The Price We Pay

Photo credits: Pexels

The Price We Pay 

At times I have been considered a feminist. I’m here to set the record straight. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a feminist.  To me, a feminist is a woman who wants to be a man.  She says, “Don’t hold the door open for me, I have arms. Don’t pay the check for me, I have money. Don’t clean the snow off the car or gas up my tank. I can do those things on my own.” It seems she shuns traditional roles in order to operate in the realm that most often men occupy.  Nope. I am not a feminist.

What I am is a woman who seeks proper and appropriate treatment from males towards females. I want to see a man function in those traditional roles of opening doors, putting on coats, and pulling out chairs. I love it when I can’t get the jar of whatever I’m trying to open and a man pops that lid like it’s nothing. I like for a man to be “the head” as he was created to be.

What I don’t like is to see how men cheapen, abuse, misuse and disrespect women. It burns something in the deepest core of me to see a male talking to a female any kind of way or slapping her around. Too often, I see females being threatened to ‘keep herself in shape’ or another female will replace her. And I cringe every time I see a young woman trade her self-respect, self-esteem, dignity, morals or freedom just to have a male in her life. 

True manhood does not exploit. It does not lord its power over those who are weaker. It does not abuse just because it can. And it does not create a subtle sense of paranoia to keep a female in line. I realize for generations, maybe even as far back as the beginning of time, there has been a double standard that says men can do what they want to do, but a woman better toe the line. It’s okay for a man to cheat, but a woman better not even think about it. It’s okay for him to have sex with as many women as he wants to, but she’d better be a virgin until marriage. It’s okay for him to hang out in the streets, but she’d better be home tending to the house and kids.  I say, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.  What is expected of women, should also be expected for men.

I see men making their very flamboyant sexual expectations to women they are at best in a girlfriend/boyfriend relationship with. With the expectation that whoever he decides to allow into his life better be willing to do whatever it takes to keep him until he’s ready to move on. Really?! And the sad this is….we do it. If he were married and making those requests from his wife, that would be one thing, but to think that any random woman he decides to ‘befriend’ in an intimate way better do it or else, is just plain ridiculous. 

The trend seems to be expecting their woman/girl to have the body of a stripper, the moves of a porn star and the overall package that will garner respect and accolades from his male counterparts. Never mind what she wants. Never mind how she feels. To him, it’s all about him. The shirts get more revealing, the pants tighter, the skirts shorter, the dresses more painted on, the heels higher. She looks like a walking, talking call girl and he loves it. What happened to a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets? Men used to want a woman who behaved like a lady.

What is this thing with expecting a woman to have his name tattooed somewhere on her body? He brands her like cattle, letting anyone coming after him know that at one time she was his and can be his again if he decides he wants her. Again, she does it. She pretty much does whatever he says in order to have him. A guy with little moral compass will exploit it every single time and think nothing of it. To which I say, if he would not want a guy to treat his daughter, sister, mother, favorite cousin or best female friend the way he is treating someone else’s daughter, sister, etc., then his behavior is not okay. He needs to stop what he is doing.

The behaviors are affecting future generations. They are affecting people even younger. Now, middle school girls are expected to have sex and give head in school restrooms. You tell me, what is wrong with this picture? Not just from the standpoint of the young girl being expected to be pimped out to whomever wants her, but also to the young men who are growing up seeing their fathers, uncles, older brothers, and neighbors treat females as disdainfully as this. Thus, the cycle continues.

Daily we are immersed in a culture that feeds this disrespect and that glorifies these actions. It’s in the music, the music videos, on sitcoms, in the movies, at the mall, at the school. You name it, there it is.

It takes more than having a penis to be a man. Just as it takes more than having breasts to be a woman. It is time for both parties to step up, clean it up and make some changes. It is time for these females to stop sacrificing who they are and what they truly want just to have a guy in their lives. It is time for females to stop turning on each other and fighting over a man who may or may not be with them a week later. It is time for females to stop trading in their morals and self-respect for a fleeting title and ride in a fancy car she does not own. It is time for women to stop holding men down in their shady dealings and catching the wrap for him so he does not get in trouble. It’s time for women to stop allowing men to abuse them and speak to them any kind of way. It’s time for them to put some boundaries in place and stay firm when a guy tries to overstep that boundary.  And it is time for men to stop asking them to.

Changing lives one word at a time….Tumika Patrice Cain

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Tumika Patrice Cain is an award-winning author, media personality, and motivational speaker. Through her imprint, Inkscriptions Publishing & Media Group, she provides high quality, affordable, mentor-based publishing services to indie authors, as well as inspired, empowering messages of hope and abundance through her media outlets. Her works can be found in many publications, including Fresh Lifestyle Magazine. To learn more about Tumika, her books, and her services visit the following websites. http://www.TumikaPatrice.com and http://www.InkscriptionsPMG.com

Lover of My Soul

Photo credits: Pexels

Lover of My Soul

I am not married, yet I have been a bride for eight years and counting…for I am the bride of Christ.  This gentle Lover of my soul who tends so carefully, diligently, succinctly to the daily needs of my person.  All my life I have wanted to be married, but have to laugh when I am barely a wife to the Husband that I already have.  If I cannot give Him everything He requires, how then do I think I’ll be able to give an earthly, flawed human all that he needs when it all comes from my First Love?

Ours is an ongoing love affair beginning before I ever had a conscious thought of Him.  He picked me even before I was born, laying colorful gems and stones in place, setting the stage for our extended courtship.

So many times I looked into the face of my Betrothed, not knowing Who or What I saw, but He smiled and let me discover things my own way.  At times He had to have grown tired, even frustrated, perhaps wounded, as I sought love in the arms of another, but He is a patient man.  He tells me He knew I would come…that I was worth the wait.

I am humbled in His presence.  Sometimes realizing exactly what I’ve been blessed with – so awed by His beauty and magnificence I want to run away and hide.  Other times so blessed by that same magnificence I want to run into His arms and never leave.

He looks at me with the gentle eyes of a lover who sees His prize and knows her worth, saying, “Beloved, strip naked in my presence.  Do not hide yourself from me behind titles, fear, feelings of unworthiness, shame.  I see you.  It is you that I want.  Remember that I picked you!”  And I, entranced by the intensity of the look in His eyes begin a slow striptease, taking off layer upon of layer of whatever would dare stand between me and the gentle touch of my Lover.  And for a time I am there, naked in His sight and He smiles, enraptured.  Languishing in my beauty as if seeing me for the first time.  He says He never tires of seeing me.  Says he wishes to share in such sweet communion with me always.  Each time He sees me, He is reminded of how much He loves me, how much I mean to Him, how there is no price too high for Him to pay for me…and already has paid.  Loves me so much that He creates new and tender mercies for me each and every morning.

I awake to the feel of His breath upon my cheek.  It is the soft whisper of my name upon His lips that stirs me into consciousness as I begin yet another day.  He says, “Beloved, do not begin your day without our special time together.  Your prayers rising to me are as sweet as Frankincense.  I relish in our time together.  It is in those moments before you face the day that I want to prepare you, strengthen you for what lies ahead…for I am able to see what you cannot see.  Talk with me, my Beloved.  Let us have the most precious of moments together.  Lift your voice in song to me.  I never feel so close to you as when you are praising me.  Yes, I remember now, why I chose you.  You are beautiful to me.  There are no sweeter words spoken than the sound of My name upon your lips.  You are my beautiful bride.  Tell me how much I mean to you.  Show me how much I mean to you.”

Loving Him isn’t duty and it isn’t a job even though it does require much from me.  It is the greatest desire of my heart.  I have looked for Him all my life and He has always been right here…waiting on me to see Him and to love Him with a fraction of the love He has always had for me.

Sometimes the intensity of His love is too much for me to take.  And me being me, I back away.  Get lax in my time alone with Him.  I never see myself so clearly as when we are alone, face to face.  I am not always ready to see all that there is of me to see.  The more I give of myself to Him, the more of me He wants.  While I know it is best, it is right, it is good…I am not always ready to give what He is asking for when He asks and so I run.  Sometimes a little, other times a lot, until the ugly, reality of life becomes visible and it is revealed to me just why He asked for what I so selfishly held on to.  I miss the protecting, soothing embrace of my Lover, Husband of mine.  Then it is I, without reservation, who comes running back, dropping layers along the way – yearning once again to be naked and unashamed in His sight.

The longer we are married, the shorter the separations are between us.  You see, I cannot, will not, live without Him.  He completes me and I am whole only in His presence.  I am no longer a skittish, squeamish child bride, but am instead becoming a mature woman in the arms of my Husband who sets the stage for me to be all that He created me to be.  He is my daily bread and protector of all things concerning me.

His unchanging ways comfort me and bring about stability in a world where the only thing that is constant is change.  He has never altered one word that He’s ever spoken to me.  It comforts me to know that He never will.

We are one, becoming one mind as I put aside the things of the world, rising in elevation to meet Him where He is.  We have one purpose – to bring others, joining them in the kingdom, preparing them for their own sacred marriage ceremony with Him until we all become one body.

Changing lives one word at a time...Tumika

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Tumika Patrice Cain is an award-winning author, media personality, and motivational speaker. Through her imprint, Inkscriptions Publishing & Media Group, she provides high quality, affordable, mentor-based publishing services to indie authors, as well as inspired, empowering messages of hope and abundance through her media outlets. Her works can be found in many publications, including Fresh Lifestyle Magazine. To learn more about Tumika, her books, and her services visit the following websites. http://www.TumikaPatrice.com and http://www.InkscriptionsPMG.com

The Call (for Michael Brown and other Casualties)

The Call (for Michael Brown & Other Casualties)

A mother grieves.  A father is left brokenhearted. A city is divided.  And a nation waits with baited breath to see how it all turns out.  All of this after an 18 year old man-child is gunned down on the streets of America by those whose car tags say “Protect and Serve.”  But who, in actuality, are they protecting?  For certainly it is not those of black and brown skin in this land, as time and again we are racially profiled, falsely accused and almost always assumed guilty until proven innocent….if we are ever given a chance to prove that innocence.  As the lifeless body of Michael Brown, lay shot and uncovered in the street for hours, the people were met with aggression and intolerance by law enforcement, as our rights to gather and for peaceful protest were ignored.  Our first amendment rights ignored, then violated.

The message was clear: You are not welcome here.  Your life has no meaning.  Know your place.  You are expendable.  No matter what we do to you, accept it and don’t raise your voice against it.  You are just another nigger and don’t you ever forget it.  And we heard it – loud and clear.  It’s message traveling through the airwaves like the sound of light.  To a nation it said: Wake UP!  To a people it said: Things have not changed, no matter how things appear on the outside.

We have become complacent.  Confused even.  From the time of our entry into this land through the hundreds of years leading to the Civil Rights Movement, as a people, we knew our place.  We were under no misconceptions that we were looked at as less than second class citizens.  That our road would be harder.  That no matter what we had, how much wealth we amassed, we were still seen as worthless.  We understood how to navigate this world we’d been thrust into, born into.  We understood the necessity of sticking together as a people.  We knew that we were not safe.  We knew to look within and to each other for help.  We knew to keep our hands laced in the hands of God for wisdom and for protection.

But somehow we’ve forgotten.  Perhaps it was the ability to live in their neighborhoods.  Or maybe it was the openness we could flaunt our interracial relationships,  marriages, children.  Who knows….maybe it was being able to assimilate their schools, work alongside them or join their exclusive groups.  Oh….perhaps it was being able to spend our hard earned dollars in their stores, helping them to amass a fortune.  Whatever it was, it’s like we’ve forgotten that underneath it all, no matter how calm things appear on the surface, we are not them.

 

Our recent successes have clouded our eyes, made us think that our degrees made us better than the mother on welfare.  Our good diction and ability to speak the king’s English set us higher than our more flat or “ebonics” speaking brothers and sisters.  Our fancy clothes, spit shined shoes and 401K’s made us think we were better than those who made their living on the streets of urban America.  Hidden behind stock options, corner offices, initials behind our names and McMansions, we have forgotten that there is an entire system in place that is not meant for us.  Was never meant for us.  Oh don’t get me wrong. I am not in any way saying that we should not work for and desire a better life.  That is certainly not my point.

It started me to thinking.  Why is there such hostility between blacks and whites?  Specifically, why are black people targeted and consistently mistreated by white Americans in this country?  Why the double standard?  And it hit me like a ton of bricks.  Because we were brought here as slaves and they never expected to have to deal with us as equals.  As we know their system, their plan lasted for generations, hundreds of years.  Since the Civil War and our supposed “freedom” that it granted us, they’ve been trying to re-enslave us one step, one person, one system at a time.  It makes me wonder are we oblivious to what is going on right around us?

The overall plight of my people in this country breaks my heart.  Again, I find myself asking, don’t we see?  The same drugs we are catching convictions for are the same drugs they infiltrated into our communities.  Shall I remind us that we had no boats, planes or other means of being able to get that stuff here?  But they played on our poverty and lack knowing that at some point the survival of the fittest would kick in and folks would be willing to sell father, mother, sister, brother, neighbor, and child to make a fast buck and give themselves a chance to rise up.  Even if it meant destroying our families, our communities, and killing each other to stop their individual suffering.

Through it, they have managed to put us back in a form of slavery – this time instead of selling off our sons, brothers and fathers, now they kill them, we kill them, or they are incarcerated, leaving yet another generation to have to fend for itself.  Through it, they have managed to take even the mother figure and have her working so hard at so many hours there is no one to raise her children or she gets hooked on the very substances that infuse the fiber of urban living. Another generation is lost – this time to incarceration, our children being put in a completely inept foster care system, more poverty as young women have babies out of wedlock with no fathers to help raise them.  Despite our successes, none of us is immune to its effects. 

For a while we were complacent.  Comfortable even.  Now the unarmed teen running to the store murdered for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and the famed historian arrested by cops at his home share the same story as the female professor groped on the campus streets where she worked like a common whore and the unarmed man choked to death while handcuffed on the city streets.  And the common denominator is their race.  No one is off limits.  We can no longer convince ourselves that it’s “their problem.”  As a people, it’s our problem.

It’s time to put aside the petty differences of territory; of she looked at me wrong; of he stepped on my shoe and disrespected me and realize that we need each other.  There is no demilitarized zone.  This whole attitude of us four and no more, and “I ain’t looking out for the next man” is the very division that is used against us to defeat our own people.  Any of these scenarios could so easily be me, you or someone that we know.  It’s time to get back to the basics of community.  Of unity.  Of togetherness. It’s time to bring about a change that says life is so much more than the labels on our backs.  Am I my brother’s (or sister’s) keeper?   You bet I am, and so are you.  It’s time to look each other in the eyes and acknowledge our shared struggle.  It’s time to get back to loving each other.  We can accomplish so much more unified than we can as independent agents.

The call has sounded…will you hear the call and come to action? For all the ones we’ve lost in the struggle, let’s not let their lives, their stories, their deaths be in vain.

To the parents of Michael Brown and all the others whose stories never make the news, we feel your pain.  Our hearts grieve the loss of life, just as yours does.  You are not alone.

Changing lives one word at a time….Tumika Patrice Cain

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Tumika Patrice Cain is an award-winning author, media personality, and motivational speaker. Through her imprint, Inkscriptions Publishing & Media Group, she provides high quality, affordable, mentor-based publishing services to indie authors, as well as inspired, empowering messages of hope and abundance through her media outlets. Her works can be found in many publications, including Fresh Lifestyle Magazine. To learn more about Tumika, her books, and her services visit the following websites. http://www.TumikaPatrice.com and http://www.InkscriptionsPMG.com