Overcomer

 

Revelation 2.7, “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who conquers (overcomes) I will grant to eat of the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.” (ESV)

 

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What I will miss most,
Are the stories your soul sings,
Filled with struggles, joys, blessings,
The overcoming of life’s stings. 

You bore an elegance of character,
An intellect sharp as a tack,
Joy flowing from your eyes;
The graciousness you extend had no lack. 

Your laugh was the best!
Joyous vibrations reverberating around,
Chuckles shaking your body through and through,
While the room’s atmosphere shook at the sound. 

 

 

Indeed, your stories joys and laughs,
Will truly be sorely and wholly missed,
And yet your smile lives on,
Through each soul your life kissed. 

Yet the greatest lesson that I have learned,
Is to double down in tenacity yearned,
To learn and grow no matter how life has burned,
To the righteous path, continued to be turned. 

Hardships can’t keep you down – this I saw in you,
As your soul sings, “And Still I Rise”, like Ms. Angelou;
And now, you are free, to Mt. Zion you flew,
And we look forward to seeing you when we’re all made new.

 

 

We carry your life within as we strive to win,
May we flee from sin and ascend the mountain. 

As we navigate dark days laden with haze,
Indeed, may we remember your laugh of joy, through the strife,
The truth; we are closer to God’s grace feeling ablaze, lost in maze,
So we, like you, shall be overcomers! Now GG, enjoy the tree of life!

 

 

Rest in the peace of His presence GG! Love & miss ya!

© Joshua Curtis, 2019

Her Body, Her Choice; His Heart

We are faced with so many issues currently. One of those issues that really gets to me relates to the “Her Body, Her Choice” movement. I am not getting into the many arguments of what’s good and what’s bad about this, however just want to focus on one of the biggest issues this movement. That issue is this: There is always one silent victim in abortions. Many other times, there are two.

This is a true story that reveals this issue.

 

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One day at work, I was speaking to one of my coworkers. We were catching up on our lives and the topic of abortion came up. This lead him into telling me a story of recent events in his life. He was driving down a familiar road past a familiar building. Outside of this familiar building, he saw a lot of protesters. He wasn’t sure what was going on and one of his family members, sitting in the back of the vehicle, informed him they were protesting the abortion clinic that was there. He had no idea it was an abortion clinic.

He also had a male cousin in the car with him who also didn’t know that it was an abortion clinic. This cousin went quiet for a while. Then he went into a story about how, a few years before this, he took his then girlfriend there. She simply told him that she had an appointment and did not go into any details. A few hours later, she finally came out and he was very concerned about her because the appointment took so long. He pressed her for a bit, but she did not discuss any details and just related that she was fine.

This young man, found out on this day, a few years after this had happened, that he had taken his girlfriend to an abortion clinic. He found out this day, that he lost his baby. He found out this day he was a father and that this opportune privilege was taken from him by someone’s choice and he had absolutely no say in the matter. He found out this day that he was one of three victims, and for years, the second silent victim. 

Fathers matter too.

© Joshua Curtis, 2019

W.P. | Installment 1 | “Lost”

This first writing prompt I got from here.

~~ 10. Write about a time you were lost. ~~

 

Photo by Alex Smith on Pexels.com

 

• Lost. Life’s whirlwind blowing the waves. Tossed. I have mostly felt this way; out of place; no where to fit. The older I became, the worse it got. Racism made everything worse. I didn’t feel like I fit in my family – always uncomfortable. Felt like I was a burden. My life for them? What’s the cost? Hung out with mostly black people in school, but was never one of them either. Barriers broke down and crossed. Yet, I was the bridge – wonderful purpose; trampled underfoot. Where do I fit?!  Who are my people? What’s my identity?                … Lost …

 

Photo by Victoria Borodinova on Pexels.com

 

• A little shorty, summer evening and I was outside playing hard. Running around the yard, the alley and the back streets. I slip into the kitchen for a drink. I hear my … a family member … on the phone. Telling a joke; whispering; hiding the words from my inquisitive mind. I can’t let that slide! I press and ply. They give in, but tell me not to repeat. “What do you call a black person when they become an angel in Heaven? A bat!” Hurt, confused; this is funny? … I walk away and went back outside, to play with my … “batty” … friends. ? This is a step down from the poor white kids I play with? Didn’t know categories existed…

 

Photo by Flo Westbrook on Pexels.com

 

• Another summer day, a year or two away. A visiting aunt from a far way, walking away from the house to depart for the day, smiling from ear to ear; joyous, happy to see us. Began to speak to me – the youngest of the family – “You should come and visit me at my house…” A pause for a specific cause. Bent down with mouth by ear and I heard the sound. “…so we can get away from all these Black people!” Not breaking her smile as she erects herself. What did she say? I remember, the thought, ‘why would I want to do that?’ This was not okay! More splinters of confusion into my brain – more membranes fray.

 

Photo by Muhammad Moin Ulhaq on Pexels.com

 

• With my closest friends. The everyday homies. They got my back! Sitting around laughing – joneing and slammin’. Like usual, I know it’s coming. The white joke is on the horizon, but not towards me. Instead, why do white people … what’s up with white people … yo, this white girl … but every time before delivery occurs, they turn to me, still laughing, “Hey, don’t be offended” or after it was said “Sorry bro.” Constantly, with good intentions, reminding me I don’t fit it. That I’m on the exterior; the outskirts of unison. Unbreachable division with my closest dudes. Lost

 

Photo by Spencer Selover on Pexels.com

 

• “Let’s go hoop at the park.” I reply, “You know that’s right!” Strolling through the streets, walking down the middle; we own this! Knuckled headed fool. Emotionally on a precipice; edge of the cliff. Get to the elementary school, hooping at the park. Blacktop blazin’, smelling the burning of trees; catching that high whiff. Trying to fit in, but uncomfortable and stiff. Then, “Yo, hit this spliff!” I reply, “No, I’m good.” “Come on, don’t be a b****!” “Nah, I’m good.” From across the way … “What’s up with this White Boy?!” Approaching me, sizing me up. My guy intervenes, “It’s cool, he’s with me.” “F*** that, get this white boy outta here!” “I said he’s cool!”  Disengaged the rage of this fool; at least for the moment. Lost – but grateful for my guy sticking up. Targeted and disrespected, but I gave them that jay! My boy was crossing them up. Couldn’t stop us!

 

 

Please feel free to share your thoughts. Also, if you have a writing prompt you want to share for me to take on next week, let me know!

 

© Joshua Curtis, 2019