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http://www.infobarrel.com/22_Habits_of_Unhappy_People/6
Archive for Briana
Beautiful Black Man
Hey there, beautiful black man. What brings you here? You know beauty like yours is rare around these parts. You make a sistah wish she had taken art appreciation 101 to delve into the intricacies of the unique sculpture you are. I didn’t notice you at first, but once we made eye contact I knew you were something special.
What is it about you that makes me rush to a pen and pad to capture your radiance and encapsulate you in my mind? Is it because you’re simply beautiful or simply a rare find? You remind me of an African warrior prince—your locks long and strong; your height towering; your complexion dark as chocolate; your physique tight and chiseled like an ebony statue. I did a double take when you passed and became tongue-tied. Too beautiful for words.
What is it about you that makes me silently grin? Are you such a hot commodity where you’re from? What is it about you that makes me want to see you again, not to date you or take you home to my mom, but to lay eyes on your captivating self. I only saw you once, but from my point of view you were somebody to remember.
Ooh beautiful black man, what is it that you do, where did you come from, and did you bring anymore brothas with you?
Beautiful black man you are a sight for hungry eyes; a testament to the wondering soul; an answer to the plaguing question: Where are all the fine men? Do they even exist anymore other than Hollywood, on my tv screen or in the gay magazines? What is it that made me talk about you to myself once you left? At that moment my tongue became the pen of a ready writer. I couldn’t believe I had seen you, met eyes with you and nearly bumped into you.
You remind me of a cool condensation drenched glass of lemonade on a scorching day — Ahhh refreshing!
But I have a few questions: is your personality as radiant as your smile; your character as steady as your stride; is your faith as strong as your jaw line or your soul as deep as the dimples adorning your cheeks? Or are you one of those shallow brothas, the looking for a dime piece, but can’t find peace kind of brothas? Are you the kind of guy who appreciates a woman’s strength or are you intimidated by my standards? Do you have integrity or are you shirking responsibilities and playing the victim? Does hard work and honesty characterize you? If not, then keep it moving because I’ve actually seen your kind too many times—lazy, trifling, good for nothing but looks type of brothas. The kind of guys who instead of owning where they are, want a woman to stoop to their level to make them feel adequate. You know what? On second thought, don’t answer because I don’t want to ruin this fantasy with thoughtless words or justifications for mediocrity. I’ll just bask in the luxury of you, Mr. Beautiful Black Man and wait for a real man to take my hand. But thanks anyway for the lovely view.
Written in 2004 by yours truly.
Ladies, have you ever seen a man so gorgeous that you had to just stop and stare? Have you ever met a guy whose exterior qualities didn’t match his interior qualities? I’d love to hear about it.
Purposed Prayer (In Honor of Veteran’s Day)
So too the [Holy] Spirit comes to our aid and bears us up in our weakness; for we do not know what prayer to offer nor how to offer it worthily as we ought, but the Spirit Himself goes to meet our supplication and pleads in our behalf with unspeakable yearnings and groaning too deep for utterance. And He Who searches the hearts of men knows what is in the mind of the [Holy] Spirit [what His intent is], because the Spirit intercedes and pleads [before God] in behalf of the saints according to and in harmony with God’s will. Romans 8: 26-27 (Amplified)
There is no way I’m getting up tonight, I thought.
It was 3 a.m.—the witching hour, according to some. It was also time for me to get up and pray as had been my routine for the past week. I had been led to get out of bed and find a secluded spot in our quarters at this hour to spend time with God, and it was becoming a routine.
This particular night though, an arresting sense of dis-ease kept me still in my cot. I scanned the room, not seeing anyone unusual. My two roommates appeared to be in their cots. No one was stirring. All was quiet. But the room was different. A thick red haze lingered above my head. Lying there, I could feel fear sucking out my courage. I blinked to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, but the thick red haze remained.
My heart raced…it had nothing to do with nerves, although I wished it had been. Something this sinister could only be a work of satan himself.
Only he could be responsible for the red cloud filling the room; the burning smell of sulfur that almost singed my nostrils. If I hadn’t been awake before, I knew I was now. I lied there stock still in my cot underneath sheer mosquito netting, which was now for me a safe haven, trying to make sense of what was happening around me.
I was in the same room with the same people, but it seemed like there was a different presence there—an evil one.
So I began to pray intensely. Like my courage, words escaped me. I remembered what I had been taught about a function of the Holy Spirit—when we don’t know what to pray for, the Spirit will intercede for us. So I let Him do His thing. It was a blessing to be filled with the Holy Ghost at that moment. I prayed and prayed right there on my back until I could feel my courage come pouring back into me and an extraordinary peace surround me. Sleep soon came, and so did the morning.
The next day, I didn’t mention the previous evening’s strange happenings because I didn’t think anyone would understand. What was I really going to say? “The devil was in here last night?” Heck, I didn’t even know how to explain what had happened.
Later that evening, as my roommates and I sat around talking, a revelation hit me.
“The weirdest thing happened last night,” said Sgt. Toth, one of my roommates. “Somebody was in our room.”
“In our room?” I asked, fearing the unknown.
Who knows what his intention may have been: to steal something from us, rape one of us, or maybe even kill one of us. Whatever it was though, thankfully, God did not allow it to happen.
“He was standing over me, and I was in such a deep sleep that I just swung my arm at him,” she said. “When I realized someone was actually there I grabbed my flashlight to see him. That’s when he ran.” She chased him out of the building, but could not catch him.
My mouth dropped in disbelief. It was the same night I sensed the demonic presence, but I was completely oblivious to everything else she recounted. I must have drifted back into a deep sleep after praying. It was all so confusing and bizarre and unexplainable because I had never encountered the spiritual world in that way before. Ironically, I never got up to pray at that hour again not because I was afraid, but because I no longer felt compelled.
After sharing that incident with a few people they helped me to see that those nights of intense prayer leading up to that night were preparation and protection for what was to come. The Lord needed someone to stand in the gap and pray on all of our behalf, and I was the one chosen for the job. Who knows what heinous crime would have been committed had I not been obedient to the Lord leading me to pray for covering for everybody in the building and possibly even everyone at Camp Anaconda? At the time I didn’t know what I was praying for, but I’m glad I was sensitive to the voice of my spirit.
And I am even gladder I didn’t get up that night.
Has something similar ever happened to you? Has the Holy Spirit used you to intercede for a future situation?
Written in 2009 to recount an event that took place during my year-long deployment to Iraq back in 2003.
