Pillow Talk ~ Song Edition

I went home for Mother's Day which means I got to go to church. I was spiritually reared at The Church Without Walls in Houston, TX. Think black-Baptist-mega-church and you are probably on the right track. Amazingly gifted and charismatic preacher, hats, suits and high heels and of course a killer choir. These folks can SAAANG. When I go home I am immersed in gospel worship. It is food to my soul. It's like cake and cold milk, hot salty french fries dipped in BBQ sauce and ranch or the crispy burnt cheesy edge of mac & cheese casserole...its just too good. I go home and I get my "black church" experience and I don't hold back.

One old but not antiquated black church tradition is the antiphonal form of worship fondly known as Dr. Watts. It was created by this guy...

Ironic right? 

He was  born in England in 1674 and is a legend in black churches  everywhere.

God must have a sense of humor.

Anyways...singing "Dr. Watts" sounds like this... 

Last night our pillow-talk topic was my day of worship back home. I told James my dreams of joining a community gospel choir just so I can indulge my appetite weekly. I listed off the songs we sang in church with pure delight. I paused and looked over at him watching me talk. He turned his head, smiled slyly, opened his mouth and sang...

And he sang every.last.word. His melismas were effortless. His inflections were precise. I thought I was back home. He never ceases to amaze me..my white husband from Moody,TX.

Two words won't cut it

I have reached a new age of discovery. My mom is right about most things (probably everything but I'm still learning, baby-steps). We talk or text every.single.day. which is the source my pops jealousy. I will call his phone and he may answer, "Hold on. I'll get your mother." On this side of 30...matriculated, ministering and  married; I get it, now and my cup runneth over with "thanks you's". The letters break away because they cannot contain the fullness of this gratuitous phrase.

How cute and gorgeous is she?!

Now don't take her for quiet and passive. That would be your first mistake. This woman was raised on the snowy South-side of Chi-town, Cicero, LaClair's Court; "Beauty" was not it's name. Her sweet face and small waist with ponytails sweeping her thighs as she sat in her classes, unassuming, kind. She is the child of the church, First Church, to be exact. First Church of Deliverance was her sanctuary and she was the princess of this parish. Sweet Mattye B. Thornton with the voice of an angel and the face and demeanor to match. She would never tell a soul how hard times where at home. The roar of her belly often ignored, she protected the plight of her parents and their flock of five. Complaining was not her modus opperendei.

Lil Mattye B. didn't know that at 19 she would become a  nurse who specialized in rehabilitating soldiers who lost themselves on the battlefield. Hers is the voice that soothed my dad's disquieted soul. 43 years later and my father still tears up when he thinks of how she saved him. What a wife she is! I witnessed it and I have no reason for hyperbole. This is a woman who cherishes, values and esteems her man both privately and publicly. She loves him like a schoolboy loves cake. I have never heard one ill-epithet escape her lips. Not once. Not even in jest. I never heard them yell at one another in anger. She was a porter of peace. Her faith, a harbinger of hope for our family. And her character isn't a was-ness, it is an is-ness even after all these years. I wonder, how much sleep did she forfeit to costumes, math problems, pillow-talk and chronic pain? How many times did she budget herself right out of the picture? Countless I'm sure. If you ask her, I owe her nothing. And, unfortunately, there is no reciprocity for Mattye B.

A classic beaut. A humorist. An intercessor. A sports enthusiast. She is the muse for Phylicia...she is my Claire Hanks-Huxtable cooking a 3 course meal after a 16 hour shift with neither a frown or a yawn. See what I mean? My "thank you" has been put to shame...utterly defeated. She is my mom. She is my very best friend and she is so more than the world will ever know her to be.

I know...still cute. She is such a hottie.

"Storage Wars" & Cereal

You think that when you get married all of the dark places of your lover's personality will finally come to light. This is what friends will tell you. It's the stuff Cosmo articles and Dear Abby's are made of. You may even believe, nay, hope, that they will wake up each morning realizing how grateful they are to have you. Not True. Thanks to my mom and personal marriage Sherpa I am in love with my husband but not blindly. He is human and I am not perfect (saying it until I believe it ;-)). So with this knowledge in mind I anticipated bad-breathed, crusty-eyed morningtides for the both of us. I know there will continue to be days where we would rather be left alone but not by ourselves. When we would want presence without a cuddle & conversation. I know that he won't love every meal I cook even though he raves about my culinary skills (which are aplenty). I am learning, much to my chagrin, often times guys just want a giant bowl of cereal no matter what satiating vittles are on the menu. What is becoming more clear is that after I have said, "it's ok, I'm fine" one too many times and the day's tension has coalesced it is not his sinful nature that I have to worry about; it is my own.

We had a premarital exercise which I remember in part. At one point we had to write down what we felt our more wanton tendencies were. I knew the answer. 

"I can be prideful, stubborn and manipulative." 

I answered quickly as to besmirch my own name before anyone else could...then I became very proud of myself for being so self-aware and even more impressed with my own self-awareness (I need Jesus, I know). I thought, James is so lucky to be marrying such a self-aware and honest woman and that should make up for all the crap he will have to endure. 

As I follow Christ I am called to move beyond the pride of confession into a LIFE of repentance, a constant turning around in the small secret moments of my everyday. So even when crusty-eyed James rolls over on the wrong side of the bed wanting to eat an abysmal bowl of cereal, alone (with me) in a room while watching "Swamp Monsters on the Hunt for Bigfoot Storage Wars" I must move past self-awareness to action. This is the everyday stuff of marriage that you fuss about in the moment and laugh about the next day wondering how your underwear got wound so tightly. It's these times of in-consequence when my evil doppelganger drops in to assert herself. She has no other name...she's Mo. She is the one I have to deal with...not James. This is not an exercise in self-deprecation, no. I mean, I'm awesome. Rather it is the (time-consuming but this-will-only-sting-for-a-minute) sanctification process. Pride must be deflated, stubbornness tamed and motives redirected in these lighter times so that holiness, love and humility can be tended to and strengthened for the heavier times. 

So all that to say, the profound marital lesson that I have learned thus far, ladies.

  Let your husbands watch River Monsters and eat cereal. It'll make them happy and it's less work for you.

Pillow Talk

With one of my coiled up curls wrapped around his index finger, James looks at me and says,

 "Why in the world would you ever want to change this?" 

One of my favorite things about being married is the sweet intimacy of "pillow talk".  The hour just before bed is my favorite time. Our pillow chat topic de jour (that night) was my hair. My hair caused me so much anxiety leading up to our wedding day because it is such a integral part of my identity as a black woman. When we finally lived together, what would James think of me when I brush out my curls unleashing the fro-beast from its cage? Would he cringe at the smell of my flat iron or question my obsession with trying new products? I secretly love my curls but I never felt confidant enough to wear my hair curly until recently. I just thought others would think I look like the clown from "It". I don't rock fros. I am not particularly ethno-centric but I wanted/want to love the exact way God made me.

Ask James anything you can think about black hair/hair care and products and he knows what's up. He went through Chris Rock's School of "Good Hair" and keeps tabs on the latest products and techniques to keep my mane moisture-rich and manageable. He knows that I wear my hair natural but occasionally I like to flat-iron it. He knows that, in my vernacular, perms and relaxers both straighten hair. He fully comprehends the importance of using grapeseed oil rather than olive oil. Most importantly, he isn't confused or grossed out if I don't wash my hair everyday. He is a Hair-Extraordinaire, folks.The brother knows hair. Black hair. My hair. What I don't think he knows is just how much that means to me and just how greatly his interest in my personal pilus paradigm shift shapes my confidence. 

So he says, to me, "Why would you ever want to change this?"..."this" beautifully wild mane of free-flowing, unpredictable, superfluous spirals..."this" brown (and um, gray) mix of wavy wonder? And he means it...and he says it all the time because he really gets excited when my hair is natural...when I am just who I am...And I had no answer but I thought to myself, "I don't know why I ever did and I will never want to again".

When Moody met Houston

We are turning into each other, James and I...black and white make gray and there are sooooo many gray areas in our colorful interracial confabulations. Race just wasn't a constant area of contention as we grew as friends and fell in love; not by happenstance but with great intention. LISTEN & LEARN don't feel the need to TEACH or as my mom would say, "just shut up". We are not offensive or crude but we definitely are not very PC around each other. Ain't nobody got time for that (seriously). We tease and are honest about some of our misconceptions. Common convo's in our home start with, "Ok, don't be offended but do black/white folks really...?" Outsiders beware, it's hard to understand.


Hot Buttons...push with caution and forethought 
Race and politics ~ seriously when is that ever a fun discussion?In the beginning we chose to stay away from certain issues until our love and respect had matured and now such things are not a big deal at all. We fought about Obama a few times...yup Obama (yes, for obvious reasons)...He has absolutely nada to do with this relationship but he sure came up a lot. If Barack and Michelle aren't up until 2 a.m. clawing over our policies and ethics then we shouldn't be up over theirs. We decided to be more politically aware together and allow space for our mutual racial backgrounds to inform our perspective. Ok...and people, this actually worked! We are far from being politically-minded but now we can at least have a conjecture-free convo.


Slavery ~ slavery and discrimination, puts you in a cuddling mood, right? This may sound silly but all true. I had to remind myself that I have never been called the "n" word or been directly blatantly discriminated against (through I am sure its happened more de facto than I'll ever know). Also, I had to keep in mind that James, though white, never owned a plantation since he was born in 1981 and all, hello. Can I mention that it is hard to explain discrimination & white privilege when I grew up in Wimbledon Estates, have a Master's from Baylor U and I worked as a chaplain there for 3 years?


We would get heated because I needed to memorialize the oppression of all my people and James needed to break the oppressive generalizations of his. I was amazed at how quickly these latent emotions would surface.

My advice for other mixed-up folks: get some mixed-up friends. They will keep you laughing at what may initially offend you. Next bit of advice: relax and be patient.


When Moody, TX  met Houston, TX a myriad of hilarity began. James has gone from "Hank Hill" to "Cleveland Brown" in the course of one year (those are cartoons). He now knows more gospel and gospel rap than I do; no lie. I listen to Waco 100 *(country hits) every morning...music has been magical in drawing us closer. He sometimes will learn to play R&B songs on his guitar or even his banjo (you heard me right).


I think God delights in diversity, not division but diversity. James and I saw, early on, the blessing and tangible example of reconciliation in our relationship...and Boyz II Men doesn't sound half bad on the banjo.

But my dad is black...

James *le sigh* is my husband of, wait for it, 2.5 months. I pretty much have this marriage thing in the bag and under control. Actually, that would probably make for a really boring existence at the ripe age of 31. James and I are figuring "it" out. This marriage thing is one thing but this mixed up thang is an entirely other. When my dear friend told me that she met my future husband and he was white I laughed in her face (over the phone). The mere notion of me, a strong, proud black woman marrying outside of my race was insulting and ridiculous. Here is the reason...I love my dad... Really. I think my dad is awesome. He is madly in love with mom. He is a proud Marine from the south side of Chi-town. He is a world-traveled, respected entrepreneur He is smart, driven, so kind. He is Cliff Huxtable incarnate (you catch my drift). To top it all off he is black, dark black, unmistakenly Afro-American. Sun-kissed and then some. To fantasize of someone as my husband whose hue left much to be imagined felt dishonoring, disrespectful and I wouldn't do it...that was until after I spent 5 minutes with James. I called my dad after our 2nd date...

"Heeeeeey Scoot!" (that's how he always answers the phone and then he starts singing, "Heeeey good lookin, whaaaaatcha got cookin?...")

"Dad, I met a guy. I like him a lot. I think that he is really special and he treats me like I hung the moon."

my father uttered the sweetest reply...

"Well, he should because you did."

I said, "One more thing; he's white."

"Heeeeey some of my favorite friends (really he said partners or pahdnahs (think old school jive) are white."

and that was that...

Race wasn't/isn't an issue except that it was and still is. James and I both forgot that we weren't the same but there is no such thing as color-blindness so as much as we forget we were reminded. We have learned to listen and learn and love the fact that we aren't color blind. This man, this wonderful man sees me in all of my brownness and he loves every bit of it. I have never felt more like myself because I have never had to be more authentically me before I decided to let James in and let him love me. 

My dad when he first saw me in my wedding dress...I told you, he's adorable.

I married this wonderful man, duh.