A lullaby

Anvan lannuit fini rivé

Nou konnin nou peche anpil, Bondié papa nou. Pou nou kapab dômi trankil, padonnin nou.

1. Anvan lannuit fini rivé, Bondié papa nou
Nou tout isit nou rasanblé, pou priyè ou.

2. Nan linivè ou sé sèl Mèt, Bondié Papa nou. Sé ou-minm sèl nou rékonèt, nan péyi nou.

3. Ou té banou yon bon jounin, Bondié papa nou. Fè nou pasé yon bon souaré, protéjé nou.

4. Ou té sékouri nou byin vit, Bondié papa nou. Tankou manmam fè pou pitit, mèsi bokou.

5. Lajounin-a pasé byin vit, Bondié papa nou. Pa kité nou mouri sibit, nan somèy nou.

6. Lè n-a mouri, tanpri souplé, Bondié papa nou. Fè n-al joui nan létènité, pran nou ak ou.

Language barriers won't keep me (our hearts)

He just keep calling me a liar. Rete la. Izabet. I said I was leaving at 4 and he grabbed my wrist to look at my watch.

You live here, zibet.

Monti. You lie. Bi monti. You're giving me lies.

Rete la.

Izabet.

Yon ké pou ou (a heart for you)

Ecri sa la. Izabet renmen Steve. Pou tou ton.

And then one thing.

Izabet.

'Map cry.'

Crea.

'I'm crying.'

Me too, Steve.

I love you.

'Pale.' (Don't go)

A big door

'And this is the key, elizabet.

Are you listening?

Because it's not a small key.

It's a big, big key.

How can I say?

It's a huge key?!

Like the biggest you will ever meet.

To love.

To really love.

Someone.

Some place.

Jou apre jou.

I don't know so well how I can say this an anglais.

I'm not always sure white people meet this kind of love.

Oh, I can say, to love like this, day after day, after day.

It's a big project.

To build a house. It's hard. It's really hard.

But to come to work.

To work all day, every day,

On that house?

It's not hard.

It makes sense.

If you're building a house, you never stop working on it.

And we think, because we build pieces of love, that we are complete?

It's not true.

Are you ready?
I have the big key for you.

Try and love. Better than you did yesterday.

Everyday.

This is what Jesus wanted for us.

And he knew we would try.

And he said he would help us.'

-Alcindor June 5, 2013

Yes!

I got a note from one of the employees here. They recommend that I date one of the teachers.

Juvenile, silly, and sweet.

But here's the fact of the matter.

I could read

The entire thing.

Sweeter than honey

In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun.
It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber,
like a champion rejoicing to run his course.
It rises at one end of the heavens
and makes its circuit to the other;
nothing is deprived of its warmth.

Psalm 19 v. 5-6

Respect, man.

I don't miss hot water anymore. I'm sure I will, once I remember what I'm missing.

I thought I would.

For a long time.

But I think it's like the ocean, like the beach.

You pass over that final stretch of bridge, the air smells like salt and sand and the sun turns the little hairs on the back of your hand white.

And then you're there. The dunes burn your toes and the reeds whistle.

Ahh, you missed this place.

I don't remember what it's like to go out and expect to stay clean.

I splatter the back of my calves with mud, and I sweat and stumble from the moment I think about leaving the house.

I don't remember why I have more than one of the same thing. Why I'd buy a deodorant when there's one on my dresser. Why I'd walk outside and ruin my socks, thinking I'll just get new ones.

But I remember small pleasures. I don't doubt I'll always want them. And I'm not convinced they're a bad thing.

Pedicures and walks with my dog.

Special dresses for special occasions.

Intentional. Purposeful. Use. Of the blessings I have been provided with.

I don't want to be a lazy haver anymore.

If I'm going to have, anyway.

If I'm not going to walk away from all my earthly possessions,

I want to know it. I want to deal with it. Every day, all the time.

Consciousness.

You are blessed.

And I'll remember this place.

The handshakes and the earned nods of appreciation.

Affirmation.

You are here, with us,

And finally,

That's ok.

What's in a name

My father has always called me Dizzy. In fact, I can't remember the last time he addressed me as Elizabeth. The only time I hear my name is when he is speaking to other people, and it always rings so formal.

'Yes, my daughter Elizabeth...'

And so on and so forth.

Sometimes I hear it in passing and it makes me wonder, who is that person he is describing?

But I'm not Elizabeth to him, I'm dizzy.

And bless my sweet momma, but whenever she meets my friends, there will always be the inevitable: 'leuhzbuth'

'Oh your mom calls you lizbeth, that's a neat name.'

'No.'

'Oh, I just heard her say that.'

'No, she said Elizabeth.'

And while neither of my parents call me Elizabeth- there's always the inevitable conversation with new acquaintances.

'Oh, so you're Elizabeth.'
'Hi, nice to meet you.'
'So, do you go by Liz or Elizabeth?'

To which I always think, but hold my tongue (now), we've spoken three sentences and two of them were introductory phrases in which I said Elizabeth...

For years, people have made me feel like my name was an inconvenience.

Like it simply took too much time to say, to go through the whole rigmarole, and for Pete's (not Peter's) sake, why can't you have a shorter name.

Staunch and authoritative in my 7 year old personality, I hunkered down, and prepared for the fight. I was named Elizabeth, dammit, and whether or not I liked my name, was going to keep it, at any rate.

And so, positioned severely in opposition to this three letter whisper of the name that Elizabeth could be. I felt an urgency and a rebellion. Not Liz. NOT Liz.

And that's nothing- absolutely nothing against the name Liz. It's simply a decision- a different name, and not mine.

But of course, there are also the people who don't ask at all. You find yourself introducing yourself as Elizabeth and five minutes later an IPA is being slung down the bar for you and someone in a group of your 'new best friends' saying, hey everybody, this is Liz...

Different than having called me by the wrong name.. 'Hey everybody, this is Sarah,' this hits a nerve.

Not only did you hear my name when I told it to you, you heard, and went on to make an executive decision that either you, me, or both of us prefer that my name be Liz, so let's just skip the details and have a beer.

But in spite of having this profound aversion to my being, well, renamed...

Nicknames have followed me my entire life - some adamantly against my will, and some I grew into with acceptance.

Dizzy, Eliz, E-girl, Biz, Bita, Eli, Whit. Little Bit. Beth. Lizzy, Biff, Eliza Jane, (thank you Uncle Tom)

And in Haiti some colorful ones.

Queen (Elizabeth). Elizabet, Isabelle, betta, and so forth.

Names are such powerful things.

And it's not as if these names have come and gone. They grow. They're how I'm known as to those people.

And I, well I'm such an Elizabeth.

Named for my family. Proud of my name.

Never shortening it or changing it myself.

Always Elizabeth.

And all of these nicknames?

All the ways people call me?

Our relationships, our stories.

Nick names, and loved ones.

I think names are important things, maybe one of the most important things.

And maybe you can change them yourself,

but maybe you're always who you were named, and you're always who you are-to the people who love you.

To the people who call you.