to receive his body.

So many women shared "me too" on their timelines this week to make visible the issues of sexual assault and harassment. My desire (and, I'm sure, many others) has been that the church/body of Christ would be a safe place for this kind of discussion.

I think it can be so easy to hide the wounds of the heart behind spiritual anecdotes or none at all (I've done both <3). Sometimes we say we're trusting Jesus for our healing, but, instead, we're further isolating and burrowing our pain. Some of us don't feel the freedom to share our stories because of fear of failure/rejection/self-victimization/insert here. We say we trust that the Lord is "near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit," yet our desperation only continues to grow in sequence with a feeling of numbness as we further silence our pain and pad it with scriptures, that, if we're honest, start to mean less and less over time because we've been avoiding looking into the eyes and face of Jesus with honesty.

Jesus is a real healer. He is a real listener. He is a real lover. No matter how much scripture I quoted, how many worship songs I led, and how many people I'd prayed over; I often lost sight of his very real presence as my Savior because of all of my suppression. I often felt tripped up when I caught the scent of my abuser's cologne, tensed when someone hugged me the wrong way, disconnected when my mentors and friends just wanted to get close and felt full of fight when my ex-husband couldn't understand my sudden urges for distance.

Isn't it ironic that we feel like we need to hide our "real" behind the cross--the place where Jesus laid his body open for us all to observe the reality and ugliness of his pain? He didn't hide. He suffered openly. Jesus doesn't need us to cover our pain.

He also doesn't need us to heal quickly, either. Sometimes we want to instantly pray our wounds away. Many of us have prayed the "Take it away, Jesus" prayers. But sometimes, his timing is slower than our "fix-it-quickly" mentality. His process is sometimes a slow embrace--softer, sweeter, and kinder. It's not because he wants us to suffer. It's because he wants to give us his peace through his body (once broken, now restored).

This world will continue to give us pain, but if we can posture ourselves to receive his body (his embrace + our space of restoration; also, the church), then maybe we can know/taste his peace.

Maybe this isn't the space you want to share, and that's okay. Just want you to know that you have full freedom to share your "me too" stories. Would love to see us really nestle in and see each other in our "real". Let's take each other before Jesus. Let's love and be his body.

where's the black girl magic?

My biggest compliment/critique is that I seem to have it all together, but I know three solid people (including myself) who will negate that, v quickly. This week:

• I have eaten granola and almond milk for breakfast, dinner, and lunch several times 
• I spilled coffee on my jeans, a couple times 
• I wrote a horrible song
• I wrote a few even worse poems
• I wrote a rap. 'nuff said
• I accidentally pushed away another friend
• I finally spoke to my dad again after ignoring his texts for months (he forgave me!)
• I ate chicken tenders (supposed to be transitioning vegetarian? lol)
• Tried to cure my loneliness with attention and chicken tenders (and french fries)
• I spent a little too much on coffee (again)
• I wasn't sure about makeup on Tuesday or Wednesday
• I slept in my car twice this week because I was too exhausted to make it up the stairs
• I overworked, again

We could go on. I wish I could say that my life is a solid display of #blackgirlmagic, but it's not. The day-to-day may not look like magic, but hey, we're still here. We're still breathing. Our bones are still in our bodies. The melanin is still poppin'. Our eyes are still full of hopes and dreams. We got this. We're doing our best. Forget respectability politics and "twice-as-good" rhetoric for a second and let's just know that we are enough. We are so enough.
 
black girls existing
black girls breathing
black girls loving
black girls healing.

black girls
failing, falling
running, staying
grounded, soaring
turning.

We're black girls wanted,
black girls joyous,
we are black girls here for fullness.
we're here for wholeness,
here for wellness,
and we are enough.

It's okay to have a hard week and a hard day. It's okay to fail. It's okay to win, too. 

“When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.”

— Audre Lorde

photo cred: death to stock photo

an open letter to love + prayers.

I believe that at the end of the day love will always, always win; but love without action is a pack of false promises.

To this, we respond,

"Okay, well prayer is an action. Pray and have faith that God will move."

Yet, if we just pray--to a God who has told us to do the work of showing up and loving--isn't that a lack of action, too? Sure, demand that the demons flee from the white supremacists and terrorists. Command the oceans to be still--whatever you feel you need to believe for and about it--go for it. But, if nothing happens, what then?

For example, if you prayed for the storm in Florida to shift, you might've felt some sense of relief when the storm, indeed, shifted. You might've felt that urgency to "do something" leave you because "God" has answered you and your intercessory prayer. But how many lives have still been affected? Especially the poor?

But then we say, "I cannot go to the poor and affected, I don't have the vacation time, or the money. Where will I stay? What will I do when I get there? Who can I help? What can my life do?"

And then we keep scrolling. And post about it. Or ignore it all together. While the people we say we've "grieved for" continue to grieve, and to work and rebuild. While the ones we've sent our prayers and positive vibes to continue to wonder where their next meal is coming from. The credit card bills that still need to be paid. Their lost pets. Their deceased. Their broken windows. Their torn bodies. Their minds, lost. Their bodies, lost.

What can we say then? My questions:

• How sweet it must feel to them to be thought of at first?
• How hard and isolating must it feel to be thought of, but left alone after a while?
• How loved it must feel, to be thought of; to be seen, and known, and helped?

Without action, our prayers alone are a self-gratifying and convenient response to desperation. Encouragement is so good and wholesome, but without action, it, too, is a self-gratifying response to the devastation. Sending vibes sounds like an objective, light-hearted position to take toward someone experiencing a bad day. Without action, it's also a self-gratifying and convenient response to human depravity.

Here me say this: it's okay to pray, encourage, and send vibes. Please pray. Pray Loud. Pray Hard. Intercede with your whole heart. Send as many vibes as you want! Please. But just know that without action, all of these responses are empty and irresponsible words thrown to the internet from the privilege of our safety.

So, let's leverage the privilege of our safety. Let's use our resources. Let's turn this dialogue around.

Do the work. Act.

---

A biblical example of prayer and action: ezekial and the vision of the dry bones

"The hand of the Lord was upon me, and he brought out in the Spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of the valley; it was full of bones. And he led me around and among them, and behold, there were very many on the surfaces of the valley, and behold, they were very dry. And he said to me, "Son of man, can these bones live? And I answered, "O Lord God, you know." Then he said to me, "Prophesy over these bones, and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: Behold, I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. And I will lay sinews up on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live, and you shall know that I am the Lord.

So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I prophesied, there was a sound, and behold, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. And I looked, and behold, there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin covered them. But there was no breath in them. Then he said to me, "Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to the breath, Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe on these slain, that they may live. So I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived and stood on their feet, an exceedingly great army.

Then he said to me, "Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel. Behold, they say, 'Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are indeed cut off.' Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Lord God: Behold, I will open your graves, and raise you from your graves, O my people. And I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you in your own land. Then you shall know that I am the Lord' I have spoken, and I will do it, declares the Lord."

-  Ezekiel 37:1 - 14

I'm almost sold out of books: a foreword + note

I wasn't rushing to sell this book. I actually felt naked and embarrassed by the idea of releasing it. While printing, I found a few discouraging typos, I doubted my competency as a poet, and I almost quit after promising to deliver thirty pre-orders. Despite it all, this long process has been so humbling, and I have three pieces of goodness to share:

1. Pre-orders are actually, officially in the mail (finally).
2. I'm unexpectedly almost sold out of books.
3. It's National Poetry Day! (happy, happy)

So, to celebrate, the e-book version of On Becoming Gold is now on sale for $2.99 (on my website only) until Sunday, October 1st. Grab them before they're 10 buckaroonis again!

Much Love,

Daj.

p.s.: scroll below to read the foreword. 

---

a foreword.

I didn’t set out to write a book of poems.

If anyone had insisted that I’d be sharing these words
that I’d written during quiet nights alone
on the floor of my apartment--

after leaving my spouse the first time
while contemplating medication for panic disorder,
while escaping to the mountains to detach,
while relearning love,
while embracing human beings
as skin and bone and soul and breath
and not as weapons,

--if anyone had told me, I would have changed the
subject immediately. I would have said no.

Not a chance.

Yet, here I am with my heart traced out in metaphor.

This collection is simply a poetic documentation of my
on going process of learning to live free from shame by
dancing wildly between the margins of both beauty
and strength.

I hope this tiny book finds you well.