Yesterday, I Cried_ Celebrating the Lessons of Living and Loving - Iyanla Vanzant [131]
I knew exactly what was going on in my life, but I did not know what to do about it. I knew that I had been chosen by the universe of fate to create a new and better way of living for my family and myself. I knew that I was not going to die like my mother or my father, broke, desperate, having accomplished nothing, leaving nothing behind for their children. I knew I was not going to end up like Ray, lost in pain. I knew all that I had lived through and survived, and I knew it was for a reason. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to break the cycle. I didn’t know how to recreate the pattern. One of my favorite passages in the Bible is Matthew 11:28, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” I was trying my hardest to get to God, but I was afraid that once I got there, He would be mad at me for all of the things that I had not forgiven myself for. When I tried to forgive myself, I found myself struggling through the millions of fibers of the pattern that had been etched into my soul. Just when I thought I had made it through, I would find myself tangled in another string. I would stumble, and I would forget to lie there and rest before jumping up and running out to do something else.
One major mistake I made in growing into my new identity was not giving myself enough time to master what I was learning. As soon as I heard something, I would give it away. I would write, speak, or teach about it. I guess I was so excited, I wanted everyone to know. I did a grave disservice to my delicate psyche, which was so hungry for information. I did not let what I learned settle in so that I could see and understand it at a deeper level. That’s what happens when we use the intellect instead of the heart. The intellect is like a computer. It will process the information in a matter of seconds. The spirit is like a womb. It needs time to develop new information.
Grandma had taught me how to pray, but Nisa taught me what to pray about. I was on my knees so much, I shrank two inches. Dear God, please help me. Please don’t let this baby go through what I went through. Please don’t let my child go through what I went through. What am I going to do? Tell me what to do, God. How is she going to raise a baby? How am I going to raise a baby? What are we going to do with this baby?
I’m sure God felt like Nisa. I was asking questions, but not waiting for answers. I was in a state of panic. It was that panic that sent me running to healers and teachers and books. It was that panic that sent me to meditation classes and more workshops. It was the panic that reminded me of the prayer on the back of the card I had received at my father’s funeral:
In our deepest hour of need, the Creator does not ask us for credentials. He accepts us exactly as we are, knowing that we are His erring children. He loves us and forgives us. Why can’t we forgive ourselves?
I had to learn to forgive. First myself, and then everyone else I believed had ever done anything to me. Lesson 121 in A Course in Miracles begins, “What could you want that forgiveness cannot give?” I read the text of that lesson all day, every day, for at least two weeks.
Every woman I knew brought something that Oluwa needed. By the time he was two weeks old, we had no place to keep all his things. Nisa was walking down the street one day, and a woman called to her from her doorway.
“Do you need a car seat for the baby?”
When Nisa told her she did, the woman gave her one. We didn’t even have a car anymore. I sent Nisa back to school the Monday after the baby was born. Gemmia watched Oluwa during the day. Nisa had him at night. When it was apparent that Nisa couldn’t handle the baby all