Teganjaz Books Presents... Author, Tracy L. Darity

What if there was no God…no scriptures to quote…no well intended words of encouragement…and no catchy sayings. What if there was no God because He decided we could be the comforter, the healer, the provider, the answer to each other’s needs. What if it was just us, standing face-to-face with people just like us, who have real problems, and need real help…and that help could only come from us?

Whether you or I want to admit it, people with real problems come and go in our lives all day everyday and all we offer is words that can never measure up to the actions that we can produce. We constantly talk about a God who can do all things but never consider our role in getting it done.

Someone could need a hug just to know what it feels like to be touched, because they haven’t felt alive in months, but we’d rather say “God is a comforter.”

School is now out for winter break and the family that relied on free breakfast and lunches as a source for food, must now figure out how to make it through the next two weeks. We hear these stories on the news and say “God please make a way.” Yet, we haven’t donated one can good to a church or other organization.

The car belonging to someone you know has been sitting on the side of the road for days. You learn the car is out of gas. Instead of giving them a few dollars so they can, at the very least get the car home, we chose to shake our head and say a half-hearted prayer like, “God I hope they get some gas before they get towed.”

You haven’t seen the lights on in your neighbors’ house in a week, and come to think of it, that was the same day the guy from the power company was turning off your street as you were returning home. So you start checking to see if a light comes on after the sun goes down, and mumble, “Lord I hope their lights aren’t off,” instead of going over to see if there is anything you can do to help.

Someone you know has been out of work for over a year, their background is in Information Technology; you know your company has an opening in the mailroom stuffing envelopes. Rather than make the suggestion you just say, “Something will come-up soon, just trust God.”

Someone you know hasn’t been feeling well lately. Truth is, money is tight and they can’t afford all of their medications each month. The canned response, “God is a deliverer,” as you wonder why they haven’t looked into getting help from some of the programs out there.

I’ve long believed that when people are going through whatever they are going through, the last thing they want to hear is words. No matter how well-intended, encouraging, of heart-felt they may be. Even if we’ve gone through something similar and survived, our experience is not their experience, and our pain is not their pain. When someone opens up to us and share their problems they want to hear that we care and that we may have a suggestion or answer that can help. Otherwise, they never would have opened up to us. Oftentimes, if we just stopped long enough and set our own priorities to the side, and really listened, we’d know that we could do a little more.

So the next time you want to say, “God answers prayers…will make a way…can do all things,” or the next time you want to tell someone, “It’s not that bad, you still have this or that,” why not go beyond the convenience of words, and ask yourself if you hold the answer to the problem. Yes, God is all the things we say He is, but the world can’t experience His goodness if we aren’t willing to be the vessels He uses to work His miracles in the lives of others.

Merry Christmas and Much Love,

Tracy

www.TracyLDarity.com

Something is seriously wrong in the city where I live and it has nothing to do with the beautiful sandy beaches of the Gulf of Mexico; the near perfect weather where the sun is said to shine at least 360 days a year; or the fact that for every person you meet you are probably connected to them by at least 3 other people. No, when I speak about something being wrong, I am talking about the lack of black culture being celebrated in a city that celebrates everything.

There use to be a time when St. Petersburg, Florida, was considered the retirement capitol, but things have changed and we are experiencing a lot of growth and a lot of energy, particularly in the cultural arts. Yet, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, at a tree-lined park, just blocks from downtown—and a block from Tropicana Field where the Tampa Bay Rays, our major league baseball team was scheduled to play later in the day--the 19th annual Juneteenth Festival took place. Juneteenth of St. Petersburg, Inc., the organization that took over the festival five years ago did a great job in providing entertainment, recreation, and a wide variety of vendors offering something for everyone. The only thing missing were citizens of St. Petersburg, and many of the tourists in the area for summer vacation.

Does that last sentence sound familiar, if so, it’s probably because you read it in my blog about the 1st annual James Weldon Johnson Festival? What is really going on in our city? If it were a matter of certain people not supporting the event because it celebrates a part of our history that makes them uncomfortable, or because it was held in “South St. Pete,” which is code word for the “black” part of town; I could easily scream racism. But what perplexes me is what I see not only at Juneteenth but many events organized by, and used to celebrate, our culture—we, the people being celebrated don’t even bother to show up. I go to festivals and various events within the city and most are well attended, some to the tune of ten’s of thousand’s of people over the course of a 3-day weekend. But the only event in our city that matches those numbers for an event that celebrates who we are; are those held over the Martin Luther King, Jr Day, weekend.

Two women stopped at my booth during the Juneteenth event and asked me where the “black” part of town was. They were visiting from out of state and staying at a hotel downtown. After breakfast they started walking, which was how they stumbled upon the festival. (No, there was no literature or marketing material at the hotel, and the concierge service didn’t suggest it as something they should do while in town.) I really didn’t know how to take the question. I am all about diversity, so the fact that tourist couldn’t identify a part of town as being designated for a group of people, is good—right. But on the other hand, it begs the question; do ethnic groups lose their identity when their city becomes a melting pot? Or, is it that we need designated areas as a reminder that we in fact, have a culture that should be celebrated. After I gave them the coordinates of the plot of land known as Midtown, they looked saddened to learn that the park we were in and the festival taking place was actually in the black community. I can only wonder if they were thinking the same as me, what is wrong with this picture.

This thing that I speak of seems to be engrained deeper into our community than we may like to believe. Earlier this year Goliath Davis, a top city official, and black man, was fired from his position. He called a midday press conference and two hundred people showed up to hear what he had to say. Yet, a few weeks later the James Weldon Johnson Festival was held at the same location, to celebrate the legacy of the man who composed “Lift Every Voice.” Aside from the vendors and staff only a small fraction of that number attended. We encourage our children to develop their talents and strive to be successful, but when it comes time to present them to the world the community support is not there and we ask why. Events like Juneteenth is the place to showcase their talent. It is a collaborative effort and we must all show up and support what is important as much and as often as possible. 

Perhaps the focus of our community is simply misplaced and as a result our culture is being ignored and slowly fading from existence. Maybe other people see our lack or interest and participation in things that should be important to us, and think; why should they care if we don’t care. Or maybe there is something buried deep in our City’s history that is manifesting itself and making us think we have nothing to celebrate. Whatever the reason, we need to figure it out and move beyond it. We have a rich history and a bright future. St. Petersburg is birthing so much talent in various spectrums but our contribution is failing to thrive because it’s not being supported by our community. If we aren’t willing to collectively shout from the rooftop that we’re here and have something to contribute to this city, then we can’t complain as we are systematically washed from the landscape.

Much Love,

Tracy

Tracy L. Darity is the author of He Loves Me He Loves Me Not! and Love…Like Snow In Florida on a Hot Summer Day. For more information, visit www.TracyLDarity.com.

A couple of months ago, after I had dropped my daughter off at tennis practice I found myself sitting at a traffic light with tears streaming down my face…uncontrollable tears that didn’t seem to have any end. Prior to reaching the traffic signal, a song came on the radio that I had never heard before. The lyrics were so beautiful but more than anything they ministered to what I was feeling at that very moment. The song, “Long As There is You,” by The McClurkin Project say’s, if there were no gates of pearl, if there were no streets of gold, if there was no other world, in a land where we won't grow old…I'm not thinking about those sites, won't be there to enjoy the view, I think Heaven will be alright, just as long as You’re there, as long as there is You.

My daddy passed away October 10, 2009, and for the first time in my life I asked myself, “What if there is no Heaven?” I have loved the Lord for as long as I can remember. I have always put my trust in Him. I know He is real because there is no other explanation for how I have been able to deal with the loss of my earthly father. As a little girl, even into my early adult life, I use to ask God to let me die before my daddy because I just didn’t think I could bear living without him. But here it is some 8 months later and my Heavenly Father continues to console me and reassure me that everything is going to be alright.

Growing up we were taught never to question God, just trust and obey. But it is simply human nature to wonder about the things that are unseen. One thing that has always plagued me is the concept that when we die and go to heaven there will be no more suffering, no more heartache, and most important, we will see our loved ones again. The thing for me has been; what if your loved one doesn’t go to heaven. Will there be no remembrance of that person? Will they cease to exist in our psyche, and if not, wouldn’t that cause heartache?

Now don’t get me wrong, I believe with all my heart and soul that my daddy is going to Heaven, and I pray that I will be there with him one day. I recall talking to a friend after his death and I asked him some of these questions and he said to me, “I believe when we die we are just dead, that there is nothing else, no rapture, no Heaven, no nothing.” I thought his comments were callous and cold-hearted, and even frightening coming from someone who professed to be a Christian and attend church on a regular basis. Of late, it seems that no matter where I turn there is some contradiction to the whole concept of Heaven and an afterlife. It makes the healing process that much harder because as with most of us, we want to go to Heaven and see our loved ones again.

;I keep my daddy’s memory stored safely in my heart where I can feel his presence at will. The song ends with, when we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be, when we all see Jesus, we will sing and shout the victory. I hold steadfast that there is a Heaven and it will be that much better because my daddy will be there too.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there, I love you and wish you a wonderfully Blessed day!

Much Love,

Tracy

Tracy L. Darity is the award winning author of “He Loves Me He Loves Me Not!” and her second novel “ Love…Like Snow In Florida On A Hot Summer Day.”

© Tracy L. Darity 2010

The mother/daughter relationship is one of the most intricate relationships known to mankind, regardless of ethnic background or culture. It differs greatly from that of mother and son, and heaven forbid if that daughter is a daddy’s girl because that only complicates things more. What is so weird about the mother daughter bond is that no matter what transpires between the two, daughters often spend a lifetime desiring a special connection with their mother that is often times hard to express.

As little girls we believe our mothers can cure whatever ails us. She can kiss our booboo’s and make them all better. She can explain everything and is our biggest supporter. She finds joy in everything we do, and the highlight of her life seemed to be receiving those handmade gifts like the rickety clay pot, the macaroni decorated picture framed with popsicle sticks, and the card with the images from the latest fashion magazine pasted to colored construction paper that depicted our image of her.

By the time we’re nine or ten we’ve decided there is no one else in the world we’d rather be. We begin to emulate our mothers. We want to know what she knows and do what she does. My mother use to sew when I was younger and nothing compared to going downtown to Sierkese Fabrics, where we would shop for patterns in those huge books by McCall’s, Butterick, Simplicity and Vogue, and then pick out our fabrics and accessories, then home we would go to create our fashions. Second to that was putting together those 1000+ piece jigsaw puzzles.

If you asked me today if my mom and I have much in common my immediate reply would probably be no. But if I thought about it, I’d have to admit we have a lot in common, aside from our past passion of sewing. As I was working in my youngest daughter bedroom recently, I had to stop and laugh. I love to decorate, and love to create unique settings, just like my mom use to. I suddenly remembered when I was younger; my mom designed a room for my sister and me. The walls were painted black and white stripe using 3 inch wide masking tape (I remember that tape because it was so much fun pulling it down and seeing the straight lines it created). She had my dad build this huge box (for some reason I think it was painted blue), and I am talking a 4ft wooden cube. It was pushed into the corner and our twin beds were pushed up against the sides creating headboards. We then placed books, a lamp and whatever else on the top of the cube. I loved that room then, but now I am thinking, mama what was that all about…LOL Believe it or not, I saw a similar room a few years ago in a decorating magazine.

For some of us, something transpires around the teen years and we suddenly draw a line in the sand and dare our moms to cross it. At this place in time she can no longer just be the mom we loved since birth, who guided us and protected us and taught us the things we needed to know. No, at this moment she has to fit into an illusion of grandeur that we have created in our minds and if she sways just the slightest she is voted off our island until she is capable of proving herself worthy.

Or maybe it’s just our inability to adjust to change. The craziest things remain in our psyche. For me it was my 12th birthday; my mom use to buy me themed cakes for my birthday of whatever character I loved at the time. I waited anxiously for my mom to come home from work because I knew she would have a Strawberry Shortcake character cake for me. But when she unveiled the cake it was white with yellow roses and pineapple filling. I have defined that as the day I decided my mother wasn’t the perfect person I thought she was because she had to have known that act alone would knock my world from its axis and my life would forever be changed. Okay, so I was a little spoiled back then but the point is, something so irrelevant can cause a huge schism between mothers and daughters.

It isn’t that the act causes us to no longer love her or appreciate her; it’s just that we are forced to accept that she is not superwoman, she can’t fix all that ails us, she isn’t equipped to clean-up our big girl messes…or she just no longer chooses to. She has raised us as a good mother should and molded us into the women we are today. The parts of her that we don’t particularly care for, we rebel against instead of accepting it as human nature; and when things go awry society tells us it has to be something she did or didn’t do when we were a child. So I am here to share with you the 10 things my mother never did for me.

1. She never hung-out all night leaving me with strangers or alone.

2. She never physically or verbally abused me.

3. She never left me alone for days to fend for myself.

4. She never placed me in a situation where we were forced to be homeless.

5. She ensured I never went to bed hungry because there was always food in the house.

6. She never went to the school when I was cutting up and cursed out the teachers and the administrators or threatened them with bodily harm.

7. She never brought strange men around me and told me to call him uncle while all along he was molesting me.

8. She never slept with one of my boyfriends and caused me bodily injury while trying to defend her actions.

9. She never became addicted to drugs and when she couldn’t pay the bills bartered me to cover the tab.

10. and; She never showed malice towards me, or called me awful names like b%^$, tramp, etc, or told me that she hated me and regretted the day I was ever born.

Now some of you are probably wondering where in the world I came up with that list. Well all you have to do is pick-up a newspaper or turn on your local news, to witness firsthand the demise of the mother/daughter relationship. It’s amazing that what we think is major gripes about our mothers can become miniscule in comparison to the real issues some women are having with their moms. Therefore, my challenge to you this Mother’s Day is to reflect over this list and if your mom never did any of those things for you, be grateful, and if she’s still alive, call her and tell her that you love her and recognize that she is the best mom she knew how to be, and regardless of her flaws or missteps, you are a better person because of her. And remember, your mother may not be the mother of your dreams, but you can always be that mother to your daughter…then wait for her to become an adult so she can tell you all the things you needed to be and wasn’t.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms of the world! Have a blessed and joyous day.

Much Love,

Tracy

Tracy L. Darity is the author of “He Loves Me He Loves Me Not!” and “Love…Like Snow In Florida On A Hot Summer Day.”

www.TracyLDarity.com

www.TracyLDarity.ning.com

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As the great V-day approaches anxiety is growing for both men and women. Women are wondering if their men will profess his love with roses, jewelry, candy, and dinner. While men are praying the day will just come and go. When you consider the blurred history surrounding the true meaning of Valentine?s Day it is hard to understand why people place so much emphasis on this occasion.

How many of us remember being in grade school and having to bring goodies for everyone in the class so no one was left out? And if you wanted to do something special for a friend you had to exchange personal goodies, in addition to making sure you had a Valentine for everyone on the list that the teacher provided to each student. Although I understood the concept, I never understood why I had to give a Valentine to those girls who didn?t like me and always called me names, or the boy who pulled my hair or was constantly trying to look under my dress while on the playground. And what about the kids who could not afford to buy for everyone, but still received goodies from those who could.

As I grew older I realized the psychological effect it could have, if you were the person that never received a Valentine. I believe I was in High School when I first noticed it. By the time we reached high school teachers no longer provided list of student names. Gone were the bags of candy and cute little cards. Now we had the various service groups selling carnations and roses and little love grams to your special one. If you were one of the unpopular kids, next to Homecoming and Prom, Valentine?s Day had to be the worst day of the school year. So this desire to be recognized, to be treated special, to mean something to someone can probably be traced back to the early teen years.

For most of my adult life, I have always enjoyed holidays. I was the coworker who always decorated her workspace, always gave cards to everyone at Christmas; kept a bowl of goodies for whatever special occasion was going on. And on Valentines Day like in grade school, I would pass out my candy and cute little cards to everyone. In my personal life, I would give cards to my family members and close friends, and whomever I was dating could always count on a special treat. If I had someone special in my life on this day, for the most part, I could expect a dozen roses to appear at my desk some time during the day. I never requested them never required them and if the truth be told, I would prefer that they took that money and purchased me several rose bushes for my garden. I love keepsakes, not things that fade and die and never give back.

When I see women watching the door hoping the next delivery is for her, or waiting for the receptionist to call and say she has something waiting at the front desk, I feel sorry for them. Not because the flowers never come but because they don?t seem to recognize the importance of the other 364 days of the year when their mate is there supporting, encouraging, inspiring, and most of all, showing them that they are loved. These women probably haven?t picked up the phone to call their significant other, their mother, their best-friend, or their child to say, ?I Love You,? yet they expect on this day that the world should stop and their mate should shower them with gifts.

This Valentine Day, I would like to challenge each of you to put your feelings aside and do something kind for someone else. I bet if you think about it there is someone in your family or circle of friends or even a co-worker who does not have a significant other to share this day with and may be overwhelmed and depressed because society has placed so much emphasis on having someone special on this day. So why not do like we used to in grade school, send them a cute little card and a bag of candy hearts with the cute little remarks, or treat them to lunch or dinner. I guarantee you the joy you bring to that person will far outweigh the satisfaction of being the female in the office who received the prettiest bouquet; or the disappointment of being one of the women who didn?t get anything. Just try it, I dare you. No, I double dare you. By the way, will you be my Valentine?yes or no?

Happy Valentine?s Day!

Much Love,

Tracy

www.TracyLDarity.com