I have come to realize that there are those who do not appreciate all of us. They only want to hear about those who became superstars, millionaires, highly recognized, famous or infamous. But there are those of us out there who do not rise to those artificially appreciated standards who may have done nothing more than contributed to good living, character building, moral excellence, who have been encouraging, who pointed us in the right direction or cleaned the house you slept in, or flipped the burger you ate for lunch or fried the chicken for your Sunday dinner. There are those of us who consider them selves (and wrongfully so) the black intelligentsia who despise those who did not, could not, or never had a chance to make "profound" contributions of high intellectual importance. When people tell you your story does not matter or "who wants to hear where you come from", or "who cares what happened to you in your life", or that your life is not perfect, just remember that you were here for a reason and you matter to God. Those persons running around with "books in their jawls" miss the important things in life, they miss you. And more often than not when they dissed you, they dismissed God too. Where would Martin, Malcom, Medgar, Vessey, Harriet, Madame Walker be, with out the butlers, the maids, the garbage collectors, the street sweepers, the cotton pickers and the laborers. Always remember, they did not make us, we made them. They rose from among the community not without the community.
Posted on: Mon, 19 Aug 2013 02:47:42 +0000
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