Lupus?! A wha dat?!

Just another emcee who gets free. Vessel of philanthropic vision fueled by theophilic purpose.

Golden Krust to Bojangles

“Leave the gun and take the cannoli.”- Wise words of a decent man

The following is a short story I wrote reflecting on my first year of seminary. Hope you enjoy.

I had a dream last night that I was back in Richmond at a Golden Krust. I knew I was dreaming so I didn’t stop to think, “There isn’t a Golden Krust in Richmond. Are you sure you don’t mean Jamaica House?” But it was a Golden Krust. I was there with a friend from Union named Caleb. Caleb is a wonderful guy who’s father was a minister who spoke against Jim Crow in North Carolina. He’s someone who I look upon with great respect because he relayed a pearl that his father intimated to him. “You won’t reach anyone from your pulpit unless you hear them on their porch.”

            We walked from campus to the Golden Krust. The campus had sprawling lawns, tall, newly renovated facilities and lots of happy seminarians going from glory to glory. We shared our greetings with a group of students, asked them to join us for lunch and then continued on our way. The details of the conversation escape me as dream dialogue often does but we quickly arrived at the restaurant. We were inside and walking down the wheelchair ramp when I realized we were in a mall food court. It was no Golden Krust at all but was a Bojangles. Caleb said to me, “You’re the first African-American at this establishment no doubt.” I remarked that it was a pity because I’m Jamaican-American and Richmond owes a lot more to African-Americans than to black people en masse. He said, “At any rate. Let’s dig in.” I don’t know how food was already in front of us. But I unwrapped the tower on my left and it exposed a chicken biscuit, coffee, and sausage biscuit. I exclaimed, “Who could eat all this?!” Knowing that I was able to but refused to overindulge. I unwrapped the chicken biscuit and took the first bite. I didn’t taste anything although I have had dreams where I can smell and/or taste. I readied myself for the next bite when I notice that I was no longer holding a chicken biscuit. The yellow wrapping paper was still there but the biscuit now housed a bounty of mealworms pouring themselves onto the floor. I woke up before I could account for the worms I’d digested.

Untold Stories

Untold Stories.

via Untold Stories.

Untold Stories

“Back to life…back to reality”- En Vogue (Right? Nah it was Soul II Soul.)

One of the hardest things about returning to normalcy after traumatic life events is the inevitable realization that people are rude. You can get really used to everyone being so nice to you, sympathetic and loving that you almost forget there are people who really don’t care.

The day after I was diagnosed with lupus I wanted to call everyone on my phone and let them know the good news. I called my loved ones with joy because at least we knew what we were dealing with right? Wrong. Wrong.

I hated telling folks about this because it felt like I was dropping a bomb on their lives. Here I am acting like I just got into Yale (or some other fine institution of intellectual pursuit) and people who love me are suffering.

It’s easy to make this all about yourself. Undoubtedly, whatever difficulty you are facing is difficult but I believe that it is even harder to WITNESS the suffering of your loved ones.

You may never know the full hundred.

Brian Mooney

Educator, Scholar, Author

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