Brenda Conway International Woman

Today on International Women's Day, I am celebrating my mother Brenda Conway. 

Two weeks ago, I was thrilled to be asked by my colleague and friend Cat Preston to be her first repeat guest on her podcast Collective Wisdom. 

As God would have it, during our time together I share my own stories of what made my mother so special and the many gifts she gave me during our relatively short time together, many of which I am still unwrapping today. 

What makes this moment increasingly special is Cat’s decision to release this episode today, on International Women's Day, a beautiful dedication to my mother, and women all around the world. 

Furthering her generosity, Cat has created a Just Giving page, raising money for Choose Love in an effort to help refugees fleeing the war in Ukraine. 

I personally am so pleased Cat has chosen to initiate this effort as I wondered how I could be of any help to our Ukrainian family beyond prayer. I hope that you will join in this effort, providing warm food, blankets, medical supplies, and all other support the people of Ukraine need so badly right now.

Thank you Cat for giving such incredible gifts, you are an International Woman, worthy of celebration.

Beneath Beginnings (Don’t Look down!)

There's a scripture from the Bible that I love, it says: “Despise not the days of small beginnings”. 

Dear Mandell: Despise not the days of small beginnings. 

Dear (insert your name here): Despise not the days of small beginnings. 

Something often happens when we begin, we say: 

My beginning is beneath my consideration. 

My beginning is worthless.

My beginning is deserving of my scorn. 

The truth is, no one skips beginnings. 

No one is beneath beginning. 

When I despise my small beginning, I despise what small beginnings lead to. 

When I despise my small beginning, I despise the process that makes all things possible. 

When I despise my small beginning I tell my future he’s beneath my consideration, I tell my legacy it’s not worthy. 

But something can happen when we begin, we can say: 

My beginning is not beneath me. 

My beginning is worthy. 

My beginning is deserving of my best self. 

Keep giving to your small beginnings, because small does not mean insignificant. 

Don’t Look Down!

Communication Sunday

The word communication descends from the Latin noun communicatio, which means sharing or imparting. Its root senses have to do with change, and the exchange of goods possessed by more than one person; the Latin verb communicate means to make common. 

No one has all the goods, but what if what made sharing the goods we do have more common? 

Giving is communication and communication is a gift we share. 

Happy Communication Sunday!

Surrounded By Women

Surrounded by women means surrounded by everything women are and everything women give. Life, love, friendship, family, warmth, safety, knowledge, wisdom, and so much more. 

Surrounded by women means no matter where I stand (or squat) there are women around who center me, women who have my back. 

Women like my aunt April. 

Growing up my aunt April was my favorite aunt. The cool Aunt. I would beg to go to her house. I used to beg to sit next to her in church, I just knew I was going to get some candy. I’d beg to stay with her after church for prayer, or to go out in the neighborhood, to speak to people and hand out tracks. I relished any chance to be with her. I loved the car rides home, I loved when she was around, it made things more fun. I loved how she sang, loved how she preached, loved her turkey wings, and her sweet plantains too. What often stands out most, is how often she prayed over me, speaking into my life, letting me know who I was and who I could become. I can’t forget the times we played church at her house. I got to preach and read the scriptures loud and wrong. 

Aunt April surrounded me. Still does. 

There's also my best friend Shantaé. Not only is she my best friend, but she also happens to be my cousin, and scientifically my sister, (since our mothers are identical twins). My bestie/cousin/sister is hugely responsible for my transformation from a person who didn’t read much of anything, to a person who wishes he could read almost everything. This also means she is hugely responsible for helping steer me in the path and leading me to the doors reading has opened up for me. She’s often the person I ask “What do you think? How’d I do? How can I do this? What does this mean? Can you help me understand this?”. 

She’s a bar for me. Her knowledge is wide and deep. 

And growing up when my sister and cousin picked on me, there she was, surrounding me.

Shantaé surrounds me. 

Surrounded by women. Always have been. Always will be.

3 Women: A co-worker- A Sister-& A Friend

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sitting in the breakroom when I noticed a co-worker reading a book. Always curious to see what others are reading, I asked- “We Should All Be Feminists”, as she showed me the cover.

A few minutes later she got up to return to work and asked if I wanted to read it. I did, and when she came back, I was still reading. I finished the book that day, in one sitting.

I have so much to be thankful to women for. Like knowledge. 

I predominantly listen to two genres of music, gospel and r&b, specifically 90’s r&b. My sister, (who also has an amazing voice), is six years my senior. Growing up I spent a lot of time listening to whatever music she listened to. Either because I was hanging out in her room, or because it was blasting through her walls throughout the entire house. 

Faith Evans and Tamia are her favorites, but there was also Brandy, Monica, and everyone else from that era. My taste for r&b was essentially entirely shaped by my sister.

I have so much to be thankful to women for. Like music. 

On May 17th, 2020, seemingly out of the blue my friend messaged me and asked: “What’s going on with you? Tell me something you have been wanting to pursue?” 

To tell you I was shocked would be an understatement, I think my eyes widened as I read her question. We never had those kinds of talks. I wondered if she could see my fears, “you’re always asking about me, what about you?”. 

My heart was racing, I was afraid to answer. I considered taking the easy way out and hiding, using my art of deflection, or offering one of my masterful fluff responses. But something within said not to. “Tell her, just say it, you can tell her, it’s ok, it’s safe”. I’m so glad I listened. 

I told her about this giving project I’d be working on. In return she gave me encouragement and support. Like on February 22nd when she texted me: “I love reading the giving is like posts! That’s it and that’s all!”, or like a few days after when she called echoing the same message, telling me The Daily Tithe was like a daily prompt and she looked forward to seeing them in her inbox every morning. 

This friend became the first person I showed the Giving Is Like logo and website. Day after day going over edits- texting, calling, and zooming. Not only was she honest, she was reassuring, and helped me see further. 

I have so much to be thankful for women for. Like encouragement. 

Makeeda. Danielle. Vonice. 

My co-worker. My sister. My friend.

We should all be feminist.

P.S. Today’s Vonice’s Birthday. Happy Birthday Vonice, thank you for everything!

What Has a Woman ever Given Me?

You mean other than birth? 

I think the better question is, what hasn’t a woman ever given me?

Women have given me everything. 

I’m 6’3 and I still look up to women. 

One of the ways I gauge how I’m living, is asking myself “how are you treating women?”

On my best days I think I do ok, on my worst, I could be so much better. 

Thinking about my mother yesterday, and reflecting on some of her accomplishments, I remembered among other things, she was a playwright. 

Along with my aunt, my mom wrote multiple plays for our church, plays I had the opportunity to act in.

I remember them all going extremely well. 

In fact, so well, additional nights were added to accommodate the demand. 

Let me say that again, my mother alongside my aunt wrote multiple plays that are still talked about today. 

The plays were put on at our church, a church founded and pastored by my grandmother. 

I saw it with my own eyes. 

My grandmother, mother, and aunt, are founders, pastors, writers and directors.

I saw it with my own eyes.

Did I mention my mom wrote and directed these plays while being a wife, raising children, keeping a home, working a full time job, singing on the choir, teaching Sunday school, Bible Study, and being a pretty good daughter, sister, aunt, friend, and co-worker? 

What has a woman ever given me? 

I think the better question is what hasn’t a woman ever given me?

Women have given me everything. 

I’m 6’3 and I still look up to women.

They help me see. 

What Giving is Like.

P.S.- Full Disclaimer: If you’re a woman reading this, you’re probably just like my grandmother, mother, and aunt. Thank You. 

Show Me Your Hand Pt.2

“I need to see it with my own eyes”. 

“Straight from the horse's mouth”.

You might’ve heard that before, you might’ve even said it. 

Depending on the claim, some people don’t need to see to believe, some do. 

Some people don’t need to hear straight from the horse’s mouth, some do. 

If you tell me you’re not feeling well, in the middle of a global pandemic, I’ll probably believe you. 

If you tell me someone I saw crucified and buried, is now alive and walking the earth again, Uh- yea Imma need to see that for myself, straight from the horse's mouth. 

“Unless I see the nail marks in His hands, and put my fingers where the nails were, I will not believe.”

Show me your hand.

My trainer said it’s heavy in the beginning, but I’ll get stronger overtime. She said it was once heavy for you too. Show me your hand, let me see the calluses.

My grandma said you were stabbed in the back too, and you still forgave, show me your hand, let me see the scar. 

My momma said it’s not too late, things could change, I could still pursue my dreams, still get married, still be loved, still have a family. She said you were once in my shoes, but I don’t know. Show me your hand, I want to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. 

Did you really go bankrupt before becoming a millionaire? 

Were you really scared? 

Did your business really start small with no outside investment? 

Show me your hand, let me see. 

It’s not that I’m doubting you, it's that I’m doubting me. 

If you show me your hand I’ll believe. 

Turns out showing your hand means opening your hand and opening your hand makes it much easier to give - a hand.

Or maybe a belief, disguised as a hand. 

Show me your hand. 

P.S. Yesterday while texting a friend she mentioned Show Me Your Hand Pt. 1 and It's lonely in the beginning being her favorite posts/emails so far. Suddenly I realized they are connected.

I also realized a beautiful gift from you to a friend might’ve been sharing yesterday’s post. It might just be the hand they need to see, showing them, they are not alone.

The good news is it’s not too late.

Show me Your Hand.

Showing your hand can be risky. 

It’s probably why most people don’t do it. 

I’m not much of a card player, but the few times I do play (uno), I never show my hand. 

Showing my hand is way too risky, it opens floodgates of possible reactions. 

Showing my hand is like showing my route to victory. 

I’m no longer the only one who knows, and you might make a move based on what you’ve seen changing everything for me. 

My hand, my secret. 

If I show you, I risk this game no longer going in my favor. 

Unless of course I have a handful of draw fours. 

Unless of course I pretty much know the outcome. 

Unless of course I know my chances of winning are high.

Showing my hand calls me up, it pulls me to do the thing I said I was going to do.

Everyone knows the hand I had. 

It’s game on, now I have to really show up.

Extra emphasis on making this hand work. 

It’s why every now and then when someone asks what’s going on with me, or worse, a more direct question like, “what are you working on?”

I tense up.

They are asking me to show my hand.

I don’t have all draw fours. 

I don’t have it all figured out. 

I don’t know the outcome. 

And so I respond with a fluff answer. 

Part of me knows if I really show you my hand, I also have to show you my fears.

If I show you my hand, you might see how much they are shaking, you might see the sweat in my palms. 

The goosebumps that have developed from talking about this thing I’m secretly so passionate about. 

But what if we aren’t opponents? And what if this isn’t a card game? 

What if showing you my hand led you to showing me yours, and what if we joined hands and did this thing together?

Giving each other a hand.

It’s Lonely in The beginning

September 1996- I was beginning my first day of the third grade, in a new school. 

I was terrified.

Beginning a new grade didn’t bother me, beginning a new school did. 

I didn’t know anyone.

How would this play out? 

Just the thought of not knowing - alone, is pretty scary. 

Just the thought of my mother leaving me there brought me to tears. 

Just the thought of beginning, again. 

As much as she tried to convince me everything would be ok, I was still lonely. 

Still sad and afraid.

I cried the entire morning. 

I didn’t want to go. 

Much worse, when we arrived at the school and mom said “Ok, I’m going to leave now”. 

I wailed out in tears. 

“No, please, no, don’t leave me, stay with me please mommy”.

Back then parents didn’t stay with their children on the first day, besides mom had to go to work. 

Still, she agreed to stay a little while, and for a moment I would be a little ok, but the moment she hinted at leaving, the tears began again. 

Back and forth we went, until finally she just left. 

I cried and cried, until I didn’t. 

The next day it was as if the first day never happened. 

I spent two years at that school and made my share of friends, some I still remember today. 

But it's hard to see in the beginning. 

And beyond the tears, the little that you do see, brings more tears, and leaves you feeling afraid and lonely. 

All I can see, is me alone. 

It’s lonely in the beginning. 

But it’s only the beginning. 

You meet people, make friends, and everything changes. 

I wonder if you know anyone who is at a new beginning? 

New school, new job, new city, or maybe just a new place in their life, unfamiliar territory.  

What can you give? 

Can you stay for a few minutes? It might not stop the tears, but they’ll be grateful you were there. 

Or maybe the gift is in the moments after you leave, and they begin figuring things out, they make friends, memories, and the beginning doesn't feel like the beginning anymore. 

Lonely.

My Daily Doubt

Sometimes I know it's right. Other times I feel it’s wrong. 

Sometimes I know what to do. Other times it seems I have no clue. 

It’s The Daily Tithe, yet here I am with my daily doubts. 

Maybe I can skip a day. Maybe no one will notice. 

Maybe I rushed into this decision.

Maybe there’s another way.

Maybe I could have accomplished my goal without such a commitment.

Maybe I didn’t think it through. 

Maybe I should have stuck to helping people.

Maybe I still am.

Maybe this is all too much too soon. 

Maybe I bit off more than I can chew. 

Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe.

Maybe I’ll continue. 

And give myself, the benefit of my doubts.  

And maybe, you will too.

How Does It Feel?

No, not D’Angelo’s song. 

I’m talking me as a kid on Fordham Road at the Payless Store. 

“How does it feel?”

The question my mom would ask as I tried on new footwear. 

She would ask where my big toe was as she pressed the front of my shoe. 

“Walk in them, let me see, are they comfortable?” 

Trying things on is a gift. 

I can’t be 100% sure if these will fit me, but I’ll never know until I try them on.

I’m not stuck, I don’t have to keep them.

“They too tight, uncomfortable?, ok try these” - Mom

The gift of trying things on is an opportunity to be real with ourselves. 

Are these uncomfortable because they are new and I need to break them in? (practice)

Or are these uncomfortable because they don’t fit me. (not for me)

When newness comes she usually brings discomfort along with her. The job is deciding which discomfort is worth it. 

(Full disclaimer: I’ve worn plenty of shoes that didn’t fit because I deemed them worth it. (silly me)

The more we are real with ourselves as we try things on, the more we can see ourselves. 

I like this. I don’t like this.

I don’t like how these look on me. 

Yet often, there is more truth to discover.

I don’t like how I would look in front of my “friends” in these.

Yup, sometimes I would lie. I would say the shoe was uncomfortable when really it was me that was uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable wearing payless shoes in front of my “friends”. 

Are the shoes uncomfortable or we just don’t feel comfortable in the shoes?

What about the work we do? Our dreams, our goals? 

Uncomfortable or uncomfortable doing it in front of our friends, family, and co-workers?   

The gift of trying things on: If we are honest we might see that more times than not we are afraid, and what really hurts is our big toe ego. 

But might the discomfort be worth it? 

Try it on.

How does it feel? 

P.S. Trying things on might be the process in which we choose. It’s a choice, whether we try it on or we don’t.

P.P.S. You might not have noticed, but yesterday after we spoke about choosing, I chose a more accurate title to describe my thoughts. Oh the irony, or maybe I was  trying it on.

What’s The Gift? Choice or choosing?

Last weekend while at a restaurant, I was reminded of my second favorite Super Bowl commercial. 

The McDonalds “Uhh” commercial. I’m loving it, because it’s true. 

How many times have we gone to a place we know all too well and still had nothing but “Uhs” and “Ums”?

It’s the moment now, and we’re up. It’s our turn to choose, it’s quiet, the camera is on and everyone is looking and waiting on us. (or so it seems)

Me? I have to choose? 

I knew what I was going to get until the waiter/waitress came.

I knew what I was going to say before it got quiet, and the camera turned on. 

I knew what I was going to do before everyone started looking and waiting on me. (or so it seems)

I knew, until the time came. The time to choose. (whew, the pressure)

It’s hard to choose. Especially when there are so many good options. So many things we could do. 

If I start my own business it’ll be good because…,but if I stay at my job it’ll be good because..

(That was me an hour ago trying to choose which idea to share here.)

It becomes even more difficult when outside influence is involved, and outside influence seems to always be involved.

Well if someone at the table is ordering the same thing I’ll get something else. 

If my co-worker already has these shoes I can’t get them too. 

I decided, but now I know what others decided and “Uhh, Umm”.

I don’t think the hard part is saying “this”. I think the hard part is saying “this” when we know it means “not this” to all the other good options. 

Would someone please give me a group of options where only one option is really an option. Make it easy for me please.

Even easier if you curate the whole experience for me. 

You choose. You decide. You pick. I’m much too afraid. 

So What’s the gift? Options or Choosing? 

Uh, maybe it’s both? 

P.S. If we look around it’s not hard to see how many people don’t have the choices we have. One way we might be able to express our gratitude for the gift of choice is by making one. 

The Trust Test

The tightest hand grip of all time. 

Can God trust me with His gifts? Or do I have the tightest handgrip of all time? 

Can anything get through these hands? 

If God wanted to get something to someone else, could He use me to get it to them? 

I think before I can open my hand, I have to open my heart. (harder said than done)

I just hope the buck doesn’t stop with me. 

I much rather give it away. 

How about you? 

Freeish

Oxford dictionary defines “gift” as a thing given willingly to someone without payment. 

Well, (long pause) kinda. 

Gifts without money cost are much different than gifts without any cost. 

A price still must be paid. 

Sometimes the best gift we can give someone will actually cost them, (long pause) something. 

We can choose not to pay, as long as we know we’re simultaneously choosing to lose out on the gift as well. (Something we often don’t realize in the moment.)

Yesterday I shared The Gift of Kriss Kross , and how my mother would criss-cross all over any work she found unacceptable according the standard she was holding me to. 

I paid for the gift. It cost me something. 

Time and tears.

The Gift of Kriss Kross

You might be thinking the rap group. 

I’m talking lines, or am I? 

When I was young, it was a thing for my mother to check my homework. 

“Let me see.” 

Oh brother, how did she know? 

Far too often I was caught, not doing my best work, and mom would criss-cross all over it. In a permanent pen (remember erasable pens?), she would point out everything that needed to be corrected. There was no going back, no easy fixes, no erasing and no white out. I had to do it all over.

Often it left me upset, sometimes even to tears. I hated doing homework and now mom was making me do it all over again. How dare she  take me away from more important things like watching tv and playing video games?

She would often say, “You can do better than this, look how sloppy this is, look at all these mistakes, you rushed this.” 

I had no choice but to do it over again, I did, and she approved. 

At her approval I would smile. I saw my potential, and it felt good. 

The gift of criss-cross - I get to go from one side to the other. 

I get to switch. 

Or maybe jump, jump. 

And give, give. 

To myself.

Ready or not, here.

Ready or Not, here. 

I can’t hide. 

Ready or not, here- sounds alot like “you get what you get”. 

This is not that. 

Instead, I’m saying, ready or not, if I don’t give this to you now, I never will. 

Here. I made this for you. I did my best. 

I couraged through my fears for you, and maybe that is the greatest gift. 

I gave my best, and by God’s grace I keep waking up with more to give. 

To make it better. 

Imagine a gift that improves over time. 

I hope to give that gift to you. 

Whose website is this?

I’ve come to the conclusion, Giving is Like is not my website, it’s yours. I made it for you. I gave it to you and there are no backsies. Everyday I come here to write, the questions will remain the same.

What might they need to hear? What might help them or someone they know? What can I give?

Yesterday, when I launched your website, I wasn’t totally pleased, but I reminded myself, “This is not your website anymore, you gave it away”.

Whose website is this? The website is yours, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

But don’t get it twisted, I’ll be learning too.

From yOUR website.

{Gift 1 of this series}

Happy Birthday Mom!

February 19th 1961

Here’s to the first person who ever loved me. The first human love I ever felt. My first guide and protection. My first home. My first love.

Mom, I wrote this for you.

Today’s the first time I’ve ever created something and put it out into the world. Anyone can see it, love it, hate it, laugh at it, judge it, critique it, and or critize it. Yet I still feel guided and protected just like my first home.

I chose today because it’s your birthday and I wanted to give something to you. What better gift than the maturation of the seed you gave me many years ago.

So on this your birthday, I dedicate Giving Is Like to you.

Thank you for setting the example and for thinking so highly of me to believe that I too could be a giver. That I too could be what Giving is Like.

Giving is Like Brenda Emmalene Conway February 19th, 1961 - September 11th, 2001

Your Giving is Like forever.

Happy Birthday Mom.

I Love and miss you.