Has anyone ever met a Ragpicker?
Routinely, when we think of a Ragpicker, we think of someone scavenging from one pile of junk to another pile of junk trying to confiscate something. But today, I want you to reconsider the definition of a Ragpicker.
A Ragpicker is someone who specializes in rescuing. They come to fertilize our attitudes, our souls, our minds, our spirits, and even our thought processes. A Ragpicker visits us when we are at our valleys and somehow rejuvenates us to climb up and over our mountains.
My Ragpicker, or the teacher who changed my destiny, met me in my 12th grade year. By then, I was the product of parents who married a total of 15 times. Living in a dysfunctional home, I suffered from frequent emotional and sexual abuse and rarely had enough essentials to include food, love, clothing, or even self-esteem.
Upon completing two homework assignments, my Ragpicker (teacher) wrote some comments on my book reports that shattered any negative thoughts that I had housed in the valley of my mind. She was convinced that I had potential and that I represented the “talented tenth” of my race (African-American). Each morning for the past 38 years, I begin my day by re-reading her message which has served as my driving force to work beyond folk’s expectation.
Mrs. Ruth Davis predicted that I would be successful and she was right. I have had a prolific career in corporate America and is considered a nationally and internationally renowned motivational speaker and trainer. Imagine this much success coming from a broken-spirited girl who subliminally programmed herself to tragically feel that she was worthless.
Using football analogy, I am in the fourth quarter of my life and have begun to furiously discard the accumulation of surface wealth which is indicative of one’s narcissistic ego. Instead, like Mrs. Davis, I am furiously rescuing those who may be traveling in the danger zone of pitfalls, potholes and man-made ditches.
In recognition of how much Mrs. Davis’ prophetic words mean to me, I have instructed my family upon my death to forget the traditional pomp and circumstance—-just place those two pieces of paper over my heart and then close the damn casket!
Today, as I debut as a weekly columnist, please allow me to serve as your Ragpicker. Allow me to use my feminine intuition to validate your worthiness.
Allow me to help you face your fears. Allow me to help erase your fears. Then, allow me to help replace your fears by putting them into the coffin and then slowly close the door!
