Two Men Named MOSES! – A Tribute

On Friday, November 9, 2012, our world came to a screeching halt with a not-so-simple message that our only brother fell asleep and never woke up.

The initial shock was replaced with a gripping fear for Mum and Dad: How would we tell them that their only son, a healthy man, would never again wake up to an earthly world!  To say we were heart-broken or devastated is a severe understatement.  It is with God's grace that we were able to feel the sun's heat even though we could not fully enjoy the beauty or smell the fragrance of the beautiful flowers that were being sent in his honor.

With each breath and each passing moment, we started to accept the reality that Mo was indeed gone to be with the God that he served so faithfully.  That realization helped us to replace the physical warmth of his voice and his presence with the many memories we have of him.  

You see, Mo was well accomplished in his personal and professional life, leading his beautiful family as impeccably as did his colleagues.  To his friends, he was Douggie or Douglas, the kind-hearted, easy going and faithful friend who was committed to living his life according to God’s will.  In professional circles, he was Dr. Carew, the people’s leader who treated you just as respectfully and with equal dignity whether you were in a business suit or in an apron.  To us, his family, he was our brother, the eldest of five children and an only son.  He was the most modest, soft-spoken, selfless, unassuming, and honorable person I knew.  This man was the closest to a perfect being I have ever known!  Mo epitomized the ideals of the men my sisters and I prayed that God would bless us with and even as an adult, I still revered him with an equal dose of awe and fear of living up to his expectations.  He was a man of few words, in sharp contrast to a father who was a man of many, many, many words.  Dad never met a person who he could not strike a conversation with.

In the months since he left us, Mo’s voice of reasoning was definitely missed as Dad’s angst to go home became more pronounced.  Over the last few years, we had been battling with Dad about his consistent and urgent desire to return to Sierra Leone.  All of us were determined to keep him in America.  Conference call after conference call, the tension continued to rise as Dad beat down every effort we made to keep him away from Sierra Leone.  These were some of the moments when I fully grasped the value of the gift that Mo was.

Dad was successful in unnerving all of us, except Mo.  I could never understand how Mo stayed calm and was always the voice of reason in contrast to us wanting to take up arms in coercing Dad to stay.  This was the same approach Mo took when we went to him for guidance, regardless of the situation.  To our chagrin, Mo proved over and over, that despite his love for us, he would not take sides with us in a dispute if we were wrong.  But, that’s not what big brothers do!  To Mo, that’s what a man of honor does and he was a man of honor.

Despite our adamant resistant to Dad's wish to go home, it really intensified in the last year.  He told us repeatedly that he did not want to die in a foreign land.  This desire strengthened with each loss he suffered over the last three years as he lost just about all of his remaining siblings and then his only son.  We tried every gimmick imaginable to delay him having his wish and finally, we reluctantly gave in.  Dad got to Sierra Leone on April 14, 2013.  He couldn't have been happier to march into Holy Trinity Church for Sunday services and go to family functions, and even funerals.  He was finally home, the place where his heart truly rests!

After Mo’s death, we were so focused on making sure Mum was ok, and failed to give equal attention to making sure Dad was as well.  As with everyone, we assumed that as a man, he would be fine.  Dad never recovered from the heartbreak of losing his only son so suddenly.  During his final days, we found out that he clutched Mo's picture and carried it around with him.  He had been telling us that he was ready to go see his son and had repeatedly said that his time was close.  When he went further to say that 2013 would not leave him on earth, I told him something I'd come to say to him often: "Satan doesn't want you and God is not ready for you."  Each time I said that, I was well aware that I was working hard to convince myself more than I was Dad.

On Wednesday, May 29, 2013, Dad, a devoted husband to Mum for 60 years, died peacefully in his sleep with none of us around.  The irony of this occurrence was not lost on us.  Our only brother, Moses Douglas Carew, Jr., just as the father he was named after, also left us peacefully in his sleep, with none of us around.  My greatest consolation comes from finding out that in his final hours, Dad made his peace with God and asked for God’s mercy.

There are two amazing final gifts from Dad that I will always be grateful for. All of us knew and never really opposed Dad's desire to be buried at Race Course Road Cemetery, in Freetown, as was customary with the Carew family.  He'd said he did not want to die in a foreign land and did not want to be transported home as cargo in a box.  While we fought so hard to resist his wish to return home, even convincing ourselves that he was being selfish and unreasonable, Dad was handing us a gift that was cloaked in his simple wish. He knew the exorbitant expenses we incurred to transport Mo and all of the hurdles we had to jump through to obtain clearances and make final decisions.  Dad was clear that he did not want us to endure that a second time.  Yet, we were too caught up in our selfish desires to have him stay away from home.  In realizing his wish, Dad saved us hours of grueling international conference calls, painstaking discussions to make decisions on the who, what, how, when and where of everything; dissecting bank accounts to cover what would have been another steep preparation and transportation price tag; and of course, the painful experience of having our Dad preserved, weighed, tagged, boxed and transported along with other cargo in the belly of a plane.  His wish was actually a gift to us.  What a final memory to have of Dad, knowing he was expressing his love for us even in the face of our resistance.

Secondly, Dad reiterated a lesson some of us inadvertently ignore: Listen to your intuition and never let anyone deter you from pursuing your goal; not even your loved ones. And, if at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again."  You see, it is clear to me now that Dad knew deep inside, that his purpose on earth had been fulfilled and he was holding on till he got home and put his "affairs in order".  For the first time, he drafted and shared his will with all of us in April.  He knew that his turn was pretty close to the front of the line.  His intuition, sixth sense, that nagging feeling, the voice in his head or whatever we want to call it, was compelling him to hold fast to his desire to get home right away.  Even in the ninth hour, when we tried to get him to go to The Gambia for "JUST" three months, he refused and said he needed to be home within the next two months.  He agreed to stay in Kenya so that he and Mum could celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary on April 8th, on the condition that he would take the next flight to Sierra Leone.  On April 14th, he went home and climbed the long steps to the house his hands built.  He was able to tend to his affairs and on the Sunday before he passed away, he told Mum that all of his papers where in the briefcase he always kept close.  Just six weeks after he made it home, Dad closed his eyes and slept through his final breath.

Upon learning of Dad’s death, my tears were not just an outward expression of the pain in my heart.  They were also tears of gratitude and a purging of my mixed emotions.  Our Dad was not a perfect man, but he was the perfect Dad that God selected just for us.  Whether he knew it or not, my memory of his final acts is a memory of a man who honorably looked out for his family even in his final days.  I am consoled by that.

In the midst of our pain, we are so thankful for God's amazing grace.  A year after Mo left us and six months after Dad did, we are still learning how to navigate between a healthy form of mourning, remembrance and celebration, and pick ourselves up to live life fully, sans two integral members of our family.   We may flow clumsily between heartfelt laughter and unstoppable tears, but we will press on.  Our smiles are becoming less fleeting, much warmer.  Our voices are getting less shaky, a little stronger.  The sun appears a bit brighter every day and we are starting to feel Mo's warmth and see his smile in the beautiful rays and laugh at the sound of Dad’s early morning whistling heard through the birds in the air.  It is a work in progress so please bear with us.  

An American author and speaker, Iyanla Vanzant, said:  "Life continues after death as long as you remember the warmth of another's smile, the gentleness of their touch, the meaning they brought to your life. In your remembrance of another, death cannot overtake life."  Dad and Mo are so alive in our thoughts; in our mind's eye; in our many pictures of them; in recalling moments of absolute seriousness and joy, as well as the humor we found in some of the most silly and unexpected moments.

The amazing show of love and support from friends and family worldwide continue to sustain us. To everyone, thank you for your support of our family, especially for Mum.  She is an amazing woman and such a pillar of strength!  She served our Dad well all his days and adored the apple of her eye, her beloved “Baby Mo”!  She was so proud of Mo and misses him dearly.  Mum reflects the perfect example of the ultimate wife and mother described in Proverbs 31 as Dad, her husband, praised her, saying: “Many wives have done nobly, but you excel them all.”  However, we all know that even the toughest pillars can be swayed by forceful winds so please keep Mum lifted.  There has to be a rainbow perched in the sky for us and we will welcome the calm it holds for our family until we are all reunited in Heaven.

~~Vic~~

A Mighty Iroko Tree has Fallen!

A mighty Iroko Tree has fallen!  I cannot adequately translate into words the devastation my family feels at the moment.  May 29, 2013, brought with it an unbelievable test for us as our Dad, a devoted husband to our Mum for 60 years, died peacefully in his sleep with none of us around.  The irony of this occurrence is not lost on us.  Our only brother who was also named Moses Douglas Carew, passed away 6 months ago, on November 9, 2012. As was the case with Dad, Mo died peacefully in his sleep, with none of us around.

Dad never recovered from the heartbreak of losing his only son so suddenly.  Our adopted sister who was with Dad, told us that last week, Dad clutched Mo's picture and carried it around with him just as they noticed that his feet were swollen.  He had been telling us that he was ready to go see his son and had repeatedly said that his time was close.  When he went even further to say that 2013 would not leave him on earth, I told him something I'd come to say to him often: "Satan doesn't want you and God is not ready for you."  Each time I said that, I was well aware that I was working hard to convince myself more than I was Dad.

In the midst of our pain, we are so thankful for God's amazing grace.  Yes, I have asked why, searching for some clue as to what God's sense of humor is with our family. However, I trust that He will be generous enough to bless us in an immeasurable way that will make our pain pale in comparison.

In November, as I looked at the invoice to prepare and transport my brother, I told Mr. Levett, the proprietor at the funeral home, that a poor person cannot afford to die.  Who would have thought that our family, with such deeply intertwined international roots, would be reminded of this again in just six months.  For as far back as I can remember, Dad woke us all up for family devotion at 6:00 am every Sunday morning, to our chagrin, and taught us the importance of faith.  So, my family is praying for our needs to be met as we make plant the physical remains of this Iroko Tree in the earth from whence it came. We are making plans to travel home next week, trusting that everything will fall in place and we will be able to make it safely to give Dad the honor he richly deserves on June 12th.

For quite a while, we had been adamantly resistant of Dad's wish to go home.  He had told us repeatedly that he did not want to die in a foreign land and wanted to go home.  This desire strengthened with each loss he suffered over the last three years, as he lost just about all of his siblings and then his only son.  It really intensified in the last year.  We tried every gimmick imaginable to delay him having his wish and finally, we reluctantly gave in.  Dad got home to Sierra Leone just 6 weeks ago. He couldn't have been happier to march into Holy Trinity Church for Sunday services and go to family functions and even funerals.  He was finally home, the place where his heart truly rests!

In closing, I would like to share with you two amazing final gifts from Dad. All of us knew and never really opposed Dad's desire to be buried at Race Course Cemetery, as was customary with the Carew family.  He'd said that he did not want to die in a foreign land and did not want to be transported home as cargo in a box.  While we fought so hard to resist his wish to return home, even convincing ourselves that he was being selfish and unreasonable, Dad was handing us a gift that was cloaked in his simple wish. He knew the exorbitant expenses we incurred to transport my brother and all of the hurdles we had to jump through to obtain clearances and make final decisions.  He was clear that he did not want to have us endure that a second time.  Yet, we were too caught up in our selfish desires to have him here with us.  In realizing his wish, Dad saved us hours of grueling international conference calls, painstaking discussions to make decisions on the who, what, how, when and where; dissecting bank accounts in the absence of insurance coverage for a non US citizen, to cover what would have been another preparation and transportation tag in excess of $20,000; and of course, the painful experience of having our Dad preserved, weighed, tagged, boxed and transported along with other common cargo in the belly of a plane.  His wish was actually a gift to us. What a final memory to have of Dad, knowing he was expressing his love for us even in the face of resistance.

Secondly, Dad reiterated a lesson some of us inadvertently ignore: Listen to your intuition and never let anyone deter you from pursuing your goal, not even your loved ones. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again."  You see, it is clear to me now that Dad knew deep inside, that his purpose on earth has been fulfilled and he was holding on till he got home and put his "affairs in order".  For the first time, he completed and shared his will with all of us in April.  He knew that his turn was pretty close to the front of the line.  His intuition, sixth sense, that nagging feeling, the voice in his head or whatever we want to call it, was compelling him to hold fast to his desire to get home right away.  Even in the ninth hour, when we tried to get him to go to The Gambia for "JUST" three months, he refused and said he needed to be home within the next two months.  He said he had to present a case in court and when we checked on it, no evidence of a court date existed.  Dad insisted he had to go to court within two months.  He agreed to stay in Kenya so that he and Mum could celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary on April 8th, on the condition that he take the next flight to Sierra Leone.  On April 14th, he went home and climbed the long stairs to the house his hands built.  He was able to tend to  his affairs and on Sunday, told Mum that all of his papers where in the briefcase he always kept close.  On Monday, Dad's feet had swollen up some more and his attempts to speak were only mumbles.  He was rushed to the hospital.  On Tuesday, he spoke in whispers and ate a bit.  At 1:15 PM Eastern Standard time on Wednesday, just six weeks after he made it home, Dad closed his eyes and slept through his final breath.  He made it in time for his ultimate court date that our physical eyes did not see.  My tears are not just an outward expression of the pain in my heart, they are tears of gratitude and a purging of my emotions.  My Dad was not a perfect man. but he was the perfect Dad that God selected just for me.  Whether he knew it or not, my memory of his final acts is a memory of a man who honorably looked out for his family even in his final days.  I am consoled by that.

To all of you, thank you for your support of my family, especially for Mum.  She is an amazing woman and such a pillar of strength!  She served my Dad all his days. Mum reflects the example of the ultimate wife and mother described in Proverbs 31 as Dad, her husband, praised her, saying: “Many daughters have done nobly, but you excel them all.”  However, we all know that even the toughest pillars can be swayed by forceful winds so please keep Mum lifted.

We welcome all of your prayers and your support through this storm. There has to be a rainbow perched in the sky for us and we will welcome the calm it holds for our family.

~~Vic~~

Silence is Deafening

 

"Silence: That space which is beyond speech and thoughts is silence.  Words arise from silence and thoughts disappear into silence."  ~~ Sirshree


As a little girl, Mum always told me I talked too much.  Dad convinced everyone that I could hold a conversation with a rock!  I guess being the youngest of five, I had to make sure I talked enough so that I could have my turn with everyone.

Back then, I could easily pour my heart out to my friends about any and everything.  Mum would tell me in very stern tones, "you don't have to tell everyone everything."  Little by little, I learned the importance of this from experience more so than I did from Mum's words of caution. 

I learned that once you share something with someone, it is out of your control.  People then have the power to do with it what they want. 

I learned that not everyone cares about what you have to say and what you share, and that's quite okay.

I learned that everyone who listens does so with a motive to either support you or arm themselves with content for their own separate conversations.

I learned that when you share with the intention of gaining support from those around you, you sometimes get misunderstood, dismissed or hurt.

I learned that I should be selective in who I share my thoughts with.  "If someone if willing to talk about someone else to you, they will be just as willing to talk about you to someone else."  How many times did I hear that?  Plenty!

I learned that integrity was paramount and should guide everything I say.  I recall Mum telling me never to share something that was not the truth because with everything I share, I should always be prepared to defend it as the truth that I was proud to share or be willing to defend it as the truth that I should not have shared, but never shame myself for sharing something that was a lie.

Fast forward to adulthood.  I still love to talk with just about anyone who is willing to listen...about generic things, that is.  I love to talk about things that are more personal to me, but only with those who are close to me and care enough to listen.  I am blessed to have a few safe spaces where I can be free to celebrate the complexity of my being. Through it all, I love to maintain my privacy to the point where people who I've known for decades still don't know what really makes me tick.

A couple of years ago, some of my  "friends" joined me to celebrate my birthday at my home.  At one point during the evening, it dawned on me that if each of them shared everything they knew about me, the collective story would be void of the true essence of my life experiences.

Life has taught me that the many lessons Mum and Dad were trying to teach are proven.  Life has taught me to be selective in what I share and with whom I share it.  Life has taught me the true value of integrity, especially my integrity.  Life has taught me the value and peace of being impeccable with my word.  Life helped me to discover a sacred thing called silence.  Life has taught me the powerful volume of silence.

I've come to accept silence as my shield.  Silence is that space where I go to just be; be with me, with my thoughts, with my ear open to the gentle whispers of my Father.  Silence safeguards against speaking out of turn and opening doors to my life that need not be open.  Silence preserves those things that are on a need-to-know basis that many people don't need to know.  Silence serves as my protective wall that offers protection akin to that which a tortoise is afforded when it retreats into its shell.  Silence is that place that I go where I can get the nurturing and time I need...from myself.  Silence is my place of refuge behind the walls.  Silence is that balm that soothes my vulnerable heart. Silence is a language that I have mastered, but that few speak.  Silence, is that deafening sound that says the trust has been eroded.

Today, I am Mum and Dad combined, cautioning my daughter who talks entirely too much.  Each time I open my mouth when she's been talking more than is necessary, I hear the voice of my parents passing on the lessons they taught me.  Through all of her years in school, I have said to her teachers, "you're right, she has the gift of gab".  As a little girl, she was so excited that she is human and "not a dog because people would have been upset that I am always barking."  That was her justification for being a chatterbox.  As the old southern folks would say, she got it honest.

My wish is that my daughter discovers the joy of silence as a gift to protect her from those who are not worthy of the details that give them undeserved access.  Simultaneously, I pray that life does not teach her to use silence as a shell to guard her heart because of hurt or the need to protect herself from the walls that broken trust can build.

If you listen intently, silence speaks in remarkably profound tones.  "Silence speaks when words can't."

~~Vic~~

Answering the Charge to Love

So many things come to mind when I think about love.  As I try to recount all of them, one of the primary things that hit me is the frequency with which I hear the word “love” or the combination of three very popular words, “I love you!”

All of us want to experience love in its most true, unabashed, wholesome form.  At some point in our lives, the quest for this experience takes us through all types of emotions, from exhilaration to unimaginable pain.   Our expectations of love have been shaped by the models of love we were exposed to.

At a recent event attended by men and women between the ages of 17 and 50, I listened intently to the varied, yet similar experiences being recounted across the room.  There was clearly a common theme in everything that was shared.  Each person just wants to be loved.  After a while, I gave in to my desire to remain silent, and instead challenged everyone to be forthright, at least with themselves, about what love really means.  What does love look like?  What does loving someone look like for you?  What does loving yourself look like? What does love really mean for each person?

Earlier today, I was on the phone with my childhood friend from across the world and our lengthy conversation prompted me to revisit the questions once again.  I have thought about those questions repeatedly and each time, I end up in the same place.  My Mum!

Whether it is motherly love, the love for a significant other, love of family, friends and strangers alike, or just an unbiased expression of love for any and everything, I often think of my Mum, the woman who first taught me about love by the way she lives her life.  I have to admit that I’ve told Mum, and many who would listen to my seditiousness, that God doesn’t make women like her anymore. 

I may not always agree with all of her demonstrations of love but I know, without reservation, that Mum is one of the most patient people I have ever known and she is a true personification of love.

When Dad found Mum, he truly found a good woman.  He found a godly woman, a virtuous woman, a true Proverbs 31 woman.  Even as they approach their 60th wedding anniversary in April 2013, Mum continues to demonstrate an unwavering level of love and support for Dad, sometimes to the chagrin of their children who are lovingly patient with him to a much lesser degree.

As I think of Mum and her example of love, I find myself thinking of a popular passage from I Corinthians that is recited at just about every wedding.   The same passage kept springing to mind each time I sat still enough to craft the responses to my own questions.  I embrace the opportunity to give and receive love freely, and experience the full benefit of this beautiful gift.  So, I have decided to personalize this passage and use it as a yard stick in my attempt to hold myself accountable.  Hopefully, this will encourage others to do the same.  

“I am patient and kind.”  I’m working on being more patient in my relationships. I am proud to say that being kind is effortless for me, especially with those I love.  The challenge comes from dealing with the fact that everyone does not operate from the same space I do, and may not always be willing to go the extra mile as I do.  My expectations for what is important to me and what I want are valid.  I also realize that it is quite okay that some of my expectations may be out of sync with the desires of my loved ones.  Being more patient would mean being intentional in how I reconcile what I expect with what they are willing to give, and figure if or how we can arrive at a compromise.

“I am not jealous or boastful or proud or rude.”   A relationship symbolizes a partnership, not a competition.  My genuine wish for those I love is for them to be happy and achieve all of their goals.  My commitment to making that happen never wavers, even if it means I have to excuse myself from their life.  Being jealous of a man I love, my family and my friends or being boastful of my achievements suggests there is competition.  That goes against what I believe partnerships should be.   Pride in our collective goals honors our partnerships and I am grateful to have had an example of a woman who is obedient to submitting to her husband as instructed, without shrinking in her abilities. 

“I do not demand my own way.”   I’ve always had a lack of tolerance for anyone who is passive and willing to give in to everything.  My desire is to create an environment that is both nurturing and supportive to those I love.  This includes prioritizing their needs while making sure mine do not go unmet.  I accept the challenge to consciously continue along this path and I’m thankful that Mum and Dad never allowed me to demand my own way. 

“I am not irritable, and I keep no record of when I have been wronged.”     

Being comfortable in my vulnerability doesn't come naturally for me.  When I feel hurt, experience betrayal or pain in an environment I feel is void of the support I need to heal, I often retreat into a protective shell.  My shell, or wall, may be masked by irritability or perceived anger.  Chipping through this shell is, too, a work in progress and each piece chiseled away offers an opportunity to move closer to experiencing the beauty of love.  This is where working in a true partnership helps.

“I am never glad about injustice but I rejoice whenever the truth wins out.”  Absolutely!  I am fiercely protective of those I love.  I have their back no matter what and I do not take kindly to them being treated unjustly.  Along those same lines, I have to be just in my dealings with those I love and I cherish the incalculable importance of honesty and truth.  The liberating power of truth and honesty cannot be understated. 

“I never give up, never lose faith, am always hopeful, and endure through every circumstance.”  I am a work in progress.  Giving up, losing faith and endurance through every circumstance comes easier when there is honesty, fairness and cooperation in a relationship.  The challenge to honor this comes from feeling slighted and dishonored by the very ones you are most vulnerable to in love.  In essence, this verse challenges me to dig deep and hold firm, as opposed to referring to my exit strategy in an effort to self-protect.  It inspires me to remain steadfast in addressing the things that may cause me to waver.

Ultimately, my desire is to experience love in its truest, purest form.   This requires a conscious effort to own this passage.  Personalizing it forces me to be present in my actions and how they affect my relationships.  Do my actions honor the one I love?  Do they contribute to the growth of my relationships or would it undermine the stability and security of my partner?  Do they reflect what my loved ones require in their personal growth, their mental, physical and emotional well-being?  Would it light up their eyes with a smile if they knew what I was doing, or light a ferocious fire that burns painfully through their hearts? 

Am I being patient and kind, or jealous, boastful, proud, rude and demanding?  Am I looking at the past to inspire the growth and health of my partnerships, or using it to be punitive?  Am I honest and truthful in my interactions, protecting the interest of the ones I love against all others, including myself?   Am I really thinking of giving up?

The wall has been lined for me with this measuring stick for a woman who intends to live and love honorably.  I accept the charge to work earnestly, one stair at a time, to straighten out the areas of this measuring stick that aren't quite aligned.  To paraphrase Toni Morrison, when the people I love walk into a room, do my eyes light up?

When I walk into a room, do your eyes light up?

~~Vic~~

Embarking on a Season of Gratitude

From every corner of Africa, to points all throughout the United States and the rest of the world, Christians are celebrating Ash Wednesday.  This holy day for Christians marks the start of Lent, and culminates with Christ's crucifixion and resurrection. 

Some approach this day with great reverence for what it signifies: the start of an intense period during which God's plan for our salvation is most evident.  Lent may present an opportunity for them to walk in spiritual consciousness, in appreciation for the unmatched sacrifice by the ultimate parent, our Almighty God.

Others who are not so spiritually connected, especially in the US, may look at this day as the day after Fat Tuesday, the end of Mardi Gras and a period that leads to Easter.  Easter's significance, in this case, may have a different resonance than the observance of Christ's resurrection.  Easter may be a day when all of the stores are closed; majority of America doesn't have to work and everyone gets dolled up in their finest to join their family at Big Momma's for dinner. 

For others yet, Ash Wednesday may start a period when they give something up; something that is considered a vice, a luxury.  Giving something up may be an outward demonstration of their sincerity in observing this holy period, to show appreciation for the 40 day period Jesus spent in prayer, fasting and reflection in the wilderness, in the midst of grueling temptations.

For me, Lent is a very special period that always reminds me of the importance of God's grace.  It reminds me of home, the place where I was introduced to the full realm of what the Bible means.  Home is the place where I was taught about the different seasons in the Bible: Pentecost, Advent, Septuagesima, Lent, etc.  It is the place where the foundation was laid for my belief in God.  Lent is the period which Dad said one should not indulge in anything remotely related to partying.

Lent represents a period of deep reflection.  A period of penance.  A time to abstain from material things that may interfere with one's spiritual growth. 

Lent is the period during which my birthday falls every year and so it always seems natural for me to approach it as an opportunity to reflect on the many blessings of my life's journey.  Celebrating my New Year, my birthday, is more important to me now than it's ever been before. 

Life has taught me that waking up in the morning is not a given.  I have learned that the little-big things I take for granted are indeed unique blessings that others crave.  The joys I celebrate and the challenges that strengthen me are not entitlements to which I am obligated.  With this in mind, I cannot think of a better time than this Ash Wednesday, to walk with intention in the spirit of gratitude for the next 40 days. 

Everyday comes with its own dose of challenges that sometimes make you cringe.  As we start this season of Lent, I am reminded of a very important lesson from my Grandmother, Ellen Cordelia Cole: Things could be so much better, but they could be significantly worse so be thankful for what you have.  Today, and for the remainder of these 40 days, I will celebrate those things for which I am especially thankful.

I could have the ultimate blessing in everything I do, and that would be awesome.  On the other hand, but for the grace of God, I could be in a position where I have nothing.  So, for the many things I am blessed with I say Thank You, Lord, for I am grateful.

And so starts a journey steeped in the humility of gratitude: Day One!

~~Vic~~

Divine Order! Everything Happens as it Should

I hold on to this belief firmly.  Some of us think we have to be involved in bringing about everything that happens in our lives.  That was my mode of operation before I was introduced to a quote from one of my favorite books, The Alchemist.  “The universe conspires in our favor.”

While having lunch with one of my mentors several years ago, she informed me that a colleague had been inquiring about me.   He’d asked questions about my character, personal and professional background, work ethic, business acumen.  I was surprised!  I knew the person, a vice president for the company were both of them worked.  I’d never given much thought to anything beyond interacting with him within professional boundaries.

As it turned out, plans were underway to replace the leader of a local organization.  Prospective replacements, including me, were being evaluated without our knowledge.  As we continued our conversation over lunch, my mentor reminded me that decisions were always being made and everyone needs an advocate who can represent their voice at the table. 

This message was reiterated several years later when I participated in a program for women in higher education administration.  I have never had aspirations to hold specific positions and my experience at HERS clarified my professional desires: to be in the circle of influence.  Last Thursday, I walked away from another visit with my mentor, smiling at how she had been positioned in places where I need an advocate.  Even in my absence, the universe still conspires in my favor.

In August 1997, a few weeks before Princess Diana’s tragic accident, I made a quick run to purchase items I needed for dinner the next evening.  Mum asked to join me for the drive across town but I assured her that waiting for her to get dressed would prevent me from getting to Georgetown Market on time.  She wasn’t too happy about my impatience but bid me safe travel.  Merely an hour later, Mum was standing over me in tears, as I lay in pain in a hospital emergency room.  After I left home, I was hit directly on the passenger side by a reckless driver.  What used to be the front passenger seat was now occupied by the mangled frame of the car and the dashboard rested squarely on my knees.  Mum would have been in that passenger seat but on that night, God’s divine order was in full effect.  The universe conspired in her favor.

Last week, I started working on a solution for a work-related issue.  I put things in motion for what seemed like the perfect solution to the problem.  Everything moved along very slowly and my schedule was jam packed with previously scheduled meetings.  My hope of solidifying all of the terms for the solution by January 31 quickly faded and late Friday night, it became clear that my sure-fire solution was not going to work.  I had to get back to the drawing board.

As I stood in line at the bank today, I received an email from a former employee.  It was clear that her account had been compromised.  I deleted the email and smiled calmly before placing a quick call to her.   She had been an excellent employee and one I knew could definitely provide the assistance I needed.  It turned out she is unemployed and in need of an opportunity. This was the solution I needed.  She had just learned that her account had been hacked but to me, it was divine order.  The universe had conspired in our favor.

We are so accustomed to doing things we believe will align all of our stars so that we can execute our perfectly laid out plans.  Life experiences, however, continue to teach me that everything will happen as it should.  Whether or not things happen the way we want, they happen as they should.

I am so grateful today for the lesson, especially because the universe conspired in favor of someone who woke up this morning and asked God to provide a means for her to take care of her son.  What she wasn’t even aware of was that God had already set in motion everything needed to answer her prayers.  I look back with gratitude at the automated out-of-office messages, the missed calls, the challenge coordinating calendars and the widely varied contractual terms I wrestled with all week.  I exited work mode last evening believing that I will identify a solution, and I did. 

I have been reminded once again that everything happens as it should.  Yes, the universe conspires in our favor.

Divine order!

~~Vic~~

Hugs Unlimited!

I had just stepped out of the shower, basking in the serenity of the soft music flowing through the air and the relaxing aroma from the candles strategically placed around my bathroom, when my Lil African walked in to say good night.  Without stopping to think, I draped my robe around me and bid my baby a good night, giving her the usual hug and planted a soft kiss squarely on her forehead.  She smiled contentedly, eyes closed. 

I turned to resume my leisurely moment just as she reached for my arm and said, "Mom, hug me again.  Please.  You feel so warm."

For what seemed like an eternity, I stood there and hugged my little girl tightly.  Now, this may seem like a simple mother-daughter hug but last night, it felt different.  I was fully present as I held my baby, letting the warmth between us convey how much I love her and celebrate the gift she is to me. 

We weren’t rushed by the urgency of a clock warning us of an impending deadline or the phone waiting to resume its function of transmitting voices through fiber-optic lines.  No, this was a special moment where a teenager – my teenager - who still needs her mommy's hug was honest enough to ask for and indulge in it.

I am a hugger!  I love to feel the warmth of my loved ones when we share a hug.  Hugs are a powerful way for us to relay messages that could be as personal and simple, as they could be loaded with unspoken, heartfelt messages.

A quick hug can let a stranger or a friend know I am happy to see them for the first time or reconnect after a break.  Sometimes, a firm hug that lingers may say “I really am happy to see you”; “Thank You”; “I appreciate you”; “I really don't want to leave”; “I miss you already.”

A simple "stolen" hug from the back could be a message of "I'll thank you later" or, well, a lot more.  A close, tight hug can say “I love you”; “I've missed you” or “I just want to feel you close to me”.  A light, yet tender hug could say “I've been looking forward to this quiet, tender moment with you, my love”.

The hug I shared with my baby last night transferred the warmth and love directly from a mother's heart to that of her little girl.  I felt like I had my little girl firmly within my grasp.  I felt her rhythmic breath silently saying “I love you, Mommy”.  The tight, lingering embrace carved a message of “Mom, please protect me and continue to hold me close to your heart”.  Her head on my chest and the look of contentment on her face told me that her ears heard my heart beat a message that she was safe with me and that she will always hold that special place.  For that forever moment, no one and nothing else existed in a world normally charged with unlimited activity.

Last night, I stopped for as long as necessary to use a powerful gift I have to send a message in a way that words could not express.  For that moment, time stopped as we reached deep within to convey an important message in a universal language.  That moment was just one in an infinite series waiting to be created over and over, with special people who can fully understand the unspoken language of hugs.

Here's the best part of it all:  there is no translation needed, no knowledge of morse codes, no currency necessary to barter, no prescription to be filled.  It is free of charge, available worldwide and it is not an endangered species.

So, if you've ever held back on dishing out hugs to those deserving, I hope I've reassured you that the supply is endless and the language universal.  You can thank me later...with a hug.

Not to worry, no prescription needed.

~~Vic~~

A Pinch of Salt and a Healthy Dash of Love

A simple text message that includes my baby’s request for dinner always warms my heart.  One of my absolute favorite things to do is cook!   I get such a kick out of being in my kitchen so much so that when I bought each of my homes, the first place I wanted to see was the kitchen.   It gives me so much joy to see my loved ones enjoying a meal I’ve prepared.  While some would look forward to getting home to kick their feet up at the end of a busy day, I bolt home to create magic in my kitchen. 

My special love affair with arranging ingredients together to create culinary masterpieces, started before I was even 10 years old.  Mum would have me by her side, adding different ingredients to the pot as she cooked.   This is one of the best gifts she has given me, bar none.  I paid close attention to the order in which everything was added and as any adventurous child would do, I wondered what would happen if I changed that order.   I longed for the day when I could figure that out.  Mum consistently did it all with such precision and tenderness, and I took special care to emulate that.   This was the highlight for me. 

As the youngest in the family, I had already seen my brother and sisters do their stint in the kitchen.  There were no canned goods or blenders, no measuring cups or scales, no gloves or easy buttons to simplify the process.  No, we did it all in the back yard, with tools that made you work every muscle in your body.  “Matta Odo en Matta Pensil” (mortar and pestle), “peppeh stone” (a large flat granite rock and a smaller one used to grind food to a pulp, by hand), fire stone (a three-stone outdoor fireplace, where you set a fire with freshly cut wood).    

Talk about cooking from scratch, this was it.  You went to the market to buy fresh ingredients daily and process them for your daily meals, by hand.  We had everything we needed, even that ‘thing” that made Mum know exactly how much of everything should use.  Her investment secured a place for all of her children among the league of great cooks.  Of course, I’m that confident!  Ask those who we’ve fed on a regular day or those special holidays where there is food beyond what a single table can cradle.

Once the creative fireside sessions were complete, the phase that posed a challenge for my young mind started.  Especially on holidays like Christmas and Easter, Mum would line up her fine dishes and baskets where she would lovingly heap scoop after scoop of food to be delivered to family, neighbors and friends.   My eyes would dejectedly follow each bowl out of the kitchen, on their journey to warm up someone else’s heart and belly.  I would frequently peek into the pot to monitor what was left for me.  Oh, and for the rest of my family too.  “Does she not realize that we have to eat too?  Why does she always do this?”

One day, when I could no longer bear the torment, I ventured to finally satisfy my burning curiosity.   “Mum, why do you always send the best portion of the food out to all of these people when you haven’t dished ours out yet?”   Mum didn’t skip a beat.  She knew my eyes were larger than my little stomach and she was sure her days of forcing me to sit still and finish the limited portion of food on my plate were still not behind me.  In the way only Mum would impart a lesson that carries you through life, she handed me another gem.  “When you give a gift to someone, you don’t save the best for yourself and give them what’s left over.  Always make sure you give from the heart and do it in a way that ensures you have enough left for yourself.”  At that point, all my young mind wanted to entertain was the assurance that there will be enough food left for me to enjoy.  That fireside lesson, however, makes so much more sense now and still guides me each time I serve food.

My love for cooking was such a big part of who I was as I grew up.  Imagine the disappointment I felt when, as a teenager, Mum objected to my desire to pursue a career in foods and nutrition.  But this was what I loved! 

“Why would you want to go to school to learn something you already do well?” 

They say mothers know best so despite my opposition to her logic, I defaulted to other things I enjoyed doing, but never shied away from my love for cooking.  What Mum knew then that I hadn’t even entertained, was that there was a fine line between a hobby and a chore. 

You see, I’ve never looked at cooking as something I “had” to do; as a chore.  I despise chores and could never associate cooking with doing chores.  Cooking was a favorite pastime that I enjoyed.   It compares to that natural high others get from shopping but for me, cooking trumps that any day.  Well, not unless we’re shopping for shoes.  As long as I did it because I wanted to, I would enjoy it.  The moment cooking became a job I had to do or a chore that was required, it would lose its excitement.  Mum knew her youngest child well enough to protect that special connection I had developed with cooking.

What is it about cooking, you ask?  Hmmm, all of it, I would say!  It is the thrill of creating something special each time I enter a kitchen.  It is that innate desire to make a wish come true when I ask my loved ones “what would you like to eat?”  I could very easily go into the kitchen and prepare what I want or think they should have, but there is something special about creating a meal that I know someone desires; their favorite dish; a dish they haven’t had in a while; something they’ve been craving; that special thing they may only be able to get from my kitchen.   It is the joy of effortlessly putting together a series of ingredients to unveil love on a plate, even if one of those ingredients is shellfish that I am both allergic to and have no desire for.  It is honoring a gift God has entrusted to me.

On a typical Saturday afternoon, my curtains would be drawn to let in the beautiful natural light; my front door and the door to the back patio would be open to let in soothing breeze; smooth reggae music would be blaring from the Music Choice channel on my TV, or the collection of my favorite reggae and African tunes; the air would be saturated with the sweet, inviting aroma of food wafting from my kitchen; and if you dare to peek in, you will find a thoroughly engaged me, wrapped in my “lappa” (wrap) and comfortable tank top, singing and swaying contentedly as I systematically add a pinch of salt, a sprinkle of herbs and a healthy dose of love to the dishes under creation.

So often, I get requests for my recipes.  Whether it is for rice sticks, salmon stew, curry shrimp, or jerk turkey, my response is always the same:  I don’t share my recipes but I will be happy to cook for you.  For the few people who I have ever shared a recipe or two with, I have heard the same thing: theirs doesn’t taste like mine.  But of course, all of my dishes include more than the listed ingredients.  How can anyone else add love like mine to a recipe?

No, I don’t eat much at all, to the chagrin of my loved ones.  My satisfaction that comes from serving my loves, my family and my friends from my kitchen feeds my body, fills my heart and nourishes my soul beyond description.  So, when you sink your teeth into the next bite of one of Vic’s creations, close your eyes and let your heart be flooded with the healthy dash of love in each spoonful. 

Indulge!  There’s plenty more where that came from.  Dinner is served!

~~Vic~~