Dear Sista Friend,
I used to think it was only God that had to deal with a lot of mess and then be strong enough to take it,
change it and then brace for more. God has strong strength, the kind that’s so strong that we, knowing it’s an endless supply, submit to sucking and sucking at it. And sure, we show reverence, that is, when we remember to. We do little things. We scrounge around for dollars, quarters for children, to pass to the usher at offering. We pray or sometimes we stop and laugh to say a quick thank you. But at some point, even prayer becomes a chore.
They turn into half sleep, slurred messages that are sent but delivered at the rooftop. They’re quick acknowledgements in front of a heaping plate of food… And no acknowledgement or blessing for the Black women’s hands that prepared that plate. Or no acknowledgement or blessing for the Black women’s mouth that first told of us whom we’re even thanking. Do you see where I’m going? For the life of me, I don’t understand the ways of Black women just as I don’t the ways of God. It’s the devil in me that would revel in the idea of “ungiving” my strong strength to those who act like they don’t need it, but need it. But you don’t, Black women. We expect your strength to be that solid rock while offering trace amounts of our own. Your supply seems endless and we act like it, knowing that’s it’s not. It’s not? We treat you like God in your giving, and we treat you like God in our 10% return. We say, Oh, you don’t need an award. With all your strength, what do you need with ours? And we fail, over and over again, at deserving your love and your strength, but you keep on giving it. Black women, thank you. You may not be God, maybe, but you’re awfully close.