This One Time, At Church Camp…

The summer I was nine, my parents started sending me to an overnight Christian camp. It became a thing I looked forward to each summer. In the beginning I wasn’t excited, but once I arrived and met other girls just like me (the kind who practically spent their lives in church too) I was hype. A lot of us came from different areas, races, and backgrounds, but we were all about Jesus. My summers at the camp were the best, because it’s where I felt accepted in ways I hadn’t been, back home or at school. The set up was nice. We girls were assigned to cabins, with two female counselors and a group of other young women. The week girls arrived boys weren’t allowed (except for the male counselors that worked there, which a lot of us ending up crushing on.) The camp had all kinds of things like horseback riding, golf, chapel services, swimming, arts and crafts, and a gym where we’d all play games. Even though I was amongst a tribe of other girls I had a lot in common with, I was still relatively, quiet and shy, so one day when one of the leaders asked me to participate in a live recording, I was surprised. To this day I don’t know why she picked me, but she did.

My job was to read John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

It was a go-to scripture that a lot of Christians usually memorize early on. This reading and recording would take place during a service the camp was having. I practiced and I was nervous, but I did it. I’ll never forget that. My time at camp was when I also started to notice guys, have my first crushes, build friendships, and grow closer to the Lord. I miss that time, and how unaware I was of how bad the world could be, and how on fire I was for the Lord. It was just a good time. People communicated without the distraction of technology, and were present while enjoying each other’s company. I went to that camp every summer until was twelve, and I’m grateful to have had the experience.

The Day I Became A Kidney Donor

About a year ago, I had a dream my dad wanted to talk to our family about something serious. I wasn’t sure what he wanted to discuss, but I knew it was something I needed to prepare myself for. Around the time after I had this dream, I remember stopping by my parents place and sensing something was going on that they weren’t telling me. I tried to dismiss what I’d been feeling, but I couldn’t shake it. Something serious was happening. As I returned to my home after visiting them one day, I was in my kitchen washing dishes when a heaviness hit my heart like nothing I’d ever felt before. Something’s wrong with dad. That’s what that dream was about. God, what’s going on? As I continued washing dishes, I started crying and praying. Then in mid-spring, my dad held an unexpected family meeting that would change all our lives forever. He hesitated at first, and as his voice started cracking and he started crying, he said, “Well, I wanted to talk to ya’ll to tell you that I have kidney disea...

Thoughts From a Black Educator: Qualified, Credentialed, and Constantly Undermined

I’m a Black educator in my fifth year of teaching middle school English, and in my third as the 8th Grade English PLC (Professional Learning Community) Lead. And while I genuinely enjoy the purposeful work I get to do, seeing the growth of my scholars, and continuing to hone my skills in a content area I’ve loved since I was a little girl, I’ve had to confront some unpleasant experiences in this space. I’d been through much worse when I was an academic advisor at a Christian university. Racism, sexism, harassment, and workplace bullying were sadly norms in that environment. However, some of what I’ve experienced as a Black educator hasn’t been normal … It doesn’t seem normal to be the only Black educator in my department – in a predominantly Black school. One of my Black colleagues once said, “It should look like a Tyler Perry movie in here.” But it doesn’t. It didn’t feel normal being reprimanded in a meeting (during my second year of teaching) by an administrator who went in on...

The Day I Made A Will

When I was a teenager, I remember writing a list of my greatest fears. One of the things I listed was death. Looking back, it was an interesting item to list because inevitably, death is something each of us will face at some point in our lives. Even though it’s no longer a fear of mine, I understand why and how it’s not a comfortable thing for everyone to navigate. But regardless, this past summer I completed a detailed will. I signed it, had witnesses sign it, and got it notarized. As I was getting everything done, one of the witnesses looked at me and said, “You know, it’s just that you’re so young…” I’ve learned that death doesn’t care how young or how old you are. You can be five, fifteen, thirty, or fifty, and it’s still something that happens. Completing my will wasn’t scary. It gave me peace of mind having documentation in place stating my detailed directives and requests. A year ago, I had one of my kidneys removed. It was a surgery that came with risks that were presented cle...

Making Waves