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But where did she come from? Meadow was a pretty girl. But… Why did she show up on my cul de sac? How did she plant herself in my yard and grow in the two days since I last checked?? 

I pondered it for a while, running fantastical scenarios through my brain. Imagined Meadow uprooting herself from a neighbor's yard and sauntering herself into ours because “the grass was greener” on our side. I laughed at the image of a sauntering flower, then I scratched that idea off the list because our grass definitely was NOT greener than our neighbors.

Seriously, the only logical answer was the rain. “Rainwater contains nitrate – the most bioavailable form of nitrogen. Nitrogen is one of the three key macro-nutrients that plants need to thrive – necessary for the development of lush foliage.” The nitrate in the water made luscious Mrs. Meadows show up. After all that storming she just appeared beautiful in all her glory and splendor. Giving us hope of what’s to come. Mrs. Meadows was probably as confused as I about her dramatic appearance. It reminded me of life and promises whispered from God to my heart. Then, I had a revelation.

Most of my revelations come from nature or quiet. These revelations generally have background music that plays in my head. I heard a song I don’t know the name of, but they sing it at my church (Have a listen: Go to 25.19 minutes) .The words are:

Rain came
Wind blew
But my house was built on you
I’m safe with you
I’m gonna make it through

In the revelation, I was Mrs. Meadows that just appeared after the storm. All the raining and storming was my life and the nitrate from the rain was God’s perseverance. The type of perseverance He discusses in Romans 5:3-5 . After I heard and saw. I wrote:

When it Rains
By: J.C. Jackson 
(With some adaptations from the piece “Changes” )
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​Rain came
Wind blew
But my house was built on you
I’m safe with you
I’m gonna make it through

When it rained I smiled. I watched and smelled and smiled because she was so beautiful.
Rain
She was full of grace and peace
Rain
Something about her brought growth
Rain
I used to sit and feel and taste and smile because she was magic. She brought hope.
Rain

But then I lengthen and got distracted.
I stopped watching and smelling and smiling.
I stopped thinking she was so beautiful.
I became tired of her incessant presence.
Rain
I used to like the sound of Rain until she became deafening. When Rain became Grammy’s “bad man hammer” impaling my mind, I didn’t like her anymore. I hadn’t realized her soft sounds were actually the low murmurs of profanity until she began to cuss at my home.

Pound at my heart. Trying to teach me something I could not hear because her words; her fist were too heavy, too loud.

RAIN STOP!
    
And then she poured…
Beat me. I could not protect myself from her onslaught. 
She was a warrior and I was her target. Rain was a master archer.
I could not laugh, I could not smile, I could not breathe because it was too much! Rain was too hard.

I could only focus. JESUS!

But then.. SHUSH!

Rain stopped.

I opened my eyes and looked around. It looked different. I unfolded my body and I lengthened. I grew in the storm. I grew in 

Rain
Somehow more beautiful 
Somehow I persevered
Rain

Rain came
Wind blew
But my house was built on you
I’m safe with you
I’m gonna make it through

Those things that I wrote, I saw. After this revelation, I saw myself as beautiful Mrs. Meadows and I cried.

Today I cried long and deep. The type of cry that deserves a hug from Big Ma. You ever carry a burden so heavy that it reaches past present time to the time of your ancestors? That’s the type of cry I unleashed. It was cleansing.

I remembered my son I lost, and cried. Replayed the anxiety of living life after. Remembered the words from my piece ‘Practice’ from Elijah Broke the Gate, and cried some more.
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My tears caressed my face as the memories of ambulances for my mom and hospitals for my dad came into view. The water washes a caregiver's burden.
My tears soaked into the ground as I gave up expectation. No longer expecting myself to be the wife my husband wants me to be, but began receiving the wife God needs me to be. I loved her. That wife. I’d be king to her. That wife.

My tears mixed with the rain soaked ground and nourished plants. I cried for my daughter and her trials to come. Prayed for her covering. Prayed for her wisdom.  I cried for the ones who look like me and the sons like Ralph Yarl who get shot just because they could be shot. I cried for those tragedies.

I cried and it felt good. When I went to the mirror and looked at myself I was beautiful just like Mrs. Meadows.

Resources for Managing Tribulation

1. Find a church or spiritual small group for support. I go to City Life Church in Houston, Texas. You're always welcomed!
2. Stretch and breathe. Here’s a great article on the mental benefits of stretching. Take a yoga or pilates class. On April 22nd I’m performing for a Poses and Poems event at the Cypress Creek Yoga Six. There’s ONLY 2 spots left and it’s FREE. Reserve TICKETS! Join me!
3. Go Grounding/Earthing and do Breath Work while you’re at it! Here’s a phenomenal documentary on the benefits of Grounding/Earthing. I’m hosting a Grounding/Earthing Seed Swap on April 29th with Hershe Community Garden and Nextdoor Black Girls Garden. Get your tickets! It's FREE and we accept DONATIONS.
4. Write & Express. I’m partnering with Julia James of “A Diary of a Curly Haired Woman to conduct a Virtual and In-Person Writing Workshop once a month to help people write about and through their trauma. Our first event is April 29th online for the virtual and Day Six Coffee Shop for the in person event. It’s FREE but we will take tips and donations! Get your ticket on Eventbrite!

Be on the Lookout

• Check out all the events mentioned above.

I’m partnering with Crystal Rae Productions to create a documentary for Elijah Broke the Gate! Go to www.crystalraeproductions.com to find out how you can support.

We Don’t Do That to Family
By: J.C. Jackson
(Week 2: Creative Nonfiction)

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to honor lately. How it was ingrained in me--this deep rooted need to respect one's elders at all cost. This need was etched into my essence and I appreciate the artist that stenciled this thought into me.

Today I thought about my Uncle. 
He was my Great Uncle.

He’s passed and gone somewhere I’m not sure of. His sins were so heavy I questioned whether Christ’s back could have carried the weight of his sins. If I’m being honest, I question if Christ's eyes could even look at him.

He was a Pedophile.
A Habitual Pedophile
A Legendary Pedophile

We never discuss it. Our family. Never openly. Always in secret between two family members. Quickly whispered. Legendary abuse passed down from generation to generation. From child to parent. Neighbor to neighbor. Bedtime stories of warnings to not visit that house. Whispering, “Don’t sit on that man’s lap!”. 

But no one spoke it out loud. He kept building legends. Making a name for himself. Tearing apart the souls of little boys and little girls.

My Uncle.
He was my Great Uncle.

We never told anyone. Never ratted him out because, “We don’t do that to family.”. 
Do what? I always wondered. Hold family accountable? Make family pay for their sins?

When he died I thought about repentance. How a part of repentance is confession and changing. I thought about how Jesus does hold you accountable when those confess and change ingredients don’t form in your heart. I thought about how it’s a shame we, our family, don't hold family accountable. 

Because Jesus sure does.

My Uncle.
My Great Uncle.

He’s probably burning in Hell right now. 

Because, “We don’t do that to family’.

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