What Does It Mean...?

What does it mean to “speak life”…. ?

Well, I’m sure it could mean many different things to different people. My version of life is not the same as anyone else’s…. and no one else’s is the same as any other person’s either. So, to speak life must have various meanings as well.

To me, speaking life is partly grounded in speaking and thinking positively.

I heard a pastor talk about the creative power of our words and thoughts, and I bought this tiny little booklet all about the topic. I must have read it at least 20 times… and I remember on a couple of occasions just after I had been reading the book, I had opportunities to put these major precepts into action. I was involved in a conversation with people who I was very close to, and they were expressing strong concern about another person who we all knew. I’m sure the root of the conversation was likely intended toward care, but it began to sound to me more like condemnation and judgment. Now, it was like something in me that I had been previously unaware of rose up and whispered (quite loudly) in my ear. I don’t pretend to know exactly the words in that whisper, but I know something close to what I said as a result of it. I spoke confidently and calmly, in a tone of peace, and basically I just stood up for the subject of conversation. I probably said something to the effect of “It seems we should be speaking more positively about this and hoping that things will get better.”

I don’t know what I said, but I was glad I said it. It felt good. I resolved then to make my words more like prayers and not speak in judgment or condemnation of others, or situations, but rather to speak in love and hope. I try to do this still. I have my moments, and don’t pretend to be perfect, but it’s just a small thing. I try to speak life into other people, just like I try to do the same for me and for my life.

The other part of speaking life comes from inside a person. This is where it becomes personal.

Anyone can speak life and have the talk sound completely different from another person’s talk. To me, speaking life means being true. Being real. Loving myself, and still holding myself accountable for who and where I am. It mostly just means being myself, knowing myself, and continuing to learn and accept myself. It is believing in who I am and what I am, and doing all that I possibly can in order to be the best I can be in all positions… for myself, for my family, for my occupation, and for the fulfillment of God’s purpose for my life….

Any words (written, thought, or spoken), which work towards the accomplishment of any or all of the above are what constitute speaking life – to me.


What does it mean to you?

Speak Life

Here is where I hope to begin a journey of sorts. I have been feeling so drawn toward paper, pen, story, revelation, education, and other elements of retrospect and reflection. I have spoken on and written on my desire to return to writing. But I’ve been afraid. And, I’m so tired of this fear. I hear in my head the words which shape much of my life “Do not conform” “Be not afraid” “Lean not unto thy own understanding” “Get out of your boxes” “Keep it simple” and more and more lately, the words of Tori Amos return to me, as though requesting an ear: “sometimes, I said sometimes, I hear my voice and it’s been HERE... silent all these years.” Then there’s the others, shouting at me then staring, expecting a response. There’s Mos Def, Jill Scott, Dave Matthews, Lauryn Hill, Fred Hammond, Maya Angelou, Terri Mcmillan, Langston Hughes, Talib Kweli, hell- there’s even Michael Jackson, Zapp and Roger, my circle of friends from High school, my peeps from Showcase Cinemas, my band camp buddy, there’s the kids on the stage at North East singing with me our rendition of LL. Cool J, changing the title to “Round the Way Boy” and wondering why we were momentarily unafraid of our peculiarities…. There’s India Arie, and my good friend whose walls witnessed many poetry writings and readings, sometimes over a Hot-n-Now cheeseburger kids meal. There’s my mom. There’s my husband, too – wondering what happened to the woman he met… And then there’s me. I’m in here! I want to shout, or even whisper. But until now I’ve been somehow as I said, afraid. What will people think? Who might stumble upon my musings, and what will they say? They surely won’t understand… so I censor my self… and it sucks, and I hate it….

No more. I don’t think I can take it. I cannot keep being this version of me, no matter how fearful I still am of the process of re-opening eyes and heart, expelling life into these lungs once again. I need it.

So- I am buying some journals, starting this blog… and we shall see what comes of it. I’m so done with the quiet.