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Recently a noose and racist graffiti that said, “HANG N—ERS HIGH” was found at my children’s school. Instead of reporting the incident to the police, the principal decided to handle it internally. She removed the noose and painted the door to cover the graffiti. To say the least, the entire process was handled badly, something the administration now admits.
This past Monday there was a parent meeting at the school. It too left much to be desired and….at one point my temper got the best of me in front of a room full of news cameras. So…if you have ever wanted to see just who Sherri Gragg is you can follow the links:
The temper: http://www.wsmv.com/video/15406994/index.html
Another clip of The Temper. Click “play video” under the picture of the school sign or just click the play button under the Channel 2 insignia. http://www.wkrn.com/nashville/news/school-officials-police-address-hate-crime/136341.htm
The situation is on-going. New racist graffiti was found Tuesday afternoon, the day of the press conference/prayer vigil.
I will keep you updated.
This morning at the gym God and I were having serious, silent conversation in the midst of crunches and lunges. At long last, it boiled down to the first two verses of The Beatitudes. When I arrived home I felt compelled to look at them in The Message. I can’t tell you how much it spoke to me exactly where I am today.
Now, don’t worry about me when you read them. I’m fine. As a matter of fact, I am very, very good. I am in the palm of God’s hand. I hope these verses bless you as much as they blessed me.
Christ’s Peace,
Sherri
Matthew 5
You’re Blessed
3“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
4“You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
5“You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.
6“You’re blessed when you’ve worked up a good appetite for God. He’s food and drink in the best meal you’ll ever eat.
7“You’re blessed when you care. At the moment of being ‘care-full,’ you find yourselves cared for.
8“You’re blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.
9“You’re blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That’s when you discover who you really are, and your place in God’s family.
10“You’re blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God’s kingdom.
11-12“Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don’t like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.
“When you think about how things were in the orphanage, do you feel peaceful or does it still hurt?”
“Most of the time I feel peaceful, but it still hurts a little.”
“Mmmmm. Yeah, I guess it does. What do you think would help make it better?”
“I don’t know… (Pause to slurp the last of her chocolate milkshake from the end of the straw.) I think I would like more time with you.”
Last night before bed I read the Cat in the Hat to the three youngest children. The “twins” were on either side of me and The Queen of Sass was sitting in my lap (age 4). When I reached the end of the book and the narrator said, “Then our mother came in and she said to us two…” The Queen of Sass interrupted with what she thought the mother would say…
“WHAT THE HECK!”
Story time pretty much dissolved in hysterical laughter. Led by me.
I told you she is The Queen of Sass.
You know, as I rear five children, two of whom have been through unspeakable trauma, many days are seasoned with tears. It is a job that continually drives me to my knees before God, seeking His provision, strength, wisdom, comfort…
Thank God for the gift of laughter at the end of a hard day.
I don’t usually give advice to younger parents because I know I don’t have it all together but this advice I have to give…
Don’t forget to laugh with your children. A little silliness sometimes makes the truly sorrowful things in life bearable. A moment laughing together can give everyone on the journey the strength to take the next step, and the next….
Thank God for The Queen of Sass.
Oops. I just noticed that at the end of my last cornrow post, I said I would write about my youngest daughter’s new style. I had a crazy week and it got lost in the shuffle, so here goes…..
How should I put this? My baby girl (age 4) is not exactly the best “client” when it comes to hair time. I’m pretty sure she goes into her bedroom before hand to take deep breaths to ensure she is absolutely prepared to scream as loudly as possible as soon as the first tooth of the comb touches her head. Sometimes, I stop for a moment just to see if she even notices I am no longer detangling or braiding and sure enough, she screams on, unaware the “torture” has ceased.
Now, I know that at this moment some of my, shall we say….less colorful readers are thinking what a rotten mother I am to put my sweet baby through such torment while some of my more colorful readers are nodding and laughing softly to themselves while thinking she will get over it and be just fine.
This is what we call a culture clash moment.
But….as I tell my own sweet mother who can not stand to hear her grandbaby cry, “It is either this or cut it all off and I can assure you she does not want to cut it off. This is just the way it is.”
So, the results of the most current torture session are as follows and at this writing, the style is 2 1/2 weeks old and still presentable which is great. The bad news is…..Saturday is a ‘comin and we will be at it again.
Does anyone have some earplugs?
The first photo is from the top of my sweet girl’s head. I drew a part from ear to ear and then put flat twists in the top. Each flat twist is secured at the end with and elastic and the loose hair at the end is then braided.
The shot below is from the side.
For the back of the head, I drew parts in boxes about 1″ square to form block braids. Each ponytail was secured at the head with and elastic and the braided . 
Last of all, I added beads. The beads on the end are these cool white stars I bought last summer around July 4th. I think they look terrific with the multicolored pinks. There are four beads total per braid.
My girls love beads in their hair and the promise of beads has even been known to cause the weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth to subside momentarily. 
This is a shot of the finished style from the back. My goodness, how my girl’s hair has grown!
I am making progress on my new blog dedicated to African hair, so if you visit this site for cornrow pictures, keep an eye out for the debut of BRAIDS, BEADS, TRUTH: FOR THE LOVE OF AFRICAN HAIR at www.wordpress.com.
When my youngest daughter came home from Haiti at age two, she was so severely speech delayed that she only had 3 or 4 words total in her vocabulary in either language. Even then, she somehow managed to try to rule the house with those few words. To say she is “spirited” is a bit of an understatement. I guess that is why she survived.
I have a vivid memory of her sitting at the kitchen table a few months after she came home as a battle of wills was being waged. She was digging in against the establishment with all her might and leveled a steely gaze at her Daddy and me. I turned to my husband and said, “If she knew how to flip a bird, that brown little middle finger would be straight up at us.” We chuckled. She continued to scowl.
Well, some things change and others stay the same. Two years later, she is still spirited and day by day, she is still learning how to obey. Her speech however, has caught up with her intelligence and attitude. The girl is the master of sass.
One afternoon this week, the kids and I were in a hurry to get somewhere on time and I sent them ahead of me to strap into seat belts and car seats while I grabbed my purse and put the dog in her crate. Baby Girl had a different idea, and instead of strapping into her car seat as instructed, she decided to run around outside for a minute and then come back into the house. When she opened the door to come back inside, she left it standing open and the dog got out and began her favorite game of “You Are Old and Arthritic and Can’t Catch Me.” By the time I caught the dog and we were all at last on our way, no one was too happy with Ro.
Miah said, “Ro made us late!”
To which she nonchalantly replied, “Yeah….and you’re mean!“
The Queen of Sass. I am living with The Queen of Sass.
Well, last Saturday was grueling. My middle daughters’ hair had been in a great style. The top was in tiny flat twists and the back in simple twists. She is very patient and hair time is always sweet with her, even if it exhausts us both. For the longest time she lay with her head in my lap while I gently untwisted her hair. Such a precious girl. Read the rest of this entry »
For those of you who are still chuckling at the thought of me having another dog thrust upon me against my will well, the laugh is OVER. The signs I posted around the neighborhood did the trick and the tiny Tasmanian Devil on a leash is gone. Turns out her name isn’t Sarah after all (sorry Ro). Her name is……
TWIGGY.
Her owner actually just lives a few house down from me. He said she is small enough to slide under the fence to which I refrained from saying:
A) Then why are you leaving a dog the size of a large water rat in the back yard unsupervised?
B) Are you aware that a dog that size of a cat’s hairball could easily be mistaken for a snack by a much larger dog?
C) Since you know your dog the size of a chubby squirrel escapes, would it kill you to put a collar with a tag on her? (I could have just taken her home.)
Anyway, she is gone now. (Thank you, Jesus) The kids have already forgotten her and Puzzle has already forgiven us for desecrating her home with a ferret on a leash.
Whew…that was a close one.
What a day….
A long awaited appointment with a specialist about my back….
A whiny four year old along for the ride….
The bleak diagnosis….
Thoughts swirling in my head….one moment thankful that although painful and inconvenient, this disease is not fatal and the next so frustrated and angry that it will consume so much of my time, energy, and life.
The four year old wets her pants on the way home and then…lies about it.
I give up on preparing dinner and call my husband to bring something home.
Progress report day for the older four. Good news. Bad news.
The twins run out to play and then a few moments later one rushes back inside…
“Mommy! We have a little dog in the back yard!”
“Huh?”
“A little dog! Come see!”
I find the small brown lump of fur cowering under the swing set with one child hovering protectively above.
“Hershey (the neighbors dog) chased it and we saved it! Can we keep it?”
“We have a dog already.”
“Yeah, but can we have another one? It is so cute!”
“No way. I’m sure someone is looking for it and I can not possibly handle another dog.”
It is shaking and turns big brown eyes up to mine. I feel sorry for it and pick it up. There is a conference between neighbors in the back yard. Storms are coming. She can’t be left out. My neighbor will drive around and see if anyone is looking for her. I will put her in my garage.
The five year old sniffs her. “She smells good, Mommy! Can we keep her?”
“She stinks, Miah and no, we may not.”
“Let’s name her Lady..”
“We are not naming the dog.”
“She is so cute, can we keep her?
“No.”
I get the dog settled and wearily go in the house. I have 5 messages on the answering machine. Two kids have unfinished homework. The wind is beginning to howl. Then the four year old says…
“Where’s Sarah?”
“We are not NAMING THE DOG!!!! She is NOT staying!”
But, you know they don’t believe me.
Is anyone out there missing a dust mop on a leash?
There are two fig trees outside the window where I sit in the quiet each morning before my children rise. We moved into this home in the fall and one day when the children and I were exploring our new yard we discovered underneath one of the trees’ abundant leaves one ripe fruit.
Eagerly, we picked it and I divided the soft flesh into tiny bites so that each person might have a taste. Surprised delight spread across each face as the first intense sweetness of ripe fig danced across our tongues.
“mmmmm…..”
Immediately, we all began lifting the huge leaves, hopefully searching for another taste, but all the remaining fruits were firm and green. After a few moments, we gave up our search and I turned and surveyed the side of the house.
“I say we plant two more of those trees, there and there.” I said, motioning to the space at the end of the deck.
Everyone agreed.
For days afterward, we looked for more ripe figs; but the drought had delayed the fruit and the cooling weather slowed the ripening. Repeatedly, one daughter sneaked beneath the branches, plucked green figs and bit into them, just in case they were sweeter than they looked.
“Mommy! She’s eating green figs again!”
The puppy too was hopeful and would dash underneath the tree at every opportunity searching for fallen fruit.
The first hard frost came and the leaves shriveled on the branches over night. Cold days that followed were borne on strong winds that plucked the leaves from their moorings and swept them all away.
Now each morning as I sit next to the window, tea in hand awaiting the day, I look at the fig trees washed in the early morning gray of dawn. The branches that reach toward the fading stars are all bare now, except for sporadic, desiccated fruit that hangs by stems so fragile that I know they would all drop to the ground below with the slightest brush of my fingertips. The light from the window casts shadows on the branch nearest it, creating the illusion that a lone dried fig is suspended by a thread, such a stark contrast from the abundant life of summer.
Then, my eyes travel up the branch a few inches. I know what is there, but my heart always stirs with excitement at the sight. There grows a pale green sprout, the tiniest beginning of next spring’s new birth. It is a tiny spot of green life in a barren landscape but it is enough to feed my dreams and eager anticipation of what is to come. I sit gazing at it as cold winds blow outside the window. I pull my blanket closer and sip the hot tea and am reminded of this verse:
“Be patient, then, brothers, until the Lord’s coming. See how the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuable crop and how patient he is for the autumn and spring rains. You too, be patient and stand firm, because the Lords’ coming is near.” James 5:7&8
Amen. Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
