It happened at least once a month. There I was in my dreams fumbling through a basket of shoes, only to come up with one lone piece of footwear. After searching aimlessly, I never succeeded in finding a matching pair.
Unfortunately, my dream state was a hazy mirror for what was going on in my everyday reality. I had suffered multiple heartbreaks, including a job loss and the deaths of loved ones. I was directionless. Confused. Hopelessly broke. The proverbial crossroads were staring me in the face and all I could do was mope.
Then one night came a breakthrough. In a startling new dream, my beloved mother, Nellie, who had died of cancer a couple of years earlier sent me a sparkling box. Inside were two glowing, white, unbelievably high stilettos with fancy feathers on each side.
I gasped. A few weeks prior, I had awakened one morning to a sweet melody stirring within my soul. My apartment was quiet and yet the lyrics to an old Negro spiritual swam through my mind: “I don’t know what tomorrow’s gonna bring. It may be sunshine, then again it may be rain. But I do know I’m gonna make it after all.”
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I hastily found the Rance Allen gospel tune on the internet and sang along. Clearly, Allen’s passionate crooning and the flashy message from Nellie were signs. Through a curtain of tears, I smiled. Everything was going to be alright.
The next several years of my life were a blaze of determination and unwavering focus. I ignored the fact that unemployment benefits were being denied. I pretended not to see eviction notices. And whenever I accidentally heard a false rumor about me, my status, my whereabouts, I remained boldly oblivious.
I prayed. I visualized. I affirmed. And I strut around in the invisible “dream shoes” that had come special delivery from Nellie. Soon, sadness was flying out of the back door and I was clinging to a little word called faith, also known as “imani,” the final tenet of Kwanzaa and the one recognized on New Year’s Day. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, my mother was my angel guide, leading me through Nguzo Saba – all seven of the dynamic Kwanzaa principles.
I could feel her presence and, every now, and then I’d sense her whispers. From her perch high above, she was secretly prepping me for an adventure that would be like no other – the travels, the book deal, the interviews – and other unexpected triumphs of 2023. Indeed, it was a year of growth, gratitude and transformation.
That’s the reason I’m oversharing right now. I’m actually not one to look back. The past is the past, I always say. However, I also think it is important…no.. make that a responsibility to dredge up certain personal vignettes and string them into little trails that will help others along the way.
So tonight, as Kwanzaa comes to a close, I’d like to light a path for anyone seeking inspiration. I have absolutely no idea who you are. But I do KNOW you’re out there somewhere and you might need the same boost from beyond that my mother, Nellie, provided me.
You see, Nellie was like a Phoenix rising from the ashes. As a child, I witnessed her raising four children alone, stretching her pennies, losing both a son and a granddaughter and overcoming again and again. Perhaps, that’s one of the greatest lessons she passed on to me. Through her example, I learned that blue days are simply a foggy corridor and if you push yourself, the gloom will dissipate and you’ll rediscover your power.
You can’t do it if you’re engaged in disparaging self-talk, anger or fear. You must dig deep for your innate strength and cultivate positive beliefs — for they are the stuff shiny roads and glistening new shoes are made of. Talk to the spirits of those who walked before us. Call out their names and hail their contributions. Listen to the distant messages that often flit through the imagination while we sleep.
With that, I would like to call upon my closest ancestor, my mother, and invite her to join me in commemorating the final evening of lighting candles and pouring libations. In homage of the fortitude and compassion of the late Nellie Mae Crittendon, have a fruitful Kwanzaa ceremony, a blessed Rosh Hashanah and a Happy New Year! Welcome To 2024!
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