The year was 1765 when the first of the great African warriors were stolen from their homelands. Their hands shackled, their names stripped, and their spirits tested aboard the hellish ships that crossed the Atlantic.
But the Europeans did not realize that they had not simply kidnapped workers. They had taken kings, strategists, healers, and warriors. People who had ruled empires and commanded armies long ago.
For centuries, the Africans endured, but they never forgot who they were. In secret, they shared their wisdom, trained their young, and passed down traditions of their ancestors. They wove messages of rebellion into their songs. They built networks that stretched across plantations and sharpened their knowledge of the land.
When the time came, they struck with the force of a mighty storm. The uprising spread from the deep south to the plantations of Virginia, overtaking their oppressors in waves of carefully planned rebellion. The so-called “Civil War” was not between the North and the South, but instead it was between the enslaved and the enslavers.
The war lasted for years, but the outcome was inevitable. The Africans reclaimed their freedom and the land they had been forced to build became their legacy. After their victory, they established a new nation. A nation built not on vengeance, but on balance.
The Africans were no longer slaves. They allowed those who wished to return to Europe to do so. While others who remained were granted status as legal residents and citizens of the country, and were free to live but never to rule over others again.
The United States was reborn and led by the descendants of the African slaves, who shaped the land with their wisdom and strength. Under their rule, the nation thrived. It was not a land of conquest, but one of healing, knowledge, and unity.
I focus on it. I assimilate it. It lingers if I favor it. I research it. Is it possible? Periodically, it enters my thoughts. Three times I see it in another way or form. I focus on it again and begin to think about pursuing it.
I create it.
I infuse it and manifest it into my life. I release my wounds and heal my past hurts and pains. Until I share it, we share it, we learn, and we grow until we progress.
He gave me the courage to walk away, From a home where shadows lay. Pain and silence, walls so thin, A house of hurt I'd lived within.
With him, I saw a different light, A future reaching, shining bright. A chance to run, to break, to mend, To start anew, and to find an end.
I packed my child and we left behind, The ghosts that clung to the heart and mind. A state away to a safer place. A home that promised love and grace.
For a while the world seemed more kind, But soon the past was close behind. His mask fell off and the truth was there, His love was just smoke that filled the air.
An empty bottle, a bitter tongue, A rage that burned, a song unsung. No father, no partner, no steady hand, Just broken dreams and shifting sand.
Dependent, trapped, and afraid to flee. A caged bird longing to be free. Survival stole my will to grow, My dreams were paused and my hope sank low.
The drinking, yelling and striking pain, A pattern played the same refrain. Not again, I swore inside myself, Not this path, not this ride, I have more wealth.
So once again, with a lifted chin, My daughter's hand pressed into my skin. We turned away and left the past behind, A life unlived, a fate unkind.
No chains remain, no cage, and no ties. Beneath the stars, the future lies. And as we walk, the night so wide, I whisper softly; we will survive.
My life turned again, towards a quiet man who stood, Scarred by trials, yet strong where he could. He trusted me, though we'd just begun, His soul was familiar; a light, a Sun.
Calm and steady, a different tone, Not the chaos I'd always known. This time, I waited and let time decide. No rush, no chains, just space to confide.
Friendship first, no love too soon, Just healing nights beneath the moon. Let fate have plans, a path to trace, A home, a bond, a sacred space.
No smoke, no drink, no hidden lies, Only a steady love beneath clear skies. But sickness lurked, a silent thread, The Cancer grew louder, its hunger fed.
I stood beside him, strong adn unbowed, Through doctor's rooms and waiting crowds. Gave my strength, my time adn my care, A love that bore his cross to bear.
Six years passed, a remission's breath, A life reclaimed from nearing death. But betrayal whispered, cold and sly, He slipped away, no word, no why.
No calls, no notes,just legal lines. A ghost who left no warning signs. A weddin photo sealed the fate, A love discarded, washed by hate.
Left alone to start once more, To find my worth, my inner core. I prayed, I sought, I turned within, To let the healing work begin.
The dream was lost, but faith remained, My power is mine, my soul unchained. For women, for children, and for those who ache, I write these words- rise, rebuild, and awake!
I am a senior woman—a Black woman, single and retired—who found herself alone in a small city in the northwest, far from friends and family. For three weeks, I embraced homelessness as a temporary inconvenience, driven by a calling to serve and mentor elementary school children through an AmeriCorps opportunity with the Napa County school system. My purpose in sharing this story is to show how we care for one another, how we embody the Church of God that Jesus spoke about, and how little we truly understand the reason why we are here. I want to reveal my experience to teach others about a side of humanity that is often overlooked and vulnerable, to highlight our relationship to nature and others, and to celebrate self-care, self-love, and self-sufficiency in solitude. Above all, I want to share the truth I lived in those three weeks—the truth of God’s love.
The town was small, nestled in the northwest, and autumn had painted the landscape in shades of gold and crimson. Each day, temperatures ranged from 45 to 70 degrees, growing colder at night, with fog and rain often settling over the city. I was homeless, sleeping in my vehicle, relying on food pantries, food banks, and a drop-in center for homeless women and children to meet my basic needs. The environment was unfamiliar and sometimes harsh, but it was also a place of quiet beauty and reflection.
Some of my most meaningful moments were spent in nature at Howarth Park, with its beautiful lake and abundant bird wildlife. Hiking the paths, I found wonder in solitude, feeling connected to the world in a way that only quiet reflection can bring. My daily diet was simple: water, coffee, apples, and bananas. The YMCA became a place for community involvement, exercise, and showers—a small sanctuary in an otherwise uncertain routine.
One night, while parked at a church lot, a light shone in my face, and I was asked, “Are you supposed to be here?” I refused to go to a homeless shelter, choosing instead to keep myself safe in my vehicle. Safety, food, and meeting my basic needs were daily challenges, but I learned to rely on myself and to introspect on what skills I had that could assist my situation.
I witnessed moments that revealed the truth about human nature. I saw a woman sitting on the ground in front of a 7-Eleven store with her dog. A man drove up and gave her one small Milk Bone for the dog—just that, and nothing more.
Meanwhile, expensive vehicles: Teslas, Land Rovers, Mercedes, and BMWs raced along the roads, a stark contrast to the struggles of those living on the margins. People seemed to place their value in material things, not in people.
I observed smiling protestors marching with signs that read “No Kings.” Many churches offered weekly hot meals and nightly AA meetings, but I saw members exit and smoke marijuana afterwards while gossiping, ignoring the truth they saw every day.
During those long hours in my vehicle, I discovered creative ways to stay occupied and maintain a sense of connection. My phone and tablet became lifelines to the outside world. I spent time scrolling through YouTube, watching videos, reading emails, and browsing Instagram and Facebook. These digital routines helped me stay informed and entertained, offering a comforting rhythm to my days.
Practical challenges were ever-present, especially finding ways to keep my devices charged. The local library became a daily refuge—not only for its welcoming atmosphere, but also for its charging stations. I often relied on a charger overnight to ensure my phone and tablet were ready for the next day’s needs. These small acts of self-care provided a sense of normalcy and control, even in uncertain circumstances.
Occasionally, I made phone calls to family—not out of desperation, but as a way to share updates and maintain bonds. These conversations were intentional, a reminder that I was never truly alone, even in solitude. Through these routines, I found balance: staying connected to others while also embracing the quiet strength of self-reliance.
I learned that self-reliance is essential, and that introspection can reveal strengths we didn’t know we had. I discovered that most people offer cordial greetings and smiles to make themselves feel better, but few truly care. I trusted my intuition and focused on resilience and healing, often crying and praying, relying on my relationship with God.
Humans, I realized, are just as vulnerable as animals, but we are less self-sufficient and need each other more than we admit. People are not always honest and may seek recognition or power over others, sometimes delighting in the suffering of others as a point of gossip or laughter.
Yet, in all this, I found that God’s love is constant. In solitude, I learned to care for myself, to love myself, and to find sufficiency in my own company. I saw that our relationship to nature and to others is sacred, and that self-care and self-love are vital, especially when the world feels distant.
Ultimately, the reason for being there—the job I had been offered—never materialized. After three weeks, when the call finally came to say my background check had cleared, it was easy for me to decline the position. I knew that I could return home, where I had a warm place, a safe space, and a family that cared for me. This experience taught me that sometimes, the journey itself is the lesson, and that God’s love and grace are present wherever we go.
I encourage you to look for the vulnerable in your community—not just those who are visibly struggling, but those who may be quietly alone. Offer kindness, a listening ear, or a simple smile. Practice self-care and self-love, knowing that you are worthy of compassion. Remember that in solitude, you can find strength, and in caring for others, you reveal the truth of God’s love.
The truth I lived in those three weeks is simple yet profound: God’s love is present in every moment, in every act of care, in every relationship—with others, with nature, and with ourselves. By embracing vulnerability, practicing self-care, and reaching out to those around us, we become the Church that Jesus envisioned—a community built on love, understanding, and grace.
