Good Riddance to 2017

I must admit 2017 was a very difficult year but by the grace of God, we made it!

Tomorrow in church - or watch meeting - knowing God got us through 2017. #Hallelujah #PraiseGod pic.twitter.com/onXnyMAR99

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) December 31, 2017

From my employer being sold to an out-of-state conglomerate to finding out I am diabetic, this has been a particularly challenging year. Of course, let us not forget what happened January 20 when Donald Trump was sworn in as the 45th President of the United States on a stack of Bibles as the grifting began and racists felt emboldened to say whatever they wanted without consequence; many of us have taken extended breaks from social media because we just can’t clap back on every single troll or bot without wasting valuable emotional and spiritual energy for the larger war.

I really don’t remember much exciting about January, and what I can recall, is none of your business.

February led to the usual Black History Month posts on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, and of course, the blog yet this is also the month I found out I am diabetic. Years of eating like a kid not limited to devouring cases of honey buns have led me to a daily regimen of pills along with the overdue need to start exercising daily. One awesome thing happened:  my dad and Caeli shared a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese! What a place for him to celebrate turning 70 years old for a birthday party – why not do it at the same time as his only granddaughter’s second birthday with the rest of the family this time?

Locally, the church moved back home from a completed restoration! Thanks be to God, the contractors, congregation, staff, and everyone who had a hand involved in the nearly six-month-long project.

On March 1 Heritage Environmental Services bought Rineco for an undisclosed sum. So far, all it has meant was the 300+ of us still have jobs.

In April, we got to see our friends Will and Misty in Helena-West Helena as they opened the Freeman Playground in memory of their son Freeman – and Caeli’s first friend from the NICU. Of course, it seems like every time I make that drive down Highway 49, it is always raining. Fortunately for us, no squirrel decided to take his own life by riding the car’s wheel this time and I didn’t have to have a discussion over a parked red car. Because we really didn’t stray from home much, this was easily the longest trip by car the three of us made all year.

May was a harbinger of 2017 at large:  forgettable save Caeli’s first trip to the zoo and the Africa Day festival in SOMA.

As an omen that 2017 may not be that shabby, June marked two significant events:  Caeli got her ears pierced, and I was ordained as a deacon at our church. I have the piercing video up on a different blog – hats off to the ladies working at Claire’s that weekend for keeping our little trooper distracted long enough for her to not slap them both away. As for my ordination, I want to thank God, everyone who pastored me over the years and the older deacons I learned something from, Chastity and Caeli for sticking with what became a three-year process that periodically frustrated me, Mount Zion for seeing it in an outsider to serve them in the ways of 1 Timothy 3:1-14, and my home church Greater Friendship for showing up. Had Rev. Johnson tripped me up when I was being charged, we might have had to put the gloves on and gone outside.

I finally found some semblance of a normal life in July when our new Delta V was hired! Thanks to Conner, I got to find out weekend life was like for the first time in a few years – and that led to purchasing the signing for the church’s food pantry:  On the very first Saturday after we placed them throughout the southside of Benton, we began to experience such a surge of clients as volunteers and members alike saw Kingdom building at work that we had to shut it down after ninety minutes! Sadly, my uncle Earl (Dad’s brother) passed away at the age of 81 from pneumonia.

Mama Bear decided I was worth sticking around with for another year, so we celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary August 6 in a much louder venue than we anticipated (Sidebar:  Texas Roadhouse is a good place for a quiet meal said no one ever). Next year, the planning ahead will be a LOT better. In unrelated news, 45 decreed that that there were good people on both sides in the Charlottesville clash between protestors and the alt-right leading up to a woman losing her life and a man severely beaten. Caeli also graduated from Kidsource to a few months of playing with grandma until she eventually got into preschool.

When September came around, Dub Shack BBQ had started making its rounds via word of mouth while I began to figure out pricing and the margins of profitability that comes with barbecue catering. With a handful of pork loin dinners, I made enough money and gained confidence in the consistency of my own product that I could do well in this market. Remember my coming out of the diabetic closet? I’ve lost forty pounds this year without trying very hard – I’ve begun to drink more water, exercise a bit, and continue the medical regimen; imagine the difference if I had driven (or walked) five blocks down the street to the gym regularly.

October was a nostalgic trip down Memory Lane. No, I didn’t go to Henderson State’s homecoming this year; instead I went home for my 20th class reunion from Conway High the same weekend. Finding out from so many classmates that AD&AD has practically become required reading has provided a source of encouragement for me to continue the literary craft. I’d still be cool with an impromptu pop-up in a park or somewhere, Class of ’97 except great barbecue has to be smoked ahead of time. Apart from being a Wampus Cat, my grandma turned 90 years old October 14 and she was feted by multiple generations of my mom’s side of the family. We’re talking Kings from across the country taking over Gould, Arkansas for a weekend.

November saw Chastity turn the big 4-0 with the BIG CHOP, and Caeli also began preschool. For the unaware, the BIG CHOP is when all that unnatural perm gets cut from a black woman’s hair as she goes natural.

Although the calendar cannot turn quickly enough to 2018 in some aspects, December had some noticeable moments:  my 39th birthday, Christmas with the better and little CAs, we named our church’s next pastor, and the unforeseen effects of the GOP tax bill.

Maybe this hasn’t been that rough of a year despite the pay cut and the odds against us. Thanks for riding and praying with us throughout 2017, and for those who won’t make it to 2018 with any relationship to me, you know why.

Take care of yourselves – and each other.

Joyous Kwanzaa! Habari Gani?

I'm seriously considering celebrating #Kwanzaa for the first time this year. That other holiday has lost its focus for most people and I'm teaching my child differently - primarily to appreciate her roots.

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) December 20, 2017

What is Kwanzaa?

Kwanzaa is a weeklong celebration held in the United States and in other nations of the African diaspora in the Americas honoring African heritage in African-American culture from December 26 to January 1 culminating in a feast and gift-giving. According to founder Maulana Karenga, the name Kwanzaa derives from the Swahili phrase matunda ya kwanzaa, meaning “first fruits of the harvest”, although it has been shortened to “first fruits”. The choice of Swahili, a native East African language, reflects its status as a symbol of Pan-Afrikanism although most of the Atlantic slave trade which brought people to the Western Hemisphere originated in west Africa. The seven-day season has its roots in the black nationalist movement of the 1960s and established to help African-Americans reconnect to their cultural roots by uniting in mediation and study of African traditions and Nguzo Saba, the seven principles of African heritage.

What seven principles of Kwanzaa do we celebrate amid a world that loves materialism and sets it eyes on greenbacks, entertainment, possessions, and tribalism as its idols?

• Umoja (Unity):  To strive for and maintain unity in the family, community, nation, and race.
• Kujichaguila (Self-Determination):  To define and name ourselves as well as to create and speak for ourselves.
• Ujima (Collective Work and Responsibility):  To build and maintain our community together and make our brothers’ and sisters’ problems our issues and to solve them together.
• Ujamaa (Cooperative economics):  To build and maintain our stores, shops, and other businesses and to profit from them together.
• Nia (Purpose):  To make our collective vocation the building and developing of our community to restore our people to their traditional greatness.
• Kuumba (Creativity):  To do always as much as we can, in the way we can to leave our community more beautiful and beneficial than we inherited it.
• Imani (Faith):  To believe with all our hearts in our people, our parents, our teachers, our leaders, and the righteousness and victory of our struggle.

To those trapped in the sunken place or simply unaware among us, this sounds just like socialism. In a capitalistic society such as ours, it is often wondered why some of us simply cannot pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps when they made it against all odds AND the larger group supporting them. Kwanzaa refocuses the misconception that capitalism – rather, the pursuit of the American Dream – is anathema to promoting community. For Karenga, the creation of such holidays also underscored an essential premise that you must have a cultural revolution before the violent revolution by providing an identity, purpose, and direction.

How do we celebrate Kwanzaa besides rocking our dashikis and laying kente cloth on our kitchen tables and couches?

Kwanzaa is a family activity – we all find a need to remember the ancestors on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. In addition to the decorations below, ceremonies may include drumming and musical selections, food and drinks, a reading of the African Pledge and the Principles of Blackness, reflection on Team RBG (the Pan-Afrikan colors red, black and green), a discussion of the African principle of the day or a chapter in African history and a candle-lighting ritual.

Families decorate their households with the following symbols:  mkeka (mat) on which other symbols are placed; a kinara (candle holder), mishumaa saba (seven candles, one for each day and principle), mazao (crops), munhindi (corn), a kikombe cha umoja (unity cup, typically a chalice unlike the one we recall seeing Lil’ Jon with a decade ago) for commeorating and giving shukrani (thanks) to African ancestors, and zawadi (gifts). Other supplemental representations such as the black, red, and green flag, African artworks and books symbolize the values and concepts reflective of African culture and contribution to community building and reinforcement.

I’ll be the first to admit I’ve not done it right to the letter as this has become more of an academic exercise than anything else despite the intrigue. Hopefully I’ll be more aligned with this aspect of the culture next year and come with some action and a better understanding of what to do. For anyone who attempts to marginalize Maulana Karenga, allow me to remind you that the so-called most revered American presidents owned slaves who built their personal wealth and a nation on the backs of my ancestors.

Ultimate Party Crasher

I swear this is the last one - don’t miss the opportunity to read this final chapter!

Throughout the year, I’ve had people ask me what happened to the Dad Chronicles and as much as they have enjoyed reading and sharing our story, I was utterly exhausted from putting keystrokes and pictures together as I told the stories of Caeli and Chastity – and sometimes, my own related posts. Living was too much fun as we found some semblance of normalcy and as our toddler has begun making friends of her own organic way, her story has become one of a typical two-year-old. For the Saline County residents who haven’t found time or the effort to joining us for a play date, you and your little ones are missing out on a good friendship and occasionally, better barbecue (There’s my shameless plug for Dub Shack BBQ)!

I’ve privately told some people I stopped adding to the Dad Chronicles way back on Father’s Day. Today is the real epilogue.

My daddy says thank you for reading my story 

Some thirty-one months ago, our journey through prematurity began with an unexpected bang at home; whether some of you believe in the power of prayer and positive thinking or not, thank you for linking spiritual arms with the three of us, our doctors and nurses, the receptionists, specialists, social workers, our coworkers, and anyone who could make a difference toward the outcome you’ve read and/or heard about. Through the scariest months of my life not knowing if Caeli Elise would live or die, God has reminded me time and time again that our only child is destined to be great in a world that is beyond okay with accepting the status quo of being good. Trust me when I say we appreciate everything from meals, multiple boxes of clothes and toys, the nursery which Little Miss Sunshine is a direct beneficiary of when she stays awake during morning worship, those gas and restaurant cards, and the rare date night [to Wal-Mart, mind you] where the most romantic thing happening is pushing a grocery cart across the store to replenish Pull-Ups, wipes, milk, and fruit without having to stop and readjust a carrying shoulder every few aisles.

Some little boy is going to hate my daddy when I begin to date

November 17 is Prematurity Awareness Day for those who decided to crash the party a little early – class, educational or religious background, financial standing, political affiliation, parental upbringing, race – none of that really matters as our babies are going to show up when they are ready. We also honor the angels who returned to eternity before they had a chance to see what the zoo outside of their incubators and cribs is all about due to varying complications not limited to brain bleeds, overworked hearts, rejected donor’s blood, hyperthermia, etc.

Hey, little one
I'm so scared of what this could have been
I know that today I lost my only friend
My little one
- Highly Suspect, "Little One"

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) November 14, 2017

 A reminder to parents entering the preemie experience: You have the right to say no at any point. Don’t let that little-bitty word be a burden regarding how to care for your own child. Caeli has been through some rough ailments, poked, and prodded more than the average toddler yet she’s still our superhero. Is she spoiled? Yes, I’ll admit to giving her more leeway than I should have at times.

 Will she have another sibling? Lord knows, but I do not. You’ll have to stay tuned.

Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.
Proverbs 22:6#PrematurityAwarenessMonth #CaeliStrong

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) November 15, 2017

Look at the rewards of working hard: when Little Miss Sunshine sweeps the carport, she gets to park her Bimmer in it.

Crossroads

I went home last weekend for my 20th class reunion from high school.

Did I really write that sentence? It sure doesn’t exactly seem like twenty years since 425 Wampus Cats navigated our way through the confusing pods and an outdated hallway system to class, lunch, restrooms, and wherever else was convenient for that moment, but it has been that long – and that was further defined when I decided to try on my letterman jacket. It fits, but don’t ask me to button it up. The vinyl sleeves are sticky from years of hanging up in my childhood bedroom’s closet without consistent wear and I won’t go into detail about the trumpet that hasn’t seen the light of day since 1999! I think the yearbooks and stuff are somewhere in a storage facility across town only because I haven’t had any desire to load up any more boxes and bring home to Bryant; however, there is a futon that needs some serious love which I will gladly part with [Email me for details].

Like some of those 425 Wampus Cats who matriculated in 1997, I had conflicting feelings of if I wanted to come back. Would past hijinks be laughed at briefly and left in the past, or would someone try to lord some misdeed/inaction/fashion mistake over my head two decades later? What would those treasured friendships look like in our late thirties? Is this simply a money grab that on the outside exposes a haves-vs-have-nots culture despite most of us being at least cordial in real life? I had to show up to find out.

What I saw were roughly 140 friends [Regina has the exact number] of varying walks making a pilgrimage to the town we once ran as high school seniors many of whom were doing well and maintaining good health. Of course, we lost some soldiers along the way *pours St. Ides Special Brews on the grass* and a couple of us ended up doing a little more than an overnighter in the drunk tank, but by and large we are still together; Facebook really helps holding onto those ties of playing basketball everywhere, DBS functions, those first jobs, sitting in Ms. Snead’s World History class trying not to gouge our eyes out, extracurriculars, Kappa League, and whatever happened at Lollie Bottoms or Gold Lake most Friday and Saturday nights.

I wish more of our classmates would’ve come out and squashed the perceived beefs for no other reason than to acknowledge how short and precious life really is. I understand why some people didn’t make it; life happens whether it be distance, apathy, indifference, illness, or anything else – I ain’t mad at ‘cha, to quote 2Pac.  If I could get over the labels some of y’all gave me and the chortles when girls turned down my date requests, then it isn’t that hard to move on. As for the latter, there were some people whom I won’t mention yet didn’t want to see disowned and perhaps, being friend-zoned was good enough for me.

I'm pretty sure I did. pic.twitter.com/e1Cx9XkrJU

— Mister B.I.E. (@cedteaches) October 28, 2017

Beyond the obvious of seeing people, coming home also meant noticing changes to the city:  For example, Salem Road now travels north-south from Friendship Road to that new Lindsey Management-owned apartment complex at the end of South Salem Road past Southwind. Living in (or visiting Conway) also includes navigating roundabouts almost everywhere in lieu of stoplights clogging up the thoroughfares. With a second hospital, and more tech, oil, and retail opportunities than a little bit, it’s safe to say the hometown has grown into a nice city. We’ve come a long way from being newly minted drivers cruising on Front Street each Friday night and seeing the bootlegger for an overpriced fifth of Seagram’s gin.

All in all, it was a grand time indeed. Without the massive organization, we ought to do this again sometime soon – as an impromptu pop-up in some park or an open field akin to our partying days. I truly had a blast with everyone and my significantly better half got to see [and hear] the absurdly true stories of my life corroborated. Thanks to everyone who did come through, and for those who made it to the epic playdate at Laurel Park, I wish I could’ve made it but I had family obligations.

And I'm gonna miss everybody
And I'm gonna miss everybody when I'm gone
And I'm gonna miss everybody #CHS97Reunion #bone #crossroads

— Mister B.I.E. (@cedteaches) October 27, 2017

If I never tell you again, thanks for reading AD&AD and my random thoughts in addition to the Dad Chronicles over the past five years.

I’ll see you at the crossroads.

When God Uses People To Defeat the Devil

In our daily walk and work, we encounter people who genuinely have our best interests at heart, opportunists, super saints, and some people so nefarious that we would think they would die in a spectacular combustion if they set foot on church property! Yet, we sometimes miss the intent of their interactions as some of us have been saved for so long and so heavenly good that we have become no earthly good. We get so comfortable in our small circles that they inevitably define us more than our mission to stomp out the devil. 

What kind of devil does Brother Deacon speak of today? 

Take a good look around you and open your eyes. If that isn’t enough, listen to Kanye West’s “Ultralight Beam” featuring Chance the Rapper, Kelly Price, and Kirk Franklin particularly if you’ve subscribed to the authenticity of loving the Lord and admitted to doing a little cussing. 

With some certainty it is easier to define our devils when we can physically point them out, but what if Lucifer manifests himself as an ideology or a system? How do we use people to put the kibbutz on sin or at the very least, make ourselves aware of battle? 

Below is 1 Peter 5:6-11 – the primary text I shall use for this blog. I’ll bounce around throughout the Bible to cite examples of brave men and women who have defeated the wiles of the devil and how they did it. Most of you know I study from the Contemporary English Version, so if you’re a stan for King James, it says roughly the same thing. 

6 Be humble in the presence of God’s mighty power, and He will honor you when the time comes. 
7 God cares for you, so turn all you worries over to him.
8 Be on your guard and stay awake. Your enemy, the devil, is like a roaring lion, sneaking around to find someone to attack. 
9 But you must resist the devil and stay strong in your faith. You know that all over the world the Lord’s followers are suffering just as you are. 
10  But God shows undeserved kindness to everyone. That’s why he appointed Christ Jesus to choose you to share in his eternal glory. You will suffer for a while, but God will make you complete, steady, strong, and firm. 
11 God will be in control forever!

If we focus solely on verse 8, Peter implores us to #StayWoke – before it became fashionable as a core phrase within #BlackLivesMatter – in the face of the devil we see and the one which we do not visually anticipate. When we stay on guard (some of our pan-Afrikan and Hotep brothers say ‘on-code’), by default we are aware of our surroundings; when we find ourselves in unfamiliar parts, we can glean through the pages of our own lives to have an idea of what to do. In this context, the word Be is a command requiring an immediate call to action, ex. “Be on your guard”; this is not a time to lolly gagging or sneaking in a quick nap. Pay attention! The devil does not always identify himself/herself/itself with horns over the head; sometimes she wears Prada - or nada but a fierce hunger and determination to find someone either complacent or vulnerable enough to take advantage of. Peter further explains that while the devil is always on the hunt, Satan looks for the sleepwalking Christians as his easiest prey to hinder the advancement of God’s Kingdom. Otherwise, mumblings will arise: If Brother Bobby did the same thing I’m doing, then what makes him better than me?

Sometimes the devil wears Prada,and sometimes she wears nada. 

Let’s face it:  Bad things happen to good people; do we let their sinful misstep define them, or do we step out in the name of love, forgive them, and help them realign their lives to be more Christ-centered instead of casting snide judgments at a sin we may or may not have committed yet possibly exiling them forever from His goodness due to a comment? 

So, how do we defeat the devil? God provides six ways to conquer this foe: 

A) Pray;
B) Cast down thoughts;
C) Get rest;
D) Renew your spirit;
E) Know that you are loved; and
F) Be positive.  

Nehemiah teaches us how to finish with a W although not everyone will finish this race undefeated and with nary a scratch.  He dealt with the violent threats of the enemy in Chapter 4, internal conflict between the wealthy and the poor Jews in Chapter 5, and naysayers toward the completion of the wall in Chapter 6. Even though I won’t go into full detail of all three chapters rather focusing on Nehemiah 6:1-19, read the previous three chapters foreshadowing the events that led him to build the wall around Jerusalem. We must know the four schemes Satan uses to throw us off and understand how to stand firmly against them:  intrigue, innuendo, intimidation, and infiltration. 

For example, Sanballat, Tobiah, Geshem, and other enemies found out that Nehemiah had completely rebuilt the wall save hanging the doors in the gate and they were intrigued enough to send an urgent message to visit them in the Ono Valley. Knowing the interest was insincere at best, he declined the invitation since the work was too important to leave incomplete. Yet, he was summoned to appear three separate times and turned them down each chance not because he was a jerk instead acknowledging the work God had placed before him. By being upfront, this enraged Sanballat the leader of the Samarians to the extent of wanting to destroy the city!

Note how 1 Peter 5:8 served as a reminder earlier for us to stay woke? See what false interest brings to the table and how the intrigue was intended for Nehemiah to get distracted with the task at hand. 

People aren’t always going to like us based on where our priorities lie; the devil even uses the good things to his advantage to pull us away from Job One. In addition, we have other to-dos that supersede the thing that was trying to occupy more of our valuable time and energy. If we get distracted by the platitudes and showering compliments, then we find ourselves off-code. If nothing else helps, pray.

When the sheep follow the not-so-big bad wolf to slaughter pic.twitter.com/hdvvsMOClC

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) September 6, 2017

For those of us who have been watching the news, many of us can recognize the use of innuendo – a veiled reflection on character or reputation. President Donald Trump uses this technique to provoke corporations and more recently, individual citizens with a series of falsehoods to damage the intended through his rallies, Twitter account, and policies he is lacking a basic understanding of such as health care and today, the Jones Act. In verses 5 through 9, Nehemiah sees through the harmful innuendo Sanballat tries to rope him into and his reaction is twofold:  casting down those untruths and prayer. Sure, he could have held a press conference denying any attempt to overthrowing and killing King Artaxerxes but he already knew that was patently false. Rather than fanning the flames of dissent and remaining silent, Nehemiah resisted Satan with the truth and prayer in the most distinct, clearest, open manner possible by sending Sanballat a message stating the following: “None of this is true! You’re making it all up.” Further, he lets the Jews know that their enemies were trying to frighten them and prevent them from doing the work, and asks God to give him strength during the storm. 

Excuse the language, but understand the larger point.

Does this sound familiar? 

Leaders must pray for God’s wisdom as to whether to remain silent or reply to false accusations. No matter how we respond, we must always pray and keep doing the work God has commissioned for us to do as it is the right thing. 

Nehemiah resisted the devil by standing firm in his priorities and with a forthright truth and prayer. Unfortunately, the devil wasn’t ready to quit trying him. 

Last weekend, over two hundred NFL players knelt during the national anthem in response to the president calling on team owners to “fire the SOBs”. The original intent of former San Francisco 49ers Colin Kaepernick’s protest was not toward the flag itself rather than police brutality and the nation not living up to its collective bargain with people of color, particularly African-Americans. Using coercion to suppress the First Amendment rights inherited to all Americans from birth to maintain employment showed the extent absolute sovereignty had become and how nationalism/white supremacy has found its way into the nation’s highest offices. In addition, Trump rescinded an invitation to the NBA champion Golden State Warriors to make a visit the very same weekend in retaliation of black people using their voices! 

Making 'patriots' expose themselves as racists daily. 🇺🇸. pic.twitter.com/A6WdGlRJJM

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) September 26, 2017

In a way, the first white president (I know we had 43 white men as presidents of the United States prior to Barack Obama, but Donald Trump seems hellbent on turning back the clock to 1836) is using NFL owners to do the buck-breaking for him and the overly patriotic (usually white) Americans who put more stock in fabric than a man and his own experiences. Perhaps they are okay with paying to see gladiators throw themselves around as entertainment for a few dollars because showing an ounce of blackness is too intimidating for the same men and women who spent all day drinking and eating, cheering for the Cowboys on Sunday and calling the Hogs each Saturday afternoon. 

Look at how former Razorbacks men’s basketball coach Nolan Richardson took on the University of Arkansas after his firing and won some Pyrrhic victories although he didn’t get the money he originally  requested. 

Nehemiah went to visit Shemaiah who was supposedly confined to his home except he wanted to go hide in the temple in fear of Nehemiah’s enemies coming to kill him that night. “Why should someone like me go hide in the temple to save my life?” asked Nehemiah. “I won’t go!” It was then the son of Hacaliah realized that God had not given Shemaiah the message, instead he was being used by Sanballat and Tobiah to trick and frighten him into doing something wrong such as entering the temple [remember, Nehemiah was an average man called to do extraordinary things – he wasn’t a priest]. He then asked God to punish the duo, the prophetess Noadiah, and anyone involved in the set-up. 

This was his “nah, playa. We good” moment. 

In leadership, we never truly get rest until the mission is accomplished. In what seems to become rote for him, Nehemiah prays. This time, he asks God to take care of his enemies. When Satan sends people to intimidate us with disobedience, respond with fearless obedience and prayer. 

Consider how the Hoover-led FBI was complicit in the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and more the local white clergy and moderates in the South who preferred the Civil Rights Movement be a gradual one. 

After fifty-two days, the wall around Jerusalem was completed! The devil went home, the workers were overjoyed, and Nehemiah was about to sit in the cut and sip Moscato, right? 

Nah, playa; there is more to the story.

While the enemies were deflated from trying so hard to block our blessings, they did admit that God was in control all along as even they credited their success not to the workers but to Him. 

The good news is Satan lost the battle. The bad news is he was about to play dirty and continue the war. 

Remember Tobiah, the governor of the Ammonites? It turned out he was a nominal (honorary) half-Jew, and by virtue of his marriage and business ties to Jews, he had an insider’s view of the positive things Nehemiah was doing and his hard work in restoring Jerusalem. Yet, he wrote those threatening letters to Nehemiah and undermined him at every chance; his infiltration of the culture proves that even the church has had to contend with wolves in sheep’s clothing. During Nehemiah’s absence to Persia, the governor had the audacity to move his personal belongings into the temple! Once he returned and saw what it really was – a compromise with the world, Nehemiah personally threw his household goods out of the room. 

Don't forget this happened multiple times in the Bible

Until Christ returns, there will be no perfect church. We have agendas that we want to set even to the detriment of collective Kingdom building, and we as humans tend to be more hung up on our titles than the real objective of soul-saving. From my own experiences, I have seen churches nearly split because an associate minister refused to stay in his lane or the pastor would hog the pulpit or in community congregations, one family has effectively neutralized the God-appointed leadership.

A few lessons that come from this are not to expect perfection in Christian work; never put confidence in our own work, but only in God who enables us to work; and when God’s people compromise with the world, it hinders God’s work. 

Want to see how else people beat the devil in the Book of Nehemiah and its real-life correlations? 

Turn a few pages in your Bibles to Nehemiah 2:10 and read this:

10 But when Sanballat from Horon and Tobiah the Ammonite official heard about what had happened, they became very angry, because they didn’t want anyone to help the people of Israel. 

To me, this is eerily similar to the Republican Party wasting votes to repeal the Protection Patient Affordable Care Act, also known as Obamacare by linking the entitlements to persons of color getting free stuff, death panels, and other racist narrative right-wing news media and talk show hosts parroted that day. After massive calls and packing out town halls, we can only hope that repeal is dead; why would some men and women who claim to be Christians not take care of the least of these? Oh, I know why; white Republican Jesus is in it for the tax cuts first, and religion is a convenient muse to conceal sinful intent – in this case, the twin sins of greed and racism.

Now we know how people are prepared to defeat the devil, how do we fight Satan? 

By putting on the whole armor of God as per Ephesians 6:10-17.

10 Finally, let the mighty strength of the Lord make you strong. 
11 Put on the all the armor that God gives, so you can defend yourself against the devil’s tricks. 
12 We are not fighting against humans. We are fighting against forces and authorities and against rulers of darkness and powers in the spiritual world. 
13 So put on all the armor that God gives. Then when that evil day comes, you will be able to defend yourself. And when the battle is over, you will be standing firm.
14 Be ready! Let the truth be like a belt around your waist, and let God’s justice protect you like armor. 
15 Your desire to tell the good news about peace should be like shoes on your feet. 
16 Let your faith be like a shield, and you will be able to stop all of the flaming arrows of the evil one.
17 Let God’s saving power be like a helmet, and for a sword use God’s message that comes from the Spirit. 

Caption this, please. pic.twitter.com/zaZnbxsF5n

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) August 24, 2017

The trickery is real, and so is the explicit AND implicit biases we have to navigate daily. Not only do we have to deal with discriminatory laws in how they are enforced but also the very real possibility of substandard health care for our families. Combine that with the macro- and micro-aggressions we endure at work and it is a miracle the bosses we kill with our thoughts have not actually perished! This does not include the legal system where the prosecuting attorneys and sheriffs wield more power in determining if a man is free or imprisoned by the amount of bail money and fines required in exchange for his freedom; several judges nationwide implicitly use race as a factor during sentencing. Think about why as election season nears, they parade around the disproportionate number of black men incarcerated as they portray themselves as “tough on crime” and the “law and order” candidates, both of which are code words for locking ‘em up and throwing away the keys.

Satan, get behind me!

Let us see what happens when the courts are now filled with opioid addicts and dealers if they get the book thrown at them or some call for help, like a rehab. Then tell me why. 

Despite the fake news and falsehoods spread around to damage our character, the truth shall shine through like a butt-kicking superhero as our faith resembles a shield intended for us to block the flames and grenades tossed in our way. Be unapologetic. Be woke. Be the great that God calls us to be. 

Struggle

Me on payday pic.twitter.com/KW5e50YrvB

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) September 15, 2017

I got paid at midnight.

At 12:01 am, I was heartbroken.

Why do I put myself – and my family – through this mess every two weeks? It can’t be because I like my job which I detest daily to the extent my skin shudders when someone utters my employer’s name. It does have me bent over a barrel since I am picking up our health insurance via biweekly deductions and trying to plan for the biggest pipe dream of all in retirement is the biggest fallacy known to mankind. If I could afford to, I’d drink myself silly yet staring at the bottom of an authentic Mexican tequila would only compound the problems in my life along with the mounting monthly bills.

Times like these are times which I think about putting on that trap jersey; consequently, I cannot get back in the game due to the real losses my franchise would accrue to one misstep:  getting raided or robbed, or worse busted by the law. Then there is the real possibility of applying for one of those medicinal sales licenses, and again that comes with two caveats:  The high cost of entry, and if approved, I would have to surrender my Second Amendment right in this state.

If making fifteen dollars an hour is the best I can expect in the prime of my working years, I’m out.

Why the hell did I spend so much time in school only to land dead-end roles that the HR recruiter must repeatedly cajole herself into selling as steppingstone positions? I should’ve noticed their poop-stained grins of building a bright future within the organization a long time ago; that “foot in the door” is all it ever will be. I’m overworked and grossly overqualified, vastly underappreciated, and I won’t enter the paltry pay as a part of the discussion. What a shining reality this has become – where are my shades to block out the searing sun rays?

The more I write about this, the more my frustration with the company simmers. I should’ve gone full-time with the catering business when I had the startup capital and opportunity; ironically enough, I paid off some localized debts instead.

Someone from the Swishahouse told me there ain’t no 401K in hustling and the way this job is treating me confirms the factoid.

Here I am giving serious thought about picking up a second job for the first time in over five years considering upcoming preschool expenses. The issues that come with that are twofold:  1) I am rarely home as things stand; and 2) I never have been much of a “people” person. In the pursuit of providing the best lifestyle possible for my family, the price of not being around for timeless memories could become too great. Why would I have surrendered living during my twenties if only to repeat this cycle again for the next thirty, forty years or so of working twenty-hour days to get by?

How is it that people whom I know are nowhere near as qualified as I am getting these plum jobs making serious jack and I’m living on Ramen and pork-and-beans?

In case you haven’t been able to figure it out, I need a better-paying gig that will help my ambitions of a comfortable retirement as well as get us through the mundanities of life.

Writer’s Block

This year has been one extended session of writer’s block. For each blog I’ve written, I’ve had the hardest time maintaining the juice and continuing to push out new material. I know it was pretty easy to either glean from my own life experiences and/or the news cycles and simply find a quiet room for a couple of hours to write freely, but 2017 has presented its own obstacles toward any semblance of consistency.

Most of you know I used to post weekly to AD&AD and with all the things that have transpired since January, it’s a miracle that I had been able to churn out high-quality stuff for as long as I did! After two years of mostly sharing the Dad Chronicles, the greatest thing (for me) has been rest – and playing a more active role in my daughter’s childhood and being a halfway decent husband to my wife. Of course, setting Word aside for those sporadic moments when I can compose without an interruption has resulted in my intentional living; it also helps that Heritage* isn’t requiring my body to show up in the office 72 hours per week anymore.

As a professional writer, the time away comes a price: Anything worth having requires regular usage and that uncanny mastery of the written word is no exception. While it is certainly easier to tweet a rant or present historical content in 140 characters or fewer, I still need to remain up-to-date on APA, MLA, and other business formats of writing in addition to regularly reviewing past works for relevance and the occasional misspelling. Then there are the weeks of emptyheaded ideas and rough drafts that somehow evaporate between my mind and the time I can put them either to physical paper or my favorite notepad apps thereby nixing any possibility of monetizing opinions and tutorials.

Besides, what is exciting about discussing potty training a girl?

I won’t share the frustration, but whoever told me girls would be easier than boys must be dragged behind the shed kicking and screaming for a severe beating. 

Sidebar:  Ten years ago, I began AD&AD as a venue for me to escape a rough patch in my personal life: After I moved home to Arkansas after living cross-country, employment (and to an extent, the meager social opportunities) dried up yet I had tons of creative stories I needed to release. All I had in my pocket was $1 and a dream I had been chasing since college; sadly, I also had a mountain of car payments and that godawful student loan staring at me neither of which unemployment checks were sufficient enough to cover without serious piecemeal. It was then that I realized living hand-to-mouth was for the birds and although I wanted to be happy, the bills had to be paid on time. Eventually, I ended up working two jobs to not only catch up but also plan my next moves – and be able to afford to date someone. It’s kind of hard to get a woman to buy-in when all I had were an unrealized dream and a pair of low-paying jobs that combined barely provided any wiggle room for fun; thankfully, my girlfriend (now wife) believed enough in me to allow the pursuit of the written word. Getting recognition for being able to tell a story or convey a persuasive argument is nice, but I also like eating three meals daily and not having to worry about how monthly utilities (gas, water, lights, internet) will be paid for. In other words, I like payday.

If I write one or a hundred more blogs this year, all of this will be sufficient as long as I can push writer’s block out of the way.

Anyone with expertise in monetizing blogs, don’t hesitate to inbox or email me.  

*The story behind Heritage:  Rineco Chemicals was sold to Heritage Environmental for an undisclosed amount way back on March 1. So far, all 300+ of us still have our jobs and as we are integrated into the HES family, some growing pains are expected. I am not at liberty to say how it affects me personally, but stay tuned to find out what happens in the future.

You Own This. Don’t Try to Hide Now and Act Like This is New.

My own recently re-elected US Senator sent out a tweet feigning compassion over the events in Charlottesville yet he was silently complicit on the campaign trail last year when the opportunities arose to speak up for all of us and consistently declined to visit with all of his constituents throughout the state only choosing to see the moneyed or sugarcoated religious folks among us. I didn’t see ‘conservative Christianity’ from anyone in the state of Arkansas until most residents played stupid about the well-known alt-right member from Dover (or Mountain View?) wearing the Arkansas Engineering t-shirt; I know they were the same folks who were butthurt about Brother Colin Kaepernick taking a knee and his reasons or the young sisters who knelt during the preseason college basketball game last season, one of which I am personally connected to.

You own this. In the midst of running for re-election last year and away from POC, you and the GOP remained silent in the face of 45. https://t.co/fldwkcOhUG

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) August 13, 2017

Ever since the advent of integration (not that long ago – Dad graduated from an all-white high school and Mom’s school integrated in the fifth grade only to become virtually pitch-black a few years later at her 1975 high school graduation), the powers that be consistently have changed the goal posts to suit their dastardly means. They have traded in their hoods and robes for suits and ties; striped button down oxfords and dark washed jeans for polo shirts, and standard fit khakis from the Gap; and burning torches for Tiki candles and anonymous Twitter accounts. What a lot of people don’t know is that the Religious Right’s rise to power has nothing to do with Roe v. Wade:  the original fight was ‘forced’ integration of their schools. See the South for the rise of the private academies since 1965.

Why your president gave such a tepid response to today's events in #Charlottesville pic.twitter.com/lF3v1LYp0U

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) August 13, 2017

Truth of the matter, I’m tired of being the moral compass of this place. Excuse my foul language but understand the context of what I am saying:  You don’t give a damn about my black ass unless it’s to make your pussified life easier via the heavy lifting AND even then, I don’t get due credit or compensation for my timely truthful intellectual thoughts.

Racially fatigued over other groups tasking black people to be the moral compass of this country.

— Sunflower Samurai (@LeeTRBL) August 12, 2017

For far too long and in too many blogs, I have continually pointed out the hypocrisies of flawed arguments both conservative and liberal as I am told that I am the racist for poking holes in your theories of supremacy. FUCK EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU, if that is the case. I mean, where can I start? Trayvon? Mike? Eric? Jordan? Colin? Barack? The Charleston Nine? Walter? Terence? Rekia? Renisha? OJ? I’m here all night.

Americans that don't denounce white supremacy aren't cowards, they're white supremacists

— Ziwe (@ziwe) August 12, 2017

Fuck it, I think you need to hear it from someone who looks like you. But that won’t happen because you’re so damn complacent in calling it a lone wolf crime when the perpetrators are white – if it were me mowing protestors down in my crossover or using inciting language, then the thugs, n*ggers, and every other insult in the book would’ve been hurled my way. However, if you put my family in this and there will be no limit to how I move heaven and earth to send you to hell!

Putting a nice name on something still doesn’t wash away the ugliness of it.

You’re a nationalist/nativist/supremacist/alt-right, right? You’re still a trashy-ass racist, no matter what you look like on the outside and that won’t change until you change. Speaking of which, your boy 45 and continued silence is all you need to keep hiding under the veneer of what America is.

You certainly don’t represent what God’s Kingdom looks like and is all about.

How can you love and worship a man you’ve never seen yet sprint across the street clutching purses and dragging children away when you see a man of a darker skin walking toward you on the same sidewalk faster than Usain Bolt in the Olympics? 

You surely cannot worship the same God I do.

If you don't hear a condemnation of the events in #Charlottesville tomorrow in church, then you may be worshipping in the wrong place. pic.twitter.com/K8UsAaYN8g

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) August 13, 2017

Because the media (which is going to shock you, but it’s largely owned by conservatives) is going to tell you the truth, right?

Because the high schools you attended and slept through the lessons on cognitive thinking are indoctrinating the students with wild leftist thoughts and questioning Creationism in their biology classes?

Because we’re supposed to never forget September 11, 2001 when slavery and Jim Crow segregation were a long time ago and we need to get over it already?

Because our churches are little more than PACs than meeting places to worship one Living God meaningfully?

Because All Lives Matters really is intended for me to shut the hell up about Black Lives Matter?

Every time you excuse bad behavior of one of your own yet slam a minority group for the same thing as genetic attribution, you’re really doing yourselves no favors.

Vanilla ISIS, with Tiki candles spewing hate

The pictures of White ISIS (I don’t know what they’re mad for – they’ve had most everything handed to them prior to 1968, and in some respects, still wallow in a privileged mentality) carrying Tiki torches is laughable only if…they weren’t our neighbors, coworkers, politicians, pastors, teachers, firefighters, police officers, doctors, webmasters, Little League coaches, managers, fashion designers, comedians, electricians, and so forth.  I guess when your voice is the only one that is heard for so long, when others finally take a few seconds at the microphone to speak, it seems like discrimination instead of the actual equality that it is.

Notice there was a particular "uniform" that these white supremacists were wearing in #Charlottesville ...See why Trump won't denounce them pic.twitter.com/0d0GanIPBL

— Tariq Nasheed (@tariqnasheed) August 13, 2017

You own this. Don’t try to hide now and act like this is new.

Coming Out the (Diabetic) Closet

I am a lot of things to a lot of people and hopefully most of those descriptors are good things.

I am a child of God.

I am unapologetically Black.

I am a loving husband and hyperprotective father.

I am a fairly decent friend and neighbor, from what the people on/off Next Door think have seen in our subdivision and what most of you already know about me.

I am pretty laidback yet extremely passionate regarding my interests.

I am a reliable team player at work although I spend twelve hours at a time alone in my office.

I make some really good barbecue, some of which I hope you would sample a bite or two, or even purchase the sauces. 

I can go all day long with this but there is also one new description that comes into play:

I am diabetic.

Type II to be exact, but it doesn’t matter which diabetes (Type I or II) it is because untreated, it can lead to permanent damage.

I was diagnosed five years ago with Type II diabetes and once that sunk in, my stomach wasn’t as cast iron as once was and devouring almost anything at will was no longer permissible. Combine that with simultaneously finding out that I also have high blood pressure made me want to throw something up against the wall – or at the very least, curse my genetics. Of course I moped around to my wife about the changing health status yet I also decided to read up and kick this disease’s ass by any means necessary because simply griping about it does no good except for the few seconds used venting about my new life and its upcoming challenges. Fortunately, I’m not so far off the deep end that I have to resort to using the insulin pumps or pricking my finger throughout the day to check my blood sugar levels.

Upon hearing my doctor tell me that my diabetes and high blood pressure combined were the byproducts of “eating like a kid” and lousy sleeping patterns, I began to imagine the worst:  having to treat my everyday meals like the bland ones you’ve eaten at Luby’s or some all-you-can-eat place where clearly the love wasn’t put into the cooking. For a burgeoning pit master/caterer, I wanted to know how that would impact my flavor profiles [on pork specifically ribs, butts, and shoulders, it’s the Big 6 dry rub seasonings that I won’t tell; beef, chicken, and others, I may share BUT only if you ask politely].

Beyond moving fork or sandwich from plate to my fat face, what else could I do? I was lost with no path homeward. I hurt my back several years ago at work and instead of proper rest and rehab, I was fed a steady diet of Flexeril which guaranteed eight hours’ sleep and an escape from recurring bouts of pain that would eventually cripple me. I didn’t know where it was coming from, so I quit playing basketball and running as an attempt to eliminate the pain. Yet it came back sporadically – and with a vengeance when it did. Several years ago, I signed up for men’s city league basketball and played relatively well for my health issues and being away from the game for so long until my back acted up following another Sparkle Motion loss. I missed those two late-season games – it wouldn’t have mattered, as we were blown out in both contests and limped into the playoffs with a 3-8 record. Here I was, once the governor of the paint and well-known rebounding machine, reduced to a shell of myself; the subsequent weight gain from recently getting married and slowing metabolism rate didn’t exactly help. I could patrol the lane but for one reason or another, I found myself a step slower than the guys I guarded and out of breath more frequently.

Then I suffered from sugar cravings:  I couldn’t leave those damn honeybuns alone.

Say what you want about how much I like drinking craft beer – those Little Debbies are my real kryptonite.

I should have noticed that I was going to the restroom more often and how much liquid sugar I was punishing daily, but I dismissed both. Ditto for the migraines I occasionally suffered after waking up from the afternoon nap before work. What did pounding copious amounts of Dr. Pepper or Full Throttle have to do with anything concerning my body or waking up every three or four hours to pee? More than I knew.

Like I said, I’ve been diagnosed as diabetic for a few  years, so I’m still learning how to beat this devil – and at the very least, manage it well enough that it is a minimal part of life. With the regimen of medicine I have to take every day, I do feel a little like a junkie (I know it’s not politically correct to say junkie, but that’s how I feel with six separate pill bottles and a glass of water every day); consequently, this is a part of my new life. I slowly have also rededicated myself to at least walking through the neighborhood and shooting hoops in the driveway; as I get my moxie back, it may include an abbreviated game of one-on-one before I try to hold my own with the AAU crowd. Initially, I had lost twenty-five pounds (and since have regained it back and then some - thanks, Rona) yet despite my dietary backsliding into the drive-thru windows around the region, I aim to beat this thing.

How do I beat something that I am genetically (and culturally) predisposed to?

I have two strikes against me:  the genetics and the culture. It doesn’t mean lay down and do nothing; living in a new world which Metformin is going to send me to the toilet if I even gaze at a slice of pizza too long presents new obstacles to good health. Genetically, I knew I was screwed:  both sides of my family are battling high blood pressure and diabetes, and there are some of us who do have to use the insulin pumps and pricks daily. It could be worse, but hopefully nipping it in the bud early will be the catalyst in changing not only what we eat but how food and drink are consumed. As for the culture, I am not solely talking about Black culture:  I am a son of the South and a summer cookout is not the same without fried catfish or chicken, grilled hamburgers and hot dogs, smoked spareribs or beef brisket, or some sort of sugary goodness!

In other words, I LOVE TO EAT. We ain’t snacking on vegan anything over here.

In this day, I need to learn how to eat to live, not live to eat. My grandparents have all made it to their 80s and one even saw age 90 before she passed away, so whatever they did health-wise is worth taking a look at. Then there is the one still-living grandparent who turned 94 in October who my daughter is fortunate enough to meet and know – Grandma’s dad (my great-grandpa John) lived to be 101. As far as I can tell, moderation and exercise are the keys to living such a long healthy life; applying those tips can perhaps help me.

Another way I can conquer diabetes is by actually listening to what my dietician says – and that includes following the notes she recommends. Trust me when I say that big bowl of Golden Grahams isn’t there to help me get to where I want to be. Does it taste good on the way down? Hell yeah it does! Do I really need the sugary goodness each morning? Not really. Therefore, I’ve given myself an arbitrary weight goal of my wedding day weight, but what matters more is being able to keep up with Little Miss Sunshine and her boundless energy without doubling over and grabbing basketball shorts for a deep breath every couple hundred feet.

Being diabetic hasn’t been a death sentence like I expected back in February 2017; it instead has become my wakeup call to change some habits for the better while I have my good health.

Fuck diabetes. I mean that.

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) July 31, 2017