From The Desk of David

Growing up, I was always enamored with those who were in the “first,” to accomplish something. Take entrepreneur and businesswoman, Madam CJ Walker, the first black female millionaire through her successful line of hair care products. Or Amelia Earhart, the first female to fly across the Atlantic Ocean on her own. Or Thurgood Marshall, the first black man appointed to the Supreme Court of the United States. I’ve always loved these trailblazers and how is their rebellion towards societal norms led them to achieve in the title of “first.” I suppose another reason that I admire these “firsts” so much is that they didn’t care about the naysayers and those who said their accomplishments were nothing but some fantasy. Perhaps it was their courage that I admired. Their courageous spirit mixed with a healthy dose of rebellion, for them, their “firsts” were their artful middle finger to the world, and maybe that’s what I admired. But I guess I also admired that they didn’t seem to care that they were the firsts. It seemed as if their accomplishments were no grand deal. Yes, they were the firsts, but being the firsts were no big deal…or so it seemed. Maybe that’s what the history books forgot. History books turn what should have been worthy of parades and celebrations into footnotes and single sentences. The history books forgot, or maybe purposefully left out, the pain that was apart being the firsts. The history books ignored the hardships that come with being the firsts. I think the reason I always admired the Firsts is that they never saw anyone who looked like them doing the things they did before, and it was that feeling that I resonated with. You don’t see too many armless people doing what I do. And no, that’s not supposed to be a humblebrag, just a statement.

The pain showed its ugly but familiar head last night. He said with such a fatherly confidence that if you didn’t actually hear what he said, you would think it was good advice—but it was far from it. Simply put, he said I couldn’t be the first because I belonged to a community that had no place being involved in the field of ministry, and his words stung. They were a dagger to the heart. Was this how Thurgood Marshall felt, as he was walking up the stairs of the supreme court? Was this how Madam CJ Walker feel when standing in her community, trying to sell her products? Did Amelia Earhart feel this way when she was walking to her plane that final time and the men were questioning her fitness to fly? Is this the pain of being first?

They say the tension can be so palpable you can cut it with a knife. What happens when that tension is the knife? When attention is the thing that’s cutting you open and making you believe. It’s the source of your pain. He is worthy of all the praise, but sometimes, in this tension, it’s hard to find the notes to sing. Does this make me a bad child? Does this bring dishonor to his name? No. He doesn’t change. And he doesn’t fall off of his throne just because I’m in a mess, throwing a temper tantrum because it sucks. What he does is sit in the middle – right in the middle of the mess.

One of my nearest and dearest friends, once said, not everything is a beautifully summed up blog post. And I think this is one of those times. This writing shall come to no resolution. There’s no lesson to be learned. It all just sucks – pardon the crass language, but that’s just about the only thing that sums up what it feels like. It’s not fun sitting in the middle of tension. But it’s where I’m at. And the beauty of it all is He’s right there with me.

For His Glory,

David