Do you trust the process?
The book took time to write, and time again to get into the hand of readers. But it comes out this month, so I'd love to know how the author feels about the wait... the process perhaps... and here she is to tell us.
What writing your book
taught you: TRUST THE PROCESS
Writing
this book has taught me about trusting the process. I’ve heard the phrase
“trust the process” a great deal in the past year. I first heard it at a
Philadelphia 76ers game when one of the players stepped to the free-throw line
and the crowd kept shouting, “trust the process!” I asked my friend what they
meant by that phrase. He told me that it had to do with the strategy that the
team used in being patient in how they were going to build a successful team.
The key to that success was learning to trust the process. As I started writing
I thought about that phrase quite often. The process for writing a book can be
quite challenging. It’s not only challenging because one needs to find the time
to be able to write, but also challenging emotionally and even physically. I
wasn’t sure how the book was going to turn out nor was I sure if I would even
be able to make it to the end where I felt like I had a successful piece of
work. It took months of writing and sending chapters to my editor and getting
feedback and then rewriting. That process went on for about a year. Even now I
find myself in a place where I have to learn to trust the process of putting
the book out in marketing and promoting it. Parable
of the Brown Girl was complete in the summer of 2019, but it isn’t until
February 2020 that people will be able to purchase the final product. That is a
significant time of waiting which means that patience is also a part of the
process. I have found myself anxious and wanting to get out ahead of the
process but I have been reminded that God has a plan for how this book will
unfold and I have to position myself to trust that plan. I’ve learned a lot
about myself and I have grown as a person, not just from the content of the
book, but the overall process of writing it has taught me a great deal about
trusting God in areas of my life where I am waiting for something. I have
learned that running a marathon is much more about how you grow during the
training for that marathon as much as when you cross the finish line.
I'm guessing research must have been part of the process--the speaker at our writers' group next month will talk about that. But Khristi can tell me right now!
How much research went
into your book?
The research for Parable
of the Brown Girl started when I didn’t even realize I was going to write
the book. In my career I have had the distinct pleasure of mentoring,
counseling, and working for and on behalf of black girls. In that there have
been quite a few relationships that I have developed with some of these girls
that have stuck with me on a deep level. Some of the stories that I wrote about
were taken from my memory and the lasting impact that the girls made on my own
life. As a result, when I began writing I already had some of those stories in
my mind that I was able to translate into text. For other stories, I reached
out to some of the girls that I know and we met over coffee/tea or video chat
and they shared with me details about their lives. I simply asked a lot of
them, “What made you who you are today?” That question proceeded into some deep
discussions. Other conversations I had with girls asking them their opinions
about various topics or just observing them and listening to their conversation
and the things they struggle with and their joys. It was a combination of all
of those factors that led to the formation of this book. I also did research
from secondary sources that were pertinent to the topic of the lives and
experiences of black women and girls. Some of that research included books from
scholars in this area like Dr. Monique Morris’ work on the marginalization of
black girls or Melissa Harris-Perry’s Sister
Citizen. I also looked at Georgetown Law
Center on Poverty and Inequality’s study, Girlhood Interrupted: The Erasure of Black Girls' Childhood
alongside Columbia Law’s Black
Girls Matter: Pushed Out, Overpoliced, and Underprotected. Both
of these studies had significant influence on my writing. Once I had all
of that research then creating the book was like putting together a piece of
art.
Thanks Khristi. I'm planning to read the book soon, and I'm delighted to be able to feature it here. Good luck with the release! And here, with thanks, is an excerpt from chapter 1.
Chapter
1
Parable
of the WEAK BROWN GIRL
Why
would God make me a warrior when I’m really just weak?
—Deborah,
age nine
For a nine-year-old girl, Deborah had a very sharp and
opinionated mind. She was curious and perceptive, yet also quite innocent. About
a week prior to Deborah’s ninth birthday, her mother brought her to see me for
counseling. She wanted Deborah to have someone to share her inquisitive
thoughts with outside of her family and friends. In the time we’d been seeing
one another, Deborah and I talked about many things. She often described school
as her “happy place.” One could feel the warmth of her big, bright smile when
she talked about her friends and her classes. At school she felt safe, contrary
to what she described as feeling trapped at home. She lived in a small,
one-bedroom apartment with her mother and her mother’s boyfriend, who was
recently released from jail after two years. Before he returned, Deborah slept
in a room with her mother, which she loved because of how close she felt to her
mother physically and emotionally.
Now
she slept in the living room on their big, dusty, brown couch, which she
described as old and worn. The middle dipped low when she lay on the couch and
she often awoke with her back aching, but her mother thought Deborah was being
dramatic when she complained about it. However, Deborah’s grievances indicated
she felt distance between her and her mother and no longer had a sense of security
and safety at home. Deborah’s mother was usually tired from working most of the
day to support herself, her daughter, and her boyfriend. It had been six months
since her mother’s boyfriend had moved in, and Deborah didn’t feel comfortable
with him in her home. When she told her mother this, her words fell on deaf
ears, just like all her other complaints did. Her mother thought Deborah was
jealous but also believed Deborah would adjust to the situation eventually.
Deborah had a black-and white-marbled composition notebook she
used as her journal. She didn’t structure her thoughts in a particular way,
filling the notebook mostly with pencil-drawn pictures and poems. Knowing these
were her private thoughts, I told Deborah she did not have to read them to me.
Sometimes, she would bring the journal and have it idly on the desk. Other
times, she wanted to read her thoughts from the past week. One day as she read,
I glanced into the notebook and saw a picture she’d drawn, but I couldn’t quite
make out who or what it was.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Embarrassed, she tried to hide it, but I promised I wouldn’t
judge anything she drew or wrote. When she showed me the picture more closely,
I was horrified. It was a picture of a girl with a gun to her head and the
words “What’s the point? No one cares.” Something inside of me knew Deborah was
the little girl. I asked her about the picture and she said it was an old
drawing. Upon seeing the concerned look on my face, she tried to reassure me
she’d just been having a bad day when she’d drawn it.
We sat in silence for a moment while I tried to gather words.
Deborah seemed more concerned with my reaction than the actual drawing, and I
sensed she didn’t want me to worry. When I finally found the words, I tried my
hardest to impress to her that her life was important and that although things
were difficult, people loved and cared for her. I also told her she had a life
with purpose just like everyone else and God hadn’t made a mistake when
creating her. She paused to think about my words and then desperately asked
one of the most profound questions I’d ever heard.
“Why did God make me a warrior when I’m really just weak?”
I’d explained to Deborah that we would journey through life’s
questions during our time together. I’d warned I wouldn’t always have the
answers, but we would do our best to find them. This was a time I had no
answer. As our session for that particular day ended, I promised we would
revisit her question the next time, which would be the following week. As the
intervening days passed, I grappled with her question, unable to get it out of
my head. I was also ashamed to admit I had been in that exact theological
crisis more times than I could count. Why did God make me a
warrior, when I, just like Deborah, was simply a weak human being? Numerous
challenging moments in my life have led me to question my abilities. When I
would outwardly struggle, people would quote, “He will not let you be tempted
beyond your ability” (1 Corinthians 10:13). However, my abilities felt like
failures. It was—and still is—hard to admit to feeling this weakness, even
though I had been in leadership positions before where I had to portray
strength. I realized a nine-year-old could articulate one of life’s important
questions in a way that I never could.
Nevertheless, I knew I’d have to tell Deborah something more
than typical, “You’re not weak—don’t say that. You’re brave and strong.” Why
did we respond with this comforting platitude even though it was not the truth
for most of us? Adults especially give these types of fabrications when
communicating with children, believing to protect them from painful realities.
Was it better to tell a child uncomfortable truths at a young age or to lie so
they can maintain unchallenged happiness? In this case, I did not want to lie.
I had to tell Deborah the truth, which meant I needed to figure out an
appropriate response to her question.
A week later, I went to our next session with the intention to
pick up where we left off. I waited for her nervously and quietly. Deborah
walked into the sparsely decorated room and sat across from me at our usual
table. I couldn’t tell if she looked tired because of a long day at school or
because of her sleepless nights on her couch at home. I told her I had been
thinking about her question all week and I finally had an answer. As I looked
into the face of that troubled yet innocent nine-year-old little girl, I said,
“Just because you are weak, doesn’t make you less than a warrior. Warriors can
be weak.” She might not have grasped the totality of that statement, but
nevertheless, she looked relieved to know she could still be considered a
warrior. Her weakness did not negate her strength.
If our truest selves are not always strong, why do we place such
emphasis and privilege on constantly embodying strength? This quandary is a
theological and human in nature, and one many black women and girls especially
have to face throughout their lives.
We
are human; therefore, we are strong and weak. Many of us, particularly black
women and girls, have not been taught how to graciously give ourselves space to
live with weakness. Weakness makes us acknowledge our inabilities and surrender
to forces outside of ourselves for help. All of this contradicts our
understandings of success and strength. We have difficulty seeing power in
weakness.
Deborah’s struggles as a young black girl wrestling with a perceived
mantle of strength reminded me of similar struggles I’d had my entire life.
While I marveled at Deborah’s courage to ask her question, I later realized I’d
had to garner my own courage to respond, to admit warriors can be weak and that
I can be weak. I, a strong, independent, black woman, can also be vulnerable
and fragile.
Black women have not had permission to be both. We need to be
seen for all of who we are. I am proud of the strength in my DNA as a black
woman and warrior, yet I am also grateful for the grace that gives me space to
be weak when I need to be.
Deborah made me confront my own weaknesses. I still don’t know
why God created us to have both weakness and strength. However, as 1
Corinthians suggests, God uses the weak things of the world to shine a light of
truth on the strong. God chose to become incarnate in the weakness of Christ in
order to present a powerful gospel of truth to the world. Weakness was the
chosen one. Therefore, do not discount weakness. God resides with us in both
our strength and our weakness; neither limits God.
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