Hebrews 12 vs 11
For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it
So 90% of ‘black’ <–( define that as you will) children will have grown under the assumed discipline form of a beating… in some way or another. Try as you might; growing up in this generation, really ISN’T all that easy. We are the liberal bunch, the ones infamous for pushing the boundaries and testing unforeseen limits. All of us; however, will have the vivid memory of the …’The ONE’
‘The ONE’ simply defined: is that one beating… to rival all beatings ever before and ever after it. The ‘One’ that left you traumatised. The ‘One’ that made you RETHINK the family that God had placed you in. The ‘One’ that left you cheekily cussing under your breath… contemplating running away or even calling social services (LOOL to THAT!!)
For me; EYY! high school…were my problem years! These were the early years of me ‘finding myself’ so for a heavy portion of my early years, I thought I could keep up with the cool gang of kids in my year. CROYDON (boop boop!! braap braap!!) is my hometown, those from the area know the Croydon central hotspots for school kids to hang around at after school.
NOW, my home & my high school are LITERALLY 10 mins walk from each other. My mother is the kind of woman that NEVER wanted her kids to be seen in Croydon; never wanted us seen hanging around. We finished at 3;30, by 4pm… my mother was calling the house to ask us individually how our day was. We had homework to do, chore to complete & dinner had to be finished. ‘Nuh act like yu nuh live nowhere’ & ”Fine ya yard’ … are just two of the most imprinted sayings over the years 😉
So here I am; in school year 8/9 approx. 14 years old. I’m trying to live the best of both worlds right now! As far as I’m concerned, my friendships are important & I’m FAR too big to the first one running home ALL THE TIME. SO; I started making excuses as to why I needed to reach home later than 4pm. ‘I need to study in the library’, ‘I had to talk to one of my teachers’ or ‘ I stayed behind to get some extra help’… Ya’ll know how it is!
So then we move onto the issue of money… don’t fret; I’m GETTING to the beating of my lifetime. I did not have a job and I wasn’t one of those children that received pocket money. So DILEMMA! How am I suppose to chill with my brethren, hit up the chicken ship, corner shop too… but then be broke?! Only one thing, I gotta take the money from my mother. LONGGGG story SHORT; Marni used to dip a lil into her mother’s purse to be drawing out them funds. Like I said… these WERE my problem years.
Fast forward now! END OF TERM (yaaaay!)
My mother always liked to get our school clothes washed early and dried at the end of term, so no fuss was needed later on. That one call round & the ‘EMPTY THE POCKETS’ motto was echoed through the house. I was hovering at the time so I just dropped my school blazer in the laundry pile and carried on with my chores…
So here we go; I’ve got my headphones, whatever RnB was playing was probably lit! Next thing I see, my mothers walking back upstairs with my blazer in her hand. Pree the dialogue:
MOTHER: Taps me and waits for me to remove my headphones…’Marni; is this your blazer?’
ME: ‘Yes, Mum’
MOTHER: ‘Then can you explain why there is..’ (proceeds to take out the money)… £6, sitting your blazer
ME: Heart drops, life flashes before my eyes, even God cant help me now… ‘I found £10 on the road the other day, so I spent some of it’
MOTHER: ‘Hmm, funny that! £10 went missing from my purse this morning …. and here YOU are with change in your school pocket. And anyways, where would you be going to spend it? You go to school and then come straight home, nuh? You know you’re not suppose to have money’.
ME: 100 thoughts rushing through my head… WHY did I NOT check the pockets before I dropped it off…stupid, stupid, STUPID!
MOTHER: ‘God is watching you Marni, where did you get the £10 from?’
ME: … ‘I found it on the road…’
MOTHER: ‘Yu mussi tink seh mi born inna di last shower’…
… What happened next, it… it… it changed me forever lool
So where we are standing features a lovely shoe rack containing just a fraction of my mothers shoe collection. Below features the CLOSEST picture I could find to the weapon that was used against me. Minus the fancy top buckle stuff, my mother had a pair of thick heeled, open back boots that for the life of me, had always been there! They always fascinated me because I NEVER liked them & I wondered what possessed my mother to ever own them.
Back to the moment; so my mother reaches for the shoe rack and her hand emerges with this BOOT in her hand. Now LOGICALLY you’d hold the boot between the heel and the flat bottom part and discipline using the flat ish part… where it’s more flexible and bendy. But OH NO! NOT today JESUS. MY mother swings it round grabs it by the flat bottom and uses that thick mountain top, brick looking, maybe made from ice; heel to beat me.
PAUSE! now… if you’ve SEEN me, you know how slim I am! I really don’t have meat on my arms to be protecting myself from them blows. My mother is a STRONG Caribbean woman, so let me spell this out for you:
Super strength + brick heel – bony arm = BROKEN ARM aka K.O
No word of a lie: my mother fractured my arm that day LOOL. For 2 weeks, I could barely move the arm. I’ve never cried, I’ve hated, I’ve never anything… as much as I did that day. In fact; God could have come and taken me LITERALLY that day and I would have been willing.
I finish this all of to say; even in what seemed to be the worse stage of my lifetime… without my mother’s discipline and guidance; I wouldn’t be half the woman I am today. ‘… yields the peaceful fruits of righteousness’… I would like to think that my mother would be proud and humble of everything instilled into me. I only hope that what I ‘yield’ will be righteous and worthy enough one day.