Prayer: The Substance of Faith

I awoke this morning with a fickle faith. Thoughts congested my mind, nerves raged and confusion was my substitute breakfast.

Since late August, I've been wandering, trying to find my way in this vicious society. I never thought I'd find myself in this current state - unemployed, seemingly at a dead end. This morning a full-time reporting gig appeared to be a gloomy goal. Six years of journalism training was worth 15 cents.

But as doubt, discomfort and disappointment raged, I remembered to pray. Pray is my inheritance. My great-grandmother prayed, her mother prayed, my grandmother did so as well. From time to time I'll be in a conversation with my mother and she'll say, "I pray that God leads you to a job where you are happy." Me too.

Prayer is a meditation rooted in faith - the substance of things not seen and the evidence of that which is hoped for. I grew up in the church and I remember being a high school student, praying that God make a way for me to enter academia. After I graduated from college, I recall having another conversation with God. This time it was my wanting him/her to bless me with another opportunity. The blessing shocks me to this day. It was a full ride to complete my graduate studies at The University of Iowa.

Now I'm at a cross road. Lately I've felt as though God has abandoned me in my quest to be a newspaper reporter. So this morning in the midst of my confusion, I remembered to pray. And so I did.

I can't predict my future but I know God has something grand planned. When my faith is fickle, I remember to be still and think of my grandmother's words, "divine order, divine order, divine order."

Salaam,
E. Tanille

Wayward Cousins

I've spent the last 2 1/2 years of my life hustling against the odds. When you're black, no matter how talented or intellectually driven you may be, obtaining greatness is always a hustle.

I've matriculated through academia, missing family outings, burning the mid-night oil as I've tried to turn a dream into reality. As so many black and brown people are, I'm somewhat of a success token for family members who've been taken aback by my so-called genius.

It's all been hard work mixed with much prayer, sweat, pain, frustration and love. I call myself breaking a curse of ignorance. My ancestors couldn't help the fact that they lacked education. But my wayward cousins have consciously engaged in preposterous lifestyles unknown to me and others.

We all have delinquent family members whose actions serendipitously startle us. We ask ourselves, " How did so-and-so end up like that," or "Why does he/she partake in a lifestyle opposite that of their dedicated, hard-working parents?"

I ponder the answers to these questions as I analyze the psychological well-beings of my cousins. I won't mention their names but their stories are familiar: baby-daddy drama, their children are part of the growing statistic - born in a predominately single parent household, and the last characteristic -- "uneducated".

By no means am I saying I'm perfect. Had it not been for my loving relatives, I wouldn't be in my current position. Even the love from my cousins has sustained me during difficult times.

Still their inability to want more, to see beyond their noises, demeans the efforts of so many young, talented black and brown people. I pray that they wake up from their sleep-walking insomnia and as my aunt Charlotte says, "stop taking wooden nickels."

After all, so many have worked relentlessly to undo a curse that goes unrecognized by my wayward cousins.

Salaam.
E. Tanille