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Textual Healing Session #3: Death

During Session #3 of Textual Healing, the journaling workshop that I’m facilitating for teens at the New Haven Public Library on Saturdays, we discussed our experiences with death of family members and friends. This particular week, there happened to be more staff members present than students, but it was still a heartfelt and deep session that I think was healing for everyone present. I shared what it was like to watch my grandmother’s one-year journey towards death after her Stage 4 cancer diagnosis. Others shared what it was like to lose their own family members unexpectedly. One participant even shared a story and analysis about death that took place in one of her favorite movies.…

Back to Basics

This website was down for about a month or so because I failed to renew the domain in time. A failure to click a few buttons turned into a $80 hassle and also caused me to have to pull in web designers and all of this crap. Ugh! I didn’t mention it because I was a little embarrassed and mad at myself for being a bit irresponsible with something I claim is so important to me. Although I got the website back up with help from a small group of people, including my dad, (thanks Kevin James Hunt), I felt totally convicted in church on Sunday when Pastor Danny Bland was talking about assignments that God has called us to complete.…

Really Bad Cooking

Last night, my dinner exploded in my face. I grilled yellow squash. I made two twice-baked potatoes – one for me and one for my partner. (LOL. I’m using this term as you recommended from my other story “Your Baby is a Bastard.”) I marinated chicken in italian dressing, and then I baked it. Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep. The timer on the stove went off. I grabbed the black oven mitts out of the cabinet under the sink, then I opened the oven door. I cringed as the heat from the gut of the oven blew in my face. I pulled the pyrex pan, with chicken in it, out of the oven and placed it on the stove.…

Keeping Up with the Jameses

Me, during my dance school days. Many people know God as a savior, a king and a healer, but He’s also a hitman. He did a job for me once. I met Storm James at my dance school. She was 6 years-old; I was 8.  It was her first day, and she was afraid to go into her classroom. I took her hand. “Let’s go,” I said, marching her into her first ballet class.  This was back in 1990, when no one could touch MC Hammer; when girls wore biker shorts and bamboo earrings; when the dopest 20-something year-olds drove fluorescent-colored Jeep Wranglers with “boomin systems,” like LL Cool J rapped about.…