I don't trust your drive-by prayers
In making my peace with present-day matters of race, gender, and power in America; in finding a way through my disappointment, frustration, and fear, I had to embrace that as a woman of African descent in modern American, my life has very little value.
I don't regret taking our children apple-picking, but it was a hilarious conversation. It made me aware of my privilege.
I don't care about your tears. I've been suffering in silence for so long that I've forgotten how to complain.
What are we celebrating?
My husband brought these to my attention. Women of African descent in America are like desert flowers. We don't need your water. We thrive with or without your attention. We are uniquely beautiful. Come for us, lacking in sufficient care and consideration, and you will walk away remembering the experience, for better or for worse. …
I don’t proselytize, I do not boldly declare, I just am. I live a life, wide open, fully committed to the Gospel as I understand it. It is natural. I am filled with a holy boldness, and a little bit dangerous, but only in the most beautiful and sacred way.
If you're wondering about my current personal mantra, it's this, "I am my ancestor's WILDEST DREAMS."