Ho. Ho. Ho.

Ho, Ho, Ho.

I worked Christmas Eve and Christmas Day – and it didn’t kill me.

Working in the waste management industry, I’ve learned to deal with the ways our schedules change from one year to the next, and as we pray for a calendar year which we get every holiday off without having to use PTO, I must be considerate that someone is going to have to lie on the grenade and get what may be the easiest twelve hours’ work for the quarter at the price of missing out on what his family is doing. I fully empathize with nurses, medical personnel, maintenance crews, law enforcement officers, security guards, Waffle House and Chinese restaurant employees, the awesome people who toil at gas stations and Walgreens for the last-minute battery runs, and the Wal-Mart associates who finally get their day off from work only to suffer with 364 days of the worst of us in the customer service return lines. PS:  If you’re also working on Christmas Day and I didn’t shout out your line of work, charge it to my mind. On the contrary, NBA players dream of working on this day to debut their new shoes and special holiday jerseys, so they are living one aspect of their dreams and hard work over the years. Still, having millions in the bank does not prevent the personal feelings of having to leave the comforts of home to entertain an arena of around 20,000 paying customers in addition to a nation of fans whom have come to view them as mindless gladiators blessed with an innate ability to dribble, shoot, pass, score, and/or defend an orange basketball 94 feet from one end of the court to the other end.

For the first time ever, I did work Christmas Eve night. Having Boyz II Men and The Temptations croon “Let It Snow” and “Silent Night” repeatedly on Spotify, respectively, did not alleviate the sucky part of being away from the family; matter of fact, it exacerbated the pain that much more. (Lord willing and He says the same, this will be the final Christmas holiday I spend away from home.) Working Christmas Day night is a different animal; I’ve been doing this for the majority of the past eleven years that I have been back in the South. In this case it is overtime that pays for next month’s bills and even becomes an added part of the rainy-day fund those financial advisors tell us all about in every other email or news cycle.

One may wonder how I’ve gotten screwed with working these types of irregular jobs over the years. Easy:  I greatly appreciate autonomy, especially when it pays the bills well enough. There is a certain peace of mind that comes with being able to control my own destiny with some constraints, and the current job’s schedule is wonderful WHEN it works. Without the night shift, I probably wouldn’t have had the moxie to get into the barbecue life as intensely as I have the past few years nor the ability to create relevant content for A Dollar and A Dream for the past six years and counting. If you think about it, the only nonteaching day role I’ve had ever was a scheduler position at the now-closed school bus plant back home – and even then, that was fifteen years ago when I had no grey hairs and a compact car that continuously broke down.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

I made it through both nights, and it didn’t kill me.

Tell someone who did work either of the two days thank you for his/her service to the larger community and put some respect on their names as they (like me) drew the short straw to sit on the timeclock.

Dub Shack BBQ Presents Smoked Meatloaf

Dub Shack BBQ Presents Smoked Meatloaf

Because every day really is a great day for barbecue.

Ingredients

·         Ground beef, at least 2 lbs.

·         2 eggs, beaten

·         Bread crumbs

·         Table salt

·         Black pepper

·         Basil

·         Oregano

·         Sage

·         Big 6 dry rub

·         ½ cup of milk

·         Diced tomatoes

·         Diced onions

·         Chopped green peppers

·         Shredded cheese (I prefer Mexican but make it your own)

·         Brown sugar

·         Ketchup or barbecue sauce of your choice

The stuff you need

Step One: Find the largest mixing bowl in your kitchen cabinet and mix all the ingredients except for brown sugar and ketchup/barbecue sauce together. Don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty playing in the bowl, and if you are, the sink should be nearby. Wearing gloves may help alleviate the fear of icky fingers if that is your prerogative.

Makin' Meatloaf Look Like 'Murica.

Step Two: Pick up the mixture, form it, and set it in a meatloaf pan. I have a metal pan at home that my wife bought somewhere that does the job well enough, but if you lack that, the aluminum meatloaf pans found in most housewares/cookware aisles in the average retail outfit will suffice. If you haven’t lit your grill to 350℉, go outside and do so:  While you’re lighting it, make sure you set it for indirect cooking – and if you don’t know what that is, position all your coals to one side of the grill, and put the cooked item on the opposite side. I used charcoal briquettes and a few chunks of Cherrywood to get through the cook. It’s fast, but not so swift that you would have to worry about being away for too long.

Chillin' out 

Step Three: Once the grill hits 350 ℉ place the meatloaf pan on the indirect side of your grill and close it. I cannot stress it enough that “lookin’ ain’t cookin’”; just let the protein and coals do their work. At one hour in, it is always a good idea to check the internal temperature to know how your cook is coming along with a thermometer. Ground beef requires a temperature of at least 160℉ before it is fully cooked, and this is no exception; no one wants an undercooked comfort headliner.

Working it out on the PK #ShopLocal

Step Four:  Two hours later and an internal temperature of at least 160 (I took mine up to 180 to be safe), the meatloaf is done. Carefully bring it inside wearing heatproof gloves, and if you don’t have any, use Mama’s pan holders to transport the featured protein. In a separate bowl, mix brown sugar, Big 6 dry rub, and ketchup/barbecue sauce together until the sugar is fully blended; pour mixture over the meatloaf and let it rest five to ten minutes before serving.

Food Porn

It’s worth a try and gives the oven a break from having to work so hard through those chilly months. Even if you’ve put your grills and smokers away for the winter, smoked meatloaf is an easy meal with a barbecue twist – again, every day is a great day for barbecue. Bring them out and be the star of your family dinner tonight!

Dub Shack BBQ Presents Spatchcock Turkey

Every day is a great day for barbecue, and Thanksgiving/Christmas/whenever you feel like smoking turkey is a good enough reason for the bird.

Ingredients:

·         One turkey (I prefer 10-12 lbs. since the 20-25 lb. turkeys require a bit more work to keep extra juicy)

·         Kosher salt and white sugar for brining

·         Injectable butter (Tony Chachere is ideal, just make sure your bird is moist)

·         Thyme

·         Rosemary

·         Cajun seasoning

·         Garlic salt

·         Black pepper

·         Olive oil spray

·         Time (6-7 days, depending on the state of the turkey)

Step One: This depends on how soon you want to eat turkey or if the cook is for a major family event. For funsies (and my family) there is a separate method I do for smoking turkey breast that will catch a post one of these days. In the meantime, slow thaw the turkey for three to five days with the preferred rule of thumb being three pounds per day; with those 20+ lb. monstrosities, it could take a week to slow them before any further measures can be taken. Just set it in the refrigerator in a bowl or casserole tray that can fit it and forget it.

From the freezer to the fridge

Step Two:  After the necessary slow thaw is complete, open the package! Anything that you’re not going to use such as the giblets, necks, and certainly not the plastic in the cavity, take it out and throw it away. Because I know my family, I’m keeping the turkey neck and incorporating it with the rest of the meal; however, I won’t brine it like the rest of the turkey. Regardless of the season, no one wants a dry turkey; people can go to Luby’s or IHOP for that trash.

The brine is one or two pitchers of water, kosher salt, and white sugar. Bring the water to boiling over the oven and set it aside. In a large Ziploc bag (think the ones that shrink the air such as the ones we use for clothing, not the smaller ones in the paper goods department), place the turkey and brine in the same bag and close it. You can get a couple of bags of ice to cover the bird if it goes in the ice cooler outside but remember to change out the ice – you’re still working with poultry. My method is slightly different in the way that I’ll use a larger stock pot to drop the turkey in first, then the brine, and lastly empty the full ice tray in the freezer before returning it to the refrigerator for another twelve to sixteen hours.

Step Three:  Take that turkey out of the brine and put it on a roasting pan. Pat that bird down to sop up the excess water, and get those poultry shears (Hint:  If you don’t know what those are, look at the scissors in the knife set you got as a wedding gift and grab them). To spatchcock a turkey, all you do is cut the backbone to flatten the bird for an even cook; it may cause you to sweat and even swear a little bit! Once that bird is lying flat, spray the first of two layers of olive oil and inject it with the butter everywhere – in the legs, the wings, and of course, the breast. To inject, simply follow the instructions with your bottle and hit the bird everywhere. You’re doing it right when the turkey pumps up throughout. Remember the turkey neck I stuck to the side? It also gets pumped up like the Reebok shoes we wore in middle school because the latest Air Jordan sneakers were beyond the cost of ownership. After the turkey is injected throughout, add your favorite poultry rub to the bird and head outside to light the smoker for 275 ℉. On this one in the pictures, I’ve added thyme, rosemary, garlic salt, black pepper, and Cajun seasoning to the bird with the last ingredient liberally spread all over the legs, wings, neck, and breast. My advice here is to spread the love on both sides of the turkey.

Pumped up, spatchcocked, and ready for smoke

Step Four:  Light the smoker to 275℉, and unlike most protein, use a mild wood such as pecan or post oak to impart an awesome smoky taste. If sticks are unavailable, then use a combination of pecan chunks and lump charcoal; hickory sticks can be too harsh for this cook. Once it gets to temperature, bring the turkey to the smoker and set it carefully – the legs can take the heat, so they can lay near the firebox. Tuck those wings underneath the breast to fully ensure an even cook; once set, spray another layer of olive oil all over the bird. You’re looking for a golden brown color not much darker than some of our high school classmates who lived at the tanning beds once upon a time.

Going for a tan

Step Five:  To keep the turkey extra-moist, drizzle the leftover injectable butter on the legs, breast, and wings. Since I had the neck smoking as well, it received the same treatment. At two hours, check the color and the temperature:  if the bird is too dark, then lightly cover it with aluminum foil. As a reminder for legs, the temperature needs to be 170; the breasts, 165 before you pull it.

Dark and Lovely

Step Six: This is the most difficult step in the process because we can finally taste victory! My eleven-pound turkey was finished at 3 ½ hours, and needed to rest. Following a resting period of about thirty minutes, I could no longer wait to part out this bird. First went the legs and wings, and then the breast was sliced. Can you see the butter dripping from those turkey slices?

Dat breast tho...

This was the first time I smoked a whole turkey, and from the spatchcock technique, it will not be the final experience with it nor will I avoid injecting protein as I once did. It proved to be incredibly efficient as shown by what I brought back home from our Thanksgiving dinner:  nothing.

Fade Me Up

Q:  How many barbers have I had that I can reliably call “my barber”? I’m not talking about the bootleg or “creeping-your-shop” barbers who might try to push my line back and have me looking like LeBron.

A.      Doc. Everyone in Conway knew Roger Nelson – he was the only black barber back home for a large part of my childhood, and it was practically a childhood rite to have your head palmed in his chair at one point or another.

B.      Pat. Doc’s first protégé that really built up a clientele. Patrick Oates was the reason why I had to get in the chair midweek versus sitting in the shop each Saturday morning. For a reasonable $8 [in 1996 dollars] he or Clardy Bennett had you looking like a million bucks ready to chop up every girl in town.

C.      Phil Good. Phil Craig had the perfect location in Arkadelphia – across the street from THE Henderson State University, and unlike Pat, you had to reserve Thursday slots. The brother could cut a perfect bob and still left room for the pick to proudly stand out. He was my college barber during a time when stepping out on the Yard correctly was the difference between another week of baseball caps to hide a bad line and stepping out extra-clean ALL WEEK LONG.

D.      Big Steve. I guess he was an extended transition barber, if you want to call three years a transition – the brothers I was working and partying with saw him every Friday, so I adjusted my schedule to hop in the chair during that time. Eventually, I became a Saturday morning customer until he left to work as a claims adjuster post-Hurricane Katrina.

E.       Eric. My current barber who my wife introduced me to ten years ago and the man who cut that fire line and kept the wide beard you saw in our wedding pictures. He’s getting ready to do my twists in the next few days and you better believe the beard stays extra wide.

The best hairstyle. #afro pic.twitter.com/8pu6bugqEW

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) November 28, 2018

Now I think about it, not bad.

My Mind Is Playing Tricks On Me

In 1991 the Houston-based rap group Geto Boys released a seminal classic titled “My Mind is Playing Tricks on Me” which lyrics employ various mental states such as PTSD, panic attacks, paranoia, and for today’s context, gaslighting.  In the tweet below, check out the commentator spitting Bushwick Bill:

"I believe that was Bushwick Bill"

GOP @RepRyanCostello refers to @TheGetoBoys "My mind playing tricks on me" to describe how Trump is "hurting himself" pic.twitter.com/JeyhjaqKSv

— TheBeat w/Ari Melber (@TheBeatWithAri) November 8, 2018

Those of us of a certain age may still be able to rap this song line by line, but for the rest of us, here are the lyrics and all of the accompanying truths – and if that isn’t enough, then watch the video on YouTube on your own time:

I sit alone in my four-cornered room staring at candles
Oh that shit is on?
Let me drop some shit like this here, real smooth

At night I can't sleep, I toss and turn
Candlesticks in the dark, visions of bodies being burned
Four walls just staring at a nigga
I'm paranoid, sleeping with my finger on the trigger
My mother's always stressin' I ain't living right
But I ain't goin' out without a fight
See, every time my eyes close
I start sweating and blood starts coming out my nose
It's somebody watching the AK'
But I don't know who it is so I'm watching my back
I can see him when I'm deep in the covers
When I awake I don't see the motherfucker
He owns a black hat like I own
A black suit and a cane like my own
Some might say take a chill, B
But fuck that shit, there's a nigga trying to kill me
I'm popping in the clip when the wind blows
Every twenty seconds got me peeping out my window
Investigating the joint for traps
Checking my telephone for taps
I'm staring at the woman on the corner
It's fucked up when your mind's playing tricks on ya

I make big money
I drive big cars
Everybody know me
It's like I'm a movie star
But late at night something ain't right
I feel I'm being tailed by the same sucker's headlights
Is it that fool that I ran off the block
Or is it that nigga last week that I shot
Or is it the one I beat for five thousand dollars
Thought he had caine but it was Gold Medal flour
Reached under my seat, grabbed my popper for the suckers
Ain't no use to me lying
I was scareder than a motherfucker
Hooked a left into Popeye's and bailed out quick
If it's going down let's get this shit over with
Here they come just like I figured
I got my hand on the motherfucking trigger
What I saw'll make your ass start giggling
Three blind, crippled and crazy senior citizens
I live by the sword
I take my boys everywhere I go because I'm paranoid
I keep looking over my shoulder and peeping around corners
My mind is playing tricks on me

Day by day it's more impossible to cope
I feel like I'm the one that's doing dope
Can't keep a steady hand because I'm nervous
Every Sunday morning I'm in service
Praying for forgiveness
And trying to find an exit out the business
I know the Lord is lookin' at me
But yet and still it's hard for me to feel happy
I often drift when I drive
Having fatal thoughts of suicide
Bang and get it over with
And then I'm worry-free, but that's bullshit
I got a little boy to look after
And if I died then my child would be a bastard
I had a woman down with me
But to me it seemed like she was down to get me
She helped me out in this shit
But to me she was just another bitch
Now she's back with her mother
Now I'm realizing that I love her
Now I'm feeling lonely
My mind is playing tricks on me

This year Halloween fell on a weekend
Me and Geto Boys are trick-or-treating
Robbing little kids for bags
Till an old man got behind our ass
So we speeded up the pace
Took a look back and he was right before our face
He'd be in for a squabble no doubt
So I swung and hit the nigga in his mouth
He was going down we figured
But this wasn't no ordinary nigga
He stood about six or seven feet
Now that's the nigga I'd be seeing in my sleep
So we triple-teamed on him
Dropping them motherfucking B's on him
The more I swung, the more blood flew
Then he disappeared and my boys disappeared too
Then I felt just like a fiend
It wasn't even close to Halloween
It was dark as fuck on the streets
My hands were all bloody, from punching on the concrete
God damn homey
My mind is playing tricks on me

One of the mental states mentioned on this track is what we today refer to as gaslighting – a form of psychological manipulation that seeks to sow seeds of doubt in a targeted individual or in members of a targeted group, making them question their own memory, perception, and sanity. It is a malicious and hidden form of abuse that works too well in a manic quest to gain power as it simultaneously makes us harbor doubts of our very existence and value to the larger community. The most blatant example of this practice is how current President Donald Trump used the birther movement to delegitimize former President Barack Obama at every turn to galvanize legions of citizens who follow the toupee-sporting Pied Piper with reckless abandon for six years whipping them up into hate-driven frenzies at campaign rallies and through his vile tweets laced with half-truths before finally admitting only days before the 2016 election that he knew Obama was a naturalized citizen all along. More recently, his press secretary has sharpened her axe particularly at the media corps who are protected by the First Amendment to ask pertinent questions about this Administration. News junkies have noticed when that the same people who throw fiery darts at those of an opposing viewpoint, gender, race, etc. cry wolf loudest – and hide behind their titles and privilege – when the tables turn on them:  Notice after rallying the troops to their insidious causes with appalling nonchalance how quickly the most divisive among us play the victim role:  we don’t have to go that far to see it in action.

Gaslighting has been around in practice if not by name for as long as time; evangelicals are particularly proficient in outright lying or using denials to avoid taking responsibility for their actions. If you disagree, read through your Facebook timelines after a police officer-involved tragedy and the whataboutisms that follow especially if the victim is black. Another Biblical example of the insidious practice comes from the story of King Ahab and Queen Jezebel – their reign is detailed in 1 Kings 16:30-22:37. You’d be shocked at these so-called Christians saying that because of one slight misstep they deserved death as their ultimate fates! It makes me wonder which god they serve, the one true and loving God we pray to, or the god of white supremacy that has excused the worst of sins to maintain a caste system based on a series of fluid constraints that do more shapeshifting than a soothsayer from Julius Caesar or Game of Thrones. By playing these tricks, the vulnerable end up having spiritual apprehensions:  the same people who call me nigger either to my face or behind my back are the same ones who find themselves kneeling next to me in prayer obviously with very different motives or piggybacking my ideas only to reveal their colonizing ways in the end.

Gaslighting begins at an early age. #MindPlayingTricksOnMe pic.twitter.com/XfrNT6MU1e

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) November 21, 2018

Before I share one of my incidents of being gas-lit, here are some of the signs to look for and how to recover:

1.    They use blatant lies. Once the lie is big enough, you’re not certain that anything that comes out of their mouths is the truth.

2.    They deny they ever said something, even though you have proof. Even in the age of the screenshot, they still outright deny it. Over time, it can erode your own sense of reality as the fictional becomes your truth.

3.    They use what is near and dear to you as ammunition. Some people simply do not want to revel in your successes after struggles [example: childbirth after a high-risk pregnancy], and for each milestone accomplished, it presents a gaslighter a weapon he/she may attempt to use against you.  

4.    They wear you down over time. One of the worst things about gaslighting is that is wears you down gradually. Even the best and brightest among us can fall prey to the schemes; as with the frog in the frying pan analogy, it happens without us consciously knowing what is transpiring.

5.    Their actions do not match their words. Look at their actions relative to the rhetoric. The talk means nothing yet their actions are more indicative of who or what they are.

6.    They throw in positive reinforcement to confuse you. Ever work for a horrible boss who has had nothing positive to say? What happens when he/she decides to throw a compliment your way? Look at what was said and the intent of the message; the moment of praise probably existed to serve the gas lighter.

7.    They know confusion weakens people. Gaslighters know people like having a sense of stability and normalcy, so their primary objective is to uproot this and constantly question everything. In turn, we as humans lean to the person who represents our definition of normal – often the gaslighter.

8.    They project. By blaming you for their infidelity or alcoholism as examples, this happens so often that the gaslighter has successfully distracted you from his/her own nefarious behavior.

9.    They try to align people against you. Many people find themselves on the outside of the church due to the cliques formed within their own congregations. For example, one family may proudly exhibit its exclusionary tactics to a newcomer by making comments such as, “This person knows you’re not living right” or “The poors sit over there – away from us” or “This ministry is useless, and so is everyone in it”. Keep in mind that no one may have made any of the snide comments, yet it fosters doubt in what is supposed to be a common body with a common objective. Isolation gives the gaslighter unnecessary control over what is ultimately (in this context, your relationship with God) a sense of belonging.

10. They tell you or others that you are crazy. Dismissive words are the easiest way to identify the gaslighter. If he/she can question your sanity, they know that others will not believe you when you tell them that the gaslighter is abusive or out-of-control. This is a master technique.

11. They tell you everyone else is a liar. When they tell you everyone else including the media is lying or flat-out wrong, it again makes you question your reality and causes you to turn to them to confirm “correct” information.

America, this week - particularly Wednesday. pic.twitter.com/ddGIJiH7in

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) November 9, 2018

To recover from the hellish experience of being gas-lit, check the following signs:

1.    Recognize the pattern of undermining behavior. Gaslighting only works when one person is unaware of his/her surroundings. Once you become alert to the pattern, it will not affect you as much, and you may even be able to blow it off.

2.    Keep in mind that the gaslighting isn’t about you. It’s all about the gaslighter’s need for power:  The insecure person feels that to be equal, he/she must feel superior in some way; to feel safe, he/she must have the upper hand. That doesn’t excuse the lousy behavior; consequently, you ultimately have the power to continue the relationship or allow it to wither like a vine in a drought.

3.    You’re not going to change a gaslighter. That requires intensive therapy that the gaslighter is often too unwilling to participate in. Just tell him/her to kick rocks.

4.    Rethink whether the relationship is worth putting up with the putdowns and other attempts at eroding self-esteem. You may need a clean break and quit a job to escape a foul boss or supervisor. If a family member or friend, find a way to love them from a distance; a significant other and you’re interested in preserving the relationship, seek counseling.

5.    Develop your own support system. Everyone needs a core group of friends who can confirm your worth and reality. Fuck the gaslighters.

6.    Work on rebuilding your self-esteem. This does not happen overnight…but you are valuable. Remind yourself that you are loveable, worthy of affirmation, and capable now that the gaslighter is out of your life. If necessary, maintain a private journal (in my case, you may have read some of the earlier posts from AD&AD).

7.    Get professional help if you need it. It’s OK if you need some help getting through the doldrums; you’ve survived a horrific episode that rocked you to your very core. Therapists are here to help you dig your way back to normal by offering practical advice and support to help you recover.

#FYI this holiday season. We ❤ you! pic.twitter.com/BiLqQydFe2

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) November 24, 2018

About my gaslight experiences:  I have too many, so which one shall I speak of? The one of being an outsider in my own ‘hood? The former pastor who needled me at every corner just to get a reaction? The ex-girlfriend with nothing positive to say unless money was being spent on her? The childhood friends who say some fucked-up shit on social media and deny their casual racism when the screenshots reappear confirming what was said?

Over the past twenty-one years, I’ve exorcised more demons than the Ghostbusters by a few things:  prayer, basketball, and learning how to be comfortable in uncomfortable environments. The best thing I ever did was leave my hometown after high school; to think it was the most progressive place in the state is the biggest lie PR people have ever spun – done by insular people, of course.

You can always read Finding a Haz-Mat Suit for the Toxic Employee if you’re looking for that troublesome supervisor or boss at work.

My near-genius mind was playing tricks on me for years, and once I got out of my head and into more meaningful relationships with people who recognized my worth has greatly impacted me. True, I am still a recluse – introvert would be too kind of an adjective - but after almost forty years on this rock, I think having my faith and immediate family (wife and daughter) have centered me into letting the unimportant matters go.

Seeing haters when I get back to my happy place #MindPlayingTricksOnMe pic.twitter.com/I0n2MMvnrz

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) November 18, 2018

Put On For Our City

After what has been a rough campaign, the elections in town have come and gone with some familiar faces maintaining their positions and possibly the introduction of new leaders to continue the progress begun by previous administrations. One thing I have noticed in living here for nearly a decade is the lack of color on the billboards – and despite the growing diversity since the turn of the millennium, some prominent voices seem overly committed to a homogeneous community that never actually existed. One can look at the negative headlines our mayor has made not only locally but also nationally over the course of two terms to fully understand the sentiments. With this kind of track record from City Hall, attracting black-owned business in addition to families (such as my own) seeking a safe place to raise children and a quality education may end up looking elsewhere.

How do I sell living in Bryant to my friends and coworkers with the undercurrent of bigotry? We put on for our city, too.

One local takeaway from #ElectionDay is that Bryant will have a new mayor - and hopefully less divisive. Congrats to Mayor-Elect Allen Scott! I will #expectmore in the next four years.

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) November 7, 2018

 The Jews of Jesus’s earthly days also had a blind spot in their vision for the future. Since they were Abraham’s children via multiple generations, they were only concerned about the future of their own people. Arkansans, does this sound familiar when we caterwaul about being a fifth- or seventh-generation (or however far back your insular background allows) Arkansan proudly? They couldn’t understand Jesus’s concern for the Samaritans, Roman soldiers, or anyone else who didn’t share their family roots, way of temple worship or rabbis. Likewise, we sometimes fail to recognize the life experiences of those we differ from and dismiss them as insignificant, or worse, agitators bent on making my existence and consequential privilege uncomfortable.

 God has a way of forcing us to acknowledge that we are more alike than we realize.

 He also chose a desert nomad named Abram to bring blessings to all the people in the world (Genesis 12:1-3). Jesus knows every single one of us and loves us equally – even those we haven’t been introduced to at the current moment. Together, we live by the grace and mercy of One who can help us see one another, our cities, and ultimately His Kingdom.

You're Not Supposed to Be Here

My life has contained more misadventures in four decades than the complete lifespans of many people twice my age. One of the more common refrains from these odd experiences include the phrase, “you’re not supposed to be here.” Yet my trailblazing approach to life has been to experience all what God created – and most of what man made along the way – during the dash in my life. For example, I made an impromptu appearance at ESPN headquarters in Bristol several years ago following an interesting workweek across the state and the consequential visit to Mystic Pizza. While visitors were gleefully welcomed at the restaurant in addition to the maritime exhibits along the city, my presence was less-than-welcomed at the sports network’s world headquarters an hour northwest. Because of not knowing the proper decorum (the campus tours filmed in the commercials are not for the public), I was kindly asked to leave the premises but not before I snapped a picture of my car in front of the ESPN sign.

Come to find out, I wasn't supposed to be here

Two days later, I found myself at a very familiar location:  a black Baptist church. Once a member the security team working the neighborhood during morning worship motioned for me to park in the visitor’s space in front of the building as he noticed the out-of-state tags, I simply walked right in and felt welcomed as if I grown up in the community. Members greeted me warmly and as a result, that church holds an indelible part in my memories for years to come – it is quite unfortunate I cannot remember any of their names several years later.

I’ve already detailed in a separate blog about my current church’s initial reluctance toward my wife and me, so I won’t share anymore of that content. It still amazes me that congregations can be so cold toward prospective members and those who are ‘trying one on’ for fitment. The Church is a spiritual hospital; that means we do not have it all together when we set foot on the property or find a section unoccupied by multigenerational families. In Hebrews 13:1-3, we are reminded to “show hospitality to strangers” (Hebrews 13:2). Both Luke and Paul instruct us to show active love to people with social and physical needs (Like 14:13-14; Romans 12:13; Acts 6:1-7). 

Among the body of believers, we have a special responsibility to show love (Galatians 6:10). Otherwise, we are just a band of bodies who use 11 am Sunday morning worship as a social hour out of tradition without seeking out our own relationships with God.

Lesson:  Do not slam the door on strangers citing that they aren’t supposed to be here. Whatever reason for their appearance is why they are here with us:  Show agape love and compassion toward them – when we do, they see and feel our Savior in the midst.

Next Chapter

I’ve written this letter over and over in my head, yet I find myself prereading it and throwing it away into the annals of history along with the ideas gone bad each time. Each moment of our lives exists for a season and a purpose that no one really knows or understands until we have either departed the period or are introduced to a new challenge that can completely change the trajectory of our lives for the better or worse. Would it be for the best? What are the risks in taking such a plunge? How would my family feel about this? More, how will the next chapter affect my own relationship with God beyond the titles and busywork the ministry unintentionally layers upon me?

Maybe this is all coming out because I am nearing age 40 and I feel like although I’ve accomplished a lot, more needs to be done and/or seen. I’m young yet the indiscretions of youth combined with the immaturity associated with naivete escaped me several years if not a decade or two ago.

Maybe this is all due to witnessing the seasons of happiness and heartbreak within the same short period firsthand. You know, the dash upon our tombstones represents a relatively brief time on this rock; we aren’t intended to make the earth our permanent home. Even Methuselah died – imagine how much he saw in 969 years!

But…this is not supposed to be a melancholic letter that could have more than a few of you making welfare calls on my behalf nor would I want that.

Everywhere along this journey has defined me in terms of experiences, interactions, and relationships (neighbor, coworker, congregant, teammate, relative, frat brother, teacher, deacon, etc.) and all of you have been invaluable in the process. These words are incredibly difficult for me to pen without making them sound like a suicidal note (I AM NOT GOING TO KILL MYSELF. I HAVE NO DESIRE FOR THAT ENDING); due to the fact of not knowing what the future holds, I must keep Ecclesiastes 11:6 near me.

Sow your seed in the morning and do not be idle in the evening, for you do not know whether morning or evening sowing will succeed, or whether both of them alike will be good. – Ecclesiastes 11:6

Which is why:  After eleven years of toiling on the overnight shift, I am bringing my sleepy eyes and untapped talents to the day shift. There will have to be some adjustments to be made such as not coming to work disheveled and reestablishing a morning routine without taking a nap. This survivor has a very compelling story to tell – and when I say survivor, I am referring to years of underemployment relative to my professional background and making a dollar our of fifteen cents. I recall a professor from undergrad frequently repeating the line “crappy jobs build character” during his lectures; in my case, each step has been a part of the process to this very moment.

Saying goodbye is difficult yet inevitable. Just as I have gladly said sayonara over the years to my hometown of Conway; shed a few tears leaving Arkadelphia, the town where I met my wife and most of my closest friends; and chunked the deuces to Colebrook/Winsted, the neighboring towns that forced me out of my comfort zone and aside from a few interactions with law enforcement along Route 44, were generally okay places even as my blackness seemed simultaneously exotic and threatening. As of today, there are no intentions of us leaving Springhill Manor for it was here when we became homeowners and parents – our daughter will forever be a native of Bryant, Arkansas.

You may wonder what happened to Dub Shack BBQ. Simple:  It’s still in the periphery and possibly something I can really dedicate myself to upon retirement from this role. In the meantime, I admit I am guilty of being too laser-focused on getting a storefront instead of a trailer first and building a clientele; by doing so, I put the cart before the horse and we all know what that result is. I’ll still make box lunches periodically and occasionally cater events; as for hitting the KCBS circuit, I cannot justify spending all of that money on meat for only a few bites that can make or break a weekend. I’m also working on some new sides that I cannot disclose at this time but when I’m ready, you will get an invite to the cookout.

No matter where the next chapter takes me, you all have mattered in more than words, deeds, actions, etc. than you shall ever know. I’ve had some pretty awesome people around me at all stops even when disagreements could have obliterated any semblance of a relationship developed and cultivated.

Again, this is not a goodbye – it’s an “I’ll see you around” kind of moment. I am a call, text, tweet, or email away if you ever find a desire to reach out, and I’ll do my part to keep those lines of communication open.

May God bless and keep you in my prayers.

With all of my love,

ACedA

The blackest thing I've seen all day pic.twitter.com/E8aJ3QKVYd

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) October 3, 2018