Seems like yesterday....

At the end of December, 2004, when the snow had made the area in Abilene where I live a winter play land, while out jogging one morning, I made a decision to write my grandsons each day, to reflect on things like running, life events, relationships, etc. That commitment was something I kept religiously. Here, then, is a part of a letter written on June 28, 2005 (hopefully they won't mind this one peek into their letters), one of the most memorable days of walking alongside advocates and farmers in this righteous cause. So, three years later, here are the words I penned to two children that day.

"We arrived in Raleigh, NC on Monday night after leaving you in Ada early Monday morning. We drove to OKC, took a flight to KC, MO, and then much to our surprise, we had to fly to Baltimore, MD in order to get down to NC. That was long, long, long, long. Then we found our way to the hotel, a nice one by the way, and then had dinner and bought a potted plant for the grave of a deceased farmer and his wife.

Then, yesterday morning, we were up and out early, something like up at 5:00 am our time and out to drive to Tillery, NC at 6:00 our time. We go there in plenty of time and just drove through the area.

Then at 10:30 things began to pop. We met the Black Farmer president, heard the history of the Tillery community, watched a video of the group that meets in the community center, met several kids and a bunch of adults, and then set off on an amazing lunch meeting. We sang, prayed, and read scripture like it was church, except that all the participants, and all the people at the meeting, except for your Mema and Poppie, were African Americans. We were the only white faces we saw all day long.

We had a great lunch, did a silly exercise led by an elderly, retired teacher, and then the farmer president asked Poppie and Mema to speak. That’s called an impromptu speech. Mema was amazing, and I’d called mine 'adequate,' but she’d give it higher marks. Mema had the crowd crying about her story of interviewing a Black soldier who fought in WWII. She was on, definitely on.

They gave us a cake for our 35th anniversary and sang over us.

We then talked and visited until thunder clouds came up, so we moved our activities out to the farm and the place where a farmer couple is buried. I had asked for permission to place flowers at the grave site, and the farmer president and his family said yes, and several community people came. It was raining, but we all had umbrellas, and we sang, said some words, quoted some scripture, and took a lot of photos. A lot of people spoke kind thoughts toward Mema and Poppie, and about the deceased farmer and his wife.

Grandchildren, I cannot begin to speak to you of how deeply moving that experience was. To say a few words over the fallen warriors who fought the good fight for the freedom to farm the land, to place flowers at their tomb, and to be received graciously by their family and friends all speak to the generosity of people who come together for a common cause.

Afterwards, we went to the farmer couple’s house, talked, ate, drank water or cokes, and sat under the awning and laughed and told stories. I really liked Gary, the young man who’s graduated with a degree in English from ECU; PJ, the tall, tall, tall young man who’s just graduated and going to school in RI to study cryogenics; Raymond, the retired police officer who came home to Tillery, who may be related to me through our common Cherokee heritage from Orangeburg; Gary Grant, the NBFAA president; and his extended family.

So, this morning as I sit in the semi-dark at the motel in Rocky Mount, I am filled with awe, wonder, and praise. It’s a long, long way from West Texas to Tillery, NC, but the human spirit of grace and peace connects them both. In the words of John Denver, 'In the eyes of all the people, the look is much the same; the first one is the last one when you play a deadly game.' He was talking about nuclear war, but the 'deadly game' I’m talking about is racism, a game that destroys all of us, those doing it and those receiving it."

Yes, that was an amazing day with an amazing group of people. Thanks for reading these words as I've attempted to describe it.

A Great Day to Celebrate

Any day is a good day to celebrate. Today it's even more so the case. Today marks the anniversary of that amazing day, June 19, 1865, when Major General Gordon Granger stepped ashore at Galveston, Texas and declared that the slaves were free. The good news was obviously late arriving since the Emancipation Proclamation had become official January 1, 1863.

There were a lot of reasons not to tell the slaves that they were free such as one last harvest at their expense, or good news travels slowly, or the boundaries between the north and the south, or any number of other reasons, perhaps all or part true.

General Order Number 3 read this way:

"The people of Texas are informed that in accordance with a Proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and free laborer."

What must that news have been like? Rejoicing, jubilation, "thank God Almighty, I'm free at last," confusion, or what?

Who stayed and worked, and under what conditions? Who took their few possessions and left?

So, out of that grand announcement came the annual celebration, "Juneteenth," with all of its rich history and tradition, festivities, and food.

So, today is a time of looking back and honoring those who have fallen in the battle for freedom and equality. It's also a time of looking forward to the day when "righteousness rules this land," and all are free, free indeed.

Here are a few sites for more information: here, here, and here.

A Familiar Prayer

Oh Lord, we come this morning knee bowed and body bent before thy throne of grace. We come this morning Lord, like empty pitchers before a full fountain, realizing that many who are better by nature than we are by practice, have passed into the great beyond and yet you have allowed us your humble servants to plod along just a few days longer here in this howling wilderness. We thank thee Lord that when we arose this morning, our bed was not a cooling board, and our sheet was not a winding shroud. We are not gathered here for form or fashion, but we come in our humble way to serve thee. We thank thee Lord that we are clothed in our right mind--Bless the sick and afflicted--those who are absent through no fault of their own. And when I have done prayed my last prayer and sung my last song, and when I'm done climbing the rough side of the mountain, when I come down to tread the steep and prickly banks of Jordan, meet me with thy rod and they staff and bear me safely over. All these things I ask in Jesus' name, world without end, Amen.

Prayer of J. G. St. Clair Drake (1940) from James Melvin Washington, Conversations with God: Two Centuries of Prayers by African Americans.

Moving but not going anywhere

Twenty-four years is a long time to live in one place. For me, that's been Abilene, Abilene Christian University, Department of Marriage and Family Therapy, our church home, the Highland Church of Christ, and our private practice group, Big Country Family Therapy Associates. According to the writer of the book of Ecclesiastes, God is the author of change, and that seasons come and seasons go.

This particular season in Abilene will come to an end mid-August. Another season of my professional life will begin September 1 when I begin work with the Chickasaw Nation. That work, curiously enough, will be similar to what we've written about, and what we've done, as reflected in these pages. I will serve as Director, Office of Strong Family Development, and I will work in conjunction with faculty from the University of Oklahoma in developing both an "idea and a location," the Family Resource Center.

While the Chickasaw Nation quietly but relentlessly pursued me, I put several "obstacles" in their way, that if the answer was otherwise, it would be "no deal." Hopefully that does not come across as arrogant, but just the statement of a man who is passionate about these matters. The first was the statement, "I want to continue advocacy efforts on behalf of the Black farmers of our country," to which my administrator replied, "Not a problem. That work is at the heart of what we do in this division."

There were others. One that cuts to the very heart of what I want to do with my life is to develop the next generation of advocates. So, how could that be done if I move away from ACU? Moving away from ACU was not an option unless the work and relationships could continue. Many ideas and possibilities are there: stay in touch with ACU/MFT students, develop similar relationships at East Central Oklahoma and Oklahoma Baptist, create connections with various departments on the OU campus, and connect with college students at the various churches in Ada and the surrounding community. Above all, figure out ways to stay connected via this blog and facebook and other means. Then, when various opportunities come up for advocacy or research, we can meet at points betwixt and between.

So, while I'm moving from Abilene, Texas to Ada, Oklahoma, the work can and will continue.

In terms of what I'll be doing in Oklahoma, it'll mean advocating for families within the Chickasaw Nation, bridging the gap between behavioral health and the medical community, writing policy and creating programs designed to strengthen individuals, couples, and families within the Nation. It'll mean collaborating with OU to create the Family Resource Center, to establish policy as to what will happen there in terms of best practices and programs that will enrich those who will in turn engage the Chickasaw community. It'll mean developing resources and hiring people who will staff regional centers that will deliver services to the people.

Transitions are torturous because there's no reason to leave the work here. These are good people, faculty, staff, and students. These folks are busy changing the world, one client hour, one family system at a time.

No, there's no reason to leave here, but there's every reason to go to Oklahoma. There I'll be able to put into practice what I've preached for several years now, that of engaging institutions of power and privilege and creating change so that the needs of the people are met, so that voices of the people can be heard, so that the Kingdom will come in both small and substantial ways.

There is much to be done: music projects, a photojournalism project, articles, books, consults with farmers entering litigation, speaking out on matters of policy, informing our readership, developing new teams, and others. The work must go on.

So, yes, I'm moving come August, but I'm not going anywhere. This work that we write about on these pages and these people are home. In the words of a dear friend, these are "my people."

New class action suit: Kimbrough, et.al., v. Schafer

Three attorneys, J. L. Chestnut, David Frantz, and Phil Fraas, have filed a class action lawsuit against the USDA on behalf of the 63,000 or so Black farmers who fall under the category of "late filers." This group of farmers were ruled ineligible for inclusion in the Pigford Consent Decree. Per the web page of the Federation of Southern Cooperatives, this move is in response to the latest farm bill that includes a provision for seeking justice for those who missed the initial deadline under Pigford.

The FSC is urging caution in the face of attorneys who might promise more than they can deliver. Up front money should not be required to be a part of this effort.

The action is entitled "Kimbrough, et.al., v. Schafer," and the lead counselors are drawing attention to the limited resources allocated in the bill. Only $100,000,000 is allocated now, but there are hopes that Congress will appropriate more funds later.

Counsel is waiting for the Secretary of Agriculture to file an answer.

Reminds me of a "chance encounter," if there is such a thing, with a gentleman in a local restaurant yesterday. As we stood in line at the cash register, I commented to him, "Nice shirt." The words on the t-shirt read "Pray Until Something Happens." His comment? "It's been a hard day." I wish I'd continued the conversation. He lives in the area. I hope our paths cross again. I won't let the conversation die again. I promise.

This situation with the farm bill and the allocation for addressing grievances is one of those "pray until something happens" times. Pray and work, work and pray, until, in the words of the song, "righteousness rules this land."