I went to eight o’clock service one Sunday so I could have the rest of the day to rest. As I came down the street, I caught a glance of a group of women through my one good rearview mirror. The left one was knocked off by a big rig, and I never bothered getting it fixed. That’s one thing about being broken. I had learned to adapt to the things that no longer functioned. Didn’t think twice about actually getting them fixed. I proceeded to move forward with my daily task, but their voices began to carry, and I realized they were arguing. Instantly my spirit was stirred. One of the women was in her car, while the other two jumped out as the argument escalated. There were so many curse words being exchanged that it was hard to discern what the bickering was about. What was clear, however, was that two of the young women seemed to be in agreement and the third was on the outskirts. The women were beginning to cause a scene. As I proceeded to turn my car around, I began to think about relationships.
I thought back to a time when I was struggling with communication. I was trapped inside myself and did not know the way out. I was frustrated with everyone around me because not only could they not show me the way, but they also didn’t seem to be aware or concerned that they were trapped as well. No words to say; hitting dead ends on the inside, looking at dysfunction all around me resulted in explosions. Not right, but real. I got a reputation for being short-tempered, bold, and rude. Quick to fight. Quick to react. Quick to demolish with my words, eyes, and intentions. How do you say, “I need help,” “I’m hurt,” or “I’m afraid” to a tribe who does not speak spiritual language? Frustration.
“Hey, sis, what’s going on?”
I rolled down my window and abruptly cut in, attempting to break up the confrontation. Two of the women were walking down the street by this point, and one turned her head only to yell
“Ask her what’s going on!’
I turned my attention to the driver. Her eyes were full of tears and face frowned up.
Her eyes were familiar.
Heroine with a bruised ego.
Frustrated, panicked, lost, and locked inside herself.
“Hey, sis….”
Before the sentence could completely leave my lips, the African tan-skinned sister went in on her rant.
“Sis, I was on my way to church and they asked me to pick them up, and then they started tripping with me about some stuff that happened a few weeks ago….”
Her words faded to the background as I focused on the pain and passion as she spoke.
She was fighting with herself, fighting with the truth.
“Go to church.” My voice was calm, almost a whisper.
The softness of my speech caused the young woman to stop directly in mid rant. Her eyes got wide and she locked into mine.
“Whatever happened, let it go. They’re no longer in your car. That’s your car, right?”
She nodded her head in silence.
“Okay, so they got out of your car. You have the resources, you have the means to get to where you need to go. Go there.”
The young woman looked at me relieved and thanked me as she drove off.
I said a silent prayer for her. I prayed that she would make it to church. I recalled the scripture about Moses seeing the two Hebrews fighting and attempting to break them up.
The internal conflict going on tends to manifest in the natural world. We are spiritual beings, but if we don’t feed our spirits then they are dead. There is an entire piece of us that is dead. Unable to function to our full potential, we become bogged down with the cares of this world, the cares of our peers. We make our beds in a world of confusion and distractions. Trapped. That day I realized that everything up until the point that I had survived wasn’t for me. It was for the young people coming behind me. I was twenty-eight years old.