When Poverty Rules…and rules

These two reports are worth reading/watching together. Start with the Cato Institute’s senior fellow Michael Tanner’s  talk about his new book on Building an Inclusive Economy.  The video is relatively short at 26:45.   Then, go on to the New York Times article by Ashley Southhall and Nikita Stewart on Jazmine Headley’s arrest.

1. https://www.cato.org/multimedia/events/catoconnects-building-inclusive-economy




MT day 30 – Reloaded with audio reading by Melissa

My friend Melissa has been doing a 30 days of Thanks journey in which  she shares her reflections on her life.  It is with her permission that I have created this blog post.  This is the final installment of her 30-day journey, and with it she reveals new levels of vulnerability.  Her writing is powerful.  Be prepared to cry, laugh, be confused, get frustrated, and be caught up in deep hopefulness.  And, of course, she gives suggestions on where to direct your financial activism.   All that follows is Melissa. 

Follow along as you listen to Melissa read Day 30.  You are invited to post your comments and contact Melissa through the contact form at the end of this reading (at the end of the page). 

Day 30: Revelation (Knowledge of God)

It’s a long, real good, going-to-make-you-late-for-everything, reflection. Consider yourself warned.




Happy Thirtieth (And Final) Day of Thanks!

I am so thankful for revelation and knowledge that comes from God. It is truth. It’s accurate. It’s specific. It’s precise. It’s irrefutable and always brings clarity. It has been the guiding light for each stage of Delilah’s healing.

Disclaimer: This reflection is a little different (and much longer) and may be slightly difficult for some of you to understand because there will be spiritual nuances, biblical references, and foundational concepts that you may not know that concern the ministry of deliverance.  I am also admitting here that I’m a “Jesus Freak,” love to read and understand the Word of God (the Bible), and sometimes a little weird (even in my loveable-ness) by most people’s standards. And since I came to grip with my difference, peculiarity, and set apart-ness at such a young age, now it doesn’t bother me so much when others discover some of the God given qualities that give me my uniqueness too. There may also be times in this piece where my frustrations with God and/or the church (Body of Christ or People of God) as they are expressed will shock you. Hopefully, you will understand that their expression is not to cause you to judge or form erroneous opinions of God or His church, but they are just the emotions, frustrations, questions that form outwardly as one walks through a dark hour, desperately waiting for the joy of the morning to come.

From the time I was three years old, I remember God speaking to me. His method of speaking to me at that time would almost always be either through His audible voice or through my dreams. But, as I have matured in my walk with Christ, his method of speaking through His audible voice has evolved to speaking through his words as I read my Bible. God still regularly speaks to me about current or future situations, events or people and guides me through my dreams and in my prayer or meditation time.  It is through my very communion and communication with God that I have been led to parent, heal, and deliver Delilah Christina.

Part I

As I mentioned earlier, God spoke to me about the coming of my daughter, Delilah Christina, every two months through my dreams almost one year before her birth. As she was in my womb, God began to speak to me about who she was and her purpose in the earth. Thus, I have been very aware of how I raise her and the influences I allow in her life. When Delilah was about two years old, he showed me a dream of her on a stage as a young adult in a packed out stadium. As she opened her mouth to speak and sing, the range and depth of her voice was so piercing and similar to that of the late Darryl Coley (if you don’t know who he is, you betta ask somebody! He was a singer who has a killer voice and range.) that the ground under the stadium and all of Hell begin to shake and crumble. I won’t get into the full details and interpretation of the dream but just know that Delilah will slay the kingdom of darkness as she sings and worships God. 

I woke up from that dream so excited and full of hope and expectation about Delilah’s future. I had no idea that this dream would be one bread crumb among many that God would use to maintain my faith as He took us through the step-by-step dark season in the journey of her life.  I had no idea that two years later, she would become completely mute and that we would have to spend the next twelve years of her life fighting for her to learn language and to speak. I was so angry at God, especially in the moments when no matter how hard we worked, she still didn’t say a word. I yelled, “why would you show me a dream of her speaking and singing and then give me a baby that couldn’t speak? Is this some kind of cruel joke?” When I finally got my emotions in check, I realized two things. One was that I needed to use music to get her to speak. The second was that if God showed me Delilah as her older self speaking and singing, then it had to come to pass and eventually she would do just that.  I had to keep fighting for and standing on the vision that God had prophetically shown me.

A few years after battling her lack of voice, somehow, it felt like we walked a few steps out of the darkness only to be kicked back ten steps further into it. Before Delilah turned eight years old, she started having her menstrual-induced seizures. Because of my medical background, I was able to come to some conclusions about her condition, but needed some follow-up labs to confirm my suspicions. I went to Montefiore Hospital in the Bronx, which is supposed to be a world renowned pediatric hospital, and encountered some of the worst pediatric neurologists and horrific patient care and treatment I had ever seen in my life. I thought I was going to kill one neurologist when, without explaining or giving me a diagnosis for what my child had and without even looking at me, she started writing out a prescription to drug Delilah beyond any vegetative state I had known and sent me home to do follow up in six months. The next neurologists told me that they could not perform simple blood test to determine the root cause of her seizures, but could only do an MRI or EEG from his department. I quipped, “so you prefer to spend $2000 for imaging test that will not tell you anything about the root cause of her condition to stop it and have me running in circles for my child not to get better rather than take a $20 blood test that could reveal everything that is wrong with her?” I gladly let him know that he would not be paying for his Mercedes Benz and kid’s college tuition at the expense of keeping my child sick and left. (SMH!) I never wanted to go back to that Hospital ever again.

I looked for weeks to find an herbalist, Paakobena Korankyi, who helped to heal my sister of Rheumatoid Arthritis many years ago but, after exhaustive searching on media platforms and near the location of his old shop, came up with nothing. Delilah’s seizures, which looked like every seizure type, were coming in two hour clusters every night for whole days at a time, steadily getting worst and nothing was helping. I remember the first time that I saw Delilah almost lifeless in my arms turning blue was in the middle of Hurricane Sandy, when hardly any ambulances were being dispatched and no help was in sight. I took her emergency medicine and administered it to her, while crying and screaming for God to help her.  As she was in her post-ictal state, I was crying uncontrollably as Lilah sat in my arms and I felt so helpless to her.  Any mother knows the feeling of how you rise up like a bear or a lion to defend and protect your cubs. I was angry. I started yelling at God and asked, “Where are you? I don’t care about your glory! Why are you letting her suffer like this? How could you let her suffer like this? Can’t you see I need help? Help Me!” Every tear that I had was poured out over Lilah’s face and body that I had soaked the t-shirt that she had on. I cried so hard that night, I cried myself to sleep with her in my arms.

When I woke up the next morning, God’s audible voice, which I hadn’t heard in such a long time, told me to get up and search my computer for Paakobena again. I got up and there he was. His Facebook page with all of his information was there. I searched for him for weeks and in one moment at the instruction of God had encountered him.  I called Paakobena and told him who I was, what I needed, and asked him how soon he could come. When I told him that I had even went to where his old shop was looking for him, he told me that he now focused on home visits and got rid of the shop several years ago. He said he would come to my home the next day. He came and told me all the things that I would need to do and buy to start Delilah on her journey to healing. That very night and the next day I exhausted almost all the resources that I had at that moment to order everything that she needed and made sure there was enough supply. We stayed on Paakobena’s regimen for quite some time and through prayer, with the guidance of the Holy Spirit, begin to add supplements and vitamins as necessary.  She had reached a place of stability in most of her endocrine organs, especially her thyroid, and her seizures at menstrual cycle time started decreasing.

One night, God gave me another dream, showing me a vivid image of a doctor’s name on a brown wooden hospital door and then a book with a brown cover that had the title ketogenic diet in white letters on it and told me that he wanted me to put Delilah on the diet. I had never heard of a ketogenic diet before neither did I know that it was a successful treatment method being used for refractory seizures. The next day, I found the book online, ordered it and express shipped it to my house. I also started researching ketogenic diet centers and it turned out that there was one in the Bronx at Montefiore hospital. (Go figure!) The doctor’s name that I saw on the door in my dream was the neurologist at Montefiore who ran the ketogenic center. Very spoiled by the accessibility of doctors at all levels in Cuba, I called her office several times to see if I could have a consult with her to ask her questions about the diet. She told her receptionist to tell me that she wouldn’t talk to me since Delilah wasn’t her patient. 

Since the last neurologist that Delilah saw at Montefiore scheduled for her to be admitted to run a sleep EEG, we had (and what I decided would be) our final visit to Montefiore to complete this test. On the same day that Delilah was admitted, the neurologist who ran the ketogenic diet center was on call. She was the biggest witch (I want to change the w for a b, although I never like to refer to a woman by that.) and so nasty. When she saw me, she literally said to me “you and your daughter being here is a big waste of my time! You need to put her on meds because I am not administering the keto diet to her.” (Yes, those were her exact words to me.)

I had to kindly let her know that she didn’t know who I was and that she needed to leave out of the hospital room and come back in, acting as if she knew that I was not only my daughter’s parent and advocate but someone who would write the CEO and board of the hospital, the NYS Department of Health and JHACO to report her and make sure that she didn’t have a job or a license when I was finished. (Why do some people always have to make you go there?) She was shocked as hell that I wasn’t who she thought I was. (It really messed her up when I made her address me as Dr. Barber.) I gave Montefiore three chances and their neurologists struck out every time. (I’m not that person who says “never” but I will say that hell will probably have to freeze over before I opt to ever take Delilah back there.)

At that time, I contacted John Hopkins, the main ketogenic center in the US, and their waiting list was years long.  Lilah was on her regimen of alternative medicine and I knew that I was not putting her on the pharmaceutical medicines that they were trying to prescribe because I knew what they were and I saw first-hand the effects that it had on her classroom peers, who were also autistic and in a vegetative state for most of their academic day. (Ask yourself this question. Would you give a child street narcotics? If you wouldn’t give them street narcotics, why is okay for a doctor to legally prescribe those same narcotics to them? I don’t care what anybody says, that crap destroys children’s brains way more than it helps most times. There can be safer medicines and more effective ways to help children than turning them into vegetables and damaging their body organs and giving them all of these other side effects in the process. The political will is not there to do it because people care about money and profit more than they care about lives!)

I researched everything I could about the diet, although there was not nearly as much information as there is today. I started buying all of the materials that the book told me that I would need to start preparing for the monitoring aspect of the diet. But, I still had to find a doctor (neurologist)/nutritionist team to prescribe the diet. I could have basically done everything myself, which I did anyway, but I wanted Lilah’s journey to be legitimately recognized, since everyone told me that they wouldn’t help us and that I couldn’t treat her solely through diet. (I knew what God told me so I set out to be obedient and prove them wrong.) I also needed someone to be accountable for ordering and monitoring all her labs.  It took four years to get a neurologist, outside of Montefiore, who could/would administer the diet.

We ended up at NYU Langone and seeing Dr. Judith Bluvstein, a pediatric neurologist there.  Initially, she was not very encouraging.  When I told her that I wanted to put Lilah on the ketogenic diet and that I didn’t want her on pharmaceutical medicine.  She said, “well, maybe you need humble yourself and put her on the medicines.” (Yes, her exact words were for me to humble myself.) And when she saw the Melissa death stare that burns fire through your soul and warns you that the wrath of me is coming for you and then heard me reply, “I’m going to give you a few seconds to clean that up,” she knew that it was not the best course of action to stay in that vein of the conversation. She then set out to discourage me. “Well, the diet is really expensive.” My reply, “I didn’t ask you how expensive it was. Who are you to assume what I can afford?” “Well, many of my patients have not stuck to the diet because it is very restrictive.” My reply, “my daughter is not your other patients. I’m here to put her on the ketogenic diet.”  We did that song and dance for a few more minutes until she realized all her efforts were futile. (I understand that in her ignorance, she didn’t know me well. I don’t back down from fights when I am on a mission to preserve, help, and protect my gift from God (Delilah). She didn’t know that she couldn’t stop me but I played her game for a little while to let her think she would get somewhere before I completely shut her down.) “Can you put her on the ketogenic diet or do I have to go find another neurologist?” Her answer was, “Okay. We can put her on the diet, if that’s what you want. I’ll schedule an appointment with the nutritionist.” They still gave me the run around for another two months. When I scheduled an appointment with another nutritionist in their system, who I didn’t realize was not specialized in the diet, she basically called them and asked why they had not given Delilah an appointment yet. They told her they did but I showed her proof that there had been no follow-up or anything scheduled in her patient portal, after calling several times. The ketogenic nutritionist scheduled her appointment that day.

Fortunately, because I was so well versed in the diet by the time I got to the nutritionist, I noticed all of the flaws in the delivery of care, the lack of patient education, and all of the reasons why Dr. Bluvstein’s patients never stuck to the diet.  The initial method in which John Hopkins used to start patients on the ketogenic diet would always be key in the success of the patient. They admitted the patient and their families to the hospitals for three days.  While they induced ketosis for the patient, they gave families workshops and educational sessions, teaching them to cook for the patient and how to maintain the state of ketosis. I was given two thick handouts and left to figure out everything on my own. (I’m sure this was their other mechanism to discourage me or any other patient from using the ketogenic treatment method because most doctor’s pay and incentives come from their collaborations with pharmaceutical companies.)

We started the diet. I educated all of the academic and recreational staff members who worked with Delilah about it and had them buy in to maintaining her on her diet and giving her only the foods that were cooked and sent with her, since her diet was a nutriceutical, a treatment, like medicine, to reduce her seizures. Within months, Delilah shed about 60 pounds and we eradicated the drastic water weight gain during her menses, her seizures clusters reduced drastically (I could finally get at least a 4-5 hour night’s sleep when she had her period), and the duration of her seizures reduced by half. We also saw the duration of her menstrual cycles lengthen. They went from 14 to 18 day cycles to 21-24 day cycles.  The same doctor who told me to humble myself stands in amazement at the miracle. She said, “I can’t believe how amazing she looks and how you have maintained this!” I sarcastically remarked, “So, you don’t think I should humble myself anymore?” (I was not going to let her get away with it!)”  I told her, “Perhaps, the next person who comes to you who looks like me and is just as determined as I am will get better assistance from you next time.”  Through Dr. Bluvstein, we were referred to an endocrinologist in the NYU Langone system and ended up with one of the best pediatric endocrinologist on the planet, Dr. Jason Klein, who we got to by “accident.” (If you remember Day 22 nothing is an accident, it’s God’s way of getting you to His perfect destiny for you.) We were supposed to see another endocrinologist who was triple booked with clients that day. Dr. Klein did the necessary blood testing that I was asking the neurologist in Montefiore to do and confirmed the diagnosis (I was not at all crazy!) of Delilah’s hormonal imbalance, which was the cause of her catamenial seizures. He asked if I was willing to try oral contraceptives to see if it would help to balance her hormones. We tried Yaz. (I thought that medicine was a medicine directly from hell! Delilah had her period for 4-5 days each week for a whole month. She was angry, irritable, and combative.) Hell to the no! We were not taking that medicine any more.

I called Dr. Klein and told him that we tried it and we were not doing it any more. When he heard the affects of the medicine he quickly agreed. He was a really great, young doctor who listened and was definitely not tainted by the system yet. He was such a breath of fresh air.  Dr. Klein said that every time he saw me that I reminded him of his mother (she was health professional who did alternative medicine) and thus, it made him heed to the information and education that I was giving him when I walked in his office. After two years of being with him, Delilah got so well he said, “I’m releasing her as a patient because you have done everything to get her to the perfect bill of health as far as my expertise goes.”  (I was so happy!) It was through Dr. Klein that we were then referred to Delilah’s pediatric gynecologist to handle her hormones to control her seizures.  Dr. Cardamone is one of 14 pediatric gynecologist in the state of NY. (If any of you are thinking of doing OB/GYN, there is a desperate need for more pediatric ones. Please consider this specialty.)  Dr. Cardomone agreed to see Delilah.  I called her Manhattan office to set up an appointment only to discover that the office didn’t take Delilah’s insurance. (My heart dropped!) I emailed her to ask how much a consultation would be, asked if she could do a sliding scale fee for me or let me volunteer to work off the debt in for her office (I was desperate and I asked about every possible option I could.)  She said that she had just started to work at Sunset Park in Brooklyn earlier in that month and that she knew for sure that they took Delilah’s insurance. If it wasn’t too far for me to travel there, she would definitely see me at that office. If that wasn’t convenient, she presented me the names of two other colleagues that were relatively much closer to the Bronx.  When I looked up those doctor’s patient reviews they had 3 stars and Dr.Cardamone had 5 stars across the board in all her reviews. (You know where I was going, right?) We trekked to Sunset Park for her treatment.  Since it was discovered that Delilah had significant estrogen dominance, and little progesterone receptors, we decided to try the Depo-Provera shot to see if it would help to counteract the estrogen in her body.  Delilah is a really interesting case.  The Depo has lots of progesterone in it so it works enough to stop her periods, but doesn’t have the full dosing capacity to stop the pre-menstrual symptomology of her cycles nor does it completely stop her seizures. But, it has reduced them significantly.  Because Delilah’s body quickly metabolizes the Depo medication, it only last seven weeks, instead of its twelve-week coverage. (Go figure!)

After almost four years of being on her diet, some of Paakobena’s regimen, and treatment from a book that I was given when we lived in the shelter, she has been basically stable and has never had to be on an epileptic pharmaceutical drug. Her doctors have to always prescribe emergency medicine (Midazolam given intranasally) to give to her school and nurse but, thank God, she has never had to use it. She still has one or two (rarely three) brief seizures during the week of her menstrual cycle.

From 10-15 seizures down to 1-2 seizures; from 230 pounds to a consistent 155 pounds for four years; from basal temperatures of 92 degrees and lethargy to consistent basal temperatures at 97.7 or 98 degrees; from absolutely no sleep during menstrual cycles to at least 5 hours of sleep per day, with no epileptic drugs. This is definitely what success sounds and looks like and God gets all the credit for it.  It was by His revelation that we got to each step in Delilah’s process. I’m also thanking God for the strength, endurance, and consistency that He has given me to press forward to see the fruition and the blessing of this healing process.

But, my faith and hope is not for this level of healing (partial healing). It never was! It’s for complete healing—No seizures, No autism, No hormonal or menstrual irregularities, No muteness. I want everything completely healed and whole, with nothing missing, and complete restoration of ALL the years that were lost! (It has been 12 long years of suffering that we have endured!) And just like the woman with the issue of blood for twelve years, who exhausted all of her resources, went to many doctors and healers and still was not whole, we are at that place, crawling to get to the hem of Jesus’ garment to obtain mercy and healing, because I want Delilah to be whole.  I also want complete healing because that is exactly what God told me (and many other people) that he was going to do for Delilah. And I am confident, according to the word of God, “that he who began a good work in [us] will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6) God doesn’t do partial work and His word never goes forth void; God does everything to completion and His word accomplishes ALL that it has set out to do.

I know what I am saying may confuse some of you because you can only perceive Delilah’s situation and health through your own lens and experience and by the reality of what you see. You may not believe that there is healing for autism or epilepsy because your mind’s perception can’t grasp it or maybe because you have a relative with the same medical condition(s) who is an adult and has never received healing for the same conditions. And that’s okay. I only ask that you stay connected so that when God completely heals Delilah, you see that healing of ALL diseases and conditions, as are all other things, possible through Jesus Christ.

Part II

Thus far, I have only mentioned the physical nature of these twelve years of darkness.  But, one should know that manifested sickness (ie. cancer, lupus, epilepsy, autism) almost always has a spiritual cause or root.  And the spiritual aspect of this journey has been even more fatiguing and full of much more despair. I have tried to hold on to every ounce of my faith, even in the midst of no or little shimmering lights of hope. I manage to do it, although this journey has been very hard (especially since I am one person fighting a significant share of this spiritual battle by myself).

Here is where I begin to talk about the spiritual nature of Delilah’s sickness and my observation about today’s church.  I will try to explain everything in the simplest way that I can but, as I said it will be a little difficult for some of you because some of you may not believe in God; you may not believe that there is a devil, who is the prince of this world, and a cadre of his demon spirits that inflict suffering and oppress people (even God’s children) when there is an opening for them to do so. You may not even believe in a heaven or hell or an afterlife. I hope that this helps you to believe that it is all real.

The bible is such a living word and through its study and my dreams, God has revealed so many things to me about the spiritual (demonic) nature of autism and epilepsy that I did not know before.  I gained so much knowledge about double-mindedness and schizophrenia in the spiritual/biblical context. I realize now that, although I was praying and fasting for Delilah’s healing, I was somewhat praying amiss because I didn’t understand the depth of how strongholds worked and some of the roots that allowed them to persist. I knew what a “legion” spirit was, cognitively, but I had no idea that a “legion” was operating in and oppressing my daughter until God told me so.  (Legion means “many.”  A legion spirit is one that usually has a cadre of at least 1000 demon spirits that work and are grouped together to oppress a person.)  From the time, she was diagnosed with autism, I saw different spirits manifest at different times. And it seemed like the moment I prayed against, binding and casting out one spirit, another one would appear. This happened one after another. So, just when I thought I could get a breather from dealing with the last spirit, I couldn’t rest because another spirit would appear.  We have been dealing with twelve years of not stop invasion of these spirits. We are currently dealing with the two legion spirits of rejection and rebellion.

(For those who may not understand, I’ll give an example. When Delilah was first diagnosed with autism, she had a suicide spirit that was oppressing her. It would always cause her to try to run into a huge street with oncoming traffic to get hit. Since I wore sneakers all the time and had a background in track, most times I would catch her before she got to end of the sidewalk.  One time I left her with a caregiver to make an errand, the young lady called me twenty minutes later terrified telling me that I had to come back to get Delilah because she could and would not stay the rest of her shift. Delilah, almost five years old, laid in the middle of the crowded, heavy traffic laden street on Burnside and Morris Ave, with oncoming traffic.  Luckily, my friend Raul, who knew and spoiled Lilah, saw her and the home health aide and helped.  It took four really strong men to pick her (a 4 year old) up from the concrete ground and get her out of the middle of the street.  One time she tried that on the Grand Concourse on our way home from church. When I got home, I began to pray and cast that spirit out of her. I was so fatigued and fed up with it and having to chase after her. It left. Shortly after (may be two days), we started dealing with a spirit of insomnia. And after insomnia, we were dealing with the next spirit.)

Most of my spiritual journey with Delilah’s condition has been filled with lots of reading my bible, constant prayer (in the late to midmorning hours), praise and worship, studying books on the ministry of deliverance and fasting to break the grip of the many spirits that have attacked her life. Through the leading and guidance of the Holy Spirit, I’ve read several books in the last three years that explain how demons (and demons through people) operate, the tiers of the kingdom of darkness, and how to get free from demonic oppression. (Talk to me offline if you want to know what those resources are.)  I recommend these books wholeheartedly for those of you who want to learn more about deliverance but I have to warn you that it is a great deal to stomach them.

The other part of my spiritual journey has been filled with frustration, heartache, and disgust.  Each time that I lived outside of the US, I saw the Christian church operating in a power that the Bible conveys. There were signs, miracles and wonders; I saw people be healed supernaturally through prayer and by faith. I saw the church operating in a power that should be a natural occurrence for us. The ministers taught the word of God, and the church members were unified in a way in which God could and would command a blessing. There were actually prayer services and “shut-ins” that would give the kingdom of darkness huge knuckle sandwiches. (Shut-ins are when we spend the night in the church to have all night prayer services.)  And everything that wasn’t of God got shut down real quick.

I call most American churches, the watered down gospel (and most times would rather stay home and watch an online-streamed service of one of my favorite churches that is not in NYC than be in a church building). Many are full of ministers/pastors/apostles who don’t teach the unadulterated word of God and lack faith; they have Christians and people who are sick and dying, with the nastiest attitudes I have ever seen and attacked by demonic influence, and lack the power of the Holy Spirit.  When you read the Bible and believe what it says about our identity in Christ and how we are supposed to behave and you are a member or visiting a church that doesn’t reflect anything that you are reading in the Bible, it can be very frustrating (I’m sure devastating for those who are new Christians).  Some of you would sit in horror at knowing how badly many people who professed to be Christians treated my daughter in a church building (SMH!). The solace I have is that God was watching. And even when they tried to isolate us or make Delilah feel like she didn’t belong, I stayed right there! (How dare anybody tell me that my daughter can’t be in her Father’s house! You must be crazy! Especially when she can dance circles around of us when she gets to praising and worshipping God!) As I stayed, many of the naysayers had to watch as God transformed her.

Several years ago, years after Delilah started suffering from her seizures; God began to reveal another level of knowledge and understanding about Delilah’s medical conditions that a lab test or a doctor’s visit would never reveal.  God began to show me a series of dreams that would be followed by interpretations of those dreams to get Delilah and me closer to working toward her deliverance and the complete obliteration from her sicknesses.

One night, God showed me a dream. In the dream my daughter and my little brother were kneeling around an open bonfire in the middle of a ritual. Although they were kneeling, their upper bodies were upright and their hands were stretched upward and tied to a wooden pole.  I heard and saw drums being played and shortly after I saw this dark spirit horizontally sweeping towards them until it entered into their bodies.  I don’t know exactly how I knew the dark spirit in the dream was the spirit of epilepsy but I knew that it was. It turns out that both Delilah and my little brother have epilepsy and they both got it around the same exact age. (Interestingly enough, I had bad seizures at the age of 3 or 4 years old. After one of my seizures, my pastor, Elder Ricks, prayed for me. I felt power shoot into my body and after that day I was completely healed.) The interpretation of the dream revealed a great deal to me about how the spirit was introduced, where it came from, and who introduced it into Delilah’s life. Not only did I pray and fast heavily for healing for Delilah and my brother and against that spirit, I begin to pray cleansing prayers for my bloodline and break generational covenants and curses that were made in my ancestry.  I also became even more watchful and careful about with whom Delilah got to spend time.

The revelations continued to come.  One night, I had a dream about two cats, one black one and one white one. In the dream I was in spiritual warfare with the cats and I told them that they had to go.  Since they kept nodding their head that they weren’t leaving, I intensified my warfare and the black cat completely disappeared.  The white one still wouldn’t leave. I told it, “You are going to leave!” I intensified my warfare against the white cat and it left. But, it didn’t completely poof-into- thin- air disappear like the black cat. (In the spiritual realm, cats signify witchcraft or witches/warlocks.  Each cat dealt in a different type of witchcraft—one in black (dark) magic/witchcraft and the other in white magic/witchcraft.)  When I woke up, I asked God for the interpretation of that dream.  Several days later, I met a young lady who I didn’t know.  We started talking and somehow it came up that I had lived in Cuba for six years.  She asked me what I thought about Santeria. I was a little taken aback by her question but I told her that I thought it was witchcraft, that its evil was real and that many people used it for demonic purposes. She told me that before she could speak what she was about to say, she had to preface its context and make sure that I understood what she was going to say.  She began to tell me things she could not have known about one of my experiences in Cuba. 

The lady said, “She [meaning Delilah] is going to come out of that! Two young ladies were doing witchcraft on you while you were in Cuba.  Because they didn’t realize or understand who you are in God and how powerful you are in Him, they kept intensifying the witchcraft they were doing on you and were completely surprised each time that nothing worked. But, because you were way to powerful for it, their witchcraft bounced from you to your daughter.  Since you are raising her [Delilah] to carry your mantle, she is starting to get too strong for the witchcraft they did and it is going to break off of her life.”   The lady didn’t know it but she had given me the interpretation of my dream. Spiritually, Lilah’s medical conditions were not only the result of generational curses and covenants in my family, but the result of witchcraft also. (I may not get into this later but, you should also know that the spiritual root of her menstrual and reproductive issues is the result of her father’s open rejection of her.) What she was saying was spot on. While I was in medical school, two girls (Sophia and Mirtha) were using Santeria to try to hex me and God revealed their actions.  At the time, God told me to be in a mode of heavy fasting and prayer and I obeyed–that is what covered/shielded me from the danger of what they were doing.  After the fourth or fifth time of dealing with the two girl’s crazy, one day I got back to my dorm and commented to both of them, “My God is so much greater than that mess that you are doing! You better be real careful at who you are playing with and what you are doing. I’m not playing that game with either of you and I send back the fire of God to boomerang back everything that you sent to me.”  Shortly after our encounter, Sophia got kicked out of school.  When she arrived home a few days later, she had a head on collision with a truck and died instantaneously. (She was the black cat in my dream that poofed into thin air.) 

Mirtha either left the school or got kicked out a few weeks later.  (For those of you who did not read Day 29) Before she left, she tried to instigate a fight with me. She started screaming at the top of her lungs, which gathered a real crowd.  At that point, I was so fatigued and weary of their assaults, i drew a line on the floor and I told her that if she came passed it she was going to breath her last breath. That was the first time I felt hate, rage, and the spirit of murder run it’s course through my body and I’m sure that everyone around us could see the violence in my eyes. Everyone who stood around us, including school staff, were so scared for Mirtha, because as calm as I was in my speech and demeanor, they could see how serious I was.  In all Mirtha’s screaming expletives and vulgarities they were trying to talk her down from her demise.  I stood there still but ready to attack if she moved into my space. I also told her friends real calmly, “if she’s your friend, you may want to come get her, because I meant what I said!” After several minutes a young lady named Nadege grabbed her and escorted her from the bathroom.

Mirtha was the white cat in my dream.  I have no idea where she is and if she is still doing the same activity she was doing over 16 years ago.  What I do know is that I have forgiven her and have released her to the judgement of God. I hope that she has repented for all that she has done because if not, God will avenge what she has done to my baby.

It was now clear more than ever that I had to intensify my prayer against the witchcraft that was done towards me that bounced to Delilah and really get deliverance for her. As I intensified my prayers (spiritual warfare), one day God spoke to me and said that this was the season of Delilah’s healing and deliverance. (I was excited! It was news that had been long awaited.) Since God had told me to leave my previous church, I was waiting for Him to show me where he wanted us to be next. I was gathering a list of churches and making plans to visit them at the beginning of the month of March 2017.  I was on a phone call with a friend and began to tell her what I was looking for in my next church and she told me to research a specific church.  She told me that I should watch the apostle’s YouTube videos to see if it was a church I could see myself attending.  Several days later, I put the apostle’s name in the YouTube search and several videos appeared.  As I watched the video, there were a few things that the apostle said which really spoke to my spirit, and I said, “God if this is where you want us to be, show him my and Delilah’s face and let him know that we are coming for deliverance!” I fleeced God and said that if he did four specific things (I never give God easy fleeces; I give him the impossible), the final thing being a random woman walking up to me in the street to say specific things to me, would be the sign that the following Sunday would be the day that Delilah and I were supposed to go to the church. I told God that if we were supposed to be at that church, when we got there the pastor would pray in the three specific areas for Delilah—he would pray to heal her biologically, he would break the generational curses that were the root causes of her sickness, and then he would pray against the witchcraft.   Lo and behold the lady walked up to me on February 25th and said the exact words, the way they were supposed to be said, and we ended up visiting the church the last Sunday in February instead of March.

The Sunday we were supposed to go to the church, everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong.  The electricity and the internet went out in my house so I couldn’t look up the address to the church. My phone wouldn’t even work. When I was finally able to look up the directions to the church, the computer gave me the wrong directions.  While I was sitting on the bus heading to the church, the Holy Spirit told me to look up the directions again. When I realized, we were on the wrong bus, I got off and we had to walk over 30 minutes to get to the right bus.  When we got on the right bus, it was so late, I started to turn around and go back home because I thought church would be over.  I told the devil, “we are still going because I know you want us to turn back.  You wouldn’t have thrown us this many impediments if there weren’t a blessing on the other side of this.”  When we finally got to the church, the pastor had just started to preach. (We weren’t late at all that day! Imagine if we had turned around). After he preached, the pastor asked for everyone to come up to the front for prayer. When he got to me and Delilah. The pastor said “Do I know you?” I replied “No.” In front of the entire congregation, he said “You sure I don’t know you? From Facebook? I have seen you and her face before. The Holy Spirit showed me your [meaning Delilah and my] face and said that you were coming for deliverance.”  I told him, “no you haven’t met us before but that is the exact prayer I prayed when I was watching your YouTube video.”  He began to pray for Lilah. He prayed for her biological healing and to break the generational curses off of her life and walked away.  In my mind, I told God, “this must not be where you want us to be because he didn’t pray for the third thing!” The pastor walked back over to her and said, “and I break the spirit of witchcraft off of her life!” I started to tear up because God answered my fleece– there was no way that the pastor would have known to pray specifically for those three things unless by the Holy Spirit, because I never told anyone else and I never met him before. The pastor asked to speak with me after the church service.

After the service, I explained to him about me praying that God would show him our faces while I was watching the Youtube video. I also talked about the fleece and how he prayed for all three things.  I told him about our previous church experience, about Delilah and that we had come for deliverance. He said that his church had just finished a round of deliverance sessions and was taking a break and that they were going to start back up in March. He said that he wouldn’t pass me to another of his ministers, but that he would do Delilah’s deliverance session himself.  I asked him if it was okay to visit his church until they started the sessions again and he said that it was fine. Little did I know that I would spend more than a year in the church with the pastor playing mind games with me about doing a deliverance session.  After a few weeks, I asked if he was going to do the deliverance session, although he said that he was going to still do it, he completely changed his tune.  The pastor told me that he did a deliverance session with an autistic boy that didn’t go well. He said, “I can’t afford to get anything wrong since the circle of pastors that I am around now wouldn’t allow for my name to be tarnished;” and mentioned how he was speaking at Manpower that summer. (SMH! Since when was the opinions or accolades of men, greater than being on assignment, being obedient to God, or just completing a task you committed to do?) The pastor said “he” couldn’t afford to get anything wrong. (Wait a minute!  But, I’m pretty sure that my bible says that God is the healer. Men do not heal or deliver anybody; they are vessels that are used by God to do that work.) His conversations reeked with fear, a lack of faith, and, once again, pride. I went home and prayed for him, about his response (most people forget that the bible says that we will be judged for the idle words that come out of our mouths), and for the whys of it all. I said God, “why would you send us here if he lacks faith for her healing and deliverance and has all this pride and fear? (All a deadly combination to prevent healing and/or deliverance.) Didn’t you say this was the season for Delilah’s healing and deliverance?”

My new mission was to continually pray for this pastor and that the fear and the lack of faith be removed from Him. My job was not judge him, because we all have flaws, but I was very concerned that he had a large following of Christian folk with those deep issues affecting his character. Each encounter I had with him, asking if he was now ready to do the deliverance session, got worse. There was way more fear. He mentioned another case of an autistic deliverance that he tried to do that went wrong too.  I realized that he was having these “son of scheva” moments with all these autism cases because he was not adequately prepared in knowing what he was dealing with as well as not spending enough time in communication with God to be led by the Holy Spirit on what to do for the level of deliverance needed for these children. I asked him if he had done some research about autism and he said no. I suggested that it would be helpful to research autism but he said he wasn’t going to do that. Later, he tried to convince me that Delilah’s condition was purely biological and that there was no need for her to have deliverance (Didn’t he pray about the generational covenants and witchcraft on our first encounter? Somehow, now she didn’t need deliverance from those things or in those areas of her life.)  Then, just as most people do, he started using defense mechanisms to project and say that I was trying to manipulate him into doing a deliverance session.  He avoided me for weeks at a time. Each time, it provoked me to go home and pray more about the situation, asking God to guard my heart, and pray for the pastor too.

One week, after asking about the deliverance session for Delilah, the pastor got up before the entire congregation and said that the church was shifting and not going to do deliverance sessions like that anymore. (I had to chuckle at that announcement because I knew it was for me. Suddenly, after our conversation about a Delilah, the church, which was known as a deliverance ministry, wasn’t going to be doing deliverance any more. He is usually a pastor who talks to people after service. That Sunday, he bolted from the pulpit and went straight to his office.) Although I was shaking my head in amazement, I felt bad that he had cowered with such fear and shame at failure. (I later told him that he had to realize that it wasn’t him who did or would do the work.) The second to last time I met with him, I asked him if he would be willing to pray for guidance from the Holy Spirit on how to proceed in doing a deliverance session for children with autism and suggested again that he read a little more about autism.  He told me that he still wasn’t going to do either. His exact words were, “I ain’t doin’ it!” I knew that Delilah and I were leaving that church but I felt sad that the children with autism in his church who remained would not have the opportunity to receive what God says is the children’s bread– healing and deliverance– because the pastor didn’t see it necessary to make time to study and discovered the tools to break that condition off of their lives.

I had to eat some serious humble pie throughout that whole experience and kept my mouth shut, because not only was I more than disgusted by his manipulation and his spirit of pride, I was actually really embarrassed for him. At times he was lying in my face when he talked to me and thought I did not know it.  One of the main reasons that I was pressing for him to do the deliverance session for Delilah is because, as he was trying to impress me in our first encounter, he said that he would do it. A pastor (or any person for that matter) ought to be a person of his/her word. And when he realized that he couldn’t do it or didn’t want to do it, he should have been honest enough to outright say that and he didn’t.  The excuses came, he did a great deal of projecting, and then I became the problem and the manipulator.  He made some blanket, erroneous statements about autism and other medical conditions not even realizing that he was talking to a doctor. (Because I’m really quiet, unassuming, and never use a bullhorn to announce my assignment or anointing in the kingdom of God or my title and accolades of the world, many people make huge assumptions about my credentials, my level of discernment and my relationship with God.)  This pastor always assumed that I would be so impressed with his title, his book deal, his being able to speak in front of large crowds, not realizing that I did, lived, and had all those things already, on a regular basis outside of the church, and didn’t care about them like that at all. While I am very happy that he has accomplished all of those things, those things were not greater than God, and he having those things didn’t mean that he could forgot about being led by the Holy Spirit.

I gave him plenty of chances and waited patiently. I prayed and asked God for the release because I knew that I couldn’t stay in that church neither could I trust the pastor with carryingout something as important as a deliverance session for my daughter. (It felt like I was in a spiritual Montefiore hospital again.) His fear and lack of faith would have impeded the deliverance from occurring in the first place.  He avoided me for several more weeks. One Sunday, I asked him to meet with me one last time after service. When I mentioned that I was a little disappointed that we would never get the deliverance session that he said he would do (He then begin to act like he would do it right then and there if I still wanted him to do it. I wanted to call his bluff but since I was already really embarrassed for him I decided to leave it alone), I thanked him for letting us visit his church but let him know we were leaving. He said that he was disappointed because he thought we were going to become members of his church.  He also said that several of his members got to know us and were already attached.   I don’t know why he could think that I would be a member of his church after going through that whole year of mind games. He never did what he said he would do.  He told me that he wasn’t willing to study about autism or pray for guidance from the Holy Spirit about how to get deliverance for Delilah. If this was my baby’s season for healing and deliverance, I need to be in a church with like-minded folk who were serious about getting me to a place and teaching me the tools to get real deliverance for her. I don’t play games with church and I do go for it to be a social club.  The bible says that God healed and delivered people from ALL manner of sicknesses; it didn’t say he was exclusive to some. To me, it meant that there was healing for autism. And since God told me that He was going to completely heal Delilah we needed to get to that place.

I was invited to a church that was heavily into the deliverance ministry by another good friend. On my first visit, I saw many people being delivered there. After church, the pastor meets with all the new visitors and greets them.  There were about eight rows of new visitors.  The pastor prophesied for EVERY visitor except for me and Delilah. (SMH!) I thought to myself, here we go again.  We were completely ignored.  I was starting to see a theme and pattern, which really didn’t feel good to me.  Since I saw real deliverance taking place and demons being cast out of people,  I continued to visit the church because I knew that even if they didn’t decide to do a deliverance session for Delilah, I could at least learn some of the tools that I needed to get us closer to what God had spoken (complete healing).  Each week, I was learning to exercise my abilities in praying warfare prayers for deliverance and every day I was coming home using those tool when we got home to do self-deliverance and cast out some of the demons influencing Delilah.  One week the pastor at the new church, told me that he helped a mother who had a child with autism before.  He said that each week, God had him meet with the child and mother and he had to keep praying and chipping away at the fortress (stronghold) of demons that influenced the child until it completely broke.  (This was a long-term process and not something that happened instantaneously.)  He also asked me, “What did God say to you about autism?” When I began to tell him about what God had shared with me, he nodded his head as if I was correct. (I was on to something!)

What I noticed/realized from that encounter and what the pastor had said is that since Delilah’s healing was a long-term process, most pastors/ministries were not going to volunteer to take it on, even if they knew what to do. It would truly have to be a labor of love on their part.  How many people do you know who consistently walk out life with you? How many pastors do you know who actually walk out life with their parishioners? Was there really someone (a pastor) who would commit every day or every week to fasting and praying with me for deliverance for Delilah? The answer was no. (Not even this pastor who had told me that he’d done it before said that he would commit to help me.) I was on my own to do the work that I had already been doing.  Of course, some of that knowledge hurt but it was reality and no different than what I had already known from our twelve year journey.  So we press.

After all of the progress that we have made in Delilah’s healing, on October 6th of this year, Delilah had a really bad seizure in her sleep like the one she had during hurricane Sandy.  I was woken up suddenly at 4 am that morning and decided to check on Delilah because I heard voices and New Age music playing in house (which is extremely and utterly impossible). When I got to her room, her body was completely blue and she was having a seizure. I worked quickly to try to get her breathing because I had no idea how long she was like that. She started breathing and came out of her seizure and immediately went to her post-ictal sleep phase.  I was shook because I slipped!  I got too comfortable! I was so unusually tired the night before that I didn’t stop her from going to her room to sleep.  (I usually make her sleep in my bed during her cycle time.)

 A second more and my baby would have been dead!

After the initial shock! I was livid!  I texted every intercessor who prayed and was up at that hour and told them I need them to pray with me immediately because I wanted and needed answers as to why my baby was on death’s doorstep that morning.  I told God through my uncontrollable tears in my prayer, “I need answers now! I need revelation now! Before this day is over, I want to know why we are still here! Why is my baby still suffering like this AGAIN? I need this to break now! I can’t live like this anymore!” Immediately, at that 4 o’clock hour people were texting back that they were praying. I kept praying. When Delilah woke up, she was slightly smiling at me, although her affected voice was still very low and raspy. (My baby was alive taking another breath.) We started using the gift of song to bring her to recovery mode. We started singing and praising God and a song, “Great are You Lord,” whose lyrics were so fitting for that very moment began to play.” It was God’s breath in her lungs so we pour[ed] out our praise.  I told her that the song would be the next song to learn on her piano. (She is currently learning to play it now so that she can perform it for her spring recital.) We sang for about an hour and then Lilah wanted to rest again.  As she rested, I went back to warfare praying.

Within a few hours time, a Youtube video by a pastor named Guillermo Maldonado, who I had never heard of, popped up on my phone. The title was “Breaking Strongholds and Deliverance from Bitterness.” Omg! That video was answered prayer. Glued to principles and knowledge that were coming from his teachings, I got my notebook and basically transcribed the video.  It outlined just about everything I needed to know about the “root” of bitterness (causes, what it was rooted in, how to break it, the characteristics and behaviors of a bitter person). When Pastor Maldonado began to talk about the three main causes of bitterness (abuse, profound loss of something, and encountering, continuous, overwhelming situations or circumstances), God revealed to me that how and when Delilah was affected by each of those causes. Delilah was in a verbal, emotional and psychologically abusive environment while I was away studying. I left her in the US while I was studying and she felt abandoned and rejected by the loss of her mother. There were plenty of continuous, overwhelming circumstances but one stood out. Although I had asked my mom not to give Delilah the flu vaccine when she was little, my mom let her get the vaccine. Delilah was allergic to something in it; it caused her tonsils and adenoids to swell significantly, cutting off her airway and air supply, she had to have surgery. My baby and I were dealing with bitterness. The video also shed light on the fact that we had to really forgive some people. God let me know that I had to order some of this pastor’s books immediately, which I did, and start studying them. Interestingly enough, a day or two later, as I was studying my notes from Pastor Maldonado’s teachings from the video, I went back to find the video from the link it came from and it was no longer there. The Youtube page said “this video is no longer available” and that it was taken down by the person who posted it. (No lie! See for yourself. https://youtu.be/ZQZW7oK0eaM) God is good!

The next day when we went to church, the pastor (a prophet of God) revealed that yesterday’s attack came from Delilah’s father and asked if I knew how to send back the fire to him. (Oh it was on! The enemy and the kingdom of darkness and every person who they decided to use in their attempt to kill my baby was about to get a serious beat down in the spirit! I was and am ready for war, especially when it comes to my gift from God!

We began to pray and fast to destroy the roots of bitterness that allowed for the demonic influences to enter in and attack Delilah and my life. (Every day we have been getting free!) I didn’t know it at the time but when God asked me to share the Thirty Days of Thanks, I had no idea that he was using this journey as a mechanism and vehicle to purge me more and seal my freedom from some of that demonic influence. As we prayed and fasted, when we got to church service, where warfare for deliverance was taking place, the demons were coming out of Delilah and they grip was being broken off of her.  One Sunday as the pastor prayed for, he started praying over her ears and some of those demons started manifesting. The minister told me later that I had to continue to pray over her ears because the demons were trying to use voices to speak to her, which is why she covers her ears with her forefingers so much.   

The revelation was pouring in like a flood gate. A few weeks later another Youtube from a school of deliverance ministry popped up.  The lesson was “Deliverance from the schizophrenic pattern.” This was going to be the meat and/or hearty portion of my education.  God had revealed to me several years ago that autism was spiritually under the same umbrella as schizophrenia.  I started to study schizophrenia more to really understand all of what He met. In increments, God was revealing all of the books and information that I needed to read and study to understand more. I read the books “Pigs in the Parlor” and the author’s follow-up books ages ago and totally forgot all about that knowledge.  There I was watching the Youtube video and everything was coming back to me. The teachings in that video gave me the step-by-step manual of how to receive complete deliverance and healing for Delilah. (no lie! Step-by-step)

The presenter explained it in such a good way. He said when you think of a stronghold, imagine a pyramid structure. The ruling spirits are at the top (highest pinnacle) of the pyramid, while all the low-level demons, which are in rank (similar to an army) from smallest to greatest, make up the foundation. Since one cannot go directly to the head of the army (the ruling spirit), he has to first kill/destroy all of the lower-ranked demons and keep moving up the chain until you finally get to the top, the ruling spirit. Before you even start to attack and destroy the lower-ranking demons, you have to use the tools of binding and loosing, which God has given us as his children to stop the activity of demons. (So, just as you would bind the hands of a criminal by putting handcuffs on him to stop his activity and haul him off to jail. You have to bind, through your words in prayer, the ruling spirit so that its activity and how it operates can cease.) As you stop, nullify or bind the ruling spirits’ ability to operate, you can now attack the lower-ranking spirits without much hindrance.  Then, as you are attacking those spirits, you want to loose or release the sword of the Lord to execute judgment on that spirit to destroy it. (I hope I’m explaining this effectively through my words for you to understand.  If not, here is the video so that you can really dive in https://youtu.be/leQ4F8kyNe8 later.) Almost every night, when we get home, I have been using my step-by-step manual to break those low-ranking spirits and work my way up the chain to the ruling spirits. The three ruling spirits in the schizophrenic pattern are rejection, rebellion, and bitterness. And they each are legions with their cadres of demons.

I can’t even describe the anticipation in my mind and heart to know that we are right at the cusp of Delilah’s complete healing and deliverance and that very soon (sooner than I or you can think) she will be free, speaking (and will probably never shut up, my friend warns), with her whole mind and complete cognitive ability. She is going to be a genius! (As we have declared it verbally from the time she was little.) She will be fulfilling her task of slaying the kingdom of darkness with her voice and her words.  It’s going to be incredible! And I’m so happy that you will get to witness it so that you will know and understand just how great and amazing God really is. That day, the journey through these twelve years of darkness, will be well worth it. And I know that I will have achieved the “well done, my good and faithful servant” badge of honor from my father, which will mean more to me than anything in this life or the next.

If I ever needed any more confirmation that I was on the right track, it came yesterday. I wanted to play a song by Juanita Bynum as I was working. I put her name into the Youtube search filter and one of her sermons, “Don’t Quit! Your warfare is God’s process to promote you beyond your Imagination” (https://youtu.be/BgiZPAKFHj0), appeared. I felt led to play that video instead of the song. She was speaking my life’s story (really this whole twelve year journey). Have you ever had someone do that to you without even knowing you or what you been through?  I almost couldn’t stay in my seat. And to top it off, she declared a prophetic word that I’d see the turn around by Dec 31stof this year (meaning in 19 days). Now you know that I was receiving and claiming that word over my life from the core of my being! I’ve been fighting too long for the vision and the word that God gave me for it not to come to pass! I’ll send you my report back on December 31st.

This was an incredible thirty day journey. Thank you so much for taking it with me and sharing it with others. It was so freeing and provided the much needed healing and deliverance that I need in specific areas of my life. Based on the level of warfare and how much fighting I had to do to get these reflections to you on some days–keys on the laptop not working and having to switch back and forth from my laptop to phone; sometimes a sharp pain trying to attack my back as I would type; the shame factor of some of my reflections. You name it, it was happening—I know that some of you received the much needed blessings too, on those days of this journey.  I’d love to hear from you about how this journey has impacted you. I’d also like to know of the donations that you gave during your journey. As I said I want to do a report back and share our impacts on the many organizations and highlight the testimonies and victories received. Today I don’t feel so much led to highlight an organization for you, I’d like for you to find and highlight an organization to which you feel drawn and give to it (Yes. It can be one of the organizations that have been previously mentioned.) I’d also like you to reflect on your revelations and where they are leading you. What vision or word has God given you that you are fighting for? Make sure that you don’t give up! Your warfare is promoting you beyond your imagination.

Love Ya,

Have a Great Day of Thanks!

Contact Melissa Below

AfroBeat Radio Arthur Mitchell Tribute

The podcast is here!  It’s the  Arthur Mitchell, founder of Dance Theatre of Harlem (DTH), Tribute aired Wednesday, September 26, 2018 on AfroBeat Radio.  Now you can listen to an edited version of the Tribute.  Enjoy  as DTH’s Artistic Director, Virginia Johnson and former dancers Karen Brown, Dr. Adesola Akinleyke, Dion Wilson, and Lorraine Grave share their life as dancers, students, and mentees pay tribute to the late Arthur Mitchell!

Wuyi Jacobs (host of AfroBeat Radio) and I co-produced this show and podcast: https://www.afrobeatradio.com/arts-entertainment/2018/12/3/arthur-mitchell-mar-27-1934-19-2018-a-tribute


On Monday December 3, 2018 Arthur Mitchell Memorial took place at Riverside Church.  In 2019 Dance Theatre of Harlem will Celebrate 50 Years.  Join in the Celebration!!



CADD – 2018 Dance Black Joy: Global Affirmation and Defiance

Colloquium on African Diaspora Dance, February 2018

Honored to have been a part of this amazing gathering!! Proud to have delivered my workshop Ecstatic Reasoning -blackness protracted: Migration and Constructed Identities. 


Looking forward to 2020

MT days 6-10

My friend Melissa has been doing a 30 days of Thanks journey in which  she shares her reflections on her life.  It is with her permission that I have created this blog post.  Her writing is powerful.  Be prepared to cry, laugh, be confused, get frustrated, and be caught up in deep hopefulness.  And, she gives suggestions on where to direct your financial activism.


Day 6: Gift of Song

Happy Sixth Day of Thanks Everyone!

I’m going to let you in on a secret. Move really, really close so that I can whisper it to you. My back up career choice was to be a background singer. I love to sing until my heart is content! I’m not just one of those sing in the shower people that pretend they have a microphone in their hand and let the acoustics of the bathroom create a false reality that they are good. I’m that person who sings and praises my way through the morning and the evening, through the good times and the bad times, and even through the makeups and breakups of relationships. I’m also sure I’ll be that person who sings as long as I have breath in my body.

I give honor and thanks for the gift of song, today, because it has forever impacted and changed my life. I have been singing in choirs and chorales just about all my life. And there is nothing like a song that can speak to the core of your soul by telling your life’s story! There are songs that tell of your joy, reveal your pain, speak of your need for liberation, cry for justice, and make you want to make babies (you know that’s the truth!).  I know as you read this, your favorite song or songs are being brought to your memory.

So, you are probably asking by now, why is the gift of song so important to her and how has it impacted her life. Well here is the story…

After my freshman year of college (which is many, many moons ago now), I had the opportunity to participate in a summer medical enrichment program at Case Western Reserve in Cleveland, Ohio. During that time, Case Western was piloting a music therapy program for several of their pediatric patients and researching the impact music was having on the ability of these young patients to heal better/faster or respond to treatment. As I was on my rounds with the physician and music therapist, I saw the miracle and bribery of music and how the children responded better to treatment when they knew their reward was music and the gift of song.  They were totally captivated by the music; even the evils that had been working in those children prior to our visit managed to be placated by the music. I remember thinking to myself: I’m going to figure out a way to use music and my ability to sing in my future practice.  Little did I know that I would use music, my voice and the few scales that I could play on the piano to change another child’s life ten years later.

For those of you who know me, you know or know of my mini-me, Ms. Delilah Christina, my daughter. When she was a little over three, she completely stopped speaking.  My perfect, typically, developing child went aphasic and no one knew why or how.  My mother called and told me, “After she got that shot, she hasn’t spoken anymore, she is just staring at me when I say something.” Many of the doctors thought she may have had a stroke and ran all kinds of imaging test, hearing test, and every other test to find out what may have occurred. Shortly after she went aphasic, she started to develop all kinds of sensory issues, cognitive delays and a host of affectations that were very pronounced.

Since Lilah has always been a musical child, listening to symphonies, opera, jazz, rhythm and blues and gospel from the headphones wrapped around my belly when she was in there, I chose to do what I have always done (sing), use the tools that I learned in every choir I had joined and the instruction at Case Western to teach my baby how to speak again. That Christmas, we started a new tradition; Delilah received the first of many musical instruments (a keyboard), and we got to work.  I played scales and taught her how to vocalize vowel sounds. Once she mastered vowels, we added consonants to the vowels until she could sing a whole scale (ma, me, mi, mo, mu).  Luckily, she is musically inclined and has perfect pitch because it made her a quick study. Within a few months time, I would make up songs with catchy melodies so that she could learn words. We had a song for everything, even to say Good night!  It was funny and interesting at the same time that she would sing a word or a sentence but not speak it. (Until this moment, she will sing whole songs but will only speak three to four word phrases.)  Her teachers thought it was the most interesting thing that she would not understand them or carry out a command unless they put the command into a song. A song made her brain’s cognitive switch turn on.  We continue to implement music in her everyday life to help her learn new words, sing her way out of sickness or despair, and put a smile on her face.

At every emergency room visit, due to one of her seizures,or at home, we would sing and praise her back to health. It was even in one of those hospital visits that a song “Oceans” drew a lonely, bad-behaving, young lady, (Kamora Lee) to us who has been my goddaughter and her god sister for the past three years. The “word” she spoke when she started speaking again wasn’t even a word, it was a song. She sang the song “Happy Birthday to Lilah” with Dora the Explorer. Unlimited tears were flowing from my face that day when I heard her voice again for the first time. And as you all know, she absolutely loves birthdays and people singing the happy birthday song to her in every language on her day.  (If you missed singing and submitting your happy birthday song for her sixteenth birthday yesterday, you still have time because we celebrate for the whole month. We’ll be waiting.) On her birthday, we listen to the songs throughout the day. But the exciting crescendo moment is when, right before she goes to bed, we listen to all the happy birthday songs in every language or form (our elder whistles her happy birthday song every year) that come in and she feels the love everyone has for her and she remembers the significance of that song to her. It is one of the happiest moments of her life and puts the biggest smile on her face as she goes off to the lala land of sleep.

Now, Delilah sings to her own beat (even more than I do). She has been learning to play the piano and is getting really good at it. (One day maybe she will be the background singer or headliner that I dreamed of becoming!)

With my complete thanks for music and the gift of song, I want to highlight an amazing organization—Upbeat NYC.  This nonprofit gives the gift of music for free to my child and children in the South Bronx.  They take students from the age of four years old and teach them to play just about every instrument (the cello, the piano, violin, trumpet, drums). They have an awesome orchestra and jazz band. They hold recitals and concerts for the neighborhood where the children can shine musically. They don’t currently have a home but are using one of the local churches to teach the students instruments. (Hopefully once we get the H.E.Arts Center, which you will learn more about in a later reflection, they will have a permanent home.) Please give a financial donation to UpBeat NYC (https://upbeatnyc.org/) so that they can continue to expand their programming and give the gift of music to our children. If you or anyone you know has any working, unused instruments, consider donating them to UpBeat for a child to have an instrument on which to practice. Feel free to donate sheet music and Hal Leonard music books as well. They totally deserve all of the resources that you can give them. And if you are feeling even more generous, along with your gift to UpBeat NYC you can sponsor Delilah’s next musical instrument since her birthday and Christmas are rapidly approaching, so that she can become this amazing musician with every instrument she has.

Love ya!

Have a great Day of Thanks!


Day 7: Sound Mind

Happy Seventh Day of Thanks Everyone!

 After all that I have been through, I’m praising God and giving thanks that my mind is still intact.

 If you have been reading the reflections since the first day in our journey of thanks, you know that my life has not been an easy walk in the park and that somehow I have always inherited the longer, harsher, narrower path in life. (I used to think I was Job incarnate and wondered when the double for my trouble part of the story was coming!)

On Nov 8th, I was waiting for what I call NYC’s forsaken bus (the Bx19) to get to work. There was a mentally ill homeless man, waiting for the same bus as well. He had tons of soiled sheets and bags of clothes stacked on a wheelchair. He was flinging mucus from his nostrils onto the sidewalk, spitting, and shouting obscenities from his mouth. He had a hygiene mask hanging from his chin.  The prospective passengers were all watching, in wonder, to see just how the gentleman was going to manage to get on the bus with his load.

When the bus came, two women were laughing as he struggled to get on the bus. My regular bus driver (a very cheerful and pleasant gentleman) helped him to get settled in his seat. But the driver got angry when the man started yelling at him and the soiled sheets dropped and fell on his head. Several people started to get off the bus when the men was settled in his seat because he had an unpleasant stench that burned and saturated the hairs in our nostrils.

I watched the mentally ill man, empathizing, and thinking, that could have been me. I have had several seasons in my life where I felt as if I was walking on a real thin tight rope, trying to hold on to every ounce of sanity that I had left. During those times, I had to talk myself “down from the ledge” of mental breakdowns.

One month after I had my daughter, I had to return to medical school, without her, to finish that school year. I had a month’s worth of academic work to catch up on plus final exams.  I missed my daughter like crazy and hated the fact that I had to leave her with someone who I didn’t trust enough to take care of her and love her the way I would. Before going back to school, each day I debated with myself and struggled to decide whether I should leave medical school in Cuba to start all over in the US just to be with her. But under the direction of the Holy Spirit, I was told to go back to school and to trust that she would be okay. But, while in school, I worried and thought about her day and night. I also kept all of my bags packed in the corner near my bed just in case I decided to change my mind and go home.

On top of that stress, I had a physiology teacher who was determined to fail me (that is another reflection for another day) because I was the one chosen in my group to relay the message that her teaching style and skills were extremely lackluster and caused the students much confusion. (Of course, the group chose me and left me out to dry. Cowards!!!!) I also had some female students in my delegation in the medical school who were purely evil and would send me all kinds of hateful messages and do some of the meanest things to me while I was in that sensitive state—one day someone left me a group anonymous card on my bed telling me that I was an awful mother because I left my child and quoted bible scripture to tell me.

Every night, I cried with my med school books in hand studying. I got to a place where I caught up on and submitted all the work I had to make up; I took and passed all of my exams and had just one left–physiology.  But, that same physiology teacher wouldn’t let me sit for my first physiology final exam “el ordinario” because I had missed too much class, taking the 3 ½ weeks off to deliver my daughter at home in the states.

In my medical school, if you couldn’t take or didn’t pass your first final exam, you ha a second chance to take it (el extraordinario) a week after the original exam.  If you fail the extraordinario, you forfeited your summer vacation and had to take the “mundial” exam in August. There were no more chances after the mundial; you had to repeat the year or you were terminated from school.  

I automatically had to go to the extraordinario for this class. When I took the exam I felt pretty good about it. Our exam was composed of seven sections; I had to pass 5 sections of the seven to pass the exam. Do you know that demon-possessed lady had the nerve to fail me even though I passed the test?!!! Receiving a two (“2”) grade is failing with an F. When I saw a 2 by my name for the exam grade, I marched to her office and asked if I could go over my test so that I could find out why I failed. I got fives (100% on four sections of the test) and she gave me a “2.5” grade on the last three sections of the test. I asked her (in the nicest voice that I could) what did the 2.5 mean and why did she give me that grade instead of a 2. Then I asked her for the answers to those sections. Lo and behold, I got the right answer in those three sections too.  She said that although I had the answers correct, she decided to fail me because I had not thoroughly explained the answers in the depth like I did for the first four. She had a huge smirk on her face and started laughing and said since you didn’t give me “5” point material for those sections, I thought you deserved to fail.” (What do you when do when something like this happens and she, being the head of the entire physiology department, knows that no one on her staff will defy her or make her accountable for her actions?)

In that moment, I saw red and felt rage bolt through my body and had to hurry to leave her office because I was about to commit homicide with my bare hands. This lady could not have known how close to death she was or that I cried every night to see and hold my baby again, and with her malicious intent to fail me, she was revoking my right to see and be with Lilah for the summer . I would now have to stay in Cuba to study for and take another physiology exam in August. I remember my head feeling like it was going to explode and a sharp pain shooting through and burning my heart.  

I left the school campus to check my email at the nearest hotel so that I could process what was happening and to calm down. On my way back to the school, while I was on the crowded 420 bus, my eyesight started to fade. The colors and people I saw around me faded into a blurry grey then went completely black. I couldn’t see anything and I got so nervous. I had to follow the voices and feel my way off the bus to the front gate of the campus. When I felt the pillar at the front gate of the campus entrance, I sat down near the steps of the entrance of the door and told the female security guard that I had loss my sight while I was on the bus and couldn’t see anything. Tears were pouring down my face because I didn’t know what was happening to me or why. The security guard asked me if I had taken any drugs, drank, or had undergone any trauma. When I said “no” to each question, she got nervous and called the ambulance to come pick me up and take me to the school’s clinic. Since the same doctor had followed me for my prenatal care, when he heard that something happened to me, he rushed to my side to make sure it had nothing to do post delivery complications. After the doctor did his history, he told me that he wanted me to stay in the hospital to relax for the night. I sat in the hospital for several hours before I got my sight back. It was during that quiet moment, I decided that I had had enough and was packing all of my stuff and going home. Overwhelming stress is no joke! All of that mental stress was manifesting as biological symptomology.

Once my eyesight came back, I begged the doctor to let me go to my dorm room to sleep. But, I knew that I was going to my room to pack my things. I was having a real crisis of faith and angry at God too. I shouted at God, “you told me to come back to this place and I obeyed you and you let this happen to me! You let that evil woman do this to me! I have served you all my life and have done everything you have asked me to do! You better do something about this and prove to me that you are real or I am done with believing in you forever! I’m done!”

Have any of you had a moment like that with God, where after going through so many trials and tribulations, every belief that you have ever had about your religious faith lay in the balance? It becomes a life or death situation and God is on your judgment seat and you are asking with everything in your soul, “are you real or not?” and want answers now. I was at that moment and, although my mind was on the verge of completely shutting down, I was still fighting to hold on to it.

After my tyrant rants and packing my things and command that God prove himself to me, it was 3 am in the morning.  I decided that I would go and call my mother to ask her if she could loan me the money and buy me a ticket to come home. As I walked down the stairs to go outside, the dorm’s receptionist told me that I should stay in because there were some really dangerous winds outside at the time.  I told her that I had an emergency phone call to make and that I would be careful. She was right (and I should have listened) but I was on a mission to get out of that place. The sky was a grayish color that I had never seen before and the winds were pushing my 175 pound frame around like I was a feather. As chaotic as that wind was, I managed to walk the half mile to the phones and call my mother. When she answered the phone and I told her that I needed a ticket because I wanted to come home, she told me that it was 3 in the morning, to call her back in the morning when I got some sleep, and hung up the phone on me.

Walking the half mile back to my room, I saw the sky put on a theatrical performance that I had never seen before. The lightning was flashing and crackling in the grey sky; the winds were still tossing me as if I was a paper weight, and I was seething with anger at God.

I got back to my dorm and fell to sleep until I received a knock at the door at 10:30 am.  One of my country mates said that my physiology teacher had requested to see me in her office. I did not want to see that lady because I knew that I couldn’t muster up an ounce of professionalism or kindness to address her. I was beyond disgusted and everything from verbal and nonverbal communication would reflect that. So, I ignored her initial request. She sent another person to tell me to come to her office immediately.

I got dressed and went to her office. I didn’t extend her any courtesies and asked, “What do you want?” She looked at me and knew that I was not in the mood to play any games with her so I asked her again, “what do you want?”

She began, “last night the strangest thing happened to me.” I gave her a look as if to say, “do I look like I care about what happened to you last night.” Since she knew I was angry at her and justified in my anger, she spoke soft and patiently and continued her story.

“I was in bed sleeping, and a voice told me to get up and grade your paper again.  Since I had no intention to do that, I stayed in my bed. The voice got progressively louder each time it told me to get up and grade your paper correctly.  Since I wouldn’t do it, the voice got so loud that it drowned out everything to the point that my head was in excruciating pain from the sound of the voice and then I felt a huge push that completely knocked me out of the bed. And the voice said, I said to get up and grade that paper correctly. I got up from the floor and went to sit at my desk. I still didn’t want to correct your paper. The voice said, “grade it properly now.”  I still had to cover my ears from the loudness of the voice but said “okay!”

In the most humble voice, she told me “I graded your paper again. Since you did get the answers to those last sections correct, I gave you the proper grades for them. This morning, I resubmitted your score to the academic office and you have officially passed your physiology exam.” I asked her two follow-up questions; at what time did she have to re-grade my paper. She said, “It was a little after three in the morning.”  I looked at her and said, “so, you had a chance encounter with “a voice”, who was protecting me from you, that knocked you out of bed too? Who do you think that was?” I was slightly mocking the known atheist now.  “Perhaps that was the God that you claim you don’t believe in.”  She said I can’t explain it, “but there was a voice and it made me re-grade the paper.” Before leaving her office, I said “God is real! And you and I both just discovered that fact for ourselves.”

I can’t even begin to tell you how that moment created a shift in my entire life. The Creator, God of the Universe stepped in and came to my rescue, when I was at my lowest moment at that 3 am hour, ready to give up on Him, my faith, my purpose, and shut down my mind completely. God also had this woman tell me this story (I can’t imagine how humbling that had to be for her to have to look completely crazy in front of me) so that I would never forget that in the midst of that grey sky, those flashes of light and that heavy wind, He was speaking in a loud, clear voice doing his best work to save me, defend me and keep me.

So today and every day, I give thanks for having a sound mind because I remember how close I was to losing it. When I am mentally fatigued and overwhelmed, I remember how God defended me so that I could keep my sanity, which means He intentionally gave me this mind to function for a purpose. So, I quiet my spirit to receive the intentional peace, love and sound mind that comes in and from God.  

What do you do to keep your mind sound? How do you make it through some of the most overwhelmingly stressful times in your life? Today, as we give thanks for sound mind, think about the many ways that you can quiet your spirit and keep your mind healthy. Implement a life plan that involve positive outlets and supports that are unique to and for you that you can refer to when you are in those low places. (For me, this includes meditation on Bible scriptures, prayer, singing, participating with my support groups, celebrating myself at least once a month.) Some of the supports can and should include seeking professional help from a counselor or a trusted pastor with capabilities in deliverance.  Don’t be afraid to tell someone that you are feeling down or at a low point so that they can help or connect you to the resources that you need, if they cannot. Today, we highlight a great organization, the National Alliance on Mental Illness (https://www.naminycmetro.org/) that helps individuals and families affected by mental illness to build better lives.  Please consider volunteering your time, giving financially, or even checking out one of their support groups and events that are available to all.

Love ya,

Have a great day of thanks!


Day 8: Friendship

Happy Eighth Day of Thanks!


I give thanks for and to all my besties who teach me how important it is to have love, support, encouragement, and good ole fashion laughs and fun! They have forever raised my standards in how I choose my friendships and have truly taught me that “A friend sticks closer than a brother.”

I have been beyond blessed to have a ride-or-die, loyal, faithful, soul sister, bestie for over 20 plus years. (And she ain’t going nowhere!!!!) My life has been incredibly enriched because she is in it.  She is my go to for just about everything. And I couldn’t even begin to imagine my life without her in it. She means so much to me that my daughter is even her name sake (Christ in her!). We have been through every up and down you can possibly think of; we have outlasted distance as we’ve lived in other countries and states, communicating at least once or twice a week by email, sharing our experiences. (I was so happy a few years ago when she moved 45 minutes to an hour away from me. Yaay!) We have financially supported each other as we were both broke college and medical students who lived off of ramen noodles and prayers. We have encouraged each other to press through the many disappointments of life as we’ve witnessed dreams deferred, denied and delayed. We have celebrated each other’s every victory, knowing that it was each of our personal victory too. We have travelled long distances to show up to each other’s graduations, ceremonies, and events, knowing that the day would not be perfect without the bestie there.

We sang together in gospel choirs, danced together in talent shows and other performances (where we kicked butt), and enjoyed concerts (Joe was awesome!), plays, and puppet shows together. We’ve shown each other the dances (Brown skin), songs, and comedy skits that we created that the outside world would never see. She even played the role of Bonquisha for a skit that I created for my analytic chemistry class in college and played the heck out of the character!!! (I still chuckle to this day!) We’ve exchanged clothes and shoes (‘cause she is always fly!).  We’ve had stimulating, intellectual discourse and debate on just about every topic. We have stayed on the phone for hours until one or both of us have fallen asleep on each other. When I moved back to the US, she introduced me to one of my favorite artist, Lizz Wright (Girl, I surrender! Whew! LOL) That concert in Philly was out of this world! She has always dropped an encouraging word or scripture into my spirit at the right time. We each have done those late night and mid-morning intercessory prayers for solutions to health, financial, and family crisis in our lives. We are so connected that we each know when something is great or wrong with the other without even speaking.  

She has checked me when my attitude was out of control, realigned and set the standard for my moral compass when I was in deep, eye-brow raising nonsense, and changed so much of my perception about how I viewed life’s circumstances. She’s seen me cry through the many challenges of life and parenthood.  When Delilah and I were homeless, she and my other 20+ year bestie were the only people who offered us a place to stay. Faced with decisions about who would care for Delilah in the event of my death or incapacity, she agreed to care and be responsible for my daughter when I asked her if she was willing to do it.  A few times, without us ever speaking, I’d get a deposit of money into my bank account, when the funds were way too close to empty and I was worried about how I was going to get Lilah her food or pay a bill. Sorry in advance to our future husbands (if they exist), but we already made the decision years ago that there would be a permanent room or guest house in our places for each of our families to stay. When you marry one of us, you are marrying the other’s whole family too! 

When we were younger, everyone thought she was the more refined, polished one of the two of us (which is definitely and totally true!).  However, if she heard someone talk about me or if someone did something to me, there was a whole other side to her that would get straight “gangsta” (for real ya’ll!). She’d be ready to come for you to protect me, her bestie. And as for me, don’t even think about messing with my friend unless you want to encounter a good tongue lashing and a beat down! I mean that. She has always loved me, unconditionally, through every good thing or mistake I have ever made, and lovingly, lets me know that she will be here for me no matter what.

One of my besties’ biggest flaws, though, is remembering birthdays, which are very important to me. A few years in a row, she got the side eye for it.  So one year, she made sure that she put it in every calendar and wrote me an ode for my birthday, using one of our favorite Stevie Wonder songs. Come on now, you know that’s love! She did all that work and used Stevie too (just because she knew how much it meant to me).

My bestie is one of the most intelligent, beautiful, awe-inspiring, and talented persons I know! (For all you wonderful men out there, she is single. But, you must have your act together because she does not play!) The first 20 + plus years of our journey together has been incredible. She is a God send to me and sets the standard for ALL my friendships. (If you are not like this, now you know why we are not my friend.)  I look forward to the day that we are both in our 90s, seeing our great grandchildren, still rocking fashionable outfits and our heels, reminiscing and singing (or should I say harmonizing) to some Fred Hammond. (You know we are! LOL!)

As we give thanks for and celebrate friendship, tell your besties just how amazing they are and just how much they mean to you. (Don’t take them for granted!)  Today, we highlight an organization, Friend to Friend America (https://friendtofriendamerica.org/), which recruits and matches volunteers to visit (one-to-one) with elderly and disabled persons living in nursing, mind assisted living, retirement, and adult family homes for the purpose of forming friendships.  Please consider volunteering your time with this organization or for the price of a cup of coffee ($5) donate to help their cause to give seniors and uniquely-abled persons the opportunity to have friends.

Love ya,

Have a great day of thanks!

Day 9: Wisdom

Happy Ninth Day of Thanks!

I am so grateful for wisdom! It has allowed me to set necessary boundaries in relationships, avoid the consequences of making foolish decisions, which create irreversible damage in my life and to “let go.”

Earlier in the year, I read this incredible, mind-blowing, life changing book called “If you want to walk on water, you have to get out of the Boat” by John Ortberg. It is a must read for everyone. But, I have to warn you. Read it when you are ready to do some real clean up in your life. While I was reading the book, I committed to answering at least one of the questions posed by the book each day. (Not at all an easy task!)  There was nothing superficial about any of the questions and sometimes it took me days to scour my soul. One day I came to the question: “what is your most painful limitation?”

I started to think about all my limitations (and there are many) to figure out if they were actually “painful” or detrimental to me in a life or death kind of way.  My mind started perusing the usual list of suspects: sometimes procrastination, lack of wanting to do domestic work, being a shopaholic, hoarding, lacking in more self-care.  None of them are that detrimental or painful, I thought to myself. As I searched myself deeper and thought longer (it took two days), I finally had a eureka moment and I had to sit with the painful blow of my limitation. “I have a hard time letting go.” Not as much with things but with relationships and people. It has always been a very hard thing for me to do. Most times God has to step in the middle of things, with his stern, loud voice and say, “LET HIM/HER/IT GO!” or “MOVE ON!” It’s usually pretty hardcore because I have never wanted to feel like I am giving up on someone or something.

 As I reflected on this question more and reminisced on the many deadbeat relationships or friendships I’ve had, I realized how much pain I’ve put myself through, tolerating people’s selfishness or holding on to something that just was not meant to be. I slept with men that I had no business sleeping with. I had boyfriends and friends who loved me the way they imagined love to be but not how I needed. I had a mom who continually told me that I’d never be anything, manipulated me, and took me through emotional rollercoasters that left me feeling worst than the scum of the earth. I had a biological father who rejected me to my face. I had friends who used my kindness to get what they needed only to leave when they got it or when they thought they would never need me again. I had work relationships where I was a superwoman and got used until I was completely dried up. I completely shake my head to all of the craziness I put myself through because of my lack of boundaries, because of listening to what someone else thought I should be doing,and because I was scared to let go.

 I am happy to report that I am not that person any more. I am so much wiser now in how I choose my friendships and relationships. I can’t say that it is still not hard for me to let go anymore. That would be completely lying and falsifying facts. But, when things get one-sided or there is no mutual benefit in a relationship, I loosen up the reigns and tell the other party (parties) know that since I can’t be in a relationship by myself, it is time for me to say good-bye. In most situations, I’m less quick to pour out all of me without little in return. One of my new mottos is: “stop investing into thing and people who don’t invest into you! Always make sure there is some kind of a return on your investment.”

 I have spent the last few years getting rid of unhealthy relationships and implementing necessary boundaries. For those people who you can’t necessarily get rid of, I’ve set healthy boundaries that they cannot upset or cross. And when they cross them, our relationship shuts down until they can get back on track. No if ands or buts.

 In the midst of ridding myself of bad and unhealthy relationships and setting boundaries to establish new and healthy ones, I’ve learned about what I need to feel loved and cared for by others. I also take the time I need to shut out all of the “outside” noise and hear myself think and process situations for myself. I do not rush into situations anymore, without a thorough analysis of knowing what I will be getting myself into. I’ve learned to be content where I am and not thinking I should have or be doing what someone else thinks I should have or be doing.

Several years ago, I learned that my twin love languages (Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman) were quality time and physical touch (I love hugs!!!) So, I don’t just accept anything from anyone anymore. If I can be mindful enough to fill someone’s love tank, surely they can take the time to fill mine too. Now, in ALL relationships, I establish and require what I need to feel loved. And I’m unapologetic about it. For those who can’t handle the requirements, I politely say “good-bye” and wish them a happy and incredible life (without me!).

 I’m still a work in progress and this is still new (even after a few years of implementing it) because every person and situation has been different. But, I remain adamant about having people respect my boundaries and my ability to feel loved and respected in any given situation. I’ve welcomed some new people in my life who join the already great people who are here based on our mutual respect and love. And as I have been working on eliminating this “painful” limitation from my life, it has kick-started the need for me to start working on some of the other ones I mentioned as well. (Pray for me!)

Today as we give thanks for wisdom, I am highlighting a virtual, international, nonprofit organization called One to One Women Coaching Women (https://onetoonewomen.org/), which provides 26 week of confidential, intensive, pro-bono life coaching skills to women and veterans emerging from whatever challenging circumstances. Sometimes, we all need a little boost/help in getting our lives back on track and getting rid of old unhealthy patterns of how we do/did things. Please pass along the information to all the woman who you know could use the service and donate to help them expand their realm of help. Since most men often don’t talk about or seek outside help for some of their issues, I am suggesting that you pick up a book called He Motions by T.D. Jakes.  It has been a great resources to many of them to whom I have gifted it.

Love ya,

Have a great day of Thanks!

Day 10: Mentorship

Happy Tenth Day of Thanks! (And Happy Thanksgiving or as most of my people say Happy Anti-Imperialist Day)

Today we give thanks and celebrate mentors and mentorship.  Where would we be without mentors and the people who showed up for us? I would surely be lost because all of my mentors literally became my moms and dads. And because they all did such a great job mentoring (parenting) me, I pour out, show up for and do the same for all those I consider my “children” too.

I had the privilege of attending a private, Methodist rooted, international boarding school in Kingston, Pennsylvania at the age of thirteen for high school. It was by far one of the most unforgettable, eye-opening, wonderful experiences in my life.  (I would have definitely sent Lilah there too if she were able to go!) The high school had a mixture of day and boarding students from all walks of life, but was dominated by students from really wealthy families locally and internationally.

My mom (Ms.T) is an old-fashioned Polish woman who taught photography and was the dorm mother in the woman’s dorm for more than twenty years.  She fancied arguing with the girls in our dorm about behaving like young ladies. (I still hear her now in her thick Polish accent, “You must be a young lady!) Although she seemed tough and real strict to most of the girls in our dorm, she had the warmest heart, wanted the best for us, and loved us so much.  During my high school years, my home life was in crisis mode and purely dysfunctional. Because my mom, who was a single-parent, wasn’t working at the time, I had taken on several babysitting jobs with a few of the families on our campus to support my basic needs, while in school. I got paid monthly from the families since the teachers got paid monthly.  But, sometimes in that long stretch of waiting for my pay, I wouldn’t have enough money to wash my clothes in the washing machines or buy some of the basic hygienic necessities.  So when everyone would be completely asleep, I’d sneak to the bathroom after “lights out” with my loads of laundry and hand wash all my clothes.

One day, while I was washing my clothes Ms. T caught me. When she asked me why I was handwashing my clothes in the middle of the night, I had to admit to her that I had absolutely no money until I got paid at the end of the month. She looked me dead in the eyes (she was not letting me escape telling her my whole truth) and asked me why I didn’t tell her or the other dorm mothers my situation.  I started to cry and tell her that I was too embarrassed and ashamed. She told me to put my dirty dry clothes back in the laundry bags and the wet clothes in the bucket and to follow her down to the basement where the laundry machines were. She said, “if you had told us that you needed to wash clothes, you could have come down to wash your clothes for free. We have the keys for the machines.” She created a safe, loving space while she helped me wash my clothes and began to probe more into my family life and what was happening.  With no judgement and much love, she hugged me and let me pour out my troubles.

From that day, she told me to come by her apartment every Saturday morning.  She would check in with me to let me talk out all my problems and frustrations (I had my own pull-out couch to lay on as well!) It was on those Saturdays that she created one of the best and warmest home environments I would ever know.  She taught me how to create and make the best cakes (any and every flavor) and other baked goods from scratch.  We would make different polish and European cuisines and try out some American dishes too. Those moments are where I developed my love for cooking and baking. Until this day, for me, home is the nostalgia of smelling baked goods or food emanating from an apartment or house. Ms. T didn’t stop her lessons there, though. She would talk to me about character building, instill in me the need for academic excellence, show me how to sit up straight (like a lady!), walk in heels, sew by hand, put on make-up, teach me about photography and counsel me about healthy male-female dynamics and relationships. She gave me all the things that my mom didn’t and couldn’t during that time in my life.  It devastated me to know that I was graduating and would have to leave her.  We both cried so hard on my graduation day. Almost thirty years later, we still keep in touch and talk by skype. She knows my Lilah and is happy that all the things she taught me are being passed down to my daughter.  When I renew Lilah’s passport, we will be taking a trip to Poland in the near future to see her.
Also during my high school years, I met one of my friends for life (Bonz!) and her family. Her mother and father became my mother and father and we had the wildest, funniest, and greatest times as a family unit. (I still chuckle to myself at some of our adventures.) They even came to visit me in New York and took us all to see Bring In the Noise, Bring in Da Funk.  My dad, a five foot Jewish, Einstein-looking, doctor, would always puzzle people when he introduced his six foot black daughter, Missy, along with my other siblings.  He came to all our basketball games, took me to my Franklin & Marshall college visit, because he was determined to get one of his daughters to go to his alma mater, and encouraged me to be the doctor that I wanted to be, just like he was. (In the medical field of nephrology, his private practice made great breakthroughs for that region of Pennsylvania.) He was an amazing dad and mentor to me!

My mom, who was a sassy Italian woman, loved to cook and was very artistic. (She drew and designed her own dream house that my dad built for her! Until this day, my dream kitchen has the same island and trinkets in it.) She was one of those superwomen–she worked as a nurse, held her husband and family down, and still found time to do all these other amazing things. (I asked her recently, “mom, how did you manage to make parenting look so easy?” She sucked her teeth to that one.) She not only showed me how to cook and dream for a great future, she showed me how to have a healthy, open mother-daughter relationship. That was invaluable and I am so grateful that my daughter reaps the benefits of those lessons. Of our family, I was the no nonsense big sister, and therefore the lookout and protector –my sister could not go on any outings or long distance trips to see boyfriends without my accompaniment. (Dad was not cool with the boyfriend business!) I also know that no matter what color families are of how much money we have or don’t have, we struggle with the same issues and are all dysfunctional in our own right. 

Mom and dad also came to my rescue financially. When they found out I wasn’t go to my senior prom because I didn’t have enough money to buy both a graduation and prom dress and pay all the associated fees for these events, they stepped in and made sure that I looked like a princess and celebrated me. Mom took me shopping for my prom and graduation and made sure that I had all I needed and even showed me the required table etiquette. The entire family came to my graduation and shouted as loud as my biological family as I took almost 98% of the awards at the ceremony. They, just as Ms. T, were in all of my family photos. After moving on to college and medical school, dad always checked on me and wanted to know where I was and what I was doing. Dad passed away this summer. Before he died, he made sure that my sister called me to tell me what was happening and to make sure I was there to sit Shiva with them. I remember all the life lessons that he taught me and hope that I am still making him proud.

My other mothers and mentors I meant in medical school–interestingly enough they are both pastors. One has her own house church in Cuba and taught me everything about being one of those old mothers of the church who had a direct connection to God and could pray down an answer from heaven. Fasting and intercessory prayer are a lifestyle for her and she would slay the kingdom of darkness and doesn’t play when it comes to being holy before God. She taught me everything about and equipped me for ministry and planting a church. My other mother is a world changer in the field of maternal infant health and dares, every day, to save black and brown babies and shows me how to do the same.   She is a God send and has been my life line on more occasions than I can count.  She is a doula, is a wife, moves mountains and is a strong advocate for the “right way” to do maternal-infant and public health on several continents in many nations. She even convinced some people to build her a clinic (our H.E.Arts center is coming too) to take care of the women and children to whom her nonprofit catered.  I want to be just like her when I grow up and she pours into me to do just that!

My last mother and mentor is a brilliant SHERO who was the first Puerto Rican woman in the Bronx to have her own construction company and build many great projects in the Bronx.  With her four-foot something frame and doctorate of economics, she can dance circles around any administrative task and turn any business upside down and inside out for the better.  When I say she is intelligent, creative, has a gift for business and administration, that numbers and strategies come so easily to her and that she makes the best cranberry sauce in this side of the world (where is my thanksgiving cranberry sauce, mom?), it’s an understatement. I have had the privilege to be her understudy on so many occasions and she has opened so many doors for great opportunities that have blessed me. She teaches me her business savvy, about her naturally occurring talents and shows me how to be a great mom and grandma.  I love her so much and want to be just like her too.

I have so many more mentors and so many more stories but I’ll rest there. 

I know that I am not alone. There have been people (mentors) who showed up for you and invested in your life in significant ways, which has impacted who you are and have become. And just as they did for you, you are now obligated, required, and mandated to do the same for someone else. Most of you do not have to go very far–Pookie and them live right across the hall!  There are children in your schools, in your churches, in your neighborhoods who need you to show them that you are invested in them and willing to take the time to love on them, even when they are not excelling. Today we highlight the organization, MENTOR, (MENTOR promotes, advocates and is a resource for mentoring) that is a great resource for connecting youth to quality mentors to impact and change their lives.  Please consider donating your time and your resources to help expand their work and reach the lives of young people.

Love ya,

Have a great day of thanks! Happy Thanksgiving!

Next installment, days 11 – 15.