Found myself enjoying a cup of coffee. French vanilla. Plenty of creamer…..mmm….hmm.

The quiet was nice. I did not have to be: an advocate, a friend, a champion of POC, a coworker, an understanding friend.

Drank that cup of coffee and…..nothing. Dear Lord, thankfully, there was nothing. No pressing need. No worried thoughts that I should be praying/writing/thinking of/for change.

Thinking is hard, yall. Caring, is hard.

Waiting for change, is exhausting. Trying not to think of waiting for change, is exhausting.

So, decided to just….drink a cup of coffee and find just five minutes, of normal.

Ah.

Ah!

The world has gone cra cra. No getting around that.

But, we can still enjoy and take just five minutes. Five minutes, of normal. Wonderful.

So, wonderful, in fact, think I shall enjoy another cup, another five minutes, of normal.

Care to join me?

🙂

I have been praying, for days, for something to be done. POC are dropping, like flies. The hospital are being over run. Yet, this country is going about it’s business. I see folks, who are declaring it’s ‘their right’ to walk around, without a mask. They say they are ‘living their lives’. Dammit, they are living their lives, at the expense of others. They are living their lives, mostly to the detriment, of POC.

I keep seeing, hearing and talking to folks who keeps saying that things are ‘not that bad’. And, it’s white folks, who are saying this. They are not the ones, getting late texts and phone calls. They are not hearing how friends, and loved ones, have died.

I was just talking, to a good white friend of mine, who was telling me that most of the people she knows either don’t care or don’t believe things are as bad as they are. This made me angry/sad. America, should be better than this. How coronavirus became a political issue, I have no idea. It needs to stop. We are all either going to live together, or we are going to die, together. This virus does not care about who you vote for. It does not care about how much money you have. This virus, could care less about where you live or who you love. Yes, it is snatching POC, at an alarming rate. Is also decimating brown folk indigenous/Latinx folks.

Rest assured, the rest of yall, it shall be coming for you. How many of us, though, will have to die, before you give two damns? I am not generally a swearer. I am angry. In a few weeks, there WILL be a major press conference. There WILL be a wringing of hands. Politicians will commiserate ‘with the American people’. They will swear to do better. They will promise relief checks. They will finally ramp up testing. They will end their partisanship, and will promise ‘immediate action. They will, dramatically, shut down the country and vow that ‘we are in this together’. They will have emergency sessions, and hammer out another relief package, in warp speed. They will dole out, direct payments, quick fast and in a hurry.

Why? Because non POC will have lost, a few too many, for their peace of mind. POC will appreciate the relief. We will appreciate the help. We will thank God, for the rest. We will do all of these things. Yet, we shall be sad. Because, we will know, that it wasn’t our black and brown bodies, that moved the needle. It will have been all the white ones. The ONLY reason, this black voice, will have made any difference, by these words, is if they get into the right WHITE hand(s). I can’t breathe. 😦

BLACK LIVES MATTER.

BLACK LIVES MATTER.

BLACK LIVES MATTER!

I hear this statement everywhere. See the declarations of support: from the community, from corporations, large and small. I have seen the marches, in the streets, for weeks. Folks of all colors, ages and stages, have marched with us POC. They have cried with us. They have taken rubber bullets with/for us. They have demanded ‘change’ from the government, on our behalf. For three weeks, white America marched with us. WHITE AMERICA MARCHED WITH US!

Then, the cameras moved on. I hear the words less. I see more and more folks, running around without masks. I see more and more, white folks, flocking beaches and going on vacations, all over the country. In fact, travel is higher, than it has been in years. Folks are living their lives, most white folks, are living their lives as if there is no pandemic, as if their actions are of little, or no consequence. For days, I have heard white folks saying ‘only the young get it’ or if they, themselves, get it, it ‘won’t be too bad’ or they recover quickly.

Or, let’s be honest, white folks see the staggering statistics that covid is affecting/killing POC at disproportionate rates, and keep it moving. They are thankful, that it is us, and not them. They are silent, once again. Another form of system racism.

Real talk, WHITE AMERICA: are you secretly glad that you can work from home, that you don’t have to make the agonizing choice of a paycheck vs contracting and/or dying from covid, if you get it? Would you be demanding, that meat packing plants open, or schools open, if you were stacked into these covid breeding places? Would you be cavalier if white folks were dying at two and a half times the rate, if white folks were hospitalized, at FIVE TIMES THE RATE, as POC?

Let’s be real, America. This country would ALREADY be in another lockdown, if the majority of white America had to work in the ‘essential’ groups. White America would have demanded, LONG AGO, that this nation be shut down. What’s more, white America, who owns most of everything and has the ear of the White House, would have already demanded a package to have them paid, while they shelter in place!

I talked to a white friend, today, who said ‘that’s just so sad/too bad’ when I told her about having to comfort a friend who lost THREE family members, in ONE DAY! I, myself, received three texts, in ONE day advising of three friends, who all passed away, THAT day. I have been fighting a severe cold, for the past week and a half, and spent time wondering if I would die alone, in my apartment, from this nasty covid, being in a high risk group.

Yes, many white Americans are socially distancing and wearing masks and going about their day. They are enjoying their meat, at the expense of POC, who are dying to help produce it. They are shopping, in stores, where ‘essential workers’ are bagging their groceries. They are traveling on trains, planes, etc where POC are keeping them clean etc.

Yet, we ALL see the rising numbers. Let’s be real, folks. We ALL know and understand that, as soon as enough people, WHITE PEOPLE, start dying that this country, will rise, en masse and demand things shut down, again. It is going to happen. I weep because, it is not going to happen: until more white folks start dying or getting deathly ill. White folks know this. The media knows this. Politicians know this.

I cry, knowing things won’t change, until those bodies pile up. I wonder, how many more of us POC, will die, until enough white Americans die or get super sick, to sound the alarm. How many of us, will be enough? How many of YOURS, will be enough before you demand law makers to do something?

People are demanding that sports, begin again. The vast majority, of players, are POC. I love sports. I pray, EVERY day, that sports gets shut down, in order for our players, and their families, and support staff, are kept safe. POC athletes have entertained America for decades. They do so, to support their families, to entertain the world. They love what they do. Yet, they have NO BUSINESS playing now.

Ah, that’s the big issue, though, isn’t it? BUSINESS? We make the money for you. Us, essential folks, keeps the trains running for you. Folks say BLACK LIVES MATTER. Apparently, it does not seem to matter, when put against the color green. Our lives are worth it, to most folks, to get the economy kick started. I dare White America, to admit that they would not choose their lives, over the economy, if they were the ones risking.

I know. I know. I already hear the arguments coming that white folks are suffering too. That they have to get out there and work, too. That they have to feed their family, too.

Bottom line is the numbers are out of control. The hospital are being over run. We need a FULL lockdown. The government needs to open the wallet, to all of us, not to big corporations, hedge funds, cruise ships, airlines, and all the other companies and billionaires and celebrities, who received MILLIONS in pay. The government needs to close up America, write us citizens a monthly check TO STAY HOME, so that we can get things under control.

America, needs to demand that EVERYBODY wears a damned mask, when things open up, and socially distance, and get things back in the right direction. Other countries, have already done this people!!!!

Evangelical Christians, what in the hell has happened to you, that you demand rights, at the expense of loving your neighbors and wearing a mask to keep everyone safe??! You want to protect a statue and could give a damn that you may be killing your fellow man!!!!

The silence is killing us. POC, your silence is killing us. We have to demand our legislature, friends, sports folks, ALL folks, rise up with us, and get us out of harms way! Folks are dying. WHITE AMERICA, your silence is killing us. How many more days, must we all live through, like this! Corporate America, yes, you are losing money. You are going to lose more. But, how many deaths are worth your bottom lines? This country needs to shut down. All of it. We needed to have done this, as ONE, back in March. We can do it now. Somebody’s mom, dad, aunt, uncle, husband, wife, sister, brother, cousin, best friend, only friend, is dying, as I type these words, as you read these words, that didn’t have to.

Does BLACK LIVES MATTER only at your convenience? POC are dying. From lack of testing, from lack of care, from lack of give a damn. We all watched, George Floyd, and were helpless. We couldn’t do a thing, to help him. We can do something, about this. We can ALL wear our masks, we can all socially distance. We can ALL, shelter in place. Things are close to a tipping point. Why, o why, do we have to wait until the number is too big for Donald Trump, for Republicans to stand up and say enough, for the rest of us to lose our minds, to do something.

Silence has literally killed tens of thousands, of our fellow Americans. Their lives mattered. We must NOT allow their deaths, to have been, in vain. IF you give two damns, stop wringing your hands, open up your mouth, and SAY SOMETHING. If not for me, do it for someone you care for. Death will come, for someone you know. It will. In the meantime, care for those of us who are daily affected.

Your fellow American and sister,

Cassandra

ttnette37@yahoo.com

A file has been shared using Link Sharing. https://s.amsu.ng/YGLfB6agxZwN (Expires: Jun 24, 2020)

I have been weeping, for hours. Point of fact, I have been crying, since Ahmad Arbery, was gunned down. I have been boohooing, since Breonna Taylor was gunned down. I have been lamenting, since Christian Cooper, was targetted for watching a damned bird! I have been sobbing, since George Floyd, was gunned down. Now, I cry for Rayshard Brooks. I have been crying, for years, for ALL the lives, senselessly taken. SENSELESSLY!

I cry with EVERY excuse folks rush to give, whenever, yet another, POC life is taken. The rush: to make an excuse, to give a way out, to destroy a character. I weep/rage because POC lives are not enough to illicit sympathy. Our existence, appears not to be enough. We have to be one of the ‘good black/brown people’. As if, the rest of us, are trash, that can EASILY be taken/discarded/dismissed. Just typing these words, sets me off, yet again, to weep/rage. Our lives DO matter. They do. They should.

These tears, are exhausting. I long, for the day, when they are no longer, necessary. Folks celebrated Juneteenth. The day slaves were Emancipated. That said, were POC every truly emancipated? Are we free? I think not. Just typing these words, sets me off, yet again, to weep/rage. These tears, are exhausting.

I want, to dry my eyes. I want, to climb down from this wall where I have been shouting/crying/raging, for someone to hear/see/do. Yet, I can’t. I cry, for those who can no longer, shed a tear. I cry, for those who have lost loved ones. I cry, for those who have given up. I cry, for those who still don’t seem to give a damn. I cry, for justice, knowing there will NEVER be true justice, as those lives will never return.

If only, there was someone, who would take my place, on this wall, and weep for those who can no longer weep. If only, there was somebody, who would take a turn and cry, for someone else’s child. It’s easy to cry, for your own. I cry, so that yours may be safe, may be free. I cry, and pray, pray, and cry, in order for ALL to have rest, to KNOW freedom. I shall continue, to cry, until the Flag COVERS US ALL.

Will someone cry these tears, for me?

I’m exhausted. Have been exhausted since watching 8:46. Truth be told, I have been exhausted, for the past 51 years. Tonight, I was talking to a black male friend of mine. He shared how EXHAUSTING it was, living in this world, as a black man. I shared how utterly EXHAUSTING, it is, having to live in this world, as a black woman. For him, he is viewed as a THUG. For me, I am viewed as an ANGRY, BLACK WOMAN. Dammit, I AM angry. I have every right to be. I am soooooooooo truly angry that our precious KINGS, are viewed as no more than THUGS and trifling.

Most black/brown men, would give you the shirt off his back. And, they have done so, many times. Most black/brown women, would run through a wall to fight for ALL children. And, we don’t discriminate. We would, beat the holy hell out of ANY that would cause harm, to a child.

I wish that. Dammit, I am TIRED OF WISHING!!!!!

I’m exhausted…..sigh….I’m exhausted. I can’t breathe. Alas, I shall, scrape my tired/troubled heart, from off the floor and will post these words to as many places as I can. In hopes, that folks will see. Hell, in hopes that WHITE America, CORPORATE America, will read these words, hear, act and tell me that Black Lives Matter, that MY life matters. I am highly exhausted, and ticked off, that I find myself, STILL waiting for America to make me free.

ENOUGH ALREADY!! Alas, I reread these words, and find myself hopeful, yet again, that somebody, somewhere, somehow, is listening and will do something, dammit! Exhausting. Think I will post this, to my blog, and call it…..Exhausting.

To be continued…

😦

Mama, your silence, is deafening. Watching them lower your casket, into a cold and unforgiving earth, I raged, silently, knowing I would never hear your voice. Never is such a long time. Never again, will I be able to call you, never to lay my head on your round and warm tummy. I rage, still, with the utter heartbreak/despair. I will NEVER see you again, will never be comforted: by your words, your warmth, your love and you wit. I would give anything, mama, to hear your voice, to be with you, again.

George Floyd, your silence, is deafening. Watching them lower your casket, into a cold and unforgiving earth, I raged, loudly, knowing your family would never hear your voice. Never is such a long time. I wept, thinking of your children, your wife, your siblings, cousins and friends, who can never call you, never be comforted by your presence. I rage, still, with utter heartbreak/despair. Your loved ones were robbed! They will NEVER see you again, will never be comforted: by your words, your warmth, your love and you wit. George Floyd, cried out for his mama, with his dying breaths. Mama. He cried out, for his mama, as I cried out, for mine. Mama. Your silence, is deafening. Still.

Breonna Taylor, your silence, is deafening. Hearing how your life was taken, as you lay innocently, in your bed, I wept, bitterly, knowing your family would never hear your voice, again. I wept, thinking of those who can never call you, never be comforted by your presence. I rage, still,with utter heartbreak/despair. You were robbed! Of the opportunity to walk down an aisle, bear children and watch them, walk down an aisle. Never is such a long time. I wonder, Breonna, if you had time, to call out, for your mama.

White America/Corporate America/Evangelical America, your silence, is deafening. Hearing, George Floyd, cry out for his mama. Seeing, all the lives senselessly/needlessly taken, for no reason, other than the color of their brown/black skin, I weep bitterly, knowing their families will never be comforted. I rage, still, with the knowledge of THOUSANDS of precious souls, robbed of the chance to live, thrive and grow. THEY WERE ROBBED!!! I wonder, how many cried, for mama. I wonder, if you cared. You cared for 8:46, of silence, then. Your silence, now, is deafening.

Mama, hearing George Floyd, calling for mama, had me crying out for you. Crying out, mama, because that could have been me, or one of my siblings, cousins, or friends. Mama, WHERE ARE THE MAMAS!?

Mamas, YOUR silence IS deafening. Where are our white mamas? Where are our Christian Mamas? Why isn’t EVERY mama, out there, raging/crying/grieving with me?!

Until EVERY child can: jog freely down a street, watch a bird, have a picnic, sell a bottle of water, walk down ANY neighborhood street, obtain a business loan, attend a well-outfitted school, have a grocery store with fresh fruit in their neighborhood, be seen and BELIEVED by a doctor, be welcomed onto the golf course and into the country club, ushered into the boardroom, able to call the police without fear, express themselves without having to monitor facial expressions/voice tones, wear whatever clothes they want WHERE they want to wear them, adorn themselves/their hair in whatever manner they see fit, go to a hospital to give birth and come home alive and with a newborn, be paid what they are worth, not have to work ten times as hard for one tenth the return, enjoy the fruits of their labors, participate in the stock market, able to purchase/own home in a thriving neighborhood/community, purchase a car based upon their income and not the color of their skin, be believed when they say they have been hurt/abused/looked over/dismissed/discriminated against, enter this country to take advantage of the safety of the Flag, looked at as an equal and not a servant/subservient/less than/less qualified, attend ANY college and live in ANY neighborhood and be welcomed with open arms, protected/not locked in cages as children/adults, able to travel the world and return home without fear/threat then NO CHILD IS TRULY FREE. Mama, I don’t understand why all the mamas, out there, are silent. You would be weeping, with me. As would George Floyd’s mama. Why aren’t ALL the mamas weeping?

Mamas, especially white mamas, YOUR silence is deafening. Mamas, YOUR silence, have allowed so very many children to go homeless, to be locked in cages, to go to rundown schools, to go hungry, to die in childbirth, to be held down for 8:46. Mamas, had you been crying out, for ALL children, maybe, just maybe, some of these POC may not have died. Maybe, had more mamas, told their sons/daughters that Black Lives truly does Matter, that those 8:46 may never have happened. Ahmad Arbery, may still be jogging down a street. Breonna Taylor, may still be helping others…

Mama, I used to wonder how White America, Christian America, could not/would not see, what their brown/black brothers and sisters, have been going through, all these years. I don’t wonder now. Mamas saw, then. Mamas see, now. Then, mamas CHOSE silence, in order to protect their child’s spot and lot in life. Now, mamas see. I don’t know what, if anything, mamas will do/say. Will mamas continue to jealously guard their child’s spot, mama?

Mama, will she, put herself, in George Floyd’s mama spot? Will she, look down in horror, thinking ‘he could have been my son?!’ White America, he will NEVER be your son. Why? Because, you live, in a world, where the color, of your skin, affords you a ride home, instead of a shot in the back. The color, of your skin, allows you the benefit of the doubt. The color, of your skin, grants you, the privilege: to own, not rent; to lend, not borrow; to run, not walk; to be served, not serve. The color, of YOUR skin, has afforded YOUR children, the ability to reign and roam. The only cost to you, in your estimation, was your silence. Your silence, has allowed your family to thrive/prosper, at the expense of POC children/livelihood. I wonder, if the silence is still worth it. I wonder…

Mama, your silence is deafening. I no longer know how to maneuver in a world without your voice. Who will listen to mine? I have shouted, for 51 years, to be heard. I have asked America, many times, through tears/exhaustion, if black lives matter, if MY life matters. The silence, mama, has been deafening. The silence hurts. I used to be able to ignore the silence. 8:46 stole that delusion, from me. Mama, what do I do with this silence? Mama. Mama. I STILL hear, George Floyd, calling out for his mama. I, STILL, cry out for mine.

Mamas: YOUR silence, is deafening. America needs you. I need you. POC need you. All my white friends champion me. They pat me, on the back, and tell me to ‘keep on speaking’. They rah rah and tell me to ‘keep on educating white folk’. They tell me they wish there was something they could do. They lament and rend their clothing. They say they don’t get involved, because it’s ‘not their problem’ to solve. They say they turn off the ‘bad coverage’ because it is ‘just too hard to watch’. Try living it 24/7. I can’t breathe.

“MAMA!!”

😦

#BlackLivesMatter

Full disclaimer: Jesus is My Homie. My Bestie. I kick it, with him, on the daily. I yak at/with Him, incessantly. I ‘hit Him up’, as the young folk say, throughout the day. Don’t tell Jesus that I put Him on blast. But…..*looks around discreetly*. Jesus is a BIG gossip. Yep, He and I talk, endlessly, about all of life’s goings on. Okay, I mostly talk, and He listens.

For the life of us, we can NOT understand why folks are so afraid to get to know Him. I think it’s because the world has tried to paint Him as some task master. Do this and don’t do that. Think this way, and you had best NOT think that other way! Dress like this, good grief, don’t dress like THAT!…*gasp*. Go to this particular house of worship. By the by, you are NOT to be inter-mingling with THAT group of believers. They don’t believe, in the correct manner, don’tcha know?…smh…

Jesus and I feel extremely sorry for some ‘Christian folk’ who have robbed themselves of the AWESOME opportunity, to get to know and love gay folk. Gay peep are some of the most loving, loyal and funny people, you will ever meet. Funny in a ‘haha’ way. I had a really close friend, or so I thought, kick me to the curb, just because I said ‘that’s really messed up that so and so was denied insurance just because she was gay. This ‘friend’ told me that I had a ‘problem’ and never spoke to me again. That was 20 years ago, and still no sign/word from her. She loved Jesus, of course…..*sigh*…

We are also terribly troubled, and saddened, by the current events. I am a POC, person of color. I work hard. I love hard. I have never been to jail. I am not a thief. I try not to take up too much space. I love folks/peep. I love to learn. I love to laugh. I love to get to know folk. Yet, I, and other POC, are personna non gratta, here in America. Jesus feels super sorry for those who are afraid to get to know people like me….*sigh*….okay, I shall admit that I am sad/disheartened, that there are many, many folks who hate me, just because….hell, I don’t know why folks have, and still do, hate POC. I have no earthly idea why they believe I am in ‘their country’ and should not be ‘in THEIR neighborhood’. Last I checked, the USA belonged to all of us. At least, it is supposed to.

Alas, I digress. I started this post asking the question “What’s up with all this God stuff?” Folks wonder where God is, during tough times. They wonder, if, or how, there can even BE a God and allow all of these horrible things to take place.

Believe me, I have had many a knock down, drag out fight, with God, crying, hollering, raging and DEMANDING to know why He puts up with all this!?

WHY, WON’T YOU STOP ALL THIS????!!!!! WHY, O, WHY, DID YOU ALLOW GEORGE FLOYD TO LEAVE HERE LIKE THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I must admit, my conversations, with Jesus, have been tear-filled. My conversations, with God, the Father, have been heated, they have been angry. I am hurt. I can’t breathe. I am His daughter. George Floyd, was His son. Why, did you allow him to leave here, and go to You, that way? Why, have You allowed POC to be treated so horribly? Why other races? Why, hurt and wars and destruction. He has not answered, yet. Okay, I am not speaking to Him. Not today. Am hurt/angry/discouraged today.

So, I talk to Jesus. I cry with Him. He cries with me. We cry, together. Jesus, holds me, and understands my upset. He understands my bewilderment, about God. For, He knows that where He, Jesus is, there the Father is, also. I respect God. He is a tough. He allows us to rant and rave. And, loves us still. Wow. God STILL loves me. God loves ME! He loves me, when I am angry. Loves me, when I am sad. Loves me, always.

The Bible says that NOTHING can separate us, from the love of God. God, I surely need you to love me now. Still, I ask, today……’what’s up with all this God stuff?

Until He answers, I invite you, to have a yak with Jesus. If you don’t know Him, hit Him up. If you are not ‘christian’ or have another faith. That’s okay. Hang out with us, anyway, as you will meet up with Him, sooner or later. He loves you. He is there for you. Jesus has got your back. I pray for each and every person, within the sound of my voice, or those in view of this post. We got this.

Let’s keep talking to each other. Let’s get to know folks, of different stripes and walks of life. None of us will get out of this life, alive. In the meantime, let’s make it through: together. I love you, ALL my sisters and brothers.

I love getting to know folk. Hit me up. Comment. Share your thoughts. Let’s talk a while. I will put on the coffee. You bring the snacks. Social distancing, of course. 🙂

Staring pensively out his bedroom window, Red looked out at the snow pondering about life. Musing out loud, he asked for what seemed to him the millionth time, “ God, when is it alright for me to cry?” The question had been bugging him for days now. Years even if he were to be honest with himself. Sighing heavily, Red reflected over his life.

Red was an old man. A good man, but old none the less. He was an exceptional fellow who always seemed to have a smile on his face and a bounce to his step. Today, though, Red was not smiling. If the truth be told, Red seldom smiled on the inside. Stirring restlessly, Red ambled painfully to the living room. His arthritis was giving him fits here lately. The silence was deafening. The cry in his heart was even louder. “God, when is it alright for me to cry?” was a constant companion to the heaviness in his chest. Back and forth he paced, and back and forth he fought to silence the terrible cry in his heart.

Finally, conceding defeat, he decided to sit down and write down his thoughts. His dearly departed Mary never failed to take out her diary each day. It seemed to be a refuge for her. He had never taken much stock in writing, but the simple act seemed to bring Mary much closer to his heart. He missed her. Oh, how he missed her. The day they buried his precious Mary was the day they buried a part of his soul. He wanted to cry on that day too, but he had always been taught that “big boys don’t cry”.

Sighing out loud, he wondered where to begin. He’d lived a long time and experienced many things. He almost discarded the idea to write down his thoughts but the pen and paper seemed to draw him. They cried out for him to end the questions racing around in his mind. Hesitantly he began:

Dear God,

When is it alright for me to cry? When is it alright for me to shed the tears that I have carried around with me for the past 81 years? All my life I’ve been told that big boys don’t cry. I’ve lived by that rule all these years and it hasn’t helped one wit. Someone forgot to tell me what to do with the tears. I’ve tried to ignore them but they don’t seem to go away. I’ve heard that time heals all wounds but that’s not true either. I find that I want to ball my eyes out but no one will let me.

Yesterday, I went to church just to sit in Your house. I just needed to be around human company, I guess. You know how it is: going to an all night restaurant just drinking coffee and pretending like you’re just fine sitting there all by yourself when the whole time your insides are dying for someone, anyone, to stop by and say hello. No one ever does but you go there night after night hoping someone might take notice and acknowledge that you are a part of the world.

Anyhow, I was sitting in Your house with that same feeling hoping that someone, anyone, would come by and say hello. No one did, though. There was this one lady who looked like she was going to say hello but she seemed embarrassed by my presence more than anything. I couldn’t understand that because I thought You said we were supposed to love each other? I wanted to sit there and cry out loud but that seemed to be a big no-no. Everyone acted like everything was all hunky-dory. It seemed to be a requirement for everyone to pretend that life was one big bed of roses. God, what are we supposed to do when we have thorns in our rosebed? Are we supposed to act like they are not there? What’s so good about the “Good News” if a guy can’t even be himself around You?

On the way in, I caught this one lady brushing tears from her eyes before she entered the sanctuary. I asked if she was okay and she acted like I had caught her at some heinous crime or something. She threw some kind of “God Bless You” phrase and took off. While we are on the subject, God, why are Your people so afraid to cry? Jesus did. Why can’t they? I left as broken-hearted as I came because everyone seemed to be in the same boat as me but I was the only one who seemed to notice. I wanted to scream at everyone to get real. I almost did, but I didn’t have the heart to ruin their “wonderful time in the Lord”.

Another question God: Why do people spend so much time jumping up and down “praising” You when they are dying inside? Don’t they think that You would understand? DO You understand? Are You the one who started this not crying business? I’d really like to know. I feel awfully stupid writing to You. I don’t even know if You are real or not. How do I know that You are not some fantasy somebody dreamed up so that we could have something to believe in? That’s what I’ve been told anyway. Are you up there God? If you are I need to know. Mary always told me that she felt close to You somehow when she wrote. She said it appeared as if You were right there reading over her shoulder. I’m an old man now and don’t have too many years, so I’d appreciate it if You would let me know sometime before I leave this here old world. I’d like the chance to get to know You if I could. Better still, I’d like the chance to get to know ME. It takes a lot of work bottling up all these emotions.

                                          Just wondering if You’re Listening,
                                                                     RED

Red signed his name with a flourish and got ready for his usual trip to his late night eating place, Charlie’s. Red was super lonely tonight. He wondered for the millionth time if someone, anyone, would take the time to talk to him. He always tried not to get his hopes up because it was always devastating to put on his coat and walk back home knowing that he was alone in the universe. He wondered if there was anyone else who felt half as lonely as he did.

Red almost decided to skip tonight because it was New Year’s Eve. Red hated New Year’s Eve because it was the loneliest night of the year for him. He always went to bed early so he didn’t have to face bringing in the New Year all by himself. Dejectedly, He went through his normal routine of getting out his ratty, brown coat and red scarf that Mary had knit for him. Red’s steps were slow and painful. Tonight the loneliness and the tears were almost more than he could stand. He wondered if he would ever be cared about. He wondered where this “All-loving God” was that the preacher spoke about on Sundays. He just plain wondered.

Seating himself quietly, Red wondered if someone, anyone, would amble by and speak to him tonight. The waitress plunked down a menu without so much as a backwards glance and hurried back to her conversation with a fellow worker. With tears tugging at his heart, Red almost cried out for her to speak to him. Dejectedly, he went about his normal routine of scanning the menu to pick out something “different” tonight. Meanwhile, someone, somewhere was watching. Someone was watching and…

Back home, in Heaven, God sobbed quietly as He watched Red suffering in silence. God knew exactly what Red was going through for He suffered through those same feelings. God wept as He thought of Red’s journal entry about feeling lonely in church. God identified with that feeling also. He tried many a time to enter His sanctuary to sit with one of the congregation members only to be rudely jolted aside. God longed for friendship and fellowship as deeply as Red. More so if the truth were told. At least Red had the option of being seen and recognized without all the guilt, shame, rejection, and baggage that people always brought with them when they reached out to God. How He longed for someone, anyone, to just reach out to Him in companionship and love. How He craved to be seen just for Himself and not a prize-toting Santa Claus. God marveled at how people could get so angry at the mere thought of being “used” feeling no apparent qualms when it came to using Him.

So, God completely understood Red’s plight and determined within Himself to do something about it. Quietly removing Himself from His throne in Heaven, God entered the restaurant and took His place beside Red. Taking note of His surroundings, God deliberated over whom to call over. The restaurant was full of gaily dressed and apparently happy people. But God knew better. He knew that the majority were is lonely and felt as isolated as Red. He marveled how people could be in such pain and yet were so adept at hiding it. Or so they thought. Pain was easily recognizable to one sensitive to its cry. Pain was deafening to one acclimated to its song. Yes, pain and isolation was a song sung by millions around the world. Trouble was that most ran from this song, most covered this song with noise and activity.

Seeing a smartly dressed young man sitting alone in a corner of the restaurant, God gently tugged on his spirit. The young man jerked his head around as if someone had called his name. He surveyed the room, noticing an old man sitting at a table by himself. He felt a sudden urge to walk over and salute the stranger. Shaking his head at the odd notion, he went about his business of reading the sport’s section.

God sighed within Himself and tried again. This time, a pastor and his wife entered the restaurant ordering a light meal. Again, God tugged on the man’s spirit, and again the man swung his head around as if called. The pastor noticed Red sitting alone, but felt too tired to be “sociable”. He had a long session of sermon preparation and had little time for small talk. God knew that the young pastor would take no notice of Red. Why, he had hardly given his wife so much as a “by your leave” or even inquired about her day.

Patron after patron entered the restaurant, and patron after patron dismissed the tugging on their heartstrings to say hello to Red. The more that people entered and exited without speaking, the more humiliated and lonely Red felt. Tears slid down God’s face as the young waitress approached the table. Red perked up immediately, believing the young woman would spend a few moments with him as he noticed her gaily chatting with the young man who had been reading the sports section. God hung His head in shame for He had read her heart as she approached and talking was the furthest thing from her mind. Her aim was to collect her tip and send Red on his way so that she could end her shift and join the party she had been invited to.

Rudely informing Red that the restaurant would be closing soon, she slapped his ticket on the table and departed. Defeated, Red donned his coat and hurried from the restaurant. The walk home seemed endless. Red WANTED it to be endless for in a moment he would be entering his cold, lifeless apartment once again.

Turning the lock on the outside world, Red again felt the tears welling up in his heart. This time he didn’t hesitate to pick up his newly started journal. Painfully, he wrote to God about his experience in the restaurant. He wrote:

Dear God,

When is it alright for me to cry? I hurt inside. God, I hurt all over. I don’t know what to do with these tears. I’m angry with myself God. I don’t know why I keep putting myself in a position to be hurt. I feel stupid saying this but back there at that restaurant I could have sworn that there were some people who were going to speak to me tonight. They didn’t though. I saw the pastor from the church I went to the other day and was sure that he would say hello but I guess that he was too busy talking to you. I’m lonely, God, and don’t know what to do about it. You’d think that I would be old enough now to be able to deal with being lonely. I’ve found that the longer I live, the worse my loneliness gets. Is it supposed to be this way God? What’s the use of hearing eloquent sermons about the love of God and “loving your neighbor” when no one will even say hello?

Why, some of the same people that shook my hand and gave me a hearty “God bless you” were the same people who sat in that restaurant and couldn’t even say hello. I’m confused God. I’m angry God. I try not to want companionship and love because it hurts so bad when I don’t get it. I try to place worth and value into my own heart but that doesn’t work either. That’s like trying to get a warm feeling from hugging yourself. What a crock. I hurt God, I hurt. God, when is it alright for me to cry? What would be the point anyway? I have no one to hear my tears. I have no one to dry my eyes. I have no one.

                                           Hurting and wondering where You are,
                                                            RED

Red ended his entry and prepared for bed. Turning out his light, Red questioned his sanity about writing to God. He ruminated that it was a waste of time for he couldn’t even get a waitress that was “paid” to be sociable to talk to him. He was asleep almost instantly and blessedly missed all the midnight hoopla.

Back home in Heaven, God was wrestling with a quandary. He had read Red’s journal entry and was determining the best way to answer Red’s questioning heart. Deciding that the best approach was a direct approach, God determined to be Red’s pen pal and tucked an answering response in Red’s journal.

Red awoke the next morning to an intense light shining in his eyes. He was puzzled as he was sure that he had drawn the blinds. Looking towards the window, he indeed discovered closed window blinds. Looking to his right, he noticed his journal glowing on the night stand. Frightened, Red hesitantly approached to see the strange sight. Fearing the worst, Red opened his journal and was speechless by what he found.

Beneath his last journal entry were words in Brush Script blazing with fire. Strangely, the fire neither went out nor consumed the pages. Excitedly Red read the words and found that they set off a fire in his spirit:

Dear Red,

I have waited a long time to be able to “talk” with you this way. In fact, I am the One who placed the longing within you. You see, Red, I too have that same longing for relationship and love. I was there with you in that restaurant tonight. I cried on the inside for you. I can’t wait to get to know you and have you get to know me. I just wanted to be the first in your life to just say “hello”. I called many others to do so but hey, it’s their loss not yours. Your value is not in how many people you get to acknowledge your presence. Your value does not come whether they speak or don’t speak, whether they love or don’t love you. I love you. But, alas, I am getting ahead of Myself. I can’t convince you of things you don’t yet see. You will. I’ll be speaking with you again soon.

                                                                       GOD

Red wept as he read his journal. Finally, someone had said hello. And not just any old somebody. God Himself had taken the time to acknowledge his presence. He hadn’t known how badly his heart had been needing to be spoken to. He still had torrents of tears he wanted to cry, but at least now he had a few tears of joy to shed.

Tearing into his clothing, Red tore over to his desk and prepare to write to God again. In the middle of his first sentence, Red had to drop his pencil at the awesome notion that GOD was talking to him. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to come off as an idiot or sound pushy. Deciding to wait until he felt more “worthy”, Red went on his usual morning stroll. His journal kept calling out to him, but suddenly he felt to worthless to be talking to God. He thought of all the times that he had scoffed at the very idea that there even was a God. His mind recalled the many times that Mary had attempted to get him to go to church. His mind played scenes back to him of the many times he had felt a tugging at his soul.

Disheartened by what he saw, Red decided that God really wouldn’t want to get to know a Cad like himself. Why, wasn’t he one of those “sinners” that preachers talked about? Red was crushed because he really did want to get to know God but now guilt and shame were getting in his way. Red’s heart cried within him to get him to again write to God but this time he was too afraid. He was afraid that there would be words of condemnation and wrath waiting for him. He was terrified that he would see all his mistakes and the many times he had laughed at God waiting for him.

God grieved as He watched Red struggling with these all too familiar feelings. God wept in loneliness waiting for Red to respond to the tugging that God placed in his heart. Day after day, God called for Red, and day after day Red reacted in fear and shame. In a quandary, God wondered what He should do. He had given man free will and free reign over their emotions so Red was perfectly within his province to be tormenting himself so. But God’s love for Red was so strong that He decided to initiate the next “meeting” between them. When Red returned from his walk, he found a letter waiting for him next to his journal. Red ignored the letter certain that all manner of doom awaited him. Finally, he could take the suspense no longer and found the following response waiting for him:

Dear Red,
I have been waiting anxiously to hear from you. I love you with an everlasting love and desire to be your closest companion. Well I know the struggle that you are feeling in your heart right now. This world would have you think that I am a harsh task master waiting for your every slip up. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

There is not one day that passes that I don’t long for the company of My dear children. I want you to know My heart. I want you to “touch My nail-scarred hands” and see that I AM real.

Love Me Red, and let Me love you. I wait to hear from you

                                                               God

Sobbing in relief, Red sat down and read his letter several times. He could scarcely believe that God would want to talk to someone like him.
Excitedly, Red thought of all things he had been wanting to ask God. Suddenly, his loneliness receded in a flood of warm feelings. He basked in the feeling as he had never felt such completeness, such wholeness. He was humbled that someone, anyone wanted to love him. He found that he wanted, no needed to be loved.

With shaking hands, Red slowly composed another journal entry:

Dear God,

Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. Thanks for not making me feel like a heel for not coming to You sooner. I find that I have a million questions for you and yet can’t write down one. I feel like a starving man being given the opportunity for a last meal. What to eat first? I don’t know. Here goes nothing. God, when is it alright to cry? What am I supposed to do with all this pain that I have hid inside my heart for so long? I find that I am afraid it. I’m scared that these feelings will overwhelm me. I’m afraid that You will show me things about myself that I don’t like. I’m just plain scared, God. Of you. Of me. Of letting anyone get to know me. What if there is nothing worth getting to know? God, show me my heart. Show me my heart as you see it. Not like I’ve learned to look at it. I’m afraid that I let other people color the way that I see myself and now I don’t even know what’s good and pure on my insides. God show me my heart.

                                                            Waiting anxiously
                                                                   RED

God read Red’s letter with great enjoyment. He delighted in Red as He did His other children. Red filled a need in God for companionship and love. He took pleasure in writing to Red and showing him His heart.

God and Red grew close over time. Both relished their time together. It was hard put to tell who received the greatest enjoyment and love from their fellowship. After a while, letter writing was not enough and God started to visit Red in person. Initially, Red was frightened and treated God with solemn politeness. But over the course of time, God wore Red down and they had a whale of a time together. They spent many, many hours together sharing each other’s hearts. God discovered that Red loved corny jokes and Red found out that God loved to tell them. They kept each other shrieking with laughter. Red couldn’t believe that God had such a kooky sense of humor. There were many things that Red found out about God. He discovered that God was intensely passionate about His children and that He cried often because of them. God shared many of His thoughts about His children but He kept the majority of His pain to Himself.

But Red noticed that God often would grow quiet and would seem saddened in His heart. On those days, God cut their visits short as He had no wish to burden His beloved Red. One day, when he could bear the Lord’s pain no longer, Red asked God what was the matter. He asked if he were the source of God’s pain. He asked if he had done something wrong, something to displease his newfound friend.

God assured Red that He had done nothing wrong. Red continued to prod the Lord until He admitted that He was grieving over His children’s indifferent and non-caring attitude. God wept bitterly as He recalled the many times He had reached out to His children only to be shut out of their lives completely. That is until they needed something, He admitted almost in embarrassment. Who wanted to admit that they were wanted only because they came bearing gifts?

God grieved deep in His spirit. He longed for someone, anyone to just say “hello”. He wanted to be to them what He had become to Red. He wanted to protect His children but He WAS more than a bodyguard. He was more than a grace-toting Ed McMahon, handing out winning lottery tickets to any who asked of Him. His Son’s life meant more than a “guarantee” that His children could “live like Hell” then use His precious Son’s blood as a “get out of jail(Hell) free card”!

God became livid thinking at how callously His Beloved Son, Jesus, was treated by those who professed to be “Christians”. The word almost made God sick to His stomach. His Son freely gave His life so that man could live life victoriously, not party til they dropped. His Son was treated as callously as Red had been treated in that restaurant. Oh, people were fine as their “needs” were being met but what about His?

What about the needs of others? What about the needs of their supposed Heavenly Father! What about the needs of one like Red who required one simple word to know that he mattered?

God stopped His musings, gazing sadly into Red’s heart noticing all the scars that had come from years of neglect, from years of not being seen, from years of not being acknowledged as being human. Tenderly, God gathered Red’s heart into His hands and wept quietly over it. To Red’s astonishment, he found that God’s tears were healing his broken heart. God began to cry the tears that Red had built up for years. God became Red’s conduit and let the tears flow freely.

He cried for all the lost years, he cried for ever instance that Red was ignored. He cried every time Red reached out in hope, only to have his hand slapped by cold hearts, by non-caring hearts, by busy hearts. God grieved for Red because Red symbolized His Son, Jesus. He cried deeply because Red represented His OWN heart. The world would be amazed to find that He grieves as deeply as they do. He loves. He wants. He has dreams for His children as any parent does. He needs. Yes, contrary to popular opinion, God does need. He needs His children’s love. He needs His children’s respect. He needs His children’s honor. He needs for someone, anyone to just call Him just to say “hello”.

Shedding the last tear, God solemnly placed Red’s heart back into it’s place. As God was removing His hand, Red reached out and took hold of it. Tenderly, Red placed a kiss in the palm of God’s hand. Reaching up, Red brushed the tears out of God’s eyes and gave Him a hug that wracked the body of the Great King. Together, they prepared for Red’s usual trip to Charlie’s.

They selected Red’s usual table. He began to go through his usual routine when he felt an intense tugging at his heart. He paused to find a melody coursing through his heart. This time, his melody was not one of personal isolation and emptiness. He strained to hear and was astonished to hear the hearts of many patrons calling for someone, anyone to stop by and say “hello”. He looked up to find God staring compassionately at Him. God said:

Red,

I healed your heart so that you would be able to hear other hearts crying out in pain, isolation, and loneliness. I healed you so that you could heal others if that was your choice. This world is in need of those who will love others. This world is in need of those who would put aside their needs to fill the needs of others. This world is in need of those who are not afraid to admit, as you did, that they HAVE needs. Then and only then can I come and be with them. Then and only then can I take their heart into My hands to heal it. Red, it is time for Me to return home. Know that I will always reside inside you, but now you must be the one to reach out. Fear not, My friend, I will come when you call.

With one last corny joke, God returned to Heaven confident that Red would make it. Never again would Red have to doubt that He was loved. God seated Himself on His throne in the Heavenlies. He had much work to do for He had another of His children in His sights.

Back in the restaurant, Red felt a tugging to speak to the young lady across the room. Looking closer, he discovered that it was the same woman that had been crying in church the first day that Red had attempted to reach God. Smiling, Red made his way across the room.

The young woman never noticed Red walking up to her. Annie was her name. Tonight she was especially lonely. She had been feeling tears welling inside her for months now. Years even if the truth were told. Sadly she wondered for the millionth time if someone, anyone would just stop by and just say hello. Her loneliness almost overwhelmed her. But somewhere, someone was watching.

Strolling confidently up to the table, Red stretched out his hands, looked deeply into her eyes and said…..”HELLO”!

THE END

Yes, there IS someone, somewhere watching over us. He waits for our call. He waits for us to let Him into our hearts. He waits for us to drop the baggage that we know as guilt, fear, shame, and hopelessness. He waits to reach out to us. He waits to tell us corny jokes. But mostly, He longs to reach inside our hearts and cry healing tears over them. He is waiting for you. Waiting for you to just stop by and say………………..”HELLO”!