It’s Tough Being Benjamin: My Story Spending A Semester Under A Different Name

Another semester done … another semester closer to graduation!

But I won’t lie; this semester was probably one of my toughest ones yet.

I’ve been in graduate school for three and a half years, working to earn two master’s degrees in public administration and nonprofit management (as a dual-degree program, it takes about 4 years, so I’m technically on track). I have a vision to launch my own nonprofit in the future and these degrees can be used as stepping stones to help me get into the field.

So, you can only imagine how tough being a full-time graduate student can be, while also working a full-time job. Let’s add serving my church as a member of the church’s worship team/choir, starting a small meal prep and catering business, helping launch a podcast, and still maintain a social life with being active in the gym, meeting with friends and family, and trying to date after my breakup in January (cuz ya boi tryna get married and have 2.5 kids in the next five years … wait, I slipped into my 2000s R&B lingo, let me bring it back). Oh, and did I forget to mention that I balanced all of this while also losing friends and family every other month during a health pandemic that literally shut the world down?

Needless to say, I’ve had a lot going on in my world and a lot that I’ve had placed on my back to carry. But I continued to remind myself that I was “built for this” and that I could handle everything thrown my way.

Until this semester.

INTRODUCING BENJAMIN

Up until this semester, I have been taking all of my classes online (even before the pandemic forced all schools to implement online learning). With the schedule I keep in general, it was the best option for me. But, as a tuition-waiver student, there were a lot of hoops I had to jump through every semester when it came to registering for my classes, that I finally switched to becoming a traditional student (opting to take in-person classes) so I would have more options.

This semester was the first semester that I took a class in-person. I wasn’t looking forward to it exactly, especially with COVID-19 still on the loose, but I had to do what I had to and enrolled in two in-person classes; one class on Tuesday night and one class on Wednesday night in the downtown Orlando campus – 13 miles away from my job and both classes starting an hour after I got off work.

Now, my plan was to enroll in only one in-person class on Wednesday and have my Tuesdays focused on other obligations. So, when I went to the Tuesday class the first week of school, of course, they wanted us to introduce ourselves. When they came to me, something in my mind said, “Don’t give them your real name; you’re going to drop this class anyway.” So I told them, “Hello, my name is Benjamin James.”

Why Benjamin though?

Benjamin is my middle name. For years, I’ve always written my professional name as “Drexler B. James” but would never tell anyone what my middle name was. It soon became a guessing game for people to figure out what the “B” stood for. And I was able to keep it a secret for years, until some friends at church tricked me into revealing my middle name and they started calling me “Benjamin” after dark, because they swore I developed a different personality under that nickname. Then, some of these friends and I launched a podcast that people tuned into, and on the podcast, they would often refer to me as “Benjamin” which then led to other people referring to me as Benjamin. So, for some reason, Benjamin has developed into a whole new character that, in that moment in the classroom, took one another dimension.

Remember now, the plan was to drop the course. But, God has a sense of humor, and I ended up having to stay in the course.

Welcome Benjamin to the class everyone.

DUAL IDENTITIES

So, here I am, sitting in class under a new name. It was a little awkward at first, but then, I started to think “These students don’t know the full story behind Benjamin; I can make Benjamin who I want Benjamin to be.” But someone also pointed out another fact; would people treat me differently if I had a more “respectable” name?

Throughout the semester, I had to constantly remind myself that I’m Drexler, but now I was playing a character of Benjamin. Of course, I had to speak to my professor and let her know that Drexler was my real name, and she spent most of the semester trying to learn how to say my real name properly (which would confuse the students after while because they heard Benjamin first, not Drexler). My groupmates for our group project created a GroupMe (a messaging app for those who don’t know) and couldn’t find my name in the system at first because they searched for Benjamin versus Drexler. If I ran into people who knew me as Drexler and they called me by that name, my classmates would look in shock. We had a guest speaker (who apparently I had met in the past) who called me by my real name during his presentation and I was so shocked that he knew me (from the past) that I was speechless – but my classmates thought I was speechless because he dared to use my real name, not because we had met in the past. I spent quite a significant part of the semester simply explaining why I went by another name and waiting to see people’s response to my real name.

It was interesting to see people react to me though; as Benjamin, it seemed that people listened to me more, respected my unique perspectives on the topic of policy reformation and advocacy for change, my real-world experiences that weren’t rooted in privilege, but perspective from the other side of the tracks. I was looked at as educated, polished and smooth (a couple of girls complimented how I was always dressed nice for class). But, outside the classroom, when Drexler appeared in group messages, Drexler was more relaxed, more of the class clown, more “crazy” and outgoing.

What was also interesting was how these two different personalities were received. It seems that Benjamin in an academic setting is received the way Drexler is received among my family and friends, but Drexler is received among my academic peers the way Benjamin is received among my family and friends. But in either setting, people seem to prefer the outgoing side of me, while the appreciate the intellectual side of me.

SEASON TWO? WE’LL SEE…

If you are reading this blog, most likely, you saw this on Facebook, where I would occasionally update people on the class that I took under the name of Benjamin. After a couple of weeks in class, people nicknamed my updates as “Being Benjamin” and swore it was the most entertaining show on social media – to the point where people looked forward to hearing the updates and wanted to know what would happen next.

As the semester drew to an end, I announced that I would soon be done with “Being Benjamin” for the semester and people immediately said “We want season two!” I legit don’t even know what a “season two” would look like as Benjamin, because he ain’t my character. I have enough on my plate as Drexler. And I’ve learned my lesson; stick with my real name no matter what, cuz if I gotta create a new personality, that is a headache. I’d rather just explain that my inner circle calls me Benjmain.

But I won’t lie; “Being Benjamin” does sound like some type of coming-of-age album (maybe a neo-soul kinda R&B album, with a little jazz, blues, hip-hop, soul and gospel infused into it) or an NBC comedy or something. HOWEVER, I’m content with just being Drexler next semester.

In the meantime, let me start writing my acceptance speech for my Emmy and Oscar and Academy Award.

What Technology Taught Me: Important Life Lessons at My Fingertips

It’s amazing where you can find inspiration from. It’s amazing the lessons you learn as you grow older and the source of some of those lessons.

This past year has been a whirlwind of lessons for people on so many levels about so many things in our lives and the strength and status of those things. And while many people look at 2020 as a horrible year (and there have been some extremely low moments and tough experiences), there have been some major life lessons that I’ve learned along the way.

But who knew that technology would be the teacher? I knew that our world was wired for technology, but I didn’t realize how much technology was woven, or could be woven, into the fabric of our lives until COVID-19 forced everybody to switch to online lives, more than before. Here are a couple of the lessons that I learned along the way:

Addressing One Issue Can Solve Multiple Issues You Didn’t Know Was Related

Before COVID-19 took over the world, when we were all free (well, more free) to drive around and go where we wanted to go, I drove around Orlando to different places like nothing was wrong. But I noticed something WAS wrong … with my car.

I’ve had my car, my silver 2008 Limited Edition Toyota Avalon, since 2014. And she has been a faithful ride-or-die who has not given me hardly any problems, other than occasional flat tires (but that’s more my fault than her fault). I named her Whitney, after my favorite singer Whitney Houston, and love her dearly. People often joke that she is not a Toyota because of how luxurious she appears.

But in February of this year, one afternoon while sitting in a traffic jam, I noticed something strange; the needle that indicated the engine temperature was moving up, moving toward the Hot end of the radar. At first, I thought my eyes were bothering me from staring into the sunset too long, because my car wasn’t overheating, was it? But the longer I stared at it, the more I began to notice it moving, slowly but surely, toward the Hot end. I began to grow nervous and scared; was my car about to burst into flames? Was Whitney about to die from a car-related fever? What was I going to do? Luckily, I was able to drive her forward and keep the car from overheating.

That wasn’t the only thing that I noticed was wrong with her though; one day, as I was leaving from meeting up with a friend, I tried to blow my car horn … and nothing happened. My car horn wasn’t working. Then I noticed that my temperature gauge for the outside temperature was reading “Error.” Then, the windshield wipers weren’t working. Then, the headlights weren’t working properly. Then, the air conditioner wasn’t working the best (and that’s not good in Florida).

It seemed as if Whitney was slowly falling apart at the seams. The list of things that needed to be fixed or addressed was stretching longer and longer. But, before I could start addressing things, COVID-19 hit and I was stuck inside for months.

The world has been slowly trying to reopen and adjust to a new normal. Which meant that I was starting to drive a little bit more again, forcing me to face the very issues that I had tried to push aside and ignore in my car for months. And now, it seemed the issues were worst because of the heat of Florida; my car would heat up much faster to the point that I would turn my car off in traffic while at red lights to keep it from overheating.

I couldn’t deal with it anymore and I finally had to take it into the shop to be repaired. The mechanic told me that one of the computer systems in my engine had failed, basically not telling the radiator fan to turn on and cool the engine down. So after a week in the shop, the computer system in the car was repaired and Whitney was back to normal. But this was what amazed me the most; the computer system that needed to be fixed for the radiator engine also controlled everything else that I noticed was wrong with my car. Everything was connected to each other, so by addressing one issue, I had solved about six issues at the same time.

Isn’t that amazing? But isn’t it also sad that we do ourselves the same way? How many times have we dealt with one issue, and realized that Issue A is connected to Issues B-J too? We try to address each issue on its own, only to find that they are connected to each other. And when we feel overwhelmed by those issues, we ignore them, just like I tried to ignore Whitney’s issues, until they almost blow up in our face? And the only way to address these issues was to bring the car to the manufacturer. Well, who is our manufacturer? None other than Jesus Christ.

The Bible says “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” (I Peter 5:7). That means we have to take EVERYTHING to Him at once. Just like I gave my whole car to the shop to be fully repaired and address one issue that was connected to other issues, we have to take ourselves to God and allow Him to do the work to address one issue that is connected to multiple issues. Especially then the issue that needs to be addressed is the root issue. The computer in my car controlled so much more than I realized; there are root issues that control so much more in my life than I realize, and won’t realize until I address them.

Everything Works Again If You Shut It Off For A Little While

I love having an iPhone. But I’m at the end of my rope with mine.

Over the past few months, I’ve struggled with my phone. Photos won’t upload; I’m constantly running out of space so I can’t take new photos or videos or get my email, apps will randomly shut down on me or not open, I’ll miss phone calls because the phone won’t ring, or I won’t get text messages from people … it’s a mess and frustrating to say the least.

I finally broke down over the summer and went to Verizon to see if they could tell me that was wrong. The representative I spoke with told me that my phone was basically suffering from information overload; I was trying to do some much with a phone that was designed to only carry so much in its system. But I was pushing it beyond it’s boundaries and it was suffering. Now, of course, they tried to sell me a new phone on the spot, but the way my bank account it set up, I couldn’t do it then.

So now, when my phone has a moment, often I turn it off and let it rest for a few moments before I turn it back on and continue as normal. When I do that, most everything works again, as if five minutes ago, I wasn’t about to throw it against the wall of my bedroom.

But we are the same way. Especially now, with so much news and information available all the time, coming in through so many channels, we are all suffering from information overload in a sense and we can also burn out because of it. I literally have news alerts and updates coming to me on the daily. I used to say “Well, I studied journalism” or “I’m a former news reporter” to justify why I was open to getting so much news and information sent to me constantly.

But even I had to admit, that wasn’t working anymore for me. I found myself almost dreading looking at my phone or computer because of everything that was coming in constantly. And for a while, I felt like I couldn’t escape.

But I could. I just had to shut myself down. I had to reach a place where I told myself, “No, today I will not spend hours reading stories on social media or researching what’s happening in the world. No, today, I’m putting my phone away and allowing myself to binge-watch some TV for a couple of hours.”

And I feel so much better when I do that. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders and my mind is so much better focused. Just needed to shut down for a little bit.

Open to More Technological Teachings

I know there is a lot of stress and strain with online teaching this year, but I’m open to more growth, more lessons through technology, or whatever other avenues they come.

Are you?

And I Matter, Too: The 2020 Edition

I originally wrote these words as an editorial during my time as a news reporter for The Villages Daily Sun newspaper…that was 4 years ago. It’s sad and scary to me that these words are still just as true today as they were back then. While I have made some tweaks to update the timeline, my emotions are still just as raw as the day I wrote this…

I won’t lie; sometimes, I am scared for my life.

I’m almost 30 years old and for the past five years, every morning, I have had to text my mother to let her know that I am alive and doing well.

It’s the reality that I have to live every day; a reality that has become more commonplace for me and so many other African-Americans at this time in history. With multiple cases of police brutality and African-Americans being shot and killed, fear and anger sweep over the nation like never before.

And to think, it all started, literally, in my own backyard on Feb. 26, 2012. On that evening, Trayvon Martin, a young African-American male, was shot and killed by George Zimmerman, a neighborhood community watch, at The Retreat at Twin Lakes in Sanford.

Since that night, the Black Lives Matter Movement has grown to raise concern to a community that feels their voice is being taken away from them. Following Zimmerman’s verdict in July 2013 and the shooting and death of Mike Brown on Aug. 9, 2014, the movement has gained momentum and prominence nationwide, with marches and protests to end violence and police brutality.

I understand the fear and concern within the African-American community. With new case that arises where an African-American is shot and killed, often times at the hands of police officers, there is a growing concern of where to turn to for help and how we are to carry ourselves. It’s a scary time, and I’ll be the first to say that, I’m young and there are some days where I am really scared for my life. It’s scary when you see so many people who look like you, being pulled over for something as simple as a broken taillight, not signaling a lane change. It’s scary to be watching videos of people in their cars, leaning over with blood on their shirts or gasping for air as someone in uniform kneels on their neck.

And you can’t help but wonder, could that be you or your friends?

There have been mornings where, as I shut my apartment door, the thought crosses my mind, ‘Will this be the last time that I will be home to see my apartment?’ Every time I see a police officer, my heart quickens and my hands shake, especially when I see them pull up behind me. I grow tense, waiting for the red and blue lights to start flashing, my eyes checking my speed and making sure both hands are on the steering wheel to make sure that I have no reason to be pulled over. I remember some Sunday mornings, driving on my way to church, to have one police car follow me, then disappear only for another to fall in line behind me, as if on a schedule. I remember going for a jog in my own neighborhood one evening, only to have to duck and hide in the bushes because a truck of men raced past, hit a U-turn and came flying down the road back at me, shooting guns. Recently, I was taking a stroll down the street at night to clear my mind and had to have a friend with me who refused to hang up because he was scared for my life.

It’s in those moments you become scared for your life, because you think about all the other cases you have seen, heard, or read about, where it ended with someone dead.
Some people cry out that “All Lives Matter.” And that’s true; I completely agree. All lives do matter; no one deserves to be killed. Every person, every life, is special and precious, placed on earth at a specific time to add value to the plant, to change the world for the better. But, in order for all lives to matter, each individual life has to matter. It’s like going to a dinner party and watching everyone else get a plate of food except you. When you say “I want some food,” and someone responds, “Everyone wants some food,” that still didn’t give you your food, did it? You still want your part.

And that’s all we want; we, as an African-American community, want to make sure that our voices are heard, that our lives count, that our lives matter too, that we are a part of the American dream of “all men are created equal.” We don’t want to be seen as better than anybody; we just want to be seen as equal. Is not our blood red like everybody else? Do we not laugh, smile, cry like everyone else? Do we not have dreams and hopes, fears and doubts like everybody else? Black lives matter, just like all lives matter, to someone one. Each shooting and death is a father, mother, son, brother, sister, uncle, aunt, cousin, niece, nephew, friend, that is forever lost. They matter to someone.

And I matter to someone. I am a son, a brother, a cousin, a nephew, an uncle, a friend, a citizen to society. Am I not as valuable? Does my skin tone diminish the light and life in me? If I were to be shot and killed, who would miss me? My family and my friends, those who I work with or go to church with … someone, somewhere, would be hurt to hear about my death.

What about everyone else who has been victimized or even killed unjustly or unfairly, their final moments captured on film as their black and brown body releases a final breath? Didn’t they matter to someone? Or were they just target practice, a disposable item in the fabric of American society?  That’s why we stand and say “Black Lives Matter,” because to someone out there, we do matter.

I have hope but it’s a struggle to hold on to some days, especially when cases are often brushed over or justified. Many times, they try to make it seem like the victim was deserving of their death, yet we see an uneven playing field when it comes to how black and white people are treated by the criminal system. But I’m not here to argue that.

I believe that God calls us to love each other like brothers and sisters, no matter what we look like.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.” Mark 12:30-31

In my mind, we are all neighbors in America; we all come from different backgrounds and different places, but we now all share the same neighborhood, the same community, the same land. We even have the same last name; we are all Americans, therefore making us all brothers and sisters. So we should love each other as brothers and sisters, because all lives matter.

And right now, some of your neighbors, my neighbors, our neighbors, are hurting, broken, in pain, crying, screaming, shouting, yelling for help. We need some sense of justice, yet often times, it feels like those cries fall on deaf ears.

Doesn’t it hurt when you see your brother or sister, or even your neighbor hurting? We are hurting right now. I am hurting. My mind, heart and soul can not deal much more with the weight of being black in America. My skin tone should not feel like a burden of potential death, but a blessing of the creativity of God’s idea of beauty in diversity.

Help us. Help us feel like we belong. Help us feel like we matter by fighting with us and for us as you would your own blood brother and sister.

Because our blood is red too; you see it on our clothes and splattered on the pavement.

Because our cries of anguish and tears of hurt, pain and frustrtation are real; you see them spilling down our faces at countless funerals and memorials, on live TV interviews and courtrooms.

Because, to someone out there, they matter. We matter. I matter. And you matter too.

And today, I just want to know that I matter to you as much as you matter to me.

Sitting Up In My Room: Some Thoughts From COVID-19

Did you start singing the song in your head? If you are a 90s kid like I am, and a lover of R&B music like me, you know the song. We all know the song. We remember Brandy with the rope braids, with the 90s hit that was part of the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack, talking about how she was going crazy, thinking about someone she cared about while sitting in her room. I feel like every girl in the 90s at some point had a “Sittin Up in My Room” moment.

Now, the entire world is sitting up in their rooms.

There’s no getting around it; all of us have been impacted by the Coronavirus, or COVID-19, no matter where we live. In my lifetime, I have never experienced a pandemic and it’s been a nerve-wrecking experience to say the least.

When I first heard about it, I thought it was just a glorified cough or a more serious bout of the flu. But as it became more and more serious, I started doing my research to see what exactly was happening. Suddenly, toilet paper was in short supply, malls and casual shopping stores began to close, I was instructed to work from home for an extended period of time from UCF, church was moved to online services and my life stopped. And when I say stopped, I mean STOPPED. Other than going to Publix (and occasionally Target) to get groceries, I literally sat in my apartment for a month straight.

Now, I’ll admit, the first few days was nice; waking up when the sun naturally rose at about 8 a.m., rolling over and logging into a computer to work from while still in my pajamas, watching Netflix and Hulu shows, catching up with my Watch List, snacking and cooking … it was like a vacation in the beginning.

But as we all know, the honeymoon stage ends and by the end of the first week, I was bored with the four walls of my own apartment. By the end of the first month at home, I was miserable and about to go crazy. I was missing people so badly, I was about to go insane. I longed to be around one other human being, to know that there was other people breathing. I wanted to go somewhere and look at something besides my own walls, void of any decoration or artwork. Days began to bleed into each other and I was left in a fog, confused if it was Tuesday or Saturday. For me, it was tough having my world stop for so long; I’m not used to sitting home and sitting still for so long. I always have something to do, somewhere to go and now … nothing. And I was going crazy.

After Easter, which marked approximately one month working from home, I began to spend more time praying for God to keep my mind (now I know what the Saints of Old meant by “He’s a mind-regulator”). Now, nearing the end of two months being home, I feel like I am coming out of the second month better. And I’ve used this time more productively to really think, reflect, write and listen to what God had to say. And He has had quite a bit to say to me recently.

• I have to get out of God’s way: I am a control freak. I have said this many times before. And it’s something that I constantly have to submit to God. I want to know when and where and how and why everything is happening and what my job/role is in the midst of it all. For me to not have an answer is so foreign to me. But during this time, clearly I have no control over what happens. But it’s even deeper than that. See, this was going to be the year that I go on my first missions trip to South Africa. But, with that trip comes the need to raise funds. So I began reaching out to people, but honestly, I wasn’t very sure I would get donations. You could say my faith was fairly low, to the point where, after a month of fundraising, I had only raised $50. And I remember praying to God and saying “God, no one is donating. I don’t think I’ll make it to the trip.” And God responded “Who did you ask? You aren’t telling anyone. You are letting your fear of rejection and losing control get in the way of what I can do.” So I started to move out of my own way; I prayed daily for God to guide me to people to ask, how to ask, and not allow myself to get in God’s way. In less than two weeks, I saw nearly five times what I had seen in the month I stood in God’s way. Now, while my trip has been postponed to next year, the fact that God moved in such a mighty way the moment I stepped aside shows me, yet again, that often time I stand in my own way of what God can and will do for me.
• Healing isn’t just for the body, but the mind, heart and soul: When the year began, I believed that God had given me a word for the year to believe for and live by. That word was “Healing.” But I didn’t ask God what He meant by healing. I assumed that He meant just physical healing, that I would see miraculous healing take place. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have seen God perform miracles physically this year, especially with people I’ve known diagnosed with COVID-19 and doctors believed they were not going to make it. But I began to realize that healing isn’t just physical. This time has made me realize how much brokeness there is in the world around me: with finances, relationships, mental health, spiritual darkness and confusion, etc. But I wasn’t exempt from being broken in my own heart; there are places in me that still needed healing from pain that I thought I had given to God, but had really just hidden from Him and me (more so me, because God knew it was there and uprooted it during this time when I had no way to escape it). But because I have seen the brokeness in me and around me, I know how to pray to address it.
• It’s time to rise up: The other day, while I was praying, I kept hearing the phrase “rise up” repeated in my head. Over and over again, I kept hearing “rise up, rise up, rise up church, rise up man of God!” For awhile, I was unsure what that meant and honestly, I still can’t say I know 100% for sure. But what I do know right now is that I can’t be passive about a lot of things God has revealed to me during this time of stay-at-home orders. It’s time for me to step up. Again, I don’t know what that means or what that looks like, but the time has come for me to be obedient to what God has said and move forward.

As the world slowly tries to open back up and get out of their rooms, I’m continuing to pray to God about what I need to do next. I don’t believe that God had us in this time, slowing down or stopping, to go back to the same old daily routine. We have to change, we have to come out better. And for me, only He knows what that means for me. So I have to move out my way and allow Him to move.

Otherwise, I’ll be back to sitting in my room again.

The Transition: Growing, Maturing, Healing

Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.com

The past few months have been challenging for me to be honest. A real rollercoaster of emotions and events.

On the one hand, some days have been good. I’ve laughed and celebrated milestones, such as one of my best friend’s wedding and my 28th birthday. I’ve moved into my own apartment in Orlando and now am currently in the process of furnishing and decorating it, and I now have my own private office at work. I’ve lead worship on my own at church (by the grace of God) and been able to connect with new people and pour into them in ways to help them grow and develop. I’ve started traveling a little more, broadening my horizons, and begun to dig deeper into my passion for food and culinary culture, both locally and across the state.

On the other hand, some days have been rough. I’ve felt alone and isolated (by choice). I’ve pulled away, tucked secrets into my heart and avoided reality. I’ve sat at work in a fog, gone through the motions without any emotion, and rushed home to stare at the TV for hours on end. I’ve cried and sat alone in the silence of my new apartment, fighting the urge to scream. I’ve dodged social events and kept my thoughts to myself. I’ve felt like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my wings, too weighed down to fly, too weak to go to God in prayer or reach out to my brothers and sisters and ask for help.

I won’t say that I’m completely better, but I’m taking this journey step-by-step and, in the process, growing and learning more about myself.

Emotional Walls

I consider that I’m complex in the sense that I’m extremely emotional, but often have a hard time expressing my emotions and sharing them in healthy ways.

I was a rather sensitive kid growing up and I was always hit with the “Man up!” mantra as I grew older. Before I knew it, I was able to bury my emotions – at least my deeper emotions, especially tears. With my father’s death, I did it again; pushing my own emotions aside to deal with the struggle my family was enduring.

But there came a point where I couldn’t hold them in and they burst through me like a flood one Sunday at church between our first and second service. Looking back at that moment though, I wish I hadn’t tried to be so strong and brave. Instead of trying to rush through the moment to get back on stage and sing, I should have allowed myself to actually sit down and process and feel the emotions that I was dealing with, so I could learn how to grieve my father properly.

After my father’s death, I had a lot of people tell me that I had to “be strong” for my family because I was now the man of the house, the head of the family. Unfortunately, I took that to mean that I couldn’t reveal my emotions to anyone, even myself or those who truly do care. I was more concerned with making sure those around me were okay, without me ever admitting that I wasn’t.

Even if I wasn’t honestly telling people how I was feeling, I wasn’t expressing them at all. I literally would avoid any situation where I would feel emotions, which is strange, becasue most times, I can freely talk about my father. But I find myself talking about him and not about his death or my thoughts toward it. I even avoided listening to certain songs, watching certain shows or anything that triggered emotions period. I even stopped writing songs and poems and anything that could draw emotions other than one previous blog post about my dad.

But now, I’m at a place where I realize that I need to be honest and express my emotions with those around me. That I can’t carry all the emotional weight alone and that I can’t expect to get over it this quickly. Yes, it’s a good thing for me to make sure my mother and sister are okay and healing as they need to, but I also need to heal. And my own father, someone who was very confident and comfortable sharing his emotions and crying in front of me, would not want me to bury my own emotions deep inside forever.

It’s time for the walls to come down.

Keep Living, Keep Growing

Beyond the emotional healing, another component is me not being isolated and stopping my life.

There was a guilt factor in my heart during the summer that I was still doing things and going places as if nothing had changed, nothing had happened. A part of me felt like I needed to just stop. Stop everything and never go again. But that wasn’t my daddy at all; he was all about living life and going forward. He would WANT me to keep doing what I needed to do to survive, but also what I desired to do to thrive.

Slowly, I’ve gone back to as normal as routine as possible (often called “The New Normal”), but I’ve also begun to expand my own horizons a little more. I’ve started living a little more if I had the means to do so. Over the summer, I attended two live concerts in a week (Mary J. Blige and Kirk Franklin), I’ve sung for a tennis competition (finding out later that it was livestreamed on national TV on ESPN), I’ve traveled to Miami for a weekend birthday celebration (my first trip with my fellow black millenial friends and my first vacation in Miami).

Now, as the fall season comes, I’m starting to push a little more. There are dreams and goals in my head that I’ve kept locked up like a closely guarded secret in the vault of my heart that now needs to be released. Not all at once, but I need to at least begin thinking how to execute them. I want to (and really, I have to) challenge myself to go beyond my comfort zone and become more of the person I told my daddy I wanted to me. Go after those dreams and goals that almost scare me, because…why not?

Next Steps…

In October, I’ll be flying to Virginia for a church worhsip leader’s conference. I’m excited, not just because of what I will be learning as a young worhsipper, but also becuase it will be my first time in Virginia, AND my first time seeing leaves change colors.

Anyone who knows me, know that I love autumn (or fall, whichever you prefer). The opportunity to wrap up in a scarf, a sweater and jeans, sitting on a park bench as gold, orange and red leaves flutter past me in a crisp, golden breeze in a blazing golden sunset releases my imagination like nothing else. But in Florida, clearly I’ve never had that moment. Now I will. Now I will experience a dream I’ve only talked about.

And it’s only the beginning. Because now, I’m taking steps to move forward in many areas of my life.

Recently, God has been speaking two phrases specifically to my heart: “Conqueror” and “By Faith.” I’m beliving this is a new direction. Anything and everything that I’ve been beliving God for in on the other side of my “By Faith” actions. And I will flourish and bear fruit because I’m more than a “Conqueror.”

 

 

 

Lessons at Midnight: Grieving My Father

11:35 p.m., April 27, 2019.

I had left a comedy show about an hour before. I had laughed so hard, my neck, throat, and stomach were sore; I even joked around I wouldn’t be able to sing the next day because I was so sore from laughing so hard. A few friends and I had decided to go to Cheesecake Factory to grab a late night bite to eat. We were about two-thirds through dinner, laughing and chatting, when I noticed my mother had sent me a text message. Then a second one. The second one read “Please call home now.”

This must be something fairly important I thought. My mother normally did not text me this late at night.

I excused myself and walked outside the restaurant, where it was calmer and quieter.

Me: Hey mama, I saw your text messages. What’s going on?

Mom: Are you still out?

Me: Well, I’m getting something to eat with some friends, but I saw your message and stepped outside. What’s going on?

Mom: *begins sobbing* It’s not good, Drexler. It’s not good.

Me: *starts to panic internally* What’s wrong mama?

Mom: *sobs harder* Your father…he’s dead.

Midnight had begun…

Remembering My Father

I didn’t talk about my father as much as my mother, but he actually preferred it that way. He liked to move in silence. I don’t know if I’d call him a private person, but he wasn’t as outgoing as my mother and I were. And he HATED to be on social media; he would actually be upset when me or my younger sister would post photos or videos of him on our Facebook pages. He always would tell us that he may be wanted by the FBI or the IRS and didn’t want to be easily found. Of course, we didn’t listen to him (in this case), and I’m glad we didn’t.

I also think people expect me to always talk about the big things my father did in my life. And he was big in more than one way. Two roles I’ll tell anyone that he always played was a PROVIDER and a PROTECTOR. My daddy was one of the hardest working men that I knew. He worked long hours when my sister and I were younger as the manager of Marshall’s in Sarasota before he became a school bus driver. But outside of those jobs, he worked a variety of side hustles, the most memorable being a delivery man for the Bradenton Herald, my hometown newspaper. And I always knew that,  when the going got tough, my daddy had my back and was the superhero to swoop in and save the day when I was in trouble. He was the last line of defense, but I know once he stepped into the picture, it was handled (Olivia Pope, take notes).

But it’s the little things about my dad that I remember and treasure the most. Yes he was a provider when it came to finances, but he also provided love and support like no other. He was the parent who always accompanied me on school field trips in elementary and middle school, and I felt proud to have that cool dad that everyone loved and wanted to be in my group during those trips because of him. When my mother expressed her concern about his work schedule at Marshall’s taking him away from his family (my sister and I often told our mother we felt like we lived in a single-mother household because people very seldom saw our father around us), he made the choice to quit his job to find a more flexible one. For a year during my 7th grade year, he was a stay-at-home father, spending mornings and evenings with me and my sister while my mother worked. During that time, he would be the one I’d have sign off on my homework assignments (and failed English tests…oh the irony) and take me to school. It was during those trips to school that he introduced me to Chick-Fil-A; every Friday, if I got up early enough, he’d swing through the drive-thru and buy me a chicken biscuit (or two) and I’d eat them on the way to school. He was also a fierce protector of his family; when I was in 8th grade, he became my temporary school bus driver. I’ll never forget the speech he gave the kids on the bus: “My name is Paul James and I will be your bus driver the the next few weeks. My son rides this bus and his name is Drexler. I’m warning you right now; if you have a problem with me and my rules, you come and address it with me, not my son. If he tells me that any one of you bother or bully him to get back with me, I’ll come after you myself.” No one bothered me then.

There are even more personal and intimate memories and details that stand out about my father that I hold close to my heart. I remember when I was about four or five and my mother had left town that weekend, how he took me down to the Manatee River to watch the sunset and accidentally left me standing in a fire ant pile (my mother went crazy when she found out later), but his heroic efforts to ease my pain that weekend and make it up to me that weekend. I remember him taking me and my sister to the park across town following a major rain storm with our bicycles and he let the two of us ride through the mud, laughing when my front tire got stuck and I flipped over into the mud and came out looking like the creature from the black lagoon. I remember begging to stay home with my daddy on weekends when my mother and sister would go out of town and being able to eat whatever I wanted and do as we pleased, living like men in a frat house (without the wild parties). I remember watching all types of TV shows and movies with my daddy, even shows that my mother thought was strange for us to enjoy together, like Scooby-Doo. I remember watching the movie “John Q” starring Denzel Washington with my father and looking over to see him crying throughout the movie; the first example in my life of a man unashamed to cry. I remember riding with him to my grandmother’s house late at night on Christmas Eve after he got off work, listening to Luther Vandross, Gerald Levert and other R&B/soul singers. I remember during my time of growing pains and puberty, his stories of how he adjusted to his own voice changing when my vocals got deeper and scratchier, yet I was still fairly high-pitched as a teenager when I spoke or sang. I remember, as I got older, him coming to my school plays and debate team competitions, encouraging me to strengthen the skills and talents I was best at. I remember the lessons he taught about manhood, teaching me that the definition of manhood the world teaches me isn’t the definition that I have to subscribe to, that it’s okay to cry, to love hard, to like to cook and clean, to wear the color pink, that I didn’t have to rush my life or live it for anyone else’s satisfaction but my own. I remember him coming to visit me in my own apartment, and us spending the day together, exploring different places to eat, his envy at watching all the golf carts in The Villages, going to the movies, buying little gifts and me cooking him food so good that he would brag to my mother about it.

But one more thing that stands out about my father was his role as a PROFESSOR. Not just in the sense that he was a teacher, but how he expressed himself to me. Not too long ago, as I was getting ready for bed, I heard my phone ring. I rushed back to my bedroom to see that my daddy had called me. I called him back and said, “Hey, I just missed your call, what’s up?” And his reply was “Nothing, I just called to say that I loved you.” I cried in my bed all night that night, because my daddy was not one to usually say he loved you, but he knew that I needed to hear that from him, that I desired to hear how much he loved me, and he reached out and called me to say it to me, to remind me that, no matter how old I get, that I was his son and he was proud of me.

What Grief Has Taught Me Thus Far

The grieving process is far from over; in fact, it seems that I’m just getting started. The first week after my father’s death was spent planning the funeral and dealing with so many other things, that I was almost the end of the full week before I even got a chance to process enough information and emotions to finally break down and cry.

Some days, it feels like months and years have already gone by without my father. Some days, the pain hits me just as hard and as fresh as the night I got the news. Sometimes, I can hold conversations over the phone or in person with people. Sometimes, replying to a text message feels like a task. Sometimes, I want to be surrounded by my friends, laughing and joking. Sometimes, I crave silence and to be left alone. Sometimes, I can think about him without getting emotional. Sometimes, a thought crosses my mind and I fight to hold back tears and catch my breath. The other day, I ran into Target to buy something and passed the greeting card section, where they were already displaying Father’s Day cards; I had to run out the store to keep myself from breaking down. I have good days, where I’m able to power through all that I need to handle personally at work, school, church and social life. Then there are days that it’s a struggle to get out of bed and take a shower, because I wanna hide from the world in my covers.

But, through it all, God has used the opportunity to teach me, show me things about myself and grow me in this season. By no means have I fully coped and overcome, but I’m learning how to walk through this valley and these are some of the gems God revealed to me along the journey up to this point:

His Word is an anchor, not a life raft, for my soul. An anchor’s role is to hold an object in one place, so that no matter what comes against it, it will not be moved, be remain firmly rooted in position. A life raft can be guided by the elements or the person in control; it holds a person up, but doesn’t hold them in place. During this time, it could have been easy for my mind to go in every direction and for me to eventually lose it (as i am prone to do). But God’s Word has literally anchored my soul and kept me in place. Certain verses stood out while I was dealing with the pain of losing my father; verses that eventually manifested in my life in ways that gave them new meanings and new life to me:

• “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 4:7
• “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.” – Deuteronomy 31:6
• “For His anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” – Psalm 30:5
• “God sets the lonely in families, He leads out the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land.” – Psalm 68:6.

These verses have been the very words that I’ve used to speak against the enemy and dark thoughts he tried to plant in my mind. Now that your father is gone, you’ve been orphaned and abandoned. Nope; God said the lonely will be set in families and He has placed me in a loving biological family and spiritual family. This dark cloud will remain with you forever; you’ll never heal and get past. Nope; it may be dark as midnight now, but eventually, God will bring me to a new day, a new dawn. Holding on to His Word kept me from flying away.

Grief is real, and it’s okay to process the emotions that come with it. That’s not to say that, because I am a Christian, a strong and firm believer, that I don’t have emotions or moments of weakness. Grief, like any other emotions, is no respect a person. Grief doesn’t care who you are, what you look like, where you come from, how much money or education you have, it will come for you and hit you like a tsunami. But it’s the aftermath that is sometimes worse. If you know anything about earthquakes, there is the initial earthquake, followed by the after-shocks, which sometimes can feel just as strong and powerful as the original earthquake. Grief is the same way. In my case, the initial shock of losing my father so sudden and unexpectedly hit me hard, but as the reality sank it, the following waves of grief hit me harder. And as much as I tried to distract myself, the reality was, I couldn’t help it when the tears begin to fill my eyes. One thing people kept telling me (and are still telling me) is that I need to let myself feel the emotions and process everything. It is so easy, especially as a guy, to try and be strong, bottle my emotions deep inside and keep pushing forward, but that’s not healthy; it is actually dangerous for my body and my mind. Many people think that, as a Christian, I can just pray and everything will be fine again. And believe me, I’ve been praying, but that doesn’t mean God will take away my thoughts, feelings and emotions right away. I still have to deal with them; it’s just a matter of how I deal with them and will I deal with them with God, with others, or alone. I’ll be honest; most times, I do everything I can not to cry and get too emotional, but as the days go by, I let myself feel the emotions and really process what I’m feeling and thinking.

During the darkest seasons, I don’t have to deal with life alone. One thing that was definitely evident to me was how much my family and I were loved. My church family from back home reached out to my mother and prayed, visited, dropped off food (to the point where my mother had no more room in her house to store the food) and supported us however they could. People were willing to rearrange their schedules and do whatever they needed to do in order to be there for my mother. For me, the most surprising part was how my friends and church family in Orlando was there to support me while I supported my mother. As soon as I got the news, I told my friends at the restaurant; two of them covered my meal (I feel like I still need to pay them back, because that’s just who I am, but they said don’t worry about it…), while another drove me to her house to rest for the night. On the way, she helped me call a few people to let them know the news and even spoke up for me during moments when I lost my breath trying to explain it. My roommate dropped off clothes for me to change into for the night and gave me words of encouragement (one thing he told me was to not allow people to tell me that I was taking too long to grieve, and if anyone DID tell me that, to let him know and he’d have a “conversation” with them). That Sunday, I was supposed to serve at church, but I had called my worship leader to tell her I would be gone, and the news began to spread through the church. So many people called me and text me to offer condolences to me and my family, praying over the phone with me for strength, healing and understanding. In the days to come, people offered themselves to me as support and, before long, I had built and developed such a strong support system of people that I knew I could lean on. People who had experienced the loss of their fathers before me, some whom I was actually close with, shared their experiences with me. The Thursday before my dad’s funeral, I returned to Orlando and spent the afternoon at the church office, where most of the staff offered me love, support, laughter and encouragement, helping me process and deal with the pain better than if I had stayed at home that rainy afternoon. But perhaps the most mind-blowing part of the whole experience was the number of people who came to my dad’s funeral to support me. Seeing them in the back corner of the church filled my heart, because now I knew that I wasn’t doing this alone and that I was truly loved by my church family the way they always said they loved me. I have people who will be there to walk with me, for however long this season will last.

If people want to help you, let them, but don’t abuse them. In the aftermath of hearing about my daddy’s death, one of the first things people asked was what could they do for me and my family. That, to me, was such a difficult question to answer because, in all honesty, I didn’t know what I needed in that moment. All I knew was to have people pray. But I knew eventually, I would be in need of some help. And that scared/bothered me, because it meant being weak and vulnerable during a time when I felt like I needed to be the strongest, especially for my family. I STILL struggle with a streak of pride and independence that won’t allow me to ask for or receive help when I need it the most. And this was a time when I would need some help. Because my daddy’s death wasn’t planned, it threw me off mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. Tasks like grocery shop or cleaning the apartment, got pushed back. Some of my bills were pushed back and some expenses I planned to handle suddenly went out the window; resources instead went toward other things. This left me in a position of being in need myself. But here was where I had to swallow my pride and ask for some help. As people continued to ask what they could do, I spoke honestly about now not having food at my house or my mother’s house. People rose up, offering meals and Publix gift cards to help out. But it wasn’t just those practical needs that I had; there were emotional, mental and spiritual needs too. Pastors from my church and my daddy’s church called me, praying over the phone and offering words of encouragement. My friends also opened themselves up as a resource to pour out my heart and emotions to (and I needed it more than I realized). Four of my friends acted as media coordinators, pushing out information to larger groups of people asking me information about flower arrangements and the funeral itself, which made it easier for me to focus on taking care of my family. Even now, I still have people offering to buy me groceries so I can have that taken off my mind. It has been awkward for me to accept help, because I don’t want to feel like a burden or like I’m taking advantage of anybody during this time, because that’s not my heart’s intention at all. Even now, I still feel awkward when people ask if I need anything, and my first instinct is to say “No” even if I DO need something. But as several people told me, in one way or another, all people want to do is give back the love and support that I had poured out to others over the years. So many people have been touched by my heart for them, they simply want to rise to the opportunity to do the same for me during my time of need. And I’m so grateful for all of them.

Worship was, is, and will always be, my weapon of choice. Most people know two things about me, spiritually; that I am a worshiper at heart and a prayer warrior. But now, more in this moment than previously, I discovered how much worship kept me connected to God. In moments, when I felt like I was drowning, random worship songs would come to my mind and I’d find myself singing with more heart and passion than ever before. And I realized that it was simply me crying my heart out to God, expressing the need that I had for Him to come close to me, to keep my mind at peace and my soul anchored and at ease. One of the first songs that I began singing after hearing the news the morning after his death was “Afterwhile” by Deitrick Haddon. But other songs soon came to mind and filled my heart and soul with peace. Songs like “Take Me To The King“, “Way Maker“, “My Life Is In Your Hands“, “Remember to Breathe“, “You Deserve It“, and even songs that Orlando World Outreach Center had written and recently debuted during our Easter program, “Isaiah 54” and “Unbreakable Love” in particular, became lifelines for me during this time. I’d walk around outside my mother’s house at night, singing these songs softly to myself at first, before the Holy Spirit turned up the volume and I found myself pouring out with everything I had (which might explain why my voice is still hoarse and raspy right now). But one song that stood out all week, especially as we approached the funeral date, was Marvin Sapp’s “Never Would Have Made It.” Now, confession time, but I never really liked that song, because EVERYBODY played it so much (I’m a person, if a song is overplayed or overused before it really sinks into my heart, I’m turned off by the song…that’s almost what happened with Take Me To The King), but it’s my daddy’s favorite song (he was a huge fan of Marvin Sapp). In fact, he wanted to sing the song at church, but never got the chance. So it was only right that someone sang it at the funeral. But listening to the words of the song these past few weeks, they resonate even more, because now I connect them with Phil. 4:7 and understanding how God’s peace has kept me through the storm. And because I already know I’m coming out stronger and better, I am almost defiant with the enemy. In my mind, I’m looking at the enemy like “You thought you won? You thought you had my mind? You thought! But I’m going to keep praising and keep worshiping God, despite my pain, despite my hurt, despite my circumstances, because He’s greater than you and He is worthy of it anyway!”

A Letter To My Daddy

On the day of the funeral, my little sister and I each slipped an envelope into the casket before it was closed for the final time. Inside the envelope was a letter from each of us; our sense of closure with his death. The letter was hand written (at least mine was) and was our last chance, our final opportunity to express our hearts to him. And I’ll forever carry this letter with me in my heart:

Dear Daddy,

I don’t know if there are enough words to fully express the love I have in my heart for you. But I’ll do my best right now.

I wish I had one more opportunity to tell you I loved you, one more chance to talk to you – especially about food. God knows we could talk about food forever, and how I always made you hungry when I shared different recipes that I had tried or wanted to try. I hope you enjoyed that cinnamon apple spice cobbler I made on my final visit home. I know you did; I still have the video on my phone.

But beyond talking about food, we had chances to talk about real life. Even though you never went to college, you cared about my education, including me and Keyunna getting our master’s and doctorate degrees, understanding the struggles we faced with classes and encouraging us to finish and do well for us, not for others. There were so many phone calls that I made to you that mama never knew about for advice or understanding with my ideas or plans. And I think you would be proud to see some of the lessons you were instilling in me coming to fruition (which means I did listen to your long, extended sermons).

I always knew you to be the ultimate provider. Even when I felt bad asking for money to help with my bills or other expenses, or accepting gifts or gestures from you, you never made me think we were poor. You always found a way to make it happen. And that workaholic spirit lives in me; I just wished I had also learned to rest my body the way you did. But I know you knew I worked hard to provide the way you did for my family.

And your faith. Daddy, you ALWAYS reminded me to hold on to my faith. When I began to worry, become scared, uncertain or insecure, you always told me to pray and not worry. More than tell me, you demonstrated a “let go and let God” life that I am just now beginning to live myself. I’ve never seen you worry, stress or cry about the little things and I always admired that about you. It encouraged me more than you probably know. Thank you, because your faith grew my faith.

Even though you are gone, the memories are not. From attending field trips in elementary and middle school, threatening bullies when you became my bus driver in 8th grade, driving me to school everyday when I was in middle school and buying a Chick-Fil-A biscuit every Friday, random trip to Turner’s donut shop, riding my bike through the mud in the park and laughing when I fell into the mud and I was scared that mama would kill me and so many other memories.

Two memories stand out in particular right now. One is when I had my apartment in The Villages. You spent a full week relaxing in my apartment before I moved back to Orlando, just loving my voice control cable box, garden tub and tasting all the food I was cooking. You bragged so much about how you enjoyed your time and my cooking, mama called me jealous. But I loved that time as well, sitting up and talking late into the night. The other memory I remember was not too long ago; you called my phone late one night before bedtime, just to say you loved me. And you didn’t say ‘I love you’ too often, so I cried in my sleep that night because I felt so loved and special that night.

It’s tough to believe that you are really gone. I’ve spent all week sitting on the living room couch, waiting for you to walk through the front door, just like I did when I was 7 years old. But you won’t. The jokes have stopped, we won’t guess the survey questions on Family Feud together anymore, and I will never expose you to all the food spots in Central Florida. You won’t physically be here to see me graduate college again, but I’ll see your smile in my mind. You won’t meet my wife and see me get married, but I know the lessons you taught me about loving a woman and treating her right will make her smile and feel as loved and protected as you made my mother. You’ll never be a grandfather to my five children, but I pray I can be half the father you were to me and my sister to my own kids; Denzel, my twins Faith and Hope, my baby girl Dawn and Paul-Drexler. You won’t be at my house-warming, but I will always make room for you to visit.

Thank you daddy for 27 years of love, laughter and lessons. The adventures we had and the tough times you saw grow me into the man I was designed to be and not the man others wanted me to be. And I’ll never, ever, ever forget the flying lesson you gave me in 9th grade. Thank you daddy for everything. You are home now and one day, we’ll meet again and you can show me all the good food stops in Heaven. In the meanwhile, I’ll do all that I can to make you proud here on Earth.

Goodbye daddy. I love you so very, very much. I will miss you.

Until we meet again, with lots of love from your only son,

Drexler B. James

 

 

Trust and Believe: Living in and Building Great Faith

“Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. ‘You of little faith,’ he said, ‘why did you doubt?'” Matthew 14:31.

I’m a person of many words (or so I have been told).

It makes sense though; I’m a writer, a journalist, a poet, a songwriter. Words are my gift, my talent to the world, the one thing that I have spent my entire life working with, the craft that I’m constantly developing.

But there are moments that arise where words are not enough to express my thoughts and emotions.

This season is one of those times.

And what season is that? The season of mind-blowing, overflowing great faith.

Do It Again…For Them

I’ve gone to church pretty much my whole life.

As far back as I can remember, Sunday morning were spent sitting on the pews next to my mother with my little children’s Bible with the highly colored pages illustrated pages and the words printed in red. Growing up, I participated in church activities, to the point where almost every weekend, I was doing something related to the church, all the way through college and even now into my adult life; a large part of my life is tied to the church.

Because of my activities and affiliation with the church, people have always told me that I had great faith, that I was a prayer warrior, that I was a mighty man of God, mighty man of valor, etc. In fact, some people even would lean on my faith, believing that I had such a connection with God that my prayers would reach heaven before their own prayers.

Over and over again, I would see God do remarkable things for other people, through my faith and prayers. I had a co-worker who was going to lose her job if she didn’t get a new car by Monday and I told her that very night (a Thursday night) that she would have a new car…and that night she drove off the parking lot in a new vehicle!. I’ve prayed for healing in other people’s bodies and seen God touch them and heal them in ways that no one could explain. I’ve seen breakthroughs in people’s lives that would make you say “But God.”

And yet, when it came to me, I didn’t believe God could do it for me. And honestly, it hurt me and frustrated me many times. How could God hear my prayers for others, but not for me? Why did I see breakthroughs in the lives of those around me, but my own life seemed to be falling apart with each prayer? What was wrong with my faith?

Nothing was wrong with my faith; something was wrong with my faith for me. I could believe what God could do for others, because I had seen Him do it and believed He would do it again. But I seemed to develop “spiritual amnesia” when it came to what God did in my own life, especially because I wasn’t consistent with my own prayers for myself like I was for other.

Oh Ye of Little Faith…

If you know the story of Jesus on the water (Matthew 14:22-33), you know that Peter wanted to join Him and Jesus said “Sure. Come.” So Peter got out the boat and began to walk to Jesus. But he became consumed with what was happening around Him and eventually took His eyes off Jesus and started to sink. As he sank, he cried out to Jesus, “Help me!” And Jesus came to His rescue, but then Jesus asks, “Oh ye of little faith, why did you doubt?”

As familiar as this story is to me, when I started thinking about it a little more recently, I came to some revelations:

A) Peter let his circumstances influence his faith: When Peter first saw Jesus on the water, he wanted to join him, he wanted to be on the water. But as he began walking, he started looking around him, looking at the storm, the wind, the waves,t he lightening, and started to lose faith. I can imagine him thinking “Man, this is scary. Man, this is hard. Man, this is too much; I can’t face this, I can’t handle this.” How many times has doubt caused us to stop looking ahead at Jesus, the One waiting for us to come to Him?

B) When Peter began to sink, he called to Jesus, but wasn’t looking at Jesus : Peter’s prayer, to me at least, felt like a shot in the dark. He was calling for help, but I have a feeling that he was still looking at the storm around him. I can imagine Peter sinking into the sea, water up to his chest, trying to keep his head above water, calling for help, but his eyes were nowhere near his help, who was standing nearby. How often do I send up a prayer for myself, not really focusing on Jesus, but throwing words and phrases and hoping they stick while I’m still consumed with what’s happening around me?

C) Jesus saved Peter, but He questioned his faith: Jesus came right away to help Peter, but asked why his faith had wavered. The phrase “Oh ye of little faith” is a familiar one, but I sometimes wonder if Jesus really wanted to say “Man, you could have made it. You didn’t have to sink and need to be rescued if you just kept going.” When I feel like God did answer my prayers, often times, it felt like it was a last resort response, or a “just-in-the-nick-of-time” situation. But I know God is greater and bigger than just a get out of trouble card. Peter originally had faith, but lost it when things got hard. And Jesus asked “Why? You see what I can do, and you know what I said to you, so what’s the trouble?”

It’s The Little Things

So how does this all tied together for me? Let me explain…

This past year has been a year of digging up a lot of unstable foundations and replacing them with a firmer faith and trust in God. I’ve encountered PLENTY of situations where my faith was shaken loose, where I questioned of God would come through, trying to pray my way through while still too focused on the problem. And God came through, just as He always does, but then, a few weeks (sometimes even days) later, I’m sinking again, maybe even deeper.

Until finally, I had a couple of guys that are discipling me (hmm…disciple, a word that I always avoided…that’s a whole separate blog post for another time) speak some hard truth to me about standing firm on God’s promises.

And it started with believing God for the little. One of them (our youth pastor, James Monk, who holds no chasers with me) challenged me to start tithing again to the church, believing that, because I was faithful to give back what belonged to God, that He would provide (long story short, I had stopped tithing to try and save money, but always seemed to still be behind on my bills).

So, I agreed to start tithing. Almost as soon as I did, I suddenly started getting money like side hustles that I was doing – more money than I was expecting and money that I needed to pay my bills on time. Even when I thought I wouldn’t have enough, God always made sure that I was covered in some small way, to the point where I was starting to have money left over after paying bills that should have been gone.

That might be small to you, but to someone who has always struggled financially, that was mind-blowing. Like God, you really care about this. You really came through. Well, I’m going to keep going.

So one of the other guys discipling me (our children’s pastor TJ Luke, who always has some challenge for me to grow and mature me) challenged me to start praying through the different attributes of who God was, but to also start declaring that God already said would be done; to no longer just ask or say, but decree and declare.

Shortly before Christmas, the opportunity to put that faith to the test arose. A co-worker came to visit my church with her family, including her oldest son who was on crutches and scheduled to have surgery the following Wednesday. While chatting with them, I felt the Holy Spirit tell me to pray for healing for her son’s leg. So I asked if I could pray, which they agreed and I prayed for healing. A few days later, she came to my office to tell me that, Monday afternoon, they had gone to the doctor to prepare for surgery…only for the doctor to tell them he didn’t need it; his leg was pretty much healed!

Now that’s major; to see God move like that through me, in faith! And it started with me praying for God’s power to move in me.

So TJ began encouraging/challenging me to pray the Scriptures over myself and my situation. And my daily prayers include promises of what God has said He can and will do, by my faith. And it seems, over and over again, I’m seeing Him move in ways that, previously, I didn’t believe He would.

Building on (Great) Faith

For the past few weeks, my church (Orlando World Outreach Center, in case you forgot or this is your first blog you’ve read by me…in which case, welcome) has been in a series entitled Great Faith. The series has been laying the groundwork for the great things that we are believing and anticipating God doing in our lives, individually and as a church body.

Can I tell you that this sermon has been doing a work in my heart? Each week I go to church, I left with something to encourage and build my faith (I think it was the second or third week, I actually cried silently in my seat because Pastor Tim was just HITTING on some things in my heart that were buried deep).

Entering a new year, you always have high hopes and expectations for great things. But the past few years, I’ve set the bar low, not just for me, but even with God, because I didn’t want to have high hopes and great faith and be disappointed.

But if it’s one thing that God has been showing me, over and over again, is that I can have great faith, in the big things and the small things, and He will come through. Maybe not when I want to, or even while I’m around to see the fruit, but my faith has to be greater than my circumstances and I can’t doubt or waiver because things aren’t going how I want them to. I can’t be afraid to walk in faith in what God has shown me (and there are a few things He has shown me to blow my mind that He wants to walk me into in this season and the next).

So, while I live in this season of having my mind blown by the little things that God is taking care of for me, I’m excited to see the big things that He will do because He meets me at my (great) faith.

 

We Made It: Celebrating Victories in 2018

The year is almost over. Soon, the time will come to toss out the old 2018 calendars and put up the fresh-scented and newly printed 2019 calendars. And I’m already filling out my (imaginary) 2019 planner (I haven’t bought mine yet, but I’m already getting requests for events to fill in).

Normally, my final blog of the year is a deep self-reflection on everything that I have experienced this year (and this has certainly been a year for me), and people may be expecting that, especially since I haven’t written on my blog over the past few months (graduate school, y’all).

But this time, I want to do something a little different.

This time, I want to celebrate and encourage you. Yes, YOU, the one reading this post right now! This post is to help uplift your spirits and make you realize just how amazing you really are, just for making it through another year.

Putting The Year in Perspective

During this time of year, a lot of people sit back and think about what they faced, what they experienced, the ups and downs in their lives. And for some people, the thoughts and memories that cross their mind may cause them to smile at all the positive things that they recall over the year  while others grimace in pain, hurt and shame, wishing they can erase the year.

Personally, this year has been a year of growth and change; completing my first full year of graduate school on top of working, serving at church, balancing family and friends, working on my health, connecting with people and developing a social life back in Orlando, I’ve had many hits and misses.

Even outside of our personal bubbles, we have to consider everything that has happened in this country politically, socially, economically, etc. We’ve been on a roller coaster ride that has left many people feeling forgotten, hurt, abused, anxious and angry. Protests and hashtags on Twitter dominated news networks, along with shootings and destruction. It seems so difficult to believe that Black Panther broke records in the same year that the #MeToo movement opened up conversations about sexual harassment. Or that destructive storms and devastating shootings rocked our worlds the same year Beyonce gave us a Coachella performance that was the definition of #BlackExcellence and #BlackGirlMagic.

So, it’s natural to perhaps feel as though you have nothing to celebrate this holiday season. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to be excited about.

But I’m going to help put things in perspective for all of us, because I’m excited for you, for me, for all my friends.

We’re still here – for all the drama, stress, anxiety, mess and foolishness we may have endured in 2018, individually or in our communities, we are still here to deal with it. Which means, we are still alive. And if nothing else makes you grateful this holiday season, being alive is better than being dead.

We are loved – maybe our families are crazy or parts of them are gone, for one reason or another, or maybe we’ve lost some friends, but there is someone, somewhere in this world who has our name in their hearts and minds.  You may feel lonely, but you are never truly alone, even if someone isn’t always physically by your side.

We’re growing and learning – we don’t have this whole “adult” thing completely figured out yet, and we may never reach a place where we do, because life is one heck of a pitcher, specializing in throwing curve balls. But we’re doing better than we think. We’re figuring out how to navigate through life as it constantly shifts and changes every day and, along the way, discovering more about who we are in the process.

We still have our dreams – it may seem easier to believe that where we currently are in life is all we have to look forward to, but I know that’s not true. How, you may ask? Because I’ve spoken with many of my friends who keep striving toward their goals and dreams. I’ve see the hard work people are putting into moving one step forward toward a goal or a dream that is rooted deep inside their minds and their hearts. Even myself; I have goals and dreams that I’m working on (and will hopefully release some of it in the next few years).

We’ve accomplished at least one thing – regardless what we SHOULD have at this stage in our lives, nobody can say that we haven’t done at least one thing to be successful based on OUR personal definitions this year. Whether it’s getting married, entering a relationship, getting our first home, paying off debt, having children, starting a new career or starting up our own business, traveling somewhere new in the world, winning a competition, accomplishing a dream or goal, meeting new friends, healing from old wounds, developed a passion, picked up a new hobby, grown and matured in a certain area of life, saving money, getting our health, physical or mental, on track, starting school, finishing school, moving to a new city, saving money … the list can go on, but I think, once you look at the year through these lenses, we’ve done a lot of great things. YOU have done a lot more this year than you may have given yourself credit for.

Looking Forward to the New Year

So here we are, standing on the edge of a new year. A new start. New opportunities. New adventures.

None of us know what the next year will bring us. None of us know where we will go, what we will do, how life will change for us. But isn’t that the adventure of life? The unknown, the unexpected, the mysteries that we can only unravel by traveling forward, trusting and believing that God’s best is ahead of us?

“…being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6

This verse has been my go-to verse since my birthday, reminding me that there is something great in me that God has placed in my heart and my life to grow and mature me, and that what God is doing in me and through me is not yet complete. Which means that, every day I wake up, I have something to look forward to, something to strive for.

And so do you. So let’s go get it!

This is Drexler: Reflecting on a Year of Growth and Maturity

It’s my birthday!!! And who would I be if I didn’t stop, think, reflect, blog and post about the past year of growth in my life?

I wouldn’t be Drexler. And there lies the greatest area of growth for me.

Turning 26

When my birthday came last year, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting anything and I wasn’t planning anything. Four days before my birthday, I finally moved out of The Villages (although I had two weeks left of my apartment lease) and back to Orlando, moving in with a close college friend. And honestly, that was good enough for me; the ability to move back to Orlando, back to a city I loved and wanted to live in again…I didn’t need anything else.

But thank God He has placed me around friends who care about me a little bit more than I care about myself. They were able to convince me to agree to a dinner after praise team practice the night of my birthday, which was actually a surprise dinner with many good friends there to celebrate me…including my favorite foods, some gifts, and someone paid the bill for me! Needless to say, that was a great start to the next year of my life.

Growing Pains

Of course, every year, you pray and believe that you will grow and mature over the year.

This year was no different in the start, but the execution was different. Because this year, with me living in Orlando again, closer to friends and family and church, there was no escaping and hiding from what God had for me. This year, I began to connect and plug in with people a little more, a little deeper…especially with older men.

Building connections and deeper relationships with guys has always been tough for me. Most guys I talk to are only concerned with superficial things like sports, beers, cars, women. And, not that there is anything wrong with those topics, but I want to go beyond the surface and dig a little deeper. I don’t like small talk in general, so holding conversations like that does not interest me.

But I found a team of guy, a team of strong men, that I could connect with and help me as I grew and developed and matured into an adult and into a man.

The process hasn’t been easy in the slightest. I had to put down my pride, cast aside fear, let go of my ego, release some pain and struggles from the past, get over insecurity, be willing to be open and vulnerable, listen and accept correction (no matter how harshly I felt it was directed at me) and be willing to step outside my comfort zone. And it wasn’t just in one area; there were many areas where I had to be pushed; physical, mental, spiritual, emotional, relational. There were so many areas of growth that I was pushed in – some areas that I didn’t even know needed to be addressed.

I won’t lie; there were several points where I wanted to stop, where I began to question if the growing pains were all worth it, if I really wanted this. But at those times, I found myself reflecting on how long and how many times I prayed for people to walk with, to grow and become confident and secure in myself as a person and, especially, as an adult and as a man. And this was a part of that process. On my own, I had been guessing what to do, but now, I had people to help me – if I was open and available to the help!

Turning 27

A few weeks ago, I really began to reflect on the past year and all the changes and transitions I had gone through:

* A new position in a new college at work (I’m still at UCF, but my job position changed in an interesting and surprising way)

* My health and my body was in the best condition it had ever been in (I legit have a six-pack coming out my body and I’ve dropped from an XL shirt to a S/M now…the smallest I’ve ever been)

* Working toward earning two master’s degrees, both of which are being covered by my job

But even beyond what people see on the surface is the growth in the little things behind the scenes. The confidence that has begun to come out. The faith that has gotten stronger. The pain of my past that I’ve released from my life and the new direction that I’ve taken forward into accepting who I am and who I am meant to be.

I’ve begun to dream and push myself to do things I never thought I would do. I have actual goals that I’m working towards, such as working on a book and writing and recording music, both with my church family, my friends and even for myself. I’m continuing to train, with the idea to compete in a men’s physique show next summer. I’m saving money to buy a home. This year, I even planned a celebration with my friends (which for me is a huge deal, because I never want to plan anything for myself).

The other night, I was looking at my church’s live-stream of our Sunday service, during which I had to lead worship. As I watched the video, I kept thinking to myself, “When did I get tall?” I’ve always known myself to be tall, but I felt like I had grown even taller just watching that video. The way I stood up, straight-backed and strong.

This is the new me that I’m starting to walk into. I’ve walked in it from time to time, but now it’s time to make this person more consistent. A person that people will see every time I enter the room. Someone with confidence. Someone bold and self-assured.

Someone who knows who he is and whose he is.

Answering Prayers, Not Addressing Preferences: Growing Deeper in My Faith

“Take delight in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” Psalm 37:4

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It sounds so simple; spend time with God, be with Him and enjoy being in His presence, and He’ll give you whatever your heart desires.

That’s how I’ve always taken this verse at least. The danger is, we can treat God the same way a spoiled brat treats their rich daddy and his money; after awhile, if I’m not careful, I can begin to think I deserve whatever I want, as if God owes me, simply because I spent time with Him, when that’s what I was supposed to be doing in the first place.  As if I should be rewarded for doing what I was designed to do anyway. Soon, God becomes an ATM; insert a few minutes with Him and expect something in return. Or I can treat Him like a genie; rub the lamp and ask Him to grant my wish.

But what if I told you that this verse has recently taken on a new meaning?

A Change Is Coming…

I have been working at the University of Central Florida for one year and some weeks now. I’ve learned more about research and academic writing (which is worlds away from newspaper writing) and been stretched and groomed in many ways, especially as a writer and a social media expert. And just when I was settling into a groove, things began to shift (ain’t that just like God, to begin to make you uncomfortable, just when you were growing comfortable? That’s another blog post…).

Working as the communications coordinator for the College of Health and Public Affairs seemed like the perfect job, but when the news came that the college was going to be split into two new colleges, in alignment with the overall university academic reorganization, it rattled a lot of bones. I wasn’t overly shaken, though. Maybe because I am the youngest in the department most impacted by the changes (less than a year under my belt and only 26 years old, I was used to constantly moving and changing and readjusting). Yes, I was a little concerned, mainly about my personal life with school, but that was something I could worry about later.

Months passed, conversation were held, I met with human resources to discuss my options. The college would be split between a campus in downtown Orlando and a campus in Lake Nona. Instantly, the downtown campus peaked my interest; many of the programs I was most interested in personally, and that I had the best relationship with professionally (like criminal justice, public administration, legal studies and public affairs) were moving to that campus, the downtown college would be focused on community impact (which has always been a passion of mine – what can I say, I’m a community servant at heart), the campus would be located in Parramore (where I have volunteered and worked before, so I would be very comfortable in that area and even help ease any racial tensions that may arise due to the fear of gentrification, since Parramore is a mostly poor black neighborhood), my graduate degree programs would be moving downtown and it would be a great area to work in. Plus, for me, I’ve never had an interest, passion, or understanding of the medical or health sciences fields; those were the stories I struggled to write the most within COHPA, and Lake Nona is nothing BUT medical sciences and health, which would be too much of a learning curve for me.

So I was sure that I was going downtown; I told people that was my preference, that I was interested in going downtown, asking for people to pray for the transition at work in my department, people were telling me (well most people were at least) that I would be moving downtown because that’s where God would send me.

In The Meantime…

During the spring, as the transition took its toll on my colleagues and co-workers, my focus shifted to other places. I had started graduate school and was balancing that on top of a schedule that was overloaded already with personal training sessions, Lifegroup, praise team practice, discipleship meetings, Be Men, Prayer Team, the singles ministry at church, weddings, speaking engagements, family obligations, friends’ celebrations…I was stretched to the max.

But I didn’t notice that I was changing and growing. I’ve talked about my physical growth, but there was also a mental, emotional and spiritual maturity taking place. I was walking a little taller, becoming more confident in myself as a person, but also as a man. I was starting to grow comfortable in being a leader on the worship team; no longer shrinking back, but intentionally growing and leading on the team. I was becoming a disciple maker; leading others to walk out their own faith in Jesus Christ, other young men in my age bracket (which has always been a fear of mine). I was connecting with other men in the church (again, another fear of mine) and growing into my own as a young man of God, being poured into by other men, being seen as one of the strong men at the church.

Where was this growth coming from?

At some point in the spring, I decided to stop fighting and resisting God. Don’t take this the wrong way; I wasn’t outright running from God or living in some deep sin, but I was just so scared and hesitant to let Him grow me the way He desired because it meant no longer being in control of my own life, but instead, truly trusting Him with EVERYTHING. I was trying to hold on to the other end, even though I could feel Him pulling and tugging it out my grasp. But finally, I reached a point in my heart (not just my mind) where I began submitting to Him and letting Him take total control. I began to live a “For Your Glory” lifestyle without even realizing it (fun fact; it took me YEARS to like this song – I only JUST began liking the song earlier this year). And THAT’S when I found true peace and delight in Him. It didn’t make things easier for me, but it was easier for me to follow along with God’s plans for me.

As I began to delight more in the Lord through more consistent devotionals and quiet time, worshipping from an authentic place in my heart, I noticed that my prayers became more authentic, and began to shift to me asking for God’s heart, for His desire to reach people, serve them and connect them to Him, to be used to bring people just one step closer to Him. And each time I prayed that, someone would ask me about my faith. And it would excite me to see God move, so I would pray more for His heart. It soon became a daily part of my prayers, over anything else…including my own job.

Answering Prayers Versus Addressing Preferences

I woke up early Saturday, June 9. Laying in bed, after I read my devotionals and a few chapters in the Bible, I checked my email and saw a message from one of the department chairs, whose department would be moving to Lake Nona, addressed to me. It was an email to everyone on the current communications team at COHPA to congratulate us on joining the campus moving to Lake Nona.

I won’t lie, I was hurt, confused, salty (I’m not supposed to use that word, but that’s how hurt and confused I was in the moment). After all the planning and preparing, after all the meetings and months of waiting, I was going to my last choice. After expressing such an interest and passion to move downtown, I would be going the other direction. After receiving an email the day before that out of the 53 people impacted, 49 got their first choice, to find that I was one of 4 who didn’t, and that I actually got placed in my last choice, was a tough pill to swallow, especially on a Saturday. And this department chair wasn’t supposed to tell me; my boss was! In his excitement, he jumped proper protocol and let slip the final decision before I was informed properly.

For a few minutes, I felt dizzy with emotion. I didn’t know what to do or think. I called my mama and told her the news and we chatted through my emotions and thoughts. Then,  I told three close friends. One was excited for me, but told me to use better vocabulary words than “salty” to describe my emotions (sorry). One really took time to ask me how I was processing the news (it took me a few hours to grasp everything). One was shocked because she was sure I would move downtown and told me I should not have even left the door to Lake Nona open, but been firm in making it clear that the only option for me was to move downtown (that might be a little TOO bold of a move for me).

Then, I began to pray. As much as I was hurt, I realized that I had to talk to God about this. So I asked God, “Why Lake Nona? I never asked to be sent out there.”

His response: “You never asked to go downtown. You asked for my heart and my heart’s desire.”

BOOM!!!

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I hit the floor (in the spirit). But when I went back through my prayer books and my memories, I realized that God was right (of course). Never once did I pray “God, if it be Your Will, send me downtown” in the typical Christian fashion. I never even asked other people to pray for me to go downtown; I always kept the door open for Lake Nona. My prayer was for other people to find peace in this transition. Over and over again, my prayer was to be used by God, to be obedient to where He sends me, to have His heart and to desire what He desired in the midst of everything. I was praying for that open life to Him and that I would follow.

As I sat back, blown away by this simple fact that my prayers never reflected my own desire, that verse in Psalm crossed my mind and I realized that this was what it meant by He would grant the desires of my heart if I delighted in Him. I was so glad, so grateful to be with God, that my heart’s desires changed to His and He granted that desire.

For so long, I would take this verse as an insurance policy; as long as I spent some time with God, He would answer my prayers, regardless. And now, here was a prime example where I had delighted myself in Him, yet I could say He didn’t answer my prayer that I never prayed.

But would it have made a difference if I had prayed to go downtown, if His desire was for me to go to Lake Nona anyway? How selfish could I be to want to go downtown, when He clearly needs me to be pushed outside my comfort zone? And how do I know that this won’t be the best move for me after all? With my heart’s desire (that God gave me) to open a nonprofit addressing and serving the food insecurity in Central Florida and America through nutrition, cooking and health related courses and programs, moving to a health-related field may be the best move for me after all. And who may be going to that campus in the next few years that I will meet that will need me in their life, to walk with them to a relationship with God?

Was I really going to be upset that I didn’t get my way, like a spoiled brat? Who am I to stop God’s power because He answered my prayer instead of addressing my preference?

From A Boy To A Man

Above all else this transition and this moment of decision has shown me, one thing it revealed to me, even in that moment of how I handled the situation, is how much I have grown and matured in even a few months. Had this happened to me this time last year when I first joined UCF, or in the fall, or even a couple months ago, I would have reacted in a totally different manner. I would have been EXTREMELY salty (like Pacific Ocean salty) for months, I would be resisting the move, I would be all stuck in my emotions, I would have been like a baby boy. But instead, I’m embracing the chance and willing to do what I have to do to move forward, rejecting passivity and not simply following along, but taking change and accepting the new responsibility on my shoulders.

Also, the day I found out, I had just read one of my favorite verses in Romans 8:

“And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28

Moving Forward

So, with all of that being said, I am proud to announce that I am the communications coordinator for the new College of Health and Professional Sciences in the Academic Health Sciences Center at the University of Central Florida (I won’t have to move to Lake Nona until at least 2020 or later).

Are you ready for a plot twist, though?

When I got to work Monday, June 11, my boss summoned me to her office to apologize for how I found out about my job and that she was sad and confused as to why I didn’t get my first or second choice, but was placed in my last option. She also asked me for my honest opinion about taking on this new role.

Normally, I try to pretend I can handle it, but this time, I was honest and told her I was nervous about the role for the simple fact that health and science were not strong suits, and now I was in a position where I would be writing stories about mainly health and science, which made me a little nervous.

My boss told me that, she hoped in her role in the new college, she could possibly take on more writing opportunities, as her background was science and research writing before she came to UCF. And that, if I wanted to give up some of the writing for her, she would give me some of her responsibilities, becoming a liaison between the departments for other communication needs, as well as becoming the social media expert/director for the new college and also becoming an event coordinator for major events in the college.

So there are some exciting changes taking place for me. I don’t know how everything will turn out for me, but I’m sure glad that God answered my prayers, not my preference.