Tried, But Not Worn

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

I’ve been a bit nostalgic lately. I don’t know if it is a part of the aging process or a result of witnessing in this country what I read about in textbooks growing up, but I find myself being flooded with memories. Perhaps it is divine instruction from the ancestors to recall and embrace strategy for maneuvering unprecedented times perhaps to us but not unfamiliar to our lineage. Whichever the case, while driving home from an author’s event at our church where I served as a panelist, a classic Milton Brunson and the Thompson Community Singers song came on the radio. In my spirit, I pulled off the side of the highway and had me a good ole praise break; but in the natural, I embraced every tear while driving and worshipped the “I’ve tried Him and I know Him, God!”

In the words of Sophia on the Golden Girls, “picture this, 1993.” I was in graduate school at Clark Atlanta University. My mother was adamantly opposed to my move from Chicago to Atlanta. I was fearless and undeterred by her concern. My cousin, Jeannie (aka Martha) elected to drive with me for the move to provide some ease to my mom and likely a last ditch effort to persuade me to change my mind. It didn’t work. I landed in “Hotlanta” with enthusiasm and intention to have my HBCU experience at all cost. And I did. And I also met who I thought was my Dwayne to my Whitley and quickly fell in love. I also engaged in what “in love” people do and found myself sitting on “This End Up” furniture (IYKYK) in a residence hall staring at a coffee table with what looked like a chemistry set, because said “Dwayne” thought it would be the most accurate detection. After failing the experiment at “Kineshewa” my soon to be baby daddy returned to the store and purchased the test with the blue line. Seemingly before the allotted amount of time passed, I felt like I was sitting at a Carolina game. The unthinkable happened. I broke the cardinal Christian single parent Black mama’s rule, I got pregnant out of wedlock. How would I explain this to my mother? I had no money. Hadn’t even finished a full year in graduate school. The program I moved to Atlanta for was eliminated. The job that I had was contingent upon enrollment in a graduate program. I was accustomed to calling my mom several times per day (just like my legacy), but I had no clue as to how to enter this conversation. Do I begin, “Hey mommy, how are you? You’re going to be a grandmother.” Or, “Guess what? I’m having a baby!” Neither presented as viable options. I knew I couldn’t keep it to myself. My prayer life was still under construction, but I instinctively knew that help was available. Enter Milton Brunson and the Thompson Community Center’s lyrics that captured my entire navigational space:

So heavy laden and burdened down

I did not know just what to do

So I went and I prayed

for strength to endure

Jesus said Be still, I

will see you through

So I tried Him and I know Him

I didn’t reach out to my mom first. I was angry with myself and uncertain as to what to do. What I now know to be as the Holy Spirit directed me to reach out to one person before my mom. Ironically, I called my former Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Juanita Williams, who was a good friend of my mom. She was the accessible Christian - the one who unashamedly demonstrated unconditional love. In her aura, mistakes were opportunties for God to be ultimately be glorified. That conversation gave me the courage to tell my mom; and while that conversation was hard for me, she embraced the reality in the most loving and heartfelt manner, with just a snippet of Dickerson (her maiden name) shade. Thirty two years later, the God that I tried has allowed me to know Him more and more with each passing day. He’s never left me nor forsaken me - although the same cannot always be said for me. Sometimes I forget that my mother’s Jesus has been providing me the strength as expressed in the song for decades and daily. When I don’t know just what to do, I have a proven history of getting what I need in the presence of God. My stillness and pause allow breath, clarity and peace in order to venture out a bit further in the deep. And though there are a lot of areas, situations and circumstances that I would rather not be catapulted to operate as “Tribute,” I cannot name one time that God has not seen me through.

As we attempt to grasp this “new reality” may we also recall a practice that those who came before us embraced. They went and they prayed. They found strength in Jesus and each other. They accepted the wisdom from the “sage” amongst them and they continued. What might it look like to practice this regimen on rotation? May we not allow what we see to distort what has been known. May we “pull to the side of the road” as necessary for recollection and remembrance; and know that unlike us, He has been tried, but is not worn.