Late Night Realizations

When I sat and wrote out all the things I have done and the people I’ve helped with my business I realized something. I’m pretty successful.

It was like years of self doubt, feeling like I haven’t accomplished enough, had finally come to an end. Why was I crushing my confidence by dwelling on things I haven’t done yet? I should have been celebrating the MANY things I had! I taught a multitude of students to play the piano. I’ve helped many clients find a solution to chronic pain and stress related issues. They saw my value. They appreciated everything I did.

I didn’t make it as a singer, but I did record a song with two members of Blackstreet. Which for me was a big deal.

It’s too easy to focus on the things I didn’t accomplish. Too easy to look at my age and say “I haven’t done enough.” Even though I have done a lot. I realized that I am a recording artist, published writer, business owner, missionary, minister. I wanted to be a performing artist and I did it. I wanted to publish my stories and I’m doing it. I wanted to travel and I am.

As I sat up one late night, feeling like my life hadn’t turned out the way it was supposed to, I realized that I had accomplished a lot more than I gave myself credit for.  And I began thanking God for giving me the talents and opportunity to do so. When I realized I wasn’t appreciating the doors he had opened for me I repented. He has a divine plan for my life. Even if I don’t understand all of it I know it’s going to work out for my good.

So tonight I sit humbled and appreciative.

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The Family

Growing up I thought my dad had all the answers. Mainly because he had all the answers to every question I ever asked. Obviously, in my youthful mind, dad just knew everything. He was cool, never rattled about anything. And on top of that, he could build a basketball hoop out of a bed frame and some plywood. Clearly he was awesome.

My mom worked extremely hard. She was a RN. Her jargon was completely medical. Everything could be explained with medical metaphors and that infamous pathology book. She wasn’t laid back at all like my father. And her sense of humor was – well, medically morbid. My friends found her scary. She wasn’t one you’d want to test. My brother took a mean right hook from her once so I don’t blame them.

My brother Steven, the recipient of the before mentioned right hook, was my hero. I thought he could do no wrong. He was athletic, all my brothers were. But he was the oldest and in my eyes that made him bigger and stronger than the other two. He also had an uncanny habit of doing my spelling and math homework whenever he was talking to girls on the phone. All I had to do was wait until he got on the phone and ask for help. God bless him.

Brian, my very strange middle brother, is more like me than my other two siblings. Though he didn’t say much, I blame that completely on the headless chicken incident, but when he did I always found myself hanging on every word! It was normally a single word like ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Or a shoulder shrug. You have to love the shoulder shrug. It conveyed so much of his emotions. Even with the silent body language, I knew my weirdness matched his weirdness and that was a bond we’d always have.

Now on to my brother Tim, affectionately called Tim Tim by my parents and Timty by me. As a child he was humbly introverted. Wicked temper though! The boy could hold a grudge like a dog with a bone! He was two years older than me. I use to tag along behind him as much as possible. He was smart. Smarter than the average bear. His brain was like a sponge. He retained every drop of information he heard. It was like living with an encyclopedia. A well of knowledge was walking around my house and I loved knowledge. So of course I followed him everywhere. I was picking his brain.

This was my immediate family. The people who provided the many experiences that made growing up a Williams so memorable and so worthy to be told about.

A Weary Soul

My spirit is weary,
Yet, the grace of God continues to strengthen me.
I live in a society where, if I acknowledge the racism I’ve dealt with then I’m part of the problem because I am told “If you don’t talk about racism it’ll go away.”
I hear my friends say ” Martin Luther King would be rolling over in his grave if he could see what his people are doing.”
Apparently every black person who cries out against injustices needs to stop because slavery ended over a hundred years ago.
And that we need to worry about black on black crime, because clearly no other race commits crimes against each other in a high percentage, no wait, they do.
My spirit gets weary because I know I am judged by the stereotypes of my race before the content of my character. I know that’s how it is, but I’m not supposed to talk about those things, because if I don’t they’ll stop happening.
My flesh wants to rise up when I hear people say “I don’t see color or race.” Yes you do and that’s ok. Our cultural differences is not always a bad thing.
To dismiss what it’s like living in black/brown skin when you never have is insulting.
But this is why I can continue to love beyond the mess. Ephesians 6:12 For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

Finding the Balance

When I first became a youth minister I found that God was going to require more time from me and so were the children at my church, Sowing The Seeds Of Faith Ministries. The first thing I did was ask God if he was sure I had what it takes to be a minister. Even though I was already doing the work I had many doubts. My main one was, I don’t look or act like a minister. I’m not locked into traditions, I have tattoos and to some people’s dismay, I have dread locks.

Yes, I love Christ, working with the children, most of the time, and being a part of a congregation that worships with all their hearts, but I did not feel like I had arrived yet. And many elders looked at me the same way. They were so much more knowledgeable and had more experience and seemed to have all the time in the world to be ministers. Where as I was struggling to be the perfect mom and wife.

Yes, perfect.

I found that I could effectively schedule time to be in every place I was suppose to be, but life had a way a knocking me off the perfect path I had set for myself. My kids needed me outside of the allotted time scheduled for them. My husband wanted to invade the time I scheduled for the church. I stuck to my guns, I tried anyway, and that seemed to cause even more problems. Problems that when they arrived gave me cause to ask God “Are you sure you want me to minister? I can barely schedule my time.” Many nights I prayed that God would make me perfect for the job. I even cried about how bad of a wife and mother I was. Ministry was something that didn’t come easy to me. I felt like if I lacked in motherhood, how could I thrive as one of God’s teachers?

It was a very lonely feeling.

I remember one day when I was at a very low moment, depressed and discouraged, and I wanted to give up. I felt like it was too hard. Like I wasn’t strong enough. And then the song “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” came on and it was like Jesus was talking to me! “If you need me, call me. No matter where you are. No matter how far. Just call my name I’ll be there in a hurry. You don’t have to worry…”. My spirit was lifted almost instantly. I may not have been perfect, but I was chosen.

And then one day I sat down and wrote out everything it was that I did each day. From errands to family game nights. What I saw amazed me! No everything wasn’t done perfectly in the times I designated for them, but they were done! So my girls didn’t always have the best  and ironed clothes, they had quality time that they enjoyed. And my husband didn’t have to come home and worry about meals or chores, some how God had helped me accomplish everything I had written for my self to do.

It was a moment of enlightenment, that I realized that all that worry and stress was for nothing. I may not be the best at everything, but I’m pretty good at most of it.

Under the Influence of X-Ta-C

Under the Influence Of X-Ta-C is a collection of short stories and poems that I wrote in my early to mid-twenties. The title was inspired by my best friends. In high school we had a singing group called X-Ta-C. We were going to be the next TLC!

And En Vogue, SWV, Jade, etc.

The girls, who grew into awesome women, have been a constant in my life. Which means they have inspired some of the most ridiculous, random thoughts I’ve ever had. And I thank them for it!

One section of the book was co-witten by Ladye Dempals and it is pure silly madness that probably only makes sense to us. And that section was specifically written for my girls of X-Ta-C.

There’s a lot of emotions and themes through out the collection. Some can easily get lost. (Good thing they’re only short stories) In my early 20s I had a lot going on.

A lot. Going. On.

But if you love to laugh and sometimes cry, take a peek at this collection of short stories and poems.

You can find Under the Influence of X-Ta-C on lulu.com. Pen name Krystle Nyte.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Threshold Characteristic

Since I’ve been married, seven years, I have never been carried over the threshold. I have, in fact, only been carried over the threshold twice.

His name, well, we’ll just call him Locks. And Locks was an ex, not even a current boyfriend at the time. The circumstances of the first threshold crossing involved a night club, a shot of 151 and an empty stomach. I love to dance and in my younger days I went dancing alone without reservation.

That particular night I met the burning fire that was called 151. By the end of the night I couldn’t stand on my own. Locks was there with his cousin Kel and seeing the horrid state I was in opted to help me out. Locks was cool that way.

As he lifted my limp form in his arms and carried me more than a hundred feet across the parking lot to my car, Kel jokingly said “Now that’s love. Anybody else would have had to walk real slow to the car.”

I have never forgotten that comment. I probably never will. That comment reminds me that there are people who will help you without expectations.

And Locks didn’t stop there. He drove me home because I obviously couldn’t drive myself. And when we got to my house he carried me inside, upstairs to my room and put me to bed.

He also put a trashcan beside the bed in case I needed to vomit.

He sat with me for a moment, making sure I was okay, and then he left.

The second time I was carried over the threshold also involved Locks. I called him, said I would need a ride home after a surgery I was having and he said okay. He always came when I needed him.

It was like deja vu.

He drove me home, because I obviously couldn’t drive myself. And when we got to my house he carried me inside, walked to the den and put me on the couch. Then he sat beside me on the floor while I slept for a couple of hours. And then he left.

Many of the male characters in my books have what I call the “Threshold Characteristic”. They’re helpful without expecting something in return. It’s my favorite character to write because in this day and age people don’t seem to have it. If you can’t do something for them they’ll do absolutely nothing for you.

So if you know someone with the Threshold Characteristic, make sure you treat them good.

Stepping out…

I wasn’t sure who I was suppose to be at my age, over the side of thirty, but I always knew there was a writer in me. Not just a writer, but an adventurer, hero and a legend.

So, I wrote books. Plenty of books with characters that portrayed the qualities I wanted. (Sassy, smart and strong. Very strong. Sometimes with psychic abilities.) And as I have lived, worked, started a family, I created a file cabinet full of manuscripts and short stories. I was sitting on an arsenal of books.

Why not publish them? Why not put my passion out there for the world to see and judge?

There would be judgment. There’s always judgment. I was nervous. I wanted the world to read my work. I wanted to live my dream.

I didn’t even care if the dream made money. I had two jobs that paid the bills. I just wanted to enjoy living.

So I’m doing it now.

Stepping out on Faith.

God help me. Literally, help me…