Concentrated Writing

I don’t write like I used to. I don’t write every little revelation that I experience anymore. I have decided to let my writing be a concentration of multiple experiences. I don’t want to give too much access to my heart these days. I don’t want it to be a mystery either. I just want things to naturally flow in its own direction. You know?

I cant help to think about concentrated fruits assuming that concentration is the process of removing most of the water from a particular food. Like prunes, raisins, dried mangos from Aldi, etc. Anyway, the taste of the fruit is bigger, better and brighter.

I want my writing to be minimal but bigger, better and brighter.

I have been giving myself more time to absorb my experiences and meditate in the lessons I learn vs. running to WordPress like “OMG look what I just went through.” I used to do that often and realized later that there was more to receive from the experience but I jumped too quickly to the blog vs. letting it simmer.

If you let some chicken simmer, the water evaporates and the chicken absorbs the tasty seasonings.

I want my writing to be like chicken stew.


My First Blog Post

Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.

— Oscar Wilde.

That quote is part of a WordPress template to get you to start writing. I’m gunna leave it there. Lol

Dont be that person to encourage others to “be themselves” and when they live life as “themselves”, you quickly want to correct them and mold them into something far from who they are.

If you’re going to give yourself freedom to be “you”, then be just as open when your neighbor decides to shave the side of their head to match her artistic nature.

Yup, I shaved the side of my head once and I regret letting it grow out everyday. I compromised who I was to please people who don’t even care about me. I’m still working on not doing that.

Join me in my journey on… not doing that.

Testing of Faith x2

Reading 1 Kings 17. The story of the poor widow and her son.

  1. The lord tested the widow through Elijah. Elijah asked her for bread and said if you give to me first, your flour and oil will never waste. It was a test of her faith because it was all she had. Of course she passed the test by giving to the prophet before herself and her son
  2. Then, the second test comes. Her son was so sick he was dying. How could things get worse while the man of God is AT YOUR HOUSE?!

When the Lord moves mightily, Satan will attack right after which means the second trial of faith is sometimes harder than the first. All of it is a test of our faith.

In the end the boy revived!! But did you notice Elijah put a dead boy’s body on his bed? The law at the time was against this. Maybe it was an act of faith like, the boy might be dead right now, but in a few second…we’ll see.

Adding Hair to Box Braids

I gotta give credit to myself for all the research I’ve done. I gotta pat myself on the back for not giving up after multiple failed attempts. It might be simple to some but to me, adding hair to box braids was a challenge.

I’m already skilled at basic cornrows, parting and box braids. I’ve even created a few designs. I just never had the chance to do any type of feed in braids.

I remember trying feed-in braids on my mom’s hair and I couldn’t get the braids to look neat. I also made the mistake of cutting the feed-in hair itself. The braids were splitting everywhere. It was discouraging.

I wanted to give it another shot. This time, I researched braiding gels, techniques, tools, etc. I pinned ideas and tips on Pinterest, window shopped at beauty supply stores, and played YouTube videos over and over. I wasn’t going to give up.

I made an attempt to practice what I learned on my daughter but I couldn’t get it right. She encouraged me not to give up so I didn’t.

The next day I did more research until I got something that would stick.

I’m happy with my second attempt at braids. Check it out here https://vm.tiktok.com/TTPdfemkdL/?k=1

Jesus Heals the Blind

Don’t laugh at my drawing. Jesus is not mushing their noses. He’s healing the blind.

Our classes are not just your normal Sunday school lesson. We talk. We ask questions. We try to be honest about our doubts and feelings.

My job is to bring scripture down to their level in ways they understand. Welcome to my Marker Board saga!

Gray Slacks & The Fitting Room

I promised myself not to buy anything without trying it on. The thrift store is always an exciting and overwhelming experience and the fitting room keeps my eagerness to buy everything in my hands in check. My imagination runs wild with every piece I choose but if it doesn’t fit the way I want it to fit, it can’t leave the store with me.

I imagined gray baggy slacks with the middle crease ironed out. I wanted to feel baggy and free. After trying on 3 pairs, I fell in love with one. I had to iron out the crease to bring my vision to life.

I found another pair but the waist band was a tad bit too tight. I have plans to move the button to get the perfect fit. I won’t be ironing out the crease on this pair tho.

Ive always hated fashion so I find it ironic to take such an interest in creating my own style. I felt that “fashion” was trying to tell me what to do with my clothes. Thrifting puts me in charge of my style and I love it.

No shade on keeping up with trends but I don’t see myself ever wearing sweats and heels.

The Law. Our Foster Parents.

I kept asking God, if the law cannot save us or bring us His promise, what is it for?

The law was our guardian. It was our mean and strict foster parents that kept us prisoner. We were prisoners but the prison kept us safe. The law was our authority until Christ came.

The pressure was too much to bare. We just couldn’t follow all their rules. Even if we were determined to try, the law would kick our butts every time. We wanted to do good. We wanted to do right. But our foster parents reminded us everyday that we weren’t even close to their standards. We felt hopeless. Defeated.

When Christ came, He won custody over our foster parents and over our lives and we were made right by God because we knew He would come for us. We were set free from the law. Set free from our foster parents. We danced. We sang. We rejoiced.

We didn’t need our foster parents anymore. It’s not that they hated us. We were just so bad and disobedient, they had to lock us down for our own good.

But now that Daddy came back for us, we don’t need them anymore to protect us. We don’t need them to remind us how bad we are.

We are still disobedient. We are still full of sin. But the power of Christ blankets our sin and shame and makes it no more. Christ did Something our foster parents didn’t have the power to do.

Unimpressive that is Me

Writing is not my thing.

Thinking is.

I don’t enjoy writing because I’d have to water down my thoughts by writing words I barely know how to use.

I’m judged based on grammar.




I wish I was better, though.

I wish I could impress the world with writing skills that has never been seen before.

But I’m just regular.



I’m at peace with an audience of 1.

An audience of an unimpressive, average, regular individual that is me.

Sand in my Hand

There’s something about grabbing a handful of sand and observing the combination of patterns and colors on the tiny rocks and seashells.

“Hey! Look at these colors. Aren’t they mesmerizing?”

Just to think that there is a wider color spectrum that the natural eyes cannot see.

There’s more? More colors you say?

I can’t think of a color that doesn’t exist. Why won’t you give it a try?

None. Right?

It’s said that the skies declare the work of God’s hand.

God knew our faithlessness. He uses the sky as an example because it is untouchable and full of mystery. Our minds don’t need to work hard to wonder.

But it was the sand in my hand that inflated my faith and stirred up this reserved excitement in me.

Powerful Prisoner

Don’t try to be like me.
Instead, use my mistakes.
I cant show you my defeat.
My pedestal might break.

It might seem like I won this battle.
The one that gives status and might.
I’m just a prisoner of war.
Their hands holding a knife.

If I try to bend,
Their hands grip tighter
If I try to break
They’ll swing the knife higher.

Don’t try to be like me.
Instead, use my mistakes.
I’m not allowed to fold.
I’m not allowed to flake.

What is my mistake you ask?
The one mistake I was allowed to have?
It was to climb a ladder called status.
I pushed to climb it the fastest.

It was the right thing to do, right?
To become someone with power and flight.
Now the people below hold me captive.
This shouldn’t even happen.

Don’t try to be like me.
Just use my so-called victory.
Can’t break, can’t cry, can’t weep.
Can’t fold, can’t sigh, can’t sleep.

Look up, head high, don’t talk.
Look strong, look bold, eyes locked.
I’m important now, how I once wished.
I’m the perfection thats forced to exist.

I Know you

The world is a simulation. It has to be.
I am simply a thoughtfully created character of Your world.
You chose my facial features piece by piece from an array of different options.
Like a video game.
You picked different personality traits based on Your designed purpose for me.
My life is not a result of my own choices, rather, it all has been predestined before time.
Am I really free? Free to think, choose and feel?
Is it free will? Or is it, well, Your will?

I love your character.
The character I chose in order to create your full being.
Yes I created you, but I love how you are, well… you.
I love how you maneuver the personality traits I chose for you.
I love how my creation chooses to express life.
Yes my will is done on earth and yes my will is done in you.
And yes you are free to think, choose and feel.
Yes I know what you will eat for dinner tonight, and that you’ll wear a blue shirt to bed.
I don’t know this because I ORDAINED it to be that way.
I know this because I know YOU.
I know you’ll change your mind and eat that left over pizza instead of that salad you made yesterday.
You didn’t eat breakfast this morning.
You’re hungry.
I know that you just washed your favorite blue shirt and therefore you’ll choose it amongst all your other shirts.
I know what you will do before you do it because,