Editorials

“Okay God, I know you said ‘thou shalt obey your parents,’ but what if your parents are for real wildin’ and are low-key emotionally abusive at times? “How am I supposed to rationalize listening blindly to everything my parents tell me when I feel like they don’t really see me as an individual? They only see me as an extension of themselves that they get to control. “Okay God, I know you said no sex before marriage, but my parents are divorced and you said that was a sin too. Also, there are so many divorced people at church and they’re remarried so they’re having sex with someone who’s not their original spouse. “Okay God, I know you said to be a modest Proverbs 31 woman, but why’d you make me a curvy black girl with a love for fashion if you wanted me to wear three-feet skirts all day? “Okay God, I know you said not to love the things of this world, but then why’d you go and make me Jamaican? You know I can’t resist a good rhythm and beat! “Okay God, I know you said that we’re all created equally in your image, but then why is my church and so many other churches racially segregated?” I needed answers.

My whole world shifted when my mom told us my dad and her were separating — I was in the sixth grade. I didn’t understand everything, but I remember being angry in my heart at my father and never wanting a man to hurt me like he hurt my mom. Although my parents restored their marriage and my dad changed (praise God), I definitely saw how the family dynamic shifted. I think this shaped my view of what marriage was and what a guy could do to me. Hurt me. I didn’t think about marriage much more after that. Fast forward to my freshman year of college, I met a guy.

“You’ve got to make the camera do what you want it to do,” said Bobby Wiggins, one of my friends — an accomplished photographer — said with my camera in his hands, with his frame hunched over my car window frame. I gingerly shook my head as my eyes widened with curiosity and intimidation as he pointed out the endless capabilities of my camera. “But at the end of the day, the best way for you to learn is to go out and shoot.” And that’s what I did.

“I won’t deny ya, I’m a straight rider, you don’t wanna f**k with me…” My eyes shot open. Then the sinister piano chord came in. I was hooked.

My spiritual journey has been a rollercoaster of sorts. The irony is while most of my family is deeply rooted in their respective spiritual walks, it has taken me a while to find my footing.

I like to think that when I was born, the nurse placed me in my mother’s arms and there I laid, nestled at her breast ever so comfortably. In my mind, I think about how my mother might’ve felt the first time she saw me; she saw all the hopes and dreams she had for my future....I was battling a serious bout of depression, which led me to be diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder. However, because I am a black woman in a society that doesn’t see me or the importance of mental health, it is very difficult to envision a future for myself.

I scan the dimly lit auditorium and see cream, beige and black congregants filling the auditorium with bellowing, yet energetic vigor. Young, married and old — all in unison. Another thing I notice as I look around — this place is lowkey packed. It isn’t just your handful of “ye faithfuls.” I have never seen anything like this before. Everyone on one accord, a semi-packed “sanctuary” and church members of all ages — sanging. Little did I know, there was more to this seemingly utopian worship experience.

I spend many nights reflecting on a sentiment I was taught since birth — never question God. As I meander into adulthood, my faith has truly begun to be tested. When I am struck by adversity, I impulsively rationalize if my God is even with me. But then I remind myself — never question God.