Stories

I recently received a phone call from an elderly female congregant, concerned that she had heard me use a feminine pronoun to describe the Holy Spirit in my sermon the Sunday prior. She called me a bit upset, but also faithfully curious.

The news is rife with heartbreaking scenes of women in deep places of suffering: women who fled the Ukrainian war; mothers who are unable to purchase formula for their infants; the faces of those in communities ravaged by the recent mass shootings.

My sister and I had the gift of being raised by both our maternal grandmother and our parents. Grandma was wise through faith and lived experience as a southern Black woman born in 1911. I cannot remember her ever raising her voice or causing alarm with her demeanor. She, however, was a quiet power who did not mince words or shy away from truth-speaking.

My sister and I had the gift of being raised by both our maternal grandmother and our parents. Grandma was wise through faith and lived experience as a southern Black woman born in 1911. I cannot remember her ever raising her voice or causing alarm with her demeanor. She, however, was a quiet power who did not mince words or shy away from truth-speaking.

“My whole life I’ve been the “nerdy” kid who was too much into Star Wars and had no concept of what it meant to be “cool.” In high school it was especially difficult to be who I was, and I struggled with not fitting in or feeling like I was like everyone else. It didn’t help being the preacher’s kid who moved around all the time and never felt quite settled where I was. As I grew older, it became less of a struggle, and in large part because of one of my favorite pieces of scripture, Psalm 139:13-14.