Truly Connected

My baby was not feeling well yesterday so I stayed home and she worked out a medical conference call. She gave the nurse practitioner the symptoms. "Sounds like anxiety or stress." As a followup he asked her a series of related questions. I was close by listening and concerned. She answered every question with "very low or no." I secretly answered yes or moderately high. He offered mild medication. She said no, I murmured yes. When she hung up I realized I had the issues but she had the symptoms! We cracked up because we realized just how much we are truly connected. I have had my ups and downs during the last few months. I thought I was hiding it well. Her body chose to take on what mine would not. We are too blessed, so I refuse to let her stress. I love you sweetheart. "We" doing better already! 
Glad the tomb is empty.

March 27, 1975

Janet Robertson, March 27, 1975 your love came crashing in on my heart. Over these years your love for me wins whatever battle my mind wants to start with my heart. I get more “thoughtful” during this month because of the courtship struggles you endured with me. I know I “sweated” you hard in a time when this approach was not considered “cool”. With other girls the “conventional” approach left me bewildered and woefully unequipped to get a second audience. There was a “bit” in one of Richard Pryor’s albums were the neighborhood drunk says, “Boy I’m going to help you because I believe you got potential”. I would like to think you saw 2020 Lance back in 1975. According to the 1975 “handbook” I got it all wrong. I stared too much and actually winked at you (a few times). I “begged” for your phone number until I almost lost my mind. First call I bared my 16-year-old soul. I fumbled with your fingers trying to hold your hand the first time. First date, no car so we had to catch the bus in Chicago in March! First date plans collapsed, so you helped me fold laundry while we watched the Wizard of Oz. Took you home on the "bus". I was absolutely sure you weren't snuggling but hiding from the Chicago "hawk". I thanked God for the "gentle breeze" that moved you closer me. We have been filling our bus with love and memories ever since. Alone I know I could not have held on to you this long by myself. "I can't, but God can." I love you sweetheart. Our love wins because He loved us first. 1 John 4:19 Glad the tomb is empty.

She Braided My Hair

March is our sweetheart Month... She braided my hair. Starting in March 1975 for about six months straight Janet would braid my hair every week or so. I would take it down, wash it, “blow it out” and she would braid it back up. At first I didn’t think she could braid my short hair. Within a few months my hair began to grow and I was beginning to grow an “Afro”.

 As much as I appreciated that “fro”, looking back, the thing I enjoyed most was the time we spent talking while she wrestled with my scalp. We spent time sitting in the park or on her front porch just talking. It could have been about anything or nothing at all but we were together. 

Today I appreciate that we don’t need “our own space” or need a “get away” from each other. We are comfortable talking about “anything” or nothing at all. She braided my hair and we got to know each other that summer. She grew a fro, but we really grew a life together in the process because we talked, while she braided. This quarantine ain’t so bad. I don’t have any hair to braid but we still talking. I love you sweetheart. Glad The Tomb Is Empty 

Getting a head start on March. This month marks 45 years I’ve loved loving you. We have walked through some valley’s, some deeper than others. We have worshiped at the top of some beautiful mountains with God as our guide. The view and the colors of love have been remarkable. However, He is constantly changing those colors of love. We have learned to recognize when the shade may be changing. The key is He does not have to change brushes to change colors. Jesus moves across the tapestry of our marriage to restore, renew, and revive if necessary. With Him at the center of our lives, I know we will always be. I love you sweetheart, still. Glad the tomb is empty. Original Art Work By Rhonda Robertson

Long Goodbyes

I don’t mind long goodbyes. I hug them longer than they can appreciate. I think about them more than I realize. I take bunches of pictures. I might reminisce too much. I worry when I don’t hear from them often, but I don’t let them know it. I am happy that they are growing and developing into women, but secretly I wish they were my little girls again. Janet and I pray together every day before one of us walks out the door. I hold her for one beat longer than I need too. My arms remember how she felt. My lips retain the comfort of hers. My nose sends the scent of her “self” to my brain were it will be filed away. My eyes record her style of the day. My mind sends an alert to the world that my devastatingly beautiful gift from God is on her way. For a moment in time I want to call her back for just one more hug, one more kiss, one more prayer. I want to tell her everything my heart, body and soul is whispering to me about her. As she rolls out of sight, I finish the prayer. “Lord cover her going and coming. Bring her back to these arms of mine so we can be us again and again. Never the less Your will be done in our lives. Janet, Lauren, Londyn, Lyric, your husband, father and Gi-Da loves you. Amen.” Glad the tomb is empty.

Just Mercy

I will admit it was\is hard for me to sit through movies that tell the truth about “our” society. Folks would have you believe that stories like this are anomalies. They are isolated incidents of our distant past that would never occur today. The devil’s biggest accomplishment is to make folks believe he does not exist. The truth is people that look like me are a heartbeat away from something like this being our reality. I was told that I did not have to worry about a traffic stop if I did not do anything wrong. I did my best to be calm and explain. That statement is the essence of privilege. You have the privilege to not have to think if you look like somebody. You have the privilege to not worry where your hands are, or if your tone is threatening, or even if they are having a bad day (Sandra Bland). Just Mercy reminded me to not get too comfortable in assuming that death row won’t come in a need to clear a crime (Walter “Johnny D.” McMillian), or death won’t visit me at my front door (Botham Jean), or through a window pane (Atatiana Jefferson), just because. My prayer is that future generations of folks that look like me will have the privilege to not have to think this way. Glad The Tomb Is Empty

Bloom Where You Are Planted

My flower beds have become unkempt. The flowers have long since died and withered. The mulch is the dominate organic life form. However, a few months ago I plated some collards back in the corner that I grew from seeds in my kitchen window. I thought they might have a chance. They have produced two big pots, one for Thanksgiving and one for Christmas. This weekend frost was predicted. I covered them with some plastic. I was a little worried they might not make it. When I got home from church I pulled back the plastic. They sprung up from being “covered” all night and morning. Leaves look strong. Another pot is coming soon. Pastor Carter preached from Genesis 39 and 40. “Bloom Where You Are Planted.” Works for life and gardens. Pastor’s last two sermons have been all over my personal “Joseph” day. Speak to me Lord, from the pulpit or the garden. Your servant Lance is ready to “bloom”… Glad the tomb is empty.