So I received a reminder of the difference between old and new me. A guy whose arm I purposely broke about 11 years ago came into Panera Sunday. Yes you read right; I pinned him down and applied leverage force on his upper arm until it broke. On purpose.

         He’d just gotten out of church and his family was with him. Father’s day. He seemed so happy and then he looked over and saw me. Did you know black people can lose color? It’s true.

        I motioned for him to come over, not really expecting him to do so. When he did, I had no idea what I would say to
him. He was dealing drugs, acting out and being a fool in general. Until he ran into me, he had no idea how much trouble he was in. He told me that I set him on a path that led him home and back into church. He THANKED me.

    I sat there flabbergasted.

     I told him that I had lost everything soon after. That I’d finally gotten counselling. Inpatient stay. Cancer. Divorce. That I had to accept all of it. Then I laughed and told him we were each other’s crossroads to becoming better people.

     He agreed.

     So I told him I was truly sorry. He asked if I’d come with him to service next Sunday and I said no. I accept my fate. I’m a warrior disguised as an artist. I thrive in conflict and suffer in peace. The best I could hope for was to die fighting the good fight. And now….

      The trick is to keep breathing, right?