Journey to Empowerment Read Online Free Page A

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Building Bridges
    B Y M ARY E. P ASCHALL
    Busy hands clap for Jesus, vibrations fill the air, Moans of joy, moans of sorrow, sometimes in silent prayer,
    When I think of Mt. Nebo, its fragrant pine-needle path,
    Trees and cousins aplenty, those memories make me laugh.
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    Busy hands churning butter, cooks everything from scratch,
    Country sausage, fried apples, sweet oatmeal none could match,
    I think of a country homestead with a sweet magnolia tree,
    Warm, cozy patchwork quilting, those memories strengthen me.
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    Busy hands create a poultice, pungent, strong medicine,
    Red flannel warmth flowed freely, healed me from toe to chin,
    Memories of Momma Celie’s steaming spiked-honey tea,
    Still Angels linger watching, those memories comfort me.
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    Busy hands making biscuits, crochet scarves Argo stiff,
    Cactus plants in red clay pots, create sharp, pointed tips,
    Memories of seeds and harvests, big families once strong,
    Take me to the water, those memories linger on.
    Busy hands peeling apples, tart slices, simmering sauce,
    Steamy, hot-sugared laughter, red-checkered tablecloth,
    Strong bridges brought me over, times I just can’t repeat,
    But when my life tastes bitter, those memories are sweet.

Journey to Self-Awareness
    I stand poised before my canvas,
    I am Fearless.
    I reflect upon Your Teachings,
    I am Meditative.
    I create the extraordinary,
    I am Divinely Guided.
    I am a vibrant work of sacred art,
    I am Beautiful.
    I portray the essence of Spirit,
    I am Blessed.
    I am Radiance, Love,
    Grace and Accord.
    â€”Maria Denise Dowd

Silent Cry for Love
    B Y L OIS H. C ARTER
    I remember crying silently in the backseat of my cousin’s car. I was about sixteen. My older sister, my cousin and I were coming back from a party. I remember being thankful for the darkness of the car so that they wouldn’t notice my tears. I was crying because I didn’t think I was pretty like my sister and cousin. I’ve always been overweight and was very conscious of it. I didn’t love myself and that feeling stayed with me for a long time.
    I had no idea what to expect when I participated in a women’s Rites of Passage workshop. It turned out to be a most rewarding experience. While the women I met were from all walks of life, within that weekend we became like sisters. I remember singing, “Am I my sister’s keeper? Yes, I am!” with them and rejoicing in that fact. I felt the love and it was beautiful. A seed was planted within me that weekend. It was the beginning of a transformation for me, one that was completely unexpected.
    Although I had a better idea of what to expect when I participated in the Rites of Passage again the following year, I was still in for a surprise. Both times were amazing experiences, but what became a part of me the first year made the second time more special. The seed that had been planted was about to blossom. Although it was for only a couple of days, it truly felt like a journey. Our spiritual teacher’s heart was so loving, it was as if I’d known her all of my life. She gave me a gift that I always carry with me. She heard my silent cry for love, self-love. She told me that I was a queen, and by the end of that weekend I felt like one. This time around, deep in my soul, I believed it! For the first time in my life, I truly felt beautiful inside and out!
    I remember gazing around the room at the different women dressed in white, waiting for our “crossing over” ceremony to begin. I saw how beautiful black women are in all our diverse colors, shapes, features and sizes. And I was one of them! I cried silently again…but this time it was for joy! And it wasn’t about the outer beauty. We were all smiling and our inner glow radiated. We were queens and proud of it.
    We were all given cards with angels on them at the end of the Rites of Passage ceremony. It was so fitting that the card I received was the Angel of Beauty. That