• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

It was on that evening that Balé performed my naming ceremony. It was on that day that my life totally changed. At first, I didn’t notice the change, but Balé’s words, his description of Iyanla, the person I was destined to be, kept ringing in my ears. I wanted so badly to believe that Balé was wrong, but I knew he was right. I knew that I had not been living up to my potential. I knew that I was repeating certain patterns in my life, patterns over which it seemed I had no control. Your name is your nature. I knew that there was something different, something powerful about me. I had experienced it in fleeting moments, moments in Snapper Five, moments when I went deep into prayer and silence. I knew that I had seen things and heard things that could only be explained in spiritual terms, but I was so afraid of what it meant that I had shut down on my own inner exploration.

What if Balé was right and Grandma had been wrong? What would that mean? How much time had I wasted? And how would I ever make it up to myself or to God? What if I was crazy? Or Balé was crazy? What if he was right and people thought I was crazy as a result of what I would become—a teacher, a healer, a woman of great power, prominence, and importance? I thought about all the powerful women I knew. More important, I zeroed in on all the powerful, spiritual women I knew and realized they all had one thing in common—they were alone. They had no man! Oh my God! I had to admit to myself that I wanted a man. No. I needed a man. Was it possible that if I stepped into my power I would be alone? Manless for the rest of my life? It was on that day, sitting at my godfather’s kitchen table, that I realized I had to make a choice. I had to choose a way of living and being. I had to choose God’s way or my way. It was in the process of making that choice that I began the work of integrating Rhonda and Iyanla in order to become a whole person.

I didn’t sleep much that night. I thought about all the mistakes I had made, all the mistakes I made trying to correct the mistakes. I thought about all the things I had done and not done that demonstrated I had not yet developed the kind of character that Balé was talking about. I wondered if I ever would become who and what he said I was destined to become. Just how was I supposed to know? Why didn’t somebody tell me that God had a plan? It would have been nice to know that every experience was a part of the plan. Why didn’t God tell me He had a plan? And if He had one, why did it have to be so harsh, so cruel? What if I had died? Suppose I had succeeded in killing myself. I realized that the attempt at taking my life was also a part of the plan. It was confusing! It was all so confusing! No. I was confused.

I realized all the things I had done and not done to put myself in harm’s way. Bible verses kept popping into my head. “Desires of the flesh … The ways of the world … Seek ye first the kingdom … Suffer little children …” I thought about the children, my children. All of a sudden a chill went through my body. I thought about how my children had suffered as a result of my suffering. I thought about all the days they hadn’t eaten, all the days I had left them alone. I thought about how often I had spoken to them, or treated them, the way I had been spoken to and treated. I thought about how painful and confusing that must have been for them. And, while I could not find the compassion to cry for myself, I cried for my children. I cried for the rotten, abusive, neglectful mother I had been. I cried because I could not remember ever telling them that I loved them. I hadn’t told them, because I had never told myself.

Then, just before dawn, I stopped crying. I walked to the bathroom mirror, looked myself dead in the eyes, and quietly whispered, “I love you.” A chill went through my body as I quickly averted my gaze. When my head stopped spinning, I opened my eyes and said it again: “I love you. I love you.” The thought of it made me cry. How could