That is, until Mary moved to California, where her mother had relocated. Mary wanted to fulfill the promise she had made to her mother to take care of her when she needed it, in the same way Dorothy had taken care of Jamaar and Mary in Wisconsin. Robert refused to leave Wisconsin so Mary packed up their son and left. Within a year, Mary heard the words she never thought she would: Robert called to say he was getting married. Mary was devastated and spent many tearful days and nights. But as the fog of disappointment lifted, she became determined to get past the piercing pain in her heart and finally accept the fact that Robert was not hers to have and she would not let this episode in her life determine the rest of her life.
The one thing that remained constant was Robert’s commitment to Jamaar, who was now eight years old, and Mary put aside her own needs and emotions and opened her heart to support their relationship in every way possible. Despite the fact she missed her only child desperately, Jamaar spent summers in Wisconsin, and Robert and his wife, Brett, became his midwestern parents in every sense of the word. Robert and Mary agreed that Jamaar would go to elementary school in California but because the middle school years were so critical for young males, he would attend middle school in Madison. Then he’d come back to California for high school.
The plan worked great through junior high school, but what we adults didn’t factor in was that Jamaar had a voice of his own. He said, “Mom, I want to stay here. I don’t know anyone in California. All my friends are here and I want to stay.” Now, I don’t know whether I was so looking forward to him being back in California with me or what, but that same little voice that told me not to quit college was screaming at me again. In my heart I knew he needed to come back with me. I told him to just give it a year. If he still felt that way after his freshman year he could go back to Wisconsin. He eventually agreed.
Back in California, within a few weeks Mary knew exactly why her inner voice had been on high alert. With all the back and forth between the two school systems, Jamaar had missed some really critical and fundamental grammar work. Because his English composition skills were so poor, he was testing on a third-grade level as he entered high school.
Once again, my mom and I sprang into action. I chose a school where he could take two English classes, English composition and English literature. I also arranged for him to have a private tutor to bring his writing skills up. We’re talking, every extra dollar I had and that my mom had we invested in his education. The tuition was very expensive, so my brother Thomas made a very large donation to our effort. If you’re talking about the pride working together to survive, you’ll know exactly how we worked together to accomplish so much that year. By the end of the year Jamaar was back on track and on grade level. His success, though, wasn’t enough to make him change his mind or forget his friends. That September he went back to Wisconsin to finish high school.
By now Robert and Brett’s family was expanding. First a son and then a daughter. Mary said that even though there were some initial adjustment issues, it was good for Jamaar to share space with siblings. They adored him and he blossomed in the role of big brother. The relationships among Mary, Robert, and Brett evolved as well, so much so that Mary became the unofficial godmother to the newest members of the family, Robert Jr. and Kara.
As soon as I was able to admit to myself that I would always love Robert as the father of my son but I was no longer in love with him, I was able to break down the wall I had built and normalize the relationship between our two families.
Now, that’s not to say that there weren’t conflicts during those high school years. Jamaar emerged as a serious basketball player at about six foot four, and by his junior year, he was considered one of the top players in the state. So between his basketball schedule and his friends, disagreements emerged with Brett and Robert about chores and times spent with his studies. By his senior year his grades had slipped, as did his prospects as a college basketball player. Jamaar realized he was in trouble if he wanted to get into college so he called me up. “Mom,” he said, “I’ll sign a contract with you. I’ll do whatever you ask me to do, but Dad says that if I’m college-bound, I’m on my own. Will you believe in me again?”
I said, “Jamaar, when have I ever stopped? At what point in your life haven’t I believed in you? We’ll figure it out.”
Mary got on the phone with an old friend of her brother’s, who was the coach of a basketball recreational league that Jamaar played with one summer. He added Jamaar to the roster of players in the Easter tournament, which was only a week away.
Jamaar ended up having a great tournament, playing so well that by the end he was recruited by Cal State Polytechnic University, Pomona. It was a partial scholarship that paid three-fourths of the tuition, but because he was coming from Wisconsin, out-of-state tuition rates made the balance still somewhat steep. Her family rallied again and came up with the rest.
Jamaar was well aware of the sacrifices being made on his behalf, and that seemed to give him the inner drive to put his own heart into everything he did for the next four years.
I’ve never seen an eighteen-year-old with such drive, such determination. I mean, it was like maybe he had something to prove—that he was in fact worth an investment. I don’t know because we never talked about it but he earned a 4.5 average his freshman year. I didn’t even know that was possible. He was a man on fire. He was president of the philosophy club and a starter on the basketball team. He actually took a year off from playing basketball so he could do a judicial internship. He went on to graduate magna cum laude from Cal Poly.
In 2000 Jamaar became the only African American male in the first-year class of Berkeley’s Boalt Law School, the consequence of the end of the state’s affirmative action policies. Three years later he graduated. On that beautiful day in May, the California and Wisconsin families converged to witness an amazing graduation ceremony in Berkeley’s iconic amphitheater and to share in a weekend of family celebrations afterward. Mary, Robert, and Brett were beaming parents as they witnessed Jamaar receiving his degree. That weekend he became the younger generation’s standard-bearer, the example of what’s possible if only you keep your eyes on the prize and your heart’s desires in front of you.
This was only possible because long ago Mary swallowed her pride, asked herself hard questions about what she wanted for her child’s life, and opened her heart to help build an enduring bridge of family support around her son that spanned from Orange County, California, to Madison, Wisconsin. I can attest to the authentic closeness of these families now because I was a witness too—at the graduation and celebrations of my future son-in-law Jamaar Boyd Weatherby, Esq.
LESSON FROM A LIONESS: Commit to your top priorities, and let the rest go.
Classical pianist Arthur Rubinstein once said, “Of course there is no formula for success except, perhaps, an unconditional acceptance of life and what it brings.” In Mary’s case, this is especially true. It’s so easy to try to ease the pain of a broken heart by cutting out the source of the pain, like you cut out a diseased part of the body. No one would have questioned Mary’s decision if she had vowed never to see or communicate with the man she had pinned all of her hopes and dreams on for so many years. Instead, through intuition and observation she was able to set her personal feelings aside and look into her heart to admit her son would benefit from a meaningful relationship with his father. By accepting that, she was able to help her son grow into a well-adjusted man.
Presence of Faith:
The ability to pursue an unknown or untested path with the confidence that there is something greater than ourselves leading us to better days.
III
Presence of Faith
Introduction
Faith is the strength by which a shattered world shall emerge into light.
—Helen Keller
When something bad happens, we are harshly reminded that we aren’t in control. At least not of the big stuff, like a spouse asking for a divorce, a
lover not wanting to be in his baby’s life, or the death or illness of a partner. In the face of this helplessness, some of us turn to existential questions, such as who is in control, and why has he (or she or the universe) allowed such an injustice to happen. It is at these times of unforeseen grief or crisis that many people find comfort in their faith to make sense of things, or at least to come to grips with the fact that what has happened cannot be undone.
Faith, however, needn’t be relegated to religion or doctrine, although many people turn to their houses of worship and clergy leaders in times of great need. Faith is a deeply felt trust in something good—in ourselves, our loved ones, our community, and our spiritual life—and the confidence that keeps us moving forward. Faith allows us to acknowledge the bad, but believe that better days are ahead. Faith allows us to move past fear and keeps us from being crippled by doubt. When we are present in our faith, our options are more open and we can creatively take chances, which comes in handy as we experiment with solutions to unexpected challenges.
Your relationship with faith is very personal, not to be judged by anyone. But the one thing I am very sure of is that all of us benefit when we believe and operate under the assumption that something exists to help ensure that things will turn out okay. The late spiritual teacher Dr. Wayne Dyer said faith is a “positive belief in the universe,” which doesn’t have to be necessarily tied to any sort of deity, though often it is. Faith can be a buoy that keeps you from sinking when things get difficult. It can act as a beacon when you don’t know where to go next and provide support when you’re feeling alone in your circumstances or decisions. Even if you haven’t connected with your spirituality in a long while, maybe not ever—and admittedly, there are many who may fall into this category—I am convinced that believing in a power greater than yourself will be a lifesaver and a game changer.
Faith can also be a comfort partner when you are traveling the parenting path alone. It provides the confidence to make a decision without feeling that it was arrived at arbitrarily. It provides the courage to make bold moves because you know a higher power has your back, even if a partner is not by your side. Faith prevents us from waving the white flag when we are feeling intense pressure and rising heat. Without faith, the heat is relentless, the pressure unforgiving, because faith provides the safety valve that lets you know that whatever you are going through can be released.
“When faith rests in the foundation of a mom’s life,” says the Reverend Dr. Suzan Johnson Cook, who served as ambassador-at-large for international religious freedom under the Obama administration, “it is easier to cool that rising heat and prioritize solid values for the good of the family.” Dr. Cook is a former White House Fellow under President Clinton, a New York City police chaplain, an author, and a motivational speaker. Having advised dozens of single mothers while raising her own two sons, Dr. Cook stresses that grounding our children in faith at home is the key to raising them emotionally healthy. She and her ex-husband successfully co-parented their sons into two amazing young men, who both graduated from tier-one colleges and are now heading to graduate school. “I had to love them enough to let them know what true nurturing feels like—to mother, not smother—and to provide enough boundaries to frame their understanding of the world and to appreciate the possibilities awaiting them. Grateful for our many blessings, as a family we embrace the words of the gospel song, ‘We’ve come this far by faith.’” And as the song asserts, “this far” is the progress made, the fact that we keep moving, inching forward, fueled by our faith, and never stop trying to further our families or achieve equality.
But let’s get real here. Presence of Faith is hard to sustain at times, so how do we remain on high ground when something bad happens and faith just slips away? What happens when your faith, trust, and love for your maker, in yourself, in your child—or whomever or wherever you tend to put your faith—is replaced with anger, resentment, deep doubt, or pessimism?
According to the American Psychological Association, life events can shake and shatter people spiritually as well as psychologically, socially, and physically. People may struggle spiritually with their understanding of God, with inner conflicts, or with other people. A growing body of research has linked these spiritual struggles to higher levels of psychological distress, declines in physical health, and even greater risk of mortality. In essence, you lose much more than your relationship with your God—you lose your sanity! I was no different.
My commitment to God was shattered after the loss of my husband Wes. Depression and anger leaked into my life in the place of prayer. Even though I made sure the kids ate, I didn’t. I guess Wes’s aunt Mildred saw my weight loss and gave me vitamins especially designed to help relieve stress. I had no idea there was such a thing! But despite that, I couldn’t sleep in our bed. I was angry that the future I had envisioned so clearly had been taken away. I was betrayed, confused, and in agony with grief. Finally, I had to admit that I was lost in my emotions. I had to throw my hands in the air, saying, “God, I don’t know what to do, so you handle it.” And when I let go of ownership of my anger, I was able to slowly begin to heal. With faith, you can have the confidence that a higher power will handle what is too much for you alone. And as my faith grew stronger, a higher power did, in fact, intervene.
Mine was a circuitous journey back to my faith, not only in the religious sense or even back to a brick-and-mortar church building, but back to a deeper belief in the resiliency of my children, myself, and the power we all have to help each other, to believe in each other, to trust that our pride will protect and support us. I learned to never doubt that my child would come around, does truly love me, and would eventually understand that I needed to be a mother before I could become a friend, which I am now to all of my children. One thing I am most proud of is successfully equipping them with access to faith as a tool to help them navigate life’s uncertainties. Tests of faith only prove to us what we’re really made of. After all, without intense heat and pressure, a rock cannot become a diamond.
This is precisely why, for me, Presence of Faith has been my go-to more than any other pillar. Being present in faith, while difficult for many in the thick of a life challenge, means much more than staying spiritual or religious; it is a matter of sustaining the mental and physical health of yourself and your children.
Returning to God in the Middle of the Night
The Lord replied, “The times when you have seen only one set of footprints, is when I carried you.”
—Mary Stevenson
With an ordained minister of a conservative denomination as a father, I grew up embedded in a spiritually rich, faith-saturated environment. There was Sunday school, Bible class, choir rehearsals, youth group, summer Bible school, catechism classes, and of course Sunday services. Once I could officially taste the consecrated Welch’s grape juice and the small, square-cut pieces of bread my dad carefully cut on communion Sundays, no one could tell me I wasn’t God’s chosen child.
Faith was my constant companion when I rode New York City trains from the Bronx to Harlem throughout high school; it comforted me when my grandparents and other family members passed; it bolstered my confidence when I had to make a decision about which college to go to; and it strengthened my resolve when I ended my first marriage. There was never a doubt in my mind that all would be well, even at moments when all logic, circumstance, and reason indicated otherwise.
But the night my husband died, the faith that had always blanketed me with confidence and comfort became my shroud.
I’ll never forget the night that I heard Wes stumble down the steps and collapse on the second-floor landing. I ran to him and saw he was gasping for air. As I positioned his head to begin my failed attempts at CPR, I began my silent prayers to God.
“God, help me. Please don’t let him die. He can’t die. He’s too good a man… too good a father. You can’t take him.”
My prayers intensified after the EMTs came, moved me aside, and did their
best to open his airways. And as I followed the whirling red lights of the ambulance in front of me, my pleas for God’s intervention became even louder and more desperate. The only thing I could think to bargain with was the habit both of us had been trying to conquer for years, smoking. “God, if you let him live, I will give up smoking forever.” I remember at that point a certain calm came over me. I was sure that with my faith, Wes’s goodness, and my agreement with God, my husband would live. I even imagined the next day he and I would be laughing about all the drama that had unfolded during the course of the day.
But an hour later, when the doctor came in the waiting room and said, “He’s gone,” my knees buckled, blood rushed to my head, and for the first time in my life I fainted. As I regained my bearing, I remember as clearly as if it were yesterday, I said, “God, how could you do this?” My faith was shattered. God had failed us, and the love of my life was gone.
I didn’t set foot in a church for the next two years.
It took much longer to give up smoking. It became my tool of defiance against a God who had forsaken me when I needed Him most. All those religious greeting cards I received were hollow reminders that I was now walking alone. There were no footprints in the sand. The children were without a father, and I was without the man I loved and wanted to grow old with.
I had hoped that moving back into my parents’ house would help me feel myself again, to at least become reacquainted with if not regain the faith of my youth. After all, I was living once again with the two most spiritual people I had ever known. I hoped I’d snap back, eventually find a great job, ease the kids into new schools, and take comfort in family and familiarity. The warmth and support of my parents and their help with the daily routine were blessings, but my nights were still sleepless and full of anxiety. The streets of my old neighborhood in the Bronx had grown darker and more dangerous. The crack epidemic had created an uptick in street crime, and safety gates on graffiti-stained buildings were now the norm. It scared me to picture my children walking the streets now, despite knowing that they were the same streets I had walked carefree decades before.
The Power of Presence Page 8