Panorama @anthonyforrest - Tumblr Blog

Diverse City

I think I’m in a traffic jam on the road to Diverse City. Well, I’ve got time to sit and consider some of the drivers. I don’t know them all. So, of course, I won’t be able to tell their stories, let alone their thoughts. I’m just thinking out loud. On my Tumblr.

Right off, I notice that their are some drivers that only came this way out of curiosity. They don’t treasure Diverse. Or at least they’re not familiar. But they did read Webster’s definition of diversity. And they sure do like that description. Maybe Diverse City is a place for them. What’s the harm in going to see? They’ve been hearing from some friends that it’s not hard to get there, either. It doesn’t take much effort. Sometimes it’s just a podcast away. It’s been down the road all along; they just hadn’t ever heard of it.

So they hop on the road. What they didn’t anticipate is the large amount of folks who are also wanting to go and see this magical place. Some of them plan on moving there.

The highway is crowded. Very crowded. But everyone seems to know that you don’t want to NOT have been to Diverse City. Even though they would rather turn around, and they definitely eye every exit that they pass, they wouldn’t dare do that. What will they say when their friends ask how it was? Diversit...oops - Diverse City has a lot of visitors, and even citizens, that aren’t really fans. They couldn’t leave soon enough. Honestly, though, no one of them is gonna say that to anyone. That won’t help their reputation. And nothing is more important in their city than image and reputation. I assume.

It’s not that they hate it. There’s the one part of it that reminds them of home. They love that neighborhood. Living there wouldn’t be so bad. It’s almost like that part of the City was made just for them. They could live there and not even have to deal with Diverse City and still be in the fastest-growing city in America. Hmm.

Some of the folks on the road to Diverse City didn’t get in the car out of curiosity. They’re convinced. They don’t know what Webster’s Dictionary says about diversity. But they know that they’re welcomed there. Diverse City is the place for them. The real harm for them is not going there. They’re fine with the traffic. Everything valuable they know comes with a steep price. If patience is what it takes, they don’t mind waiting in this crowd. And they can see some of the benefit already. The traffic is getting lighter ‘cause some of the cars are getting off on the exits on the way. It can almost be said that it’s good for them. They gladly give a respectful nod to the caravans that sincerely bow out, no longer giving in to the pressure to visit or live in Diverse City. That’s a good thing! Who wants another waitress that isn’t glad to see you, principal that only loves some of the students, committee that will never be committed to Diverse City? Another Five Guys that wouldn’t dare open up in your area? There are plenty of places someone like these could be.

It’s not that these convinced people hate the curious. There are just those parts of them that remind the convinced of home. They grimace from time in those neighborhoods. Living here is so good. It’s almost like this city was made just for them. They can live here and take pride in being a real person of Diverse City, and its growth does nothing but enhance their lives.

Diverse loves its people. All of them. It’s why some have found home there that never had home before. Even some of the curious get in their cars daily in their new homes as the newly convinced. They belong here. The drivers on the road to Diverse City that were lost and almost out of gas wound up in the most beautiful place they’ve ever seen. The joyriders now walk around with joy. Racists race to their former foes, when they almost decided to stop in neighboring towns. This place is special. And it’s odd. Traffic doesn’t jam up here. It grows its people. They somehow, through really living here and choosing to be here, become more patient with the others. But they also speed up for others. Slow cars stay in the right lane!

Nobody ever forgets that the road here was their road here. It came from somewhere. They know that all roads don’t lead to Diverse City. But they definitely hope that the roads that so many people are on do.

I Don’t Feel No Ways Tired

Rev. James Cleveland used to sing a song that echoed from the living room of my folks house. “I Don’t Feel No Ways Tired”.

It was always a faint sound from my bedroom. It’s gripping how it always engulfed me, though, as I walked closer to the living room. I needed that and didn’t even know it.

As I sit and fight against all that is running around in my mind - how I want to walk into the nearest factory and just apply for a job, or how quickly I’ve lately been buckled from watching the comforts of other folks - I need that strong, rasp of Dr. Cleveland’s voice to sing louder and louder. That walk down that hallway was much more appointed than I could have known.

I thank God for seminary and the depth of soul-touching experience I have had. I should have been gone. But I’m not. I should have been ordained. But I’m not. Hardest time of my life. The reasons seem sometimes like words that evaporate into the air way before they hit the ears of listeners. I’ve stopped talking about them. Anyway, we almost can’t afford for me to keep pursuing either.

All avenues of my life really feel like failing. Strong feelings of failing. I am not just talking about internally. I can see that feeling in the eyes of people. I can hear it in their tones. I can almost smell it in the room.

(I won’t go into it. But I have, I think, a real gift from God that entails perception and “people skills”, as some would call it. My mom used to say it’d be my gift and curse. Well. If I know anything about the standards that have been formed in some of the circles I roam in, I know that a person is seldomly allowed to speak of their gifts so confidently. It’s okay if others know you’re gifted a certain way. But you better NOT say you are. So I just have to go along as if I don’t notice what I notice when people try to hide their feelings of my failing. Maybe I’ll save that for another post, though. Maybe I’ll speak to how much I think honesty - real, wise, temperate honesty - could benefit us.)

For now, I’m just begging for more trust for God. From God. I know this is not all in vain. Even when it feels like despair is staring at me through a scope, and that blurry silhouette has brightened to reveal me in the crosshairs.

“I’ve come too far from where I started from. Nobody told me that the road would be easy. I don’t believe He brought me this far to leave me.”

Our Update

First things first. I am slowly feeling freed! Free from the depression that has, for a sizable while, held me by the throat. Coming out of the tunnel. A tunnel can be a beautiful thing - bright spots of light, road markers as guides, short. But sometimes long and winding, dark, narrowing and enclosing, teasing. Oh, man. I’ve been through more than I ever thought possible spiritually, mentally, and physically.

Enough of that. I have never felt more protected. I walked into our “living room” this morning and looked on the wall:

“The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous man runs into it and is safe.”

In Christ I live. Man. God.

My family. So much I could say, but I do not plan on crying right now. This journey we’ve been on- These folks are jewels. And the end of this part is here. We are moving soon, but there is a lot that is in that. And I want to speak to some of my people... I told y’all I would update you back when.

So, let me do this. Please call me, email me, message me. Meet with me. I need to let you know where we are in this pilgrimage. And we, no doubt, can use your help. Some of this is best shared in a less-open space.

I’ll say this, though. We can use all the financial love and furniture that can be offered.

Come on now! You didn’t think I was gonna put it all right here.

[email protected]

This is My Moment

What is that?

Is it another health scare - am I experiencing another sham heart attack? Is it the piercing sarcasm of another “Are you done with school?” Maybe it’s the echoes in my dreams of all of those encouraging words from the near past, dashing against a wall of brick-and-mortar doubt...

All of these thoughts. All these noises. I’ve read about it all. But... we all know that people can exaggerate. Folks embellish. Well. This isn’t one of those times.

(Just knowing that I am writing in this however-year-old Tumblr account, and that is indicative of how odd life has been of late. But I wanna eject as much of this as possible from my head and heart.)

I have struggled mightily before. Numerous times. I remember my sixth-grade teacher, Mrs. Patricia Roberts, telling me that I just didn’t fit. She told me why - because I asked. I won’t tell you! Struggle. And I remember her telling me that the most important moment of my life “was coming”. I waited and waited. I was 12. I forgot I was waiting. Then, like a perfectly-timed boulder, it hit around 2014. Right in my teeth. And everything was in this unannounced smack. I could taste uncertainty, time, fear, blame, race, hope, blood. Everything. What??

I scrambled to understand what the Lord could possibly be doing. I couldn’t understand. Struggle. I mean, I could run my bleeding mouth all day and come up with some sort of velvet, people-pleasing and ear-tingling babble about how all of these things met in this amazing way to give me a beautiful, “sweet” fellowship with God. But I’ve never been a fan of lying. I couldn’t understand. But I had to keep my mask on. So I did.

For months I performed. Skillfully. What a lot of people around me have never known is I studied comedians when I was younger. And I got decent. They were some of the most gifted people! I devoted myself to what I saw in them: keep lightheartedness at all times, even if you have to fake it or laugh through the fiercest torment.

This was my moment. That most important time Mrs. Roberts mentioned was now. And I’d waited for something like 22 years. Struggle. And you know what it brought me, at the height of my life and dreams? Confusion. Anxiety. Stress. Depression. Because... somehow... I didn’t fit exactly. In the most promising position I’d ever dreamt of, I accidentally fell into isolation. Every category people used, every “type” around me, all the variety I was hearing about and thinking of seemed to exclude me in some crucial way. I didn’t fit. I thought of my daughter and the heaviness she knows - from the real life distance, how those who look most like her are less like her than they look, and how those who are more like her in their thinking are less like her than they think. Me, too, baby girl.

What is that?

Am I crazy? Does this prescription really help? Is this “medicine” affecting my memory? I wonder what percent of my focus I’m at right now. I need to focus. Struggle. I have stuff to do. I’ve got a family! People are counting on me.

This is my moment. This is many of my moments. Sometimes this is most of my moments. Is this momentary? It’s been four years.

Pray for me.