“I was so lost I had no idea of who I was. Even when I looked in the mirror…The spirit had told me years before that I was to be a…”- Kandee Lewis
“Wake Up Sista”
Fiction. Based on a True Awakening.
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255
Every morning before getting out of bed, I stretch. I stretch all the way down to my arthritic fingers. I massage the joints; MCP, PIP, and DIP, trying to increase blood flow and synovial fluid. After that, I look through the news feed on the phone. It’s how I keep my old fashioned self current.
Well, today I ran across an article on CNN: “Man Found Crammed Behind Car Glove Box in Bid to Enter Europe.” Sareena Dayarm was the journalist. The report was short but powerful. People looking to escape what I can safely assume is extreme poverty, and constant warring, have found no other avenue than to twist, fold, bend, break themselves until they fit into compartments not intended for a human body.
WTF? While I sit here in misery because I can’t buy my kids a bike. I wasn’t always so selfish. How I’ve forgotten my plight.
My mother stood for something. All the days of her life, she fed the hungry, sheltered the poor, and nurtured dying souls to health. She was labeled an outcast, but her integrity remained.
My father spent two years of his life fighting for his country. He killed for our freedom. Day in and day out he lined up dead bodies so that they could be taken back home to grieving families. He did all this, and when he returned to American soil, they literally threw dog shit at him. Still, he taught us girls about honor, loyalty, pride, and justice.
My parents have aged, their legs grow weak from the walk, but their righteous strides have not faltered, and neither should mine. Neither should mine.
People starve while I cry for fine dining. Children die from lack of something so simple as Tylenol, and I contemplate suicide because mine can’t take dance lessons. This is bullshit.
Somehow I fed into this American dream of having everything just the way I want it. I have the nerve to not want my children to suffer, but where is the lesson in that? How does ease of everything strengthen your character? It doesn’t. Plain and Simple.
“We know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character, and character, hope.”- Romans 5:3-4
I can suffer and be a mother; love them, guide them. But it isn’t wise to soften them to mush. I have to remember what really matters, what I was fighting against before I developed this selfish tunnel vision.
Global poverty, Inequality, Lack of Human Rights, Unequal Education.
Wake up Sista.