Blind Faith;heart lessons at a rest stop

The kids look forward to our annual beach vacation all year. It’s an opportunity to get away from the day-to-day pressures and routine of school, home-life and chores and simply sleep, eat and play! I look forward to it as well. It’s the only week of the year that we are all home at the same time with no obligations and I am not the only one in the house they can go to for whatever they need. Here they have other adults and older cousins who can drive and are responsible enough to take them to the beach,the local recreation center or keep an eye on them at the house. It’s also a gift to spend quality time with my youngest brother, my god-daughter, nephews and their friends. So much laughter shared among us and I take the opportunity to inject some elder wisdom into our conversations when the subject permits. To have all of this goodness occur at the beach is the icing on the cake!

I plan and save all year. This year, right before our scheduled trip my largest client fell behind considerably on the payment of my monthly retainer. As a precaution I always keep a reserve in my savings but I reserve it for emergencies, and a vacation does not fall under that category. I thought for a minute about cancelling the beach trip but I knew how disappointed the kids would be and I was looking forward to and deserved a break before the school year began. I was angry and frustrated but I moved some money out of my savings, made sure the bills were paid and the fish was fed before I packed up the three of us, and prepared my mind for the six-hour drive ahead of me. Six hours with three anxious and excited kids, and I couldn’t stop worrying that this could be our last trip down here for a while. If my client couldn’t bounce back from their financial problems, could I manage until I found more work? I was supposed to be relaxing but I have to admit I was a little on edge and still wondering if I made the right choice to continue with the vacation.

At about the four-hour mark, my bladder insisted I pull over at the rest stop in Virginia. Stuckey’s is famous for their variety of nuts. Anything from fajita almonds to honey salt cashews; most travelers stop for their fresh pecans and peanuts. I walked in and was instantly reminded of my grandfather Jabez (Pop Pop we called him) known to bring a bag of fresh peanuts home every time he went south to visit his Southern Baptist church family. He grew up near Jimmy Carter’s family peanut farm and founded a Southern Baptist Church nearby Bainbridge, Georgia. I grabbed a few cans of cashews to snack on for the remainder of the trip, handed them to my daughter for safekeeping and hurried to the women’s bathroom.

When I came out of the bathroom my daughter had both cans and a piece of wood shaped like a heart in her hands. She smiled and began to say as if reading my mind “don’t ask Mommy, just buy it..you have to trust me.” I gave her a look that translated into “what are you up to now, Janai and how much is it going to cost me?” I asked her if she could at least tell me the price. She wasn’t sure and again she said “Mommy, just buy it.” My daughter has such a kind heart. She is always giving or creating something to give to a friend or family member, usually at my expense. I love her compassion but it sometimes comes with a high price tag. I finally gave in figuring it must be important to her and I could always return it if it’s too expensive.

Somehow the woman at the register figured out what she was doing because she didn’t say the name of the item, just the price and smiled behind me at Janai. I had to chuckle and was relieved that it was under three dollars and not another high-priced souvenir. When I turned around to go to the car she ran in front of me saying “just wait a minute Mom, I have to do something, just wait.” and shooed me to the passenger side of the car. I still hadn’t a clue what she was doing until she gave me permission to open my car door and reveal her gift. I saw this beautifully painted heart hanging from my rear view mirror with the words “Mom, you are a blessing”. I had to hold back the tears. It’s a special moment when you feel that your children understand all of the strain, struggle and sacrifice you have to go through to make their lives more joyful and take the time to show you how much you’re appreciated. It’s a rare moment and I had to sit there a moment and take it all in before I grabbed the wheel and continued to drive two more hours to our destination.

Later that evening, as I sat back on the balcony with a glass of wine enjoying the sounds of the crashing waves heard from the nearby beach and children’s laughter coming from the pool below I thought about that moment at the rest stop. Not only was my daughter being her sweet thoughtful self, but maybe she was also being used to send me a message from a higher source. I know that there are often times in my life where I am fearful of taking a step and doing something because I can’t see the outcome and I don’t know what lies ahead for me. I want to know what I’m getting into. I don’t trust what I don’t see. Then I’m reminded of one of my favorite anonymous quotes. “God’s gifts put man’s best dreams to shame”. The blessings I often blindly receive are such a powerful statement of love that I never know they are coming. And they are always much more than I could ever have thought to ask for.

This was yet another reminder to trust the process and have faith that something greater is going to be revealed to me. All I could see in my daughter’s hand was a piece of carved wood, but when she was ready to present me with my gift I found it to be more beautiful than I could have ever imagined!

September 5, 2016 3

Encouraging Young Writers in Philadelphia Today

My father loved to read and wrote a multitude of songs and essays yet published only one song in his lifetime. Today in his memory I am excited to be hosting a fundraiser for Philly Youth March and Voice4Justice. The event featuring Grammy Nominee Ursula Rucker and the extraordinarily musical Monica McIntyre begins today at 3pm at Alma Mater, 7165 Germantown Avenue in Philadelphia. The suggested donation is $10 and children are free! Please come and encourage our young writers. And prepare to be blown away by the collaborations and energy in the room.

Check out the Facebook event pageVoices for Justice Event for more details and I hope to see you there!

Peace and blessings and Happy Father’s day!

Toni Love #loveistheanswer

June 19, 2016 1

“Grief Waits” – Original Poetry by Toni Love

I read this original poem “Grief Waits” at The Collective All Artist Open Mic a few weeks ago at Rose Petals Cafe and Lounge and a few people asked me to post it. This was written a few weeks after my father transitioned, not for sympathy but to support the little girl inside yearning to tell her story. Not sure I’m finished with it, but here it is:

Grief Waits

She cries
Into makeup stained pillows when no one is awake
This single mother of two wants her own daddy back
But no time to be sad with taxi runs to baseball ballet and piano lessons
No chance to cry with the babies watching and counting on her strength
Even peaceful meditation is interrupted by children’s nightmares soaked in sadness
She greets the morning sun holding back the tears
Adorning sunglasses so the suburban moms don’t ask her “what’s wrong?” as she skips her child to school

Gotta make sure her offspring are happy and
Gotta make sure they keep up their grades and
Gotta keep their schedules consistent so they won’t feel the pain
Gotta keep a smile at the job and
Gotta search for the desire to
pay the bills, do the laundry and cook them a healthy meal

Gotta shield them from the rain

But who is taking care of the little girl who just lost her daddy
Who makes sure she eats and keeps the heaviness of her heart from sinking into the pit of her stomach
Who holds back her fear of the journey through life as an orphan and raising strong kids alone while the village is slowly disappearing
No grandfathers, no grandmothers, no great grands, no mother no father
No father

Who holds her at the end of the night when the kids are counting sheep and she can’t find enough energy to weep
Who takes her by the hand and lifts her off her feet to give her burdens a chance to sleep
Who says its gonna be okay and wipes her tears away
Maybe tomorrow will be a better day
Maybe then she’ll feel like going out to play
But not today

Because she’s tossed and turned all night
Living a nightmare until the first ray of daylight
Then its time to dab away the pain and push away the tears
Because its 7:15 and the school bus will soon be here
And no one wants salty tears in their lunchbox

Yet she rises once again meeting the morning with a smile
As grief waits behind every closed door

God Bless the Child

March 4, 2015 4

Memories of a War Veteran..I have not forgotten

I can hardly remember his smell, but I will never forget his smile. Even his face is fading in my memories, but his physical presence has left an inexplicable imprint on my heart. On this day of remembrance and honor for those who served our Country, we often think of those brave souls most who laid down their lives to keep us safe. We memorialize most those fallen soldiers who fought in wars and in countries far away and did not come home alive. Yet we don’t always think of those who came home from war and touched our soil physically complete, but mentally and spiritually deceased. I write about these fallen soldiers because I loved one..my Uncle Bay. His name was Robert Austin but his nick name was “Bay” so we grew up calling him Uncle Bay. He had a beautiful brown-skinned wife, my Aunt Barbara and she loved me as if I were her own daughter. She had a beautiful smile and contagious laugh and she and my mother grew close because they were both married to Austin men who also had a close bond. My father and Uncle Bay were both very charismatic and handsome men and were famous for the trouble they would get into when they would frequent the night clubs and speakeasy’s in Philly and South Jersey. For some reason I also took fondly to Uncle Bay. Maybe it was because I sensed his bravery, maybe because I knew how much my father loved him, or maybe it was because I knew he adored me, but I felt s special bond. I would see him whenever he came to our home or when we visited our grandparent’s and he always gave me a big hug, told me how pretty I was and like my dad would spoil me rotten. I was very young, not quite seven years old when I remember sitting, talking to him and he insisted on giving me a piece of his jewelry. I of course loved jewelry and the idea that he would want me to have what I thought was an expensive piece of jewelry it made me feel so adored. I chose a name bracelet that was not engraved, but had big beautiful silver links and I kept it safely tucked away in a box in my room.

It would be not even a year later that I would be told of my uncle’s passing. My Uncle was a Vietnam War Veteran. He was fortunate to be one of the ones to come home alive, but the person who left never really came home. He was sad, he was depressed, he struggled with the choices he was forced to make at war and never really felt comfortable in his skin when he came home. He was a walking casualty of war. I remember the newspaper article and feeling so angry that his precious life could be ended in a corner bar brawl. I was seven but I wanted to know where it happened and I didn’t feel right until I saw the place myself. I wanted to find someone to blame. I wanted my Uncle Bay back. I couldn’t wrap my head around it; how some strange person could have the right to take the life of a brave soul who served his country so easily and quickly. My uncle wanted to escape from himself and couldn’t wait for my dad to come to the house to pick him up so he went out on his own. My dad never got over the guilt and the anger. I am no longer angry because I understand that back then they often did not diagnose post traumatic stress disorder, nor provided the necessary help, especially to Veterans of color. I understand that Uncle Bay felt the only relief was to provoke someone to take him from this life. I understand that he is in a better place watching over me and my family. I understand that he did not choose to serve in Vietnam. I understand and because of that I have never forgotten.

I love you Uncle Bay. Happy Memorial Day!

May 26, 2014 3

A Snowbound, Single-Mom’s Prayer (Original Poetry)

A Snowbound, Single-Mom’s Prayer (Original Poetry).

January 22, 2014 0

Back to life…back to reality…

Well, today’ it’s back to school for the kids, and getting back to the mindset of prosperity, writing and productive work for me! This year was the first year that I stayed home with the kids for their entire winter break and did not schedule them for day camp at the Y or any other place. I thought that I deserved to have just one day to myself during their ten day break, but intuition told me to just enjoy them. Sometimes when I hear that voice that whispers to me to take time out for them, I can become fearful that I’m getting a message that something may happen to them or me and that is the reason we should cherish this time. But then I realize that sometimes it may just be their subconscious speaking to mine and they just need more mommy time. So, I made sure we had groceries and that the cable bill was paid and made no plans other than to attend a local Kwanzaa celebration and enjoy our family and friends during the holidays. We had a few impromptu yet fulfilling lunch and dinner gatherings with friends, some football, board games, reading, lots of movie time on the couch, a few pajama days and even some days that they were both not feeling well, and recovering. It was the first time that I purposely chose not to try and “use” the time to cram in every library, museum or other extra curricular event that looked exciting and intriguing during the holiday break. They both get so over-worked (in my opinion) at school that I wanted them to just do nothing for a change. Yes we may have put on a pound or two and the kids may be raddled due to the relaxed sleep schedules, but their bodies are healed, they got lots of love, snuggles, family time and cultural enrichment, and most of all a break from the day to day stress of school and extra-curricular activities.

They are not over-scheduled like many suburban kids I know of these days, but I do try to balance the lack

of gross motor activities in the schools with sports and dance and other physical recreation. Aside from the recreation, they both will be taking Mandarin Chinese this semester on Saturday mornings (my son is in his sixth year, and my daughter wants to do whatever her big brother does), so we have a few commitments but not excessive. I don’t do more than one sport in a season unless it’s swimming lessons, and unless they are with their father for the weekend, or beg me to see the latest Disney movie, we spend Friday and Sunday nights at home. Even energetic and/or brilliant kids need down time too. They need time to relax and release and not worry about time and schedules and assignments. And for this reason Friday nights at our house are sacred. They are almost always reserved for what the kids refer to as “movie night”. We get early showers, get in our pajamas, pull out the fleece blankets, search for a great family movie, pop some popcorn (or grab a bag from the Wawa) and head to the couch for snuggle time. It’s the most inexpensive way to treat them to a special night and after all of these years it’s still their favorite night of the week. They love it because they get uninterrupted quality time with me and I love it because I know there will soon be a day when Friday nights will be spent with a blanket, myself and a good book because they’ll be at the mall, going to a movie or a party with their friends. So for now, for reasons I don’t necessarily share with them, it’s my favorite night of the week too!

January 2, 2014 4

Why does being gifted sometimes feel more like a curse?

Janai getting comfortable with the piano at Suburban Music School

Here we go. Time for Parent/Teacher conferences, and once again I anticipate hearing the dreaded and extremely over-used words “we need to work more on focusing, and transitioning.” Ugh!! {deep breath} I have to meditate twice as long on days like this because I get so tired of trying to explain to teachers why my kids don’t fit inside their square box. “No, he/she is not like Johnny Appleseed because he/she is gifted/talented”. I get frustrated with the need to defend them and it sometimes gets exhausting trying to compensate for the enrichment that they are not getting in school because everything is so “standardized”. All of the intense focus on testing is torture for their little creative minds and it sends the message to them at an early age that the way they process information is not “normal”. Because of it, instead of teaching and it’s the teacher’s job to spend the rest of their elementary school days helping them to conform to the norm. It makes my skin crawl. But I digress…

Although I was identified gifted in middle school and the gene is reportedly transferred from the mother (though I often feel motherhood slowly reverses my intelligence), I still did not identify the traits in my son. I was told by my pediatrician that most two-year olds, especially male, cannot count to 30, recite the alphabet, and identify all shapes and colors. Really?? It was my first child, and I knew he was ahead of the doctor’s normal checklists, but those Baby Einstein commercials made me think all toddlers could read! Even still, after being tested, identified and accelerated, I was faced with the same comments by teachers who just didn’t get him. And it’s so frustrating for the child and the parent because we know there are so any resources out there and we don’t understand why the teachers aren’t educated about the pros and cons of being gifted and/or talented. He was in preschool reading chapter books and about to start on multiplication tables, yet the school’s director never thought to have him tested. Even more so she received a copy of his IQ test results, and never once mentioned them. She, the founder and Director of the school – an educator – never met with me to discuss their findings and never said another word about it. So, we left.

I am so thankful for the S.E.N.G. http://www.sengifted.org/Organization’s conferences on the Gifted, and the conference I attended on the education of blacks in suburban school districts, because they both armed me with the courage and information I needed to be his advocate and get him the support, effective teaching and curriculum that he deserved and needed. It took a few years of personal and academic success before his elementary school was convinced that acceleration could be effective, even with a male student. When he was admitted into his elementary school’s gifted program, he was the only African-American male in the entire school district who was identified gifted. That’s four elementary schools. How sad and intolerant… and a whole other blog post!

So here we are again. Now my daughter Janai could care less about reading or memorizing sight words, hasn’t been given an IQ test, nor exhibited any academically gifted tendencies (as of yet), but I do believe she has an extraordinarily creative mind and ear for music. James’ strength is visual, and hers is auditory. He has a photographic memory, and she has sensory gifts that even astound her new piano teacher. Janai has more energy than the Energizer bunny and it takes a lot of effort for her to have a full course at dinner without getting up to dance or taking a quick spin around her seat. She is constantly singing, and I am convinced that she hears music in her head most of the time. After all,my grandmother MaryBelle Bumbrey was a trained pianist, and her cousin is Grace Bumbrey http://www.musicianguide.com/biographies/1608000604/grace-bumbry.html , a world-renowned opera singer so it is quite possible.

The other night, after practicing at home to prepare for her piano lesson, she asked if she could play her own composition for me. After she was finished, I suggested she play it for her instructor later that evening, and she did. I adore him because he sees past her age and her occasional spins around the classroom, applauds her creativity, honors her musicality and is going to work with her to fine tune her piece and put it onto paper. After only five lessons, and not quite six years old, she is already attempting to write her own melodies. I don’t know about you but at that age I was making (and eating) mud pies with not a thought about composing music!

And all this from a kid who’s teacher thinks that we need to “work on focus”. Yet when I watch her at the piano, I see nothing but.

And yes I understand the concerns of the educators, the importance of structure, transitioning, and testing, etc. – well maybe not the testing – but I also believe that it’s the role of parents and educators alike to make sure that the two worlds meet. We both need to educate ourselves, seek out the resources that these young, gifted and talented beings need to embrace their truth and ensure that the gift and or talent is experienced as a joy and a pleasure rather than a burden and a curse. These beautiful souls have so much of their world to share with ours if we just let them be perfectly themselves.

How do you support yourself and your children in recognizing and embracing your/their gift(s)?

February 28, 2013 10

My inner child..

Sitting in the warm Fall sun, watching my five year old on the trampoline, I felt as though I were looking at my inner child. My children have had so many experiences in their childhood that I never had, and I just realized today how healing it has been for me to participate in their joy. I think of the excitement on their faces when I surprised them with a trip to the beach just before Labor Day weekend. They spent hours playing in the waves and making sandcastles and it forced me to release my inner child into the waves as well! I can’t ever remember experiencing the ocean first-hand or having the opportunity to play at the beach during my childhood. The tides have such strong energy and peace at the same time and it’s so important to me to have them connect with that.
I spent so much of my youth trying to be the perfect child, that I didn’t spend much time just getting caught up in the sheer joy, imagination, wonder and timelessness of childhood. So I am giving those things to myself now, disguised as motherhood.
Last week I went to a thrift store looking for a practical dresser for my daughter’s room. Sitting outside was a thirteen foot, round, never been used trampoline. Most this size go for $300 or more yet this was only $50 as part of an estate sale. Little Tonita said “get it, it’s going to be so much fun and I’ve never jumped on a trampoline!” The mother, Toni said ” but you really need the dresser – you didn’t come here for a trampoline!” So we compromised. I looked all over the store for a dresser. I didn’t find one that I liked. When I came back outside and no one had bought it, I told the cashier “I’ll take it. ”
My kids were so excited once we got it installed, that they have been on it every day, several times a day, and I love seeing the smiles and sheer freedom emanating from every bounce.
I haven’t been on it with them due to the weight restriction, but one day this week after the kids are all off to school and I have an hour before I need to go to work, my inner child will have her way. It’s never too late to experience joy. Who’s coming over to play?

September 24, 2012 2