Songs

These Three Words

(I Love You)

It’s been so long since I felt this way

maybe I  keep it to myself

It only takes three words to say just what I feel

though I dare not say even though my hearts foreal

my heart beats faster my hands begin to sweat

I get nervous when I try to admit it

how will he ever know if I never ever say

thee three word

it’s really what I feel I surrender to these three words

it’s really what I feel I surrender to these three words

These three word takes my breath away

I get nervous every time I try to say it

thee three word it’s really what I feel I surrender to these three words

it’s really what I feel I surrender to these three words

If my heart is broken who shall I blame

I’ve been hurt before so much pain

how do I trust somebody with my heart saying

I love you it’s just to hard

how will he ever know if I never take a chance on

saying these three word

it’s really what I feel I surrender to these three words

How Long

How many years has it been since I’ve seen you

How many month and how many days

How I long for your lips to touch my face

Since that day you up and left

How long must it be

How long will it take

How long must I wait

I’ve been cryin day and night for your arms to hold me tight

and for me to hear your voice would make me oh so happy

and to hold your warm hand in mine it would pass up the time

How long must it be

How long will it take

How long must I wait

Poems

The Illness Within

The myths the stigmas that society scorns

even family hates but this the way I was born

you mean to tell me this illness  is a sin

that maybe it’s somehow my fault that I’m a little twisted within

God made me they say He don’t make mistakes

so it’s people whose minds are really bent out of shape

be gentle be kind and try to understand

I was born like this it was not my plan

There are some that are more thrown off than others BUT wait!

some lie dormant til they come face to face with themselves the next morning

Jesus – A Holy Man

I know a man with holes in his hands

and with those hands he carries me

I know a man with holes in his hands

and with holy hands he set me free

I know a man with holes in his feet

and with those feet he walks with me

and with those holy feet he walked

on water and calmed the roaring sea

I know a man that was pieced in his side

hung his head and then died for me

I know Jesus I know Jesus

You step I step

You step I step, but we are not one yet.

You are not sure yet?

We went to a place are we there yet? are we here yet?

You step I step up in line not apart but not quite together yet not intertwined yet

not sewn together by our mindset

time stands unmoved til we touch hand and hand for a time yet

You step I step in line as one in time intertwined our minds our bodies but not yet

When we met we step, to step, to step, in time, in mind in body

sewn together by the All and All Father of time Yet

it’s just a journey all in my mind so step, step, step in line cause it’s just not time yet.

Along the way

Along the way
Along the way I gather
I pick up stuff
I drop off stuff
Along the way
I obtain information
I grow in wisdom I go
Along the way
I have no intention of getting there
Along the way is the destination
So I make sense of the journey
Along the way

Time and Space

Time has no end

Space has no be gin

Time and space

Like a ring of gold

Like a ring of fire

Without time

Matter takes space

Matters is time

Essays

Overcoming

Are we still singing the same old song: “We shall overcome…we shall overcome”? With the thought of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. turning over in his resting place. No, we are not there yet. It’s like pulling straws and finding out that one straw is smaller than the other—still not equal.

African American women face race and gender stereotypes every day, and the only way to handle that is to stand up for themselves and look to strong Black women in their communities as role models. If you are Black in this country, you can die. These are the words I shouted through a bullhorn in front of Tower City at an anti-police brutality rally after another Black child was killed because of the color of their skin. I am a Black woman, and I was angry. That’s what makes people protest—happy people don’t protest. But our Black woman is looked upon as always angry if she stands up for herself. That’s not true.

We have to be careful about how we walk, how we dress, and how we carry ourselves so as not to be labeled a Jezebel for looking too appealing to the opposite sex. Careful not to rally behind a white woman like Stephanie Tubbs Jones and appear to be a Mammy. She is sure to be called something other than what she really is—a strong Black woman.

Black women and girls haven’t escaped injustices, either. We need only think of the young girl in the Mall of America who was restrained by a security guard, the teenager in South Carolina who was thrown from her desk by a school resource officer, or the 13 Black women who testified against former Oklahoma City police officer Daniel Holtzclaw, who was convicted of rape.

We look to strong Black women in our community, bold enough to fight for our city and state, like former state senator Nina Turner, or Melissa V. Harris-Perry—writer, professor, and political commentator. Women like First Lady Michelle Obama, who brought class, style, and grace to the White House and still stayed true to her African American heritage. These are just a few of the women who have made an impact in African American communities across the country.

The social strata within the Black community have been divided into the haves and the have-nots. Some of us have been like the Jeffersons and were able to move on up. However, many uneducated Black people are left in poverty and crime-ridden neighborhoods. Those who can afford to move out of the inner city often do so, leaving behind their struggling poor—thus abandoning “lifting as we climb,” the motto of the National Association of Colored Women’s Clubs (NACWC).

Forty-five years later, W.E.B. Du Bois would lament that this call had been largely ignored. He worried aloud about the growing class divide within Black America and how the consequences of that divide might affect the task of “lifting as we climb,” describing the privilege and burden of the Black middle class to facilitate Black upward mobility.

The problem of income inequality, Dr. Wilson concludes, is not between Black America and White America, but between Black haves and have-nots—something we don’t often discuss in public in an era dominated by narratives of fear and failure, and the claim that racism impacts 42 million people in all the same ways.

If Michelle Obama could have a conversation with Coretta Scott King, what would it sound like? She might tell Mrs. King about the book that was displayed in a bookstore window depicting her as a monkey right after she became First Lady…still no change. Though many Americans wanted to believe President Obama’s election was a sign that the country had entered a “post-racial” era, the racist imagery associating the President with apes, or as a chicken-and-watermelon-eating coon, suggests otherwise. In fact, several public incidents have linked the proliferation of these images to elected officials in the Republican Party. One specific episode involving anti-Black monkey imagery happened in April 2011.

Mrs. Obama might say that despite having an African American President, his hands were tied because of racial bias in Congress…still no change. She might add that it’s more difficult for Black children to learn in school because they are being taught with limited resources—and that there are still racial divides in education due to economics…still no change.

Mrs. King might ask, “What about the housing situation?” There might be a pause, a sigh, and a tilt of Michelle’s head, because not much has changed. Black folks move into upper-class neighborhoods—if they can afford it—and ten years later, the white folks have gradually moved out. We do our best to help Pookie, the baby, and their cousins find a place to stay until they get on their feet. But we don’t know if they’re blasting music while sitting on the porch drinking wine and carrying on, making a ruckus. Well, that’s what they say. And there goes the neighborhood. Property values decline, more Black people can afford it, they move in, and it becomes a low-income housing community.

Then the First Lady would proudly say that healthcare is affordable to everyone thanks to her husband. However, Republicans are trying to repeal it—even though it’s helping so many African American families.

At last, African American history is being told. We had to dig up old bones in dusty closets to find the truth. You can see some of the history in the rosy, honey, chocolate, and coffee skin tones of our sisters and brothers. Not to mention our last names—Smith, Wilson, Clark, Wells, and Avery—handed down from slave owners generation after generation.

These were not our names—no! They took our names, but they could not take our spirit, because it can’t be contained. It must rise. You can see the proud stance of a people born of kings and queens—the royal families of African tribes. From a rich continent sieged by robbers of people’s lives, forever lost.

No matter how much white America shakes us up, tries to dilute or diminish our essence—remember: oil always rises to the top when it is still. We shall overcome. Not someday. No! We shall overcome every single day of our lives, never giving up, because we do rise. We rise out of whatever racially motivated, fear-driven action they might take. We have proven that we can withstand just about anything. After all, they only took the best—and out of that, only the strong ones survived the punitive voyage. So the truth is: we will rise, and rise, and continue to rise, for it is rooted in us to rise up out of adversity.

How Dual Diagnosis Affects Our Society

People who suffer from substance abuse and mental disorders have been hidden away and treated like misfits for a long time. Many people who have substance abuse and mental illnesses will end up in jail, mental institutions, or on the streets before they are properly diagnosed and get the individual help that they need. The term dual diagnosis defines  a person who suffers from both substance abuse and mental illness. There is still a stigma associated with people who suffer from substance abuse and mental disorders. One way to change our society’s view of people with dual diagnosis is to have more training for substance-abuse centers, mental health facilities, and healthcare providers. In addition, our society would benefit from education, public awareness, and more available funding for social services.

More training for mental health care providers is needed to assess and diagnose a client properly. There should be an assessment done to determine the nature of the substance abuse problem and address that issue first. Then after a three to four-month period, a second assessment should be done to determine if the client has a mental disorder. Many times substance abuse can resemble a mental illness, so it makes sense to do assessments separately. It is the responsibility of the provider to assess with caution to avoid a misdiagnosis. It is my opinion that both substance abuse and mental disorders are treated with a holistic approach which would be more beneficial to the client. Some substance abuse center turns clients away that have a more severe mental illness. This can be a challenge for clients to get clean and sober to get their mental illness dealt with. A client who is still using drugs cannot get a proper diagnosis from a mental health clinic. On the other hand, many mental health care providers are not trained in dealing with a person that has a drug or alcohol problem.

Therefore, the client is left without help or hope. This vicious cycle often time causes substance abusers with a mental illness to continue to use. It is common for dual diagnosis clients to be without food, clothes, shelter, income, and health insurance, and they are more likely to need some type of health care.

Healthcare for people without insurance is limited, and many times people with these problems just go to the emergency room to get care. Many are sick from being in unsafe and unclean environments. They have low self-esteem and many have lost hope and faith in the drug treatment facilities, mental health providers, and the healthcare system. If they do go to the hospital, which many of them do not, they leave in the same condition they came in there with. They have an untreated drug addiction and are mentally unstable.

Training should be mandatory for hospitals and healthcare providers. Medical doctors and nurses should be trained to detect whether or not a client has a drug problem. Moreover, there should be a collective effort by Substance abuse centers, mental health providers, and medical providers to help clients who can not help themselves.

So, why is there a stigma on people who are addicted to drugs and have a mental illness? Is it because they do not know how to help them or is it such a burden on our society that we would rather turn away from this disgraceful, shameful, ugly problem? After all, these are the people who commit crimes, display violent behavior, talk to themselves, smell bad, and walk the streets all day and all night. It is so unfortunate that our society is not aware of the truth about dual diagnosis. It can be managed with the proper help.

Education and public awareness are the key to this problem. Education and early diagnosis are vital and the sooner a person is properly diagnosed the better their chances are. Information should be provided to teachers, judges, law enforcement agencies and social service agencies. Our society ought to know that people do not choose to have a mental disorder and that it is a chemical imbalance in the brain. People with mental disorders usually discover drugs that make them feel better, and that is where a drug abuse problem can arise. Some people believe that it is the other way around. If you become addicted to drugs it can alter the chemicals in the brain and therefore cause a mental illness. Whatever the case may be treatment centers, hospitals, and mental health providers must get the proper training necessary to help clients that have a dual diagnosis. People need to know that help is there for them and they do not have to hide anymore. However, it will take education, public awareness, and government funding.

We have to let people in Congress know that funding for drug treatment centers, mental health providers, and social services is vital for the welfare of our society. People with bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and major depression accompanied by substance abuse issues need a combination of special services. However, federal funds are being cut instead of increased, yet our jails are overcrowded with people who need treatment for their substance abuse problems and medications for their mental disorders. Additionally, the same education and public awareness should be shared with our public officials and our congress, so that more funding will be available. In my opinion, we spend more money on social services that put Band-Aids on the problem rather than solve it.

Finally, it is clear that our society is affected by substance abuse and mental illness. It’s a strain on our social services and funding that is stretched thin. The jails and prisons are filled with people who are not receiving the proper care because of the lack of awareness. As we raise awareness of this problem more and more facilities will become more client-friendly, and our society will be more accepting of people who live with a dual diagnosis.

“Individuals with dual diagnosis need to be simultaneously detoxified and psychiatrically stabilized. Only then, after the client is abstinent, can an accurate diagnosis be established, and a treatment plan to treat both disorders is simultaneously developed. An assessment that is not comprehensive, that looks only at either substance abuse or mental illness will leave a client vulnerable to relapse due to the untreated” disorder.

Source: Terence T. Gorski.

Personal Interview

Mr. Homer Allen, Program Director of HUD Services

ABC Behavioral Health

4600 Samuell Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75228.

What are some of the problems mental health providers encounter?

Mr. Allen’s response

I believe that the problems that we encounter in mental health are how do we better provide the best possible medical care, treatment practical education, and provide reliable support to people with mental illnesses.

Who are the clients you serve?

Mr. Allen’s response:

At ABC we serve the homeless mentally ill adults of Dallas County who suffer from mental illnesses, like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and major depression. The majority of our clients live on the streets or in public shelters. And because the conditions may be accompanied by substance abuse we often use multiple interventions for total success.

What method of treatment does this facility use?

Mr. Allen’s Response:

Our treatment of clients includes the following:

Medication Management

Case Management is a valuable therapeutic and individual relationship that ensures better psychiatric rehabilitation and reliable service coordination.

Psychiatric Rehabilitation one to one professional care that begins with diagnosis and then plots the correct course to recovery.

Counseling

Vocational Services: Instructions on how to write a resume, go on interviews, and achieve long-term employment.

Supported Housing: A regulated program that helps with rent, furnishings, food, etc.

Nursing Services: An individual relationship to monitor and report physical condition and to improve bodily health.

What is the goal of treatment?

Mr. Allen’s Response:

Our goal at ABC is to teach clients to achieve genuine and lasting recovery, not just through counseling and medication, but by teaching them the skills that would enable them to manage their illnesses, become self-sufficient, and reach their full potential in all aspects of their lives. We teach clients to use their new skills to improve their lives, often without having to leave their home communities. We can refer clients to psychiatric hospitals, chemical dependency treatment facilities, and other health service providers. We accept clients who come to us on their initiative as well as those who are referred by family members and other professional service providers.

That concluded my interview with Mr. Allen.

Queen Esther a pioneer in the family

Queen Esther was a pioneer in the family: She became the owner and operator of her own business and president of the International Black Beauty Culture Association.

Many African American women worked in the fields picking cotton as Queen’s brothers and sisters did, but some were fortunate enough to work in the city doing day work. Queen was one of those women.

She had been born with a bad heart, and could not do the same work as her brother and sisters.

Even though Queen had a license to do hair it became apparent that there were more opportunities up North. So she joined the great migration from the southern to the northern parts of the country.

Queen was determined to work as a hairdresser in Cleveland, but she would have to go back to cosmetology school again.  She attended Erma Lee’s School of Cosmetology and went for her cosmetology and manager license for Ohio.

When she finished beauty school, she started working in a shop on the northeast side of the city.  She learned the tricks of the trade and became known for her unique styles, hair care, and hair coloring. She opened her shop.

She started marketing to grow her business, and she had listed her business in the city directory as Mrs. Queens Beauty Shop 2812 E. 79th.

She never drank, smoked, or gambled, but she was a shopaholic. She had a closet full of clothes some with the tag still attached.  She would say her addiction was buying things.

The hair business was great, so she spent money on whatever she desired.

She had a credit card with May Co and Sears & Roebucks, and she drove a brand new Cadillac.

This was a time “America started to rock with Allen Freed on the radio spinning a new style that included Negro artists like Chuck Berry, The Platters, and Stevie Wonder”.

Queen’s life was filled with work, her husband Jessie, her daughter Barbara, and William, who was now in the army. She had raised William like he was her son.

Her beauty shop was on the same street they lived on and was now listed in the phone book as Queen’s Beauty Lounge 1700 Crawford Rd On April 29, 1958, she was introduced to her third grandchild, Robin.

When the 1950s ended and the 1960s rolled in, the country was going through many changes; it seemed there were movements on every front,   the women’s movement, the civil rights movement, and the voter rights movement.

President Kennedy was assassinated in November 1963, and then came the death of his brother Bobby Kennedy, and the murder of civil rights leader, Martin Luther King.

Television was invented and everything was being tunneled into every living room that had one. The good news the bad news, I Love Lucy, and the Jackie Gleason Show.

She had finally found her dream home in the Heights, and she had a very prominent and successful beauty shop.  She and Jessie loved to entertain and travel around the country; one of her favorite places to go was Niagara Falls.

Unfortunately, Queen ended up in the hospital because of her bad heart, and eventually, she had to have surgery.

The beauty shop was sold, and Grannie, the nickname we gave her retired, but that did not stop her from doing other things that she wanted to do.

She knew full well that this could happen to her being sickly with a bad heart.

At one time Queen was learning how to play the guitar, and then she started making hats, but nothing stuck with her except the painting.

At one time Queen was learning how to play the guitar, and then she started making hats, but nothing stuck with her except the painting.

When her husband Jessie, realized that she was serious about it he turned the den into an art studio.  Jessie would do anything for Queen they had been married for about thirty years. He made cabinets and shelves for her paint and other equipment. He bought her watercolors, oil paint, canvases, drawing paper, frames, and an easel, everything she needed to be her best.

One of Queen’s art instructors encouraged her to enter her work in one of the senior citizen art gallery shows.  She seemed rejuvenated when she realized she had won first place in the show.  She was on a TV news story, and there was a write-up in the art section of the Golden Age Newspaper.  The articles read something like “From Hair Brush to Paint Brush”

Queen had a knack for making the family want more for themselves. She was a prime example of what a person could achieve if they had determination. Queen was a trailblazer, and she was not afraid to face life’s obstacles.

Arthur and Vannie Burkes would have been proud of their daughter, Queen. When Queen said good night, she left her husband behind, Every day he asked “Where is Queen”? And every day the answer was, Queen is dead.

Jessie would forget, and he would ask time and time again, and he would say “Where is Queen”? He had been suffering from dementia.  So, my sister Pam would simply tell him she went shopping.

About a year later Jessie got his wings and went shopping with his Queen. She was a pioneer of the family, she left a trail for the family to follow for many years to come.

Memoir: Real Life No Rehearsal

Memoir: Real Life No Rehearsal
I was born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio My mother raised four girls and one boy by herself. My brother and sisters and I were talented, so we were always auditioning for something, the school play, talent shows, modeling competitions. I was between 6 and 11 years old, I took vocal lessons, modern dance, and acting classes at the local community center. I was there at the center every day except for Sundays.

I remember my very first play, I was six years old, and my role was to portray a 99-year-old woman turning 100. It was a silent play. I pretended to sweep an old dusty floor as I mimicked what I thought a 99-year-old woman would do. It seemed like the small community center was big back then and the stage seemed so real. The neighborhood kids brought me, the 99-year-old woman a birthday cake and a small kitten as a gift. I had several roles during my short stay at the community center.

Then we moved to the east side of town, there were no community centers around. Things were completely different I did not have an outlet for my creative side. I didn’t have anyone to give me the applause I craved. I didn’t have a voice teacher or dance instructor to push me or tell me I was doing good no one to encourage me. I knew deep in my soul that I wanted to be in show business.

In my teenage years, I was in several singing groups and talent shows. I remember writing a song – I asked my mother if she would let me sing it to her – to get her opinion, she agreed reluctantly. I said “Ma you wanna hear the song I wrote? She said “Robin, I don’t have time
to… okay, go ahead but… Come on Ma it will only take a minute, just tell me if you like it. So, I started singing and when I was finished she didn’t say anything. “Did you like it?” I said. I will never forget she looked at me and said “Robin I don’t know how it’s supposed to sound”. “Okay, but did you like it? Did it sound good or bad?” Well, she never gave her opinion she never said good job, and she never gave me praise or encouragement.

By now, I had lost confidence in my ability to sing, dance, or act. I was in my late teens and early twenties when I pushed all those dreams aside. Then, when I was thirty-one years old I went to a play called The Wiz at the Palace Theater downtown Cleveland. The whole time the play was going on I felt as though it was me on stage. I had to find out if I was good enough to be up there on a real stage not like the one at the local community center.

I decided to take an acting class at the world-renowned Karamu House Performing Art Theater. The moment I walked into the Karamu House I could feel electricity – magnetism or maybe the word magic would describe it. I love my acting class and I even took a tap dancing class. This whole thing brought back my childhood memories and I was getting my confidence back again. My confidence was back and three weeks into the six-week acting class. I saw some postings for auditions on the bulletin board outside the main classroom. So, I said to my acting instructor, “I saw some auditions on the bulletin board”, she said, “yeah you should go for it”. “Should I wait until after the classes are over?” She said, “No honey this is what the classes have been preparing you for”. “You should audition every chance you get because you learn from it so, I would encourage you to do it”.
So, I did it! I auditioned for a play called Cross Roads. It was a musical, and I got the lead role.

The show was a success the cast got wonderful reviews and they mentioned my name. I told my mother about the play, I wanted her to come but she could never make it. Soon after that, I got cast in a play that got the Karamu House a lot of attention called Generations, a musical produced by Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee. The auditions were more intense this time and the people auditioning were way more experienced than I was. They had the headshot and resume’, but my instructor had told us to use these auditions to learn and grow. Even though I gave my mother several invitations to come she kept missing the shows. I had given up on the idea of her coming.

My friends came and applauded me and the other cast members were rooting me on they made me feel like I was just as good as they were at this acting thing. Suddenly, during scene three, on my second entry to the stage, as the light was going up, I could hear a commotion in the audience a woman had come into the theater late and was trying to find a seat in this packed house. I could hear her voice, excuse me… sorry…I am so sorry… excuse me… the ushers tried to keep the house quiet so that others would not be disturbed by the latecomers. However, I took a glimpse out there in the audience and I knew it was her, late, as usual, my mother. She finally swished by five or six people and then, took a seat in the third-row middle section. I could hear her fumbling around with her coat and purse.

Somehow, I was able to keep, myself in character and gave her my performance of a lifetime. This was the closing night the cast would carry out the ritual that all cast members had done over the years they would sign the great walls of the little cafe’, a small room with a minibar stocked with red and white wine and top-shelf beer and expensive bottled water. The cafe’ had a few tables and a couple of booths to sit in. The cafe’ is usually open during, dress rehearsal, opening night, and closing night. The walls of this cafe were covered with past cast members’ signatures. They would write the name of the play, the character they played, the date, and then their names. If you look at the walls carefully, you can see names you recognize from TV commercials, soap operas, and TV shows like Law and Order.

My mother sat at the bar and watched me climb up the ladder to sign my name, this time for Generations as Sahara Louise played by Robin DeFleice. I remember climbing down the ladder and sitting next to her at the bar, and she turned and looked at me and said. “Robin, as she shook her head in awe, girl you missed your calling”. That blew me away. After all these years I wasted waiting for her to praise and applaud me now she finally could see that maybe I could have been a star. I had waited for her approval. Why did I waste all those years waiting for her to tell me I was good enough? I’ve learned that if you have the passion to do something don’t waste time waiting for someone else to applaud you…when you can… and should applaud yourself.

Home Sweet Home

My Home Sweet Home

I was born and raised in the City of Cleveland where the unemployment rate skyrocketed to an all-time high. People were losing jobs in almost every industry. Companies were taking jobs out of the country. I got laid off from work four separate times and it became apparent that it was time to make a change. I decided to move to Texas, and that was one of the most adventurous experiences in my life.

There have been so many layoffs in my hometown of Cleveland. I have lost three jobs over the past five years. It seemed that the winters were getting colder each year. My mother had passed away and with no children of my own, I decided to do something courageous – move to a different part of the country. I learned everything I possibly could about Dallas, Texas. I researched the weather and the job market. I read the Dallas Morning News, checking out the classified section for work. I learned about their housing market, and where to go in the event I became homeless here.

Then I sold all my possessions with an Amtrak ticket in hand, about six hundred dollars to my name, and two suitcases of everything I owned. I left Cleveland and didn’t look back. Some of my friends thought I was crazy the others knew I had faith in God and that is what kept me. On my journey to Texas, I learned so many things about people, places and more important things about myself which had made an impression on that would last a lifetime. Still, this move to Texas was a bold and risky thing to do even dangerous at times, after all, I knew nothing of Texas not even a soul. I was armed with as much information as I could possibly, but no one could have prepared me for this reality. There were things here in Texas that could not be learned they could only be experienced.

I found the people to be friendly and polite. Although I had a hard time understanding what was being said at first because I wasn’t used to hearing southern accents. I felt so embarrassed saying “excuse me what did you say?” or “could you repeat that?” I used to the frosty, self-absorbed, impatience of the disadvantaged city of Cleveland, but here in Dallas, they seem to be more laid back, caring and tolerant of others, which was refreshing. On one occasion I attempted to walk somewhere because walking for me is no problem. I was told that the place I needed to go was up the street. Well in Cleveland up the street there is a few blocks within view, but here it’s a fifteen-minute drive in a car. Everything is so big wide and spread out here.

It was exciting to see restaurants all over the place that served every food you can imagine. There are things here that I would love to see. It would probably take a lifetime to see them all. I have been blown away by all the things this beautiful city has to offer. I don’t think I will ever return to Ohio to live – a visit occasionally, is good enough for me.
Traveling to a different city with new and exciting people with untapped avenues has been intriguing, enlightening, and an adventure to say the least. I found myself thinking why did it took so long for me to go and why here of all places. The answer came to me just as the decision to change my location came to me. I was just being led by God – it’s just that simple no one else but God could have to lead me, guided me, and protected me. Texas is my home now, my home sweet home.

I Got a Testimony: Don’t you?

I Got a Testimony: Don’t you?
On Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, I was there at the 6 pm service, and although there were not that many people who showed up, the ones that did come shared some powerful testimony about the things that God had blessed their lives with. But, as you witnessed, there was not much time to say it all or reflect on what God has truly done in my life. I, like many people, would have been there talking for hours about what God has done and is doing in their lives. I only got a chance to share what God has done recently, but for a person to understand, they would need to hear the whole story. After all, without my yesterdays of hell, I could not be so joyful about today.
You see, Pastor, the Lord brought me out of a life of prostitution, drugs, and alcohol addiction. I was in and out of jails and institutions. I was raised where dysfunction was normal. My mother tried to commit suicide and was diagnosed with bipolar. Both my siblings suffer from some mental disorders as well. I knew in this household I was bound to have something wrong with me. I never stopped calling on God. I never wanted to live my life this way. There was always God in me fighting little by little. I did not know how, but God would win if I let him. I asked God to help me, and He rescued me from drugs and alcohol in 1999, but I relapsed in 2005. When I relapsed, I went back on the streets again for about four months. It was a living hell. That’s when I found out that something was wrong with my mind too; I was diagnosed with bipolar.
Later in 2005, I joined St. Timothy with Pastor Williams, and the very first origination class was on tithing”. Pastor Williams said, Poor people and people in debt should be the first people to tithe.” What! I had never paid tithes, but he said to give it a try. Early in the month, I received a document (Robin vs. the company that was suing me) in the mail. I was five months away from filing bankruptcy, and that Sunday I paid my tithes, and I never saw another document from the company that was suing me again. It miraculously disappeared! God started blessing me because of my obedience and faith in Him through tithing. When I tithe, God stretches that money like a rubber band, and when I decide that I need the tithe for something else, that money seems to slip through my fingers like sand.
I got laid off from several jobs back-to-back. The economy was slowly going into a recession, and my mother had just passed away in 2007. I had just turned 50 years old and was on the brink of homelessness in the cold Cleveland winter, so I moved to Hot Texas in 2008. I moved to Texas with three suitcases and $650, no job, and no place to stay. However, I knew God was in Texas too… I knew that was where God wanted me to go. God kept me. I never went hungry or without a roof over my head and clothes on my back. He kept me. I was out of work but managed to get enough money that I could only explain as manna. In the form of money, it was God. I didn’t know a soul but made friends, and doors opened that could only again be explained to another believer. It had to be God who was making things possible for me. He made it possible for me to have a way to get around, a cell phone to call home, and a laptop and the Internet to stay connected with.
I came back to Cleveland in 2013 and bought a hooptie, no-air, gas-guzzler car, and I was grateful, but it was getting too scary to drive. All I said to the Lord was, “Father, I need a new car.” I was not expecting a brand-new car off the showroom floor. I was living in East Cleveland in an apartment, and it had become a dangerous place to live, and the conditions were poor. All I said was, “Father, I need to find myself a place to stay; you know what I need, Lord.” God is so good, because in December 2017, I moved into our family home, and, to top it off, my sister, a true believer in the Lord, remodeled it. I would have just settled for a decent apartment, but God made moves and deals for me that I would never have imagined. Look at God! I have been clean and sober now for 12 years. Pastor, I have peace of mind and joy. I know I was saved only by God’s grace and mercy. I am not only alive, but I am also all in one piece. I have been given a second chance. I would not have called on God if all was well, because I would not have had a reason. It was when I was looking down at the barrel of a shotgun, jumping out of a speeding car, or looking up at a judge that had my freedom in their hands. When you see me in the choir stand, joyfully praising Him – I was saved me from the gates of hell. I have a good reason to shout, clap, and sing, not just on Sunday, but everyday.

A One Act Play

A STAGE SCRIPT
WE SHALL OVERCOME
A One Act Play
By
Robin DeFleice
Revision November 2017
Copyright ©

CHARACTERS
LINDA, 13
ANTHONY, 14
GRANDMA, 62
GRANDPA, 65
VOICE
TIME
During Black History month 2016
PLACE
In the home of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson better known as grandpa and grandma
Setting
The kitchen, dining room and living room are all in an open space just separated by furniture. GRANDMA, 62 years old is where she is most of the time, in the kitchen cooking. Her husband GRANDPA, 65 married for over 30 years, is in the living room in his easy chair watching TV.

Scene I THE BOOK REPORT
[Alternate for External Directions]
(LINDA, 13 and her brother ANTHONY, 14 enters from outside and sits down at the dining room table with their heads in their hands.)
GRANDMA
What’s wrong with you all?

LINDA
We got a lot of homework to do don’t we Tony…
ANTHONY
Yeah! All the classes in the whole school…
GRANDPA
The whole school…
ANTHONY
The whole school is having a contest for the best book report on black history. I got to find some black person to write about.
GRANDPA
That should be easy since this whole month is black history month. You all are out of school next Monday for Martin Luther King Day right?
GRANDMA
I will have dinner ready by the time Y’all get back from the center for the Martin Luther King day event.
LINDA
The first prize is $250.00 and I’m going to win…I’m going to write about Maya Angelo

ANTHONY
yeah right… that’s what you think…I’m going to win…because I’m going to write about the three ladies that got John Glenn into space… the ones they call the human computers.
GRANDPA
Why did it take them all this time to give credit and recognition to them black women… this is 2016 and we just found out about this… John Glenn knew about them and so did Obama, the first black president he know about them Obama Knew about them didn’t he?
(lights fade to dark)
Scene II RETURN FROM MLK EVENT
(lights come up on the door as the family enters the home Grandma is in the kitchen cooking and cleaning).
ANTHONY
I had fun at the community center, Grandpa, I learned a whole lot about black people today.

GRANDPA
Yeah, I’m glad you did. What about you Lin? They got a black history program coming on TV later on me and Grandma going to watch… Y’all need to see it might help you with that report you writing for school. Have y’all started on that yet?…
GRANDMA
Is there a second prize winner for the best book report?
LINDA
$150 and the third prize is $50…Anthony can win one of those prizes (she laughs)
ANTHONY
Yeah right you watch, GRANDPA she’s all talk no action. I got A’s in English class and history…You the one winning the 2nd or 3rd prize (he laughs).

GRANDPA
The history you got an “A” in their history their books don’t tell the whole truth. It’s a lot of stuff missing and a lot of stuff they just plain lied about. They have been lying to our entire race and we are used to it.
(Lights go down)
Scene III BLACK HISTORY PROGRAMING
(Lights come up)
GRANDPA
You all come on in here the program is on. (The family all huddle around the TV).
(The show begins to show clips of the civil rights marches, and protests and riots, all in Black and white. The close up of Martin Luther King as he starts his “I have a Dream” speech.)
(On the TV you hear singers singing) we shall overcome…we shall overcome.
THE FAMILY IS FROZEN IN PLACE AND A PERSON IS IN SILHOUETTE AND SPEAKS AS THE VOICE.
VOICE
I say to you today my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow I still have a dream Yes it is a dream deeply rooted in the American.
(The programing is interrupted the screen is now in full color)
VOICE
BREAKING NEWS: we interrupt this broadcast to tell our viewers that there has been a not guilty verdict in the killing of an unarmed black man by police. Riots have broken out all across the county in major cities, and people are protesting and marches are scheduled everywhere. We’ll have more on the 11:00 news. Now we will resume Black History programing)
(On the TV you hear singers singing) we shall overcome…we shall overcome…
Voice
Are we still singing that same old song we shall overcome… Shall we overcome 50 years later? Yeah, we finally got our first black president, but still no change. Maya Angelo says Still I rise, still, I rise, rise, rise.
At last, the African American History is being told we had to dig up old bones, in dusty old closets to find the truth. You can see some of our history in the rosy, honey, chocolate, and coffee skin tones of our sisters and brothers. Our last names of slave owners handed down from generation to generation like, Smith, Wilson, Jefferson, Washington, and Gates. These were not our names no! They took our names, but they could not take our spirit because it can’t be contained it too must rise up.
Look at us if you dare you can see the proud stance of a people that were born of kings and queens – the royal families of African tribes. That rich continent that was siege by robbers of people’s lives forever lost. No matter how much white American shake…shake…shake us up a land of black people; remember oil always rises to the top when it is left still.
We shall overcome not someday no! We shall overcome every single day of our lives never giving up because we do rise. We rise out of whatever racial fear driven action they might take; we have proven that we can withstand just about anything. After all, they only took the best, and out of that only the strong ones survived the punitive voyage. So the truth is we will rise, and rise, and continue, to rise for it is rooted in us to rise up out of adversity.

THE END