrifices.

My son was three years from being born. When he’s old enough, he’ll see news footage and archival pictures. He’ll look at 9/11 the way I look at footage from Pearl Harbor and the Civil Rights Movement and the assassinations of the 60’s: it was important and meaningful, but it didn’t impact me in a personal way. I wasn’t there. My son will watch the movies and they will be interesting, but it won’t mean anything to him personally. He won’t understand what it means when I say we’re living in a “post-9/11 world” anymore than I can understand what it means to live in a “post-Pearl Harbor” world.

I will always have those “where were you” days. God-willing, my son will never have them.

May God bless and keep us and grant us peace today and forever.

Sticks and Stones

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names (words) will never hurt me.”

It’s the biggest lie ever.

Words hurt. Words wound. Words scar. Words kill. Don’t believe me?

Nigger.

Kike.

Spic.

Wop.

Coon.

Cracker.

I originally posted this on my old blog last year after the public humiliation of Isaiah Washington from “Grey’s Anatomy.”  He wasn’t the only one whose poor choice of words have cost him; think Michael Richards, Simon Cowell, Mel Gibson, Don Imus and various operatives for Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama.

As a writer, I am more cognizant than ever of the power of words, both written and spoken. Every word that I put into my manuscript is weighed carefully. But I am also more thoughtful of the words that come out of my mouth. Once you say something, no matter how much you apologize, you can’t take it back. I remember back in high school, there was a girl in my English class named Martha. She was smart and every day she had something to say. One day, our teacher, Dr. Dagny D. Bloland, was conducting her class. As usual, Martha raised her hand and said, “I have something to say.” Before I knew it, I said, “What, again?” I got laughs, but Dr. Bloland whirled on me so fast and made me apologize. I did, but after class, Dr. Bloland made me stay behind. She was all of 4′ 3″ (if that) and I was at least 5′ 6″. But she looked up at me and spoke. I don’t remember what she said, but I will never forget the look of disappointment she had on her face: how could I say something to cut down another student? I never did it again.

As ugly as the words above are, what about other words that we say to others and to ourselves?

Bitch.

Faggot.

Ugly.

Stupid.

Ignorant.

Lazy.

Fat.

No good.

Worthless.

These are words that are in our lexicon and flow as easily as “God bless you” or “Excuse me” or “Have a nice day.” And they are as hurtful and damaging as any racial epithet that may be hurled your way.

It’s my desire as a writer to use my words to uplift people. It’s my desire as a child of God to use words to encourage and to lead others to Christ. It’s my hope as a human being that we all learn to use words to show love.

In Him,
Donna