by Tavis Smiley
The day of their performance I was scheduled to be in New York for an audition. At the dress rehearsal, however, we had a great run-through. The rehearsal was so good that one boy boldly told me not to cancel my audition in New York because of them, and to just forget about them and do what I needed to do.
“I am going to do just that!” I told them proudly. And after our last rehearsal, I took up my gift, bid them good-bye, and told them I would see them Thursday after the performance. Little did I know.
Returning to work, I was driving on an interchange ramp. The roads were wet and slippery. I was barely driving forty-five miles per hour, but I slowed my car down even more on the overpass.
As I tapped the brake, my SUV suddenly swerved to the left, then slid to the right and banged a car in the right lane. I fought to regain control of my vehicle.
My car swerved to the left again, then to the right, and banged the car next to me once more before spinning in a semicircle. My eyes took in the cement guardrail looming before me, with the racing traffic on the highway below. All I could do was shut my eyes and scream, “Oh, my God! Jesus!”
The SUV slammed into the guardrail; the impact was so hard that all three airbags released. I jerked forward against the restraint of my safety belt and gasped, too shocked to cry.
The stench from the airbag powder burned my nose. I scrambled out of the car, shaking uncontrollably as the drizzle from the rain spotted my glasses. My left shoe was caught underneath the pedal of the clutch. When I looked down, I saw I was standing on the overpass with one shoe on, oil, water, and dirt seeping into my white socks.
I was so grateful to be alive! And I came out of the accident with only a scratch on my right knee. At that moment, I knew that God had heard me when I called out to Him as my car hit that guardrail.
My supervisor was kind enough to pick me up after my car was towed away. He smiled sadly at me and said for some unknown reason, “Look at it this way; no good deed goes unrecognized.”
When I replayed the accident over and over in my mind, I realized that yes, I had sacrificed my time to help the kids with their theatrical performance. To do so required getting over to the school. But what if I had said no when I was asked to help? I could have been traveling on any highway, on any ramp, at any given time when my car malfunctioned. Had I turned down the offer to help these kids and had an accident, would God have been there to answer my call and take care of me?
I’m a firm believer that God grants us gifts to fulfill our purpose here on earth, which is to minister to other people’s weakened spirits, no matter what capacity you find them in. When we choose not to use our talents, we run the risk of losing them.
Every now and again, I catch a faint scent that reminds me how the airbags protected me that December day. A chill comes over me and I am back in my SUV on a rainy day slamming into a guardrail. Only this time, I see a band of God’s angels protecting me on all sides, keeping the car from flying over the rail, or flipping over, or exploding. I am reminded that time really is valuable, and life is so precious. I can’t let any opportunity to use my talents for God slip by, and run the risk of Him telling me no at just the point when I need Him most!
WHEN FAITH IS TESTED
Judge Trudy M. White
Never in my wildest imagination had I expected that my faith would be sorely tested. I had always done what my parents had taught me: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I was very active in the ministries of my church, and involved in many community organizations where we helped needy people. I am an attorney, and most of the cases I handled outside of my government job I did for free or at a nominal cost. I took care of sick family members. I was supportive to friends and family.
And then a course of events happened that changed me for the better. I was an attorney for a state agency. Just before Thanksgiving 1996 I was called into the office by the agency head and advised that allegations had been made against me and that they were going to terminate me. After this pretermination hearing was over, I was escorted to my department and told to remove all of my personal belongings from my office as the human-resources director stood over me and watched. The human-resources director had been directed to retrieve my permanent badge and place me on forced leave. I was given a period of time to respond to the allegations, and would be advised by telephone when I would be allowed to return to the agency.
After filing a response to the allegations, I received a telephone call advising me when I could return. Upon my return I reported to the human-resources division and was given a temporary badge.
With temporary badge in hand, I went to my office and found that the locks to my door had been changed. I had to wait for an hour until the key could be located. Once inside my office, I found everything had been deleted from my computer. In my gut I knew that my termination notice was imminent.
It was standard practice that notice of disciplinary actions be given on a Friday. This helped to minimize the office gossip, as employees would be home over the weekend. True to form, two weeks later the agency notified me on a Friday that my services were no longer needed. With tears in my eyes, I was escorted out of the building for the last time as an employee. My head was held high. I said to myself, “I will not be railroaded.”
Although it’s been said that it takes an act of Congress to fire a government employee, I found this not to be true. In my case, it took only the stroke of a pen.
I left the parking lot feeling like my world was coming to an end. I did not quite know what to do. How could the agency terminate me when I’d had nothing less than satisfactory ratings? How could I be terminated when my immediate supervisor had never counseled or admonished me for inadequate performance? How could an attorney who had been appointed by two governors to executive positions in the agency be fired?
I knew the agency would have unlimited resources to fight me should I decide to appeal my firing. My faith would be tested, and they would try to break me financially. None of my former colleagues would talk to me for fear of the same thing happening to them. The agency would see to it that I would not be able to get another government job.
Nonetheless, I knew deep inside that the agency had underestimated my tenacity in facing such challenges. The agency might have stripped me of my job, but I still had my dignity. I decided I could either lie down and let them walk all over me or I could fight them. I decided to fight.
Reality began to set in quickly. How was I going to pay my bills? How was I going to afford health insurance with no job? All my plans and dreams would have to be placed on hold. There were nights when I literally cried myself to sleep.
The Monday following the termination, I applied for unemployment compensation benefits. The eligibility caseworker determined that I was eligible to receive $164 a week in employment benefits after taxes. I was not ashamed about filing for unemployment benefits because I knew that I did nothing wrong. If I rolled over and did not fight back, others who might not be able to fight for themselves would be at risk as well.
I took solace in the fact that I come from a line of great people who had endured hardships that I could not imagine. I am a descendant of the fittest and bravest Africans who survived the Middle Passage. I knew that I too would survive this.
Over the weekend I dissected the allegations against me in preparation for filing a civil service appeal. I prepared a chronology of events and pulled together documents that supported my position. Early on in my career I had been advised by a senior government official to leave home each day as if it were my last day. For the most part I had heeded this advice, and so I had copies of documents that I’m sure the agency did not think that I had. With these documents I would be able to reconstruct the truth and prove my case.
Having represented the agency in personnel matters, I felt that I could handle the agency’s appeal of the Department of Labor’s decision granting me unemployment benefits myself. On the other hand, I knew that I needed an attorney for the civ
il service appeal. I had a good idea as to the background information that needed to be pulled together. I got up every morning as if I were going to the agency, and worked on my legal cases.
The agency contested my eligibility to receive unemployment benefits and appealed the decision to the administrative law judge. At the first setting of the hearing scheduled before the administrative law judge, the agency asked for a continuance because a witness had a conflict.
More than six months elapsed after the termination before the administrative hearing was held. By then I had received unemployment benefits for twenty-three weeks, and the agency demanded that I reimburse them for the benefits.
At the hearing, agency representatives stated mistruth after mistruth. Perhaps the witnesses felt that they would meet the same fate as me if they did not slant their testimony in the best light of the agency. I promised myself then that I would never put myself in a position where I would be hesitant to speak the truth for fear of losing my job.
The administrative law judge ruled in my favor, but the agency appealed the decision to the Louisiana Board of Review. The Louisiana Board of Review affirmed the administrative decision. Then the agency asked for a judicial review in the court. More than a year elapsed between the administrative hearing and the judicial review.
I had retained a lawyer from a firm that represented the local union to handle the civil service appeal. This firm represented over 50 percent of the appeals to the Louisiana Civil Service Commission.
The services of my lawyers cost money, and paying them was difficult. As I waited for final decisions in my cases, I was left in limbo. Just to pay for basic necessities, I was forced to deplete my savings and sell real estate that I owned.
The lengthy litigation took an emotional toll on me as well. I began to run stop signs and red lights. When I realized that the distractions caused by the litigation were injuring my health, I decided having closure was more important.
Almost two years after my termination, I bypassed the attorneys on both sides and, with the agency’s concurrence, entered into negotiations with the top African American in the agency. Despite the fact that she was representing the agency, I felt that she had integrity. We were successful in negotiating a settlement whereby I was reinstated to my former position, after which I would resign. I dismissed my civil service appeal, and the agency dismissed its appeal of my unemployment benefits. I accepted less than 100 percent of my back pay and unused leave. But I got the closure I wanted and needed. As I understood it, the New Orleans law firm that represented the agency billed the state in excess of $75,000 to defend my entitlement to approximately $5,000 in unemployment benefits and handle the civil service appeal.
But the termination turned out to change my life in so many positive ways I never would have imagined. Six months after my termination, I was hired as the staff person for an inner-city community development corporation (CDC). I had previously helped Zion City CDC with the preparation of its articles of corporation, 501(c)(3) application, and board training. The board members knew of my reputation and character. Though they were only able to pay me 25 percent of what I was paid by the agency, this liberated me in many ways.
It was important to me to be embraced by the Black community at large, and the Zion City community in particular, during this difficult period in my career. I had worked with community organizations and churches throughout the Baton Rouge area over the years and was well known for my public service. They had not forgotten me.
While employed with the Zion City CDC, we built four houses in the community, where there had been no new construction in over thirty years. Teacher’s aides, bus drivers, homemakers, ministers, and other community activists worked together to make these houses a reality.
After I had been working for the Zion City CDC for more than a year and a half, Preston Castille Jr., then president of the Black lawyers’ association (the Louis A. Martinet Legal Society), asked me to be the staff person for the Legal Society’s pro bono program. With the help of many people, especially James A. Wayne Sr., Executive Director of Capital Area Legal Services, we established a viable pro bono program. The program operated out of the Leo S. Butler Community Center in South Baton Rouge. I became the receptionist, secretary, payroll clerk, and lawyer all rolled into one. About a year into the life of our foundation, we added a mentoring program.
By working at the community center, I was able to take the pulse of the community, and the public had daily access to a free lawyer. People would stop by and ask me questions about legal issues that concerned them. Working to win social security appeals on behalf of the indigent was one of the most rewarding experiences in my life. It was such a great feeling.
Shortly afterward, people in the community approached me to run for a vacant judicial seat. I prayed fervently about this and realized it was what God wanted me to do.
I campaigned for over a year, despite limited financial resources. I needed to run a grassroots campaign and meet as many people as possible. It was a hotly contested election, in that I was running against two Black men. To make it tougher, one of the candidates had an identical twin brother who was a judge.
Day after day I would walk the streets in ninety-five-degree heat, speaking with as many folks as I could. It took two months of campaigning just to explain that I was running not against the sitting judge but against his brother. It was a hard-fought campaign that left me with a campaign debt to this day.
Nevertheless, every door that needed to be opened was opened, even if it was just a crack. I led in the primary and went into the runoff with the judge’s twin brother. In the runoff election, I won a decisive victory. I was sworn in on December 6, 1999, as a Baton Rouge City Court judge, Division B.
My journey from having my job taken away from me to my new position as judge stretched out over several years. I had been ridiculed, scorned, and accused of all kinds of mistruths. But in many ways it was my wake-up call, and I had heeded it.
I did not know what God had in store for me that Thanksgiving holiday back in 1996, but I knew I had to remain faithful. Had I not been fired, I know I would have become complacent working in that state job. I believe my termination was the catalyst that moved me closer to my real destiny.
THE MOUTHS OF BABES
Carmen Lashley
We never know where we are headed when we first step out on faith. We never know where God will lead us. My goal was to pour out my heart and soul on paper and become a famous author.
Well, God had another plan. While I was working on my book, my thirteen-year-old daughter, Sierra Myers, wrote a collection of poems. She had been reading since she was three years old, and lately she had been entering poetry contests on the Net and receiving prizes in the mail. She told me it was easy to write a book, and why was it taking me so long to finish mine?
A coworker named Stacy suggested that I take Sierra’s poetry collection and the art done by Donovan, my fourteen-year-old son (he had been winning art contests since he was in elementary school), and combine them into a book. “Let the little children lead the way,” she said.
I put my book on hold and started my own publishing company, Siedon Publications (named after Sierra and Donovan). My daughter and son’s Under the Do-Rag, a collection of poems targeting teens and dealing with issues such as drugs, gangs, suicide, peer pressure, love, relationships and suicide, became our first teen title. The book offers tributes to Tupac, Martin Luther King Jr., the civil rights movement, and victims of the Holocaust tragedy. The message of the book is to look beyond the clothing and musical preferences of teenagers and to search under their do-rag for what they possess in their minds and hearts.
Sierra and Donovan’s book has been lauded in publications such as Girls’ Life, National Geographic World, Sister’s Dialogue, and Baltimore Café, and on the WEAA-FM morning show. They received an award from the Fullwood Foundation in January 2002, and Sierra received the Maryland Girls and Young Women Shaping the Future award fro
m the Maryland State Department of Education and the Maryland Commission for Women. Sierra and Donovan have been speaking to youth organizations and church groups throughout the state of Maryland. And the journey continues.
Sierra has gone on to write a second book, titled Buds of Promise. Recently Donovan wrote a gospel rap that was released on a soundtrack entitled The Mission, by Minister John Johnson.
Today, Siedon Publications prides itself on promoting the works of teenagers and spreading the word through the mouths of babes. Perhaps we still have not reached our final destination. But boy, does it feel good to be moving in the right direction.
WHEN IT IS SO
Sheila J. Grant
One Saturday, as I was preparing to go to what theater majors call a tech rehearsal, I received a phone call from a close family friend telling me to come home right away; my father had been rushed to the hospital. I was sixty-one miles away from Chicago at Northern Illinois University. A friend who was visiting drove me home. I had no idea what would be waiting for me when I arrived.
When we arrived at the hospital, my father was still in the emergency room. He had suffered a brain aneurysm. The doctors wanted to send him to another hospital for a CAT scan, but his blood pressure was so low he couldn’t be moved. I remember hours and hours of waiting and tears. I also remember a visit from the pastor of our church. Later that night they moved my father into intensive care. The family stayed at the hospital all night in a small waiting room near intensive care. At some point during that time the doctors came and told us that we needed to call the rest of the family. They explained that there was so much blood and swelling in my father’s brain, there was nothing they could do—Daddy would inevitably die. I don’t remember anyone saying a prayer, but I know we all did.
I stood at the pay phone in the hospital lobby with a bunch of quarters, calling all of my father’s relatives in Denver, Colorado, explaining to each of them what the doctors had said. I called his brother first, who said he would come to Chicago right away. Next I telephoned his sister, and she said she would come too. Soon our house would be filled with relatives coming into town, hoping to arrive before my father passed away. Once I finished making my telephone calls, I returned to that little waiting room. Everyone was silent with the exception of my aunt, who talks incessantly when she gets nervous. She appeared to be talking ninety miles a minute.
