Beforty

In less than 24 hours, I will turn forty years old. Before then, I wanted to mark the time and reflect on my life’s journey. Here are three quick lessons I’ve learned over these (almost) four decades of life:

 

1. Treasure Our People – I have not posted to this blog in nearly three years. Early in 2020, my mentor and Pops, Rev. Michael Brown died of cancer. Since then, I could not find the creative energy to write here. This summer, my mother died of health complications. I am continuing to process what it means to live without her physical presence as well and tomorrow, will listen for her voice singing me happy birthday. They are pictured below with me at my ordination service in 2012. 

   
   

   
   

   

   Me, my Mom (Augusta Gilmore-Bennett) and
   Pops (Rev. Michael Brown)

Because families are complex, it's important for me to say that Rev. Brown was not my biological father. He was married to Veronica Brown for over 40 years and they welcomed me as part of their family. My mother was married to Robert Bennett, who she was with for 27 years.

Over the years, we have experienced the deaths of family and friends; Granny, Uncle Freddy, Mr. Nobody, Uncle Charles, Auntie Debra, and Larry to name a few. These people were our people. They were not all related by blood, but they were our sages, guides, and confidants. They were our consciences and guardians. They were the people we relied on when an adult was needed. (Now, we find ourselves being the adults others rely on!?!) But it all has taught me to value my people. To love them deeply and tell them openly. To care enough to care. In the hospital, I’ve also seen the reality that life is like a vapor and can evaporate without warning. I am so grateful for the people in my life who love me and who I love. Dear friends who check on me, youth I’ve ministered to in the past, compassionate colleagues. I’m grateful for the lilt in their laughter and the peace of their presence. This is an area I want to continue to grow in as I cross this new decade of life. 

2. Be Audacious – For some reason, my life has been filled with big decisions. I accepted my calling into ministry at 21. This decision would alter my entire life. I co-founded a city-wide conference at 23 (I Want God folx, stand up!). The scariest life decision we made? Leaving good jobs and our entire network in Indiana and moving to North Carolina with a one-year-old baby and $1000. It was an audacious decision that became transformative for our life’s trajectory. We have seen the fruit of our labors and prayers. We have met new people (who have also become our people) and learned to take big risks. It taught us to rely on God and God’s people for provision. It taught us that we are resilient. Other audacious decisions have followed those - personal ministry choices, starting a business, meetings and moments that have continued to expand our horizons.

As I’ve gotten older (ugh, I’m saying it already), I’ve noticed that those with great opportunities aren't always the smartest or best, they simply have the audacity to believe in what may be possible. This leads me to my last lesson… 

3. Keep Dreaming and Acting - When I was a young child, I could not imagine the age I am now. Even as a teenager, I remember dreaming about being an adult and that adult was never forty. In those adolescent dreams, I was ageless, older than my big cousins but never the age of my mom (who was “old” to me, although she was in her late 30s like I am - for a few more hours). My dream adult life was amazing - I was married to a beautiful woman and we had lovely children. Unlike my real life at the time, the adult me had more shirts in the closet than days of the week. The adult me had access to a car. The adult me felt safe and smiled a lot. Those dreams were important to me. They kept me believing in something and hoping for a future. 

That has been an invaluable takeaway - if I dream and work, the dream can become my life. I recognize this is a bold statement, that also needs to allow room for the lived realities of people who cannot simply out-dream themselves out of their life’s conditions. However, for me, the dream was important because the dream fueled my faith and my faith fueled my actions. Now I spend time asking myself, What do I dream of next? What is beyond what I can see? Writing, serving, giving, playing, loving? If so, I need to encourage those dreams to concretize through my efforts, relationships, and prayers. 

Today, my life is not perfect - marriage and children are incredible and hard work. Ministry is fulfilling and taxing. Yet my life is better than I ever imagined. To come from my family’s beginnings, surviving abuse, poverty, insecurity, low expectations, and societal limitations to where I/we are today, quite honestly, feels like a miracle. A spectacular, imperfect spectacle of God’s grace and glory. What’s even more exciting? Today, at 39.997, before forty is officially here, it feels like the dream may just be getting started. 

It Was All a Dream: An Ode to Summer

Approximately three months ago, summer began and with it so did my goal-setting.  I had major plans for this season. I registered for a class, created a writing schedule, and purposed to do projects around the house. I was going to work hard and get a lot done. At first, I was disappointed that I was not working (or overworking). Then I decided to fully live into the respite. Looking back now, I didn't complete most of these tasks. And yet, I feel better than I have at the end of a summer in a long time. 

This summer, I allowed myself to lay fallow. My fallow season may have been needed to produce a greater quality harvest but it’s also been an unexpected blessing. It reminded me that I’m not the product of my production.  I rejected the Western/capitalist social myth that my value is only connected to what I produce. I am enough and I am worthy of rest.  (As avatars and echoes of God, we should rest even when we have the power to work. Controlled power is real strength.)

Tonight is the last night of my summer. Oh, I know  summer technically ends on September 22. But the spirit of summer, the choices, the freedom, ends tonight. The first day of school for our daughters is tomorrow. My doctoral classes (including Quantitative Research Methods!) resume Thursday. Ashley’s clientele continues to increase. I’ve got a speaking engagement Saturday, new student chaplain interns arriving at our hospital in three weeks, and a full dance card this fall. Yet, I am better prepared to approach this next season because of  the gifts summer has given me. I hope you have enjoyed fallow times this summer. I believe they can make us better. Check out my ode and slideshow below. Thank you Summer.

An Ode to Summer

For rest,

For daydreams and dalliances,

For new places to nestle and nap. 

For experimentation and exercise. 

For rekindled romance. 

For meditative moments uninterrupted by deadlines. 

For Nnede Okorafor’s novel Who Fears Death. 

For Megan Thee Stallion. 

For Brian Courtney Wilson. 

For watching Ashley present at a conference. 

For strengthening my bond with Shakespeare, the Carter’s family dog. 

For long talks with my sister.

For freedom from wearing my retainer 24/7 (always at night though!).

For a clearer commute. 

For an encouraging conversation with my academic advisor. 

For French toast with Florida friends.

For spraying the girls with water hoses. 

For colleagues that laughed and cried with me. 

For grandparents who love their grandchildren.

For sermon requests that came at the right time. 

For relaxing our tie requirement at work.

For Augmented Reality.

For late nights and early mornings. 

For sustenance in the midst of major financial changes. 

For sweat. #drip

For visits from old friends.

For the looks on the girls’ faces as they ascended in an airplane. 

For barbecued turkey chops with the Browns. 

For fireworks. 

For trying new wines. 

For playing NBA 2K with my nephew. 

For teaching me about growth through rest. 

Thank you Summer.