When it comes to marriage, we expect to begin only once. So much so that many brides plan the commencement event for months, carefully selecting flowers, dresses, and really good cake.
That simple, yet dangerous, prayer led me to begin again. God soon filled my heart with a new vision: to become a professor and to use the professorial platform to speak and write about issues of race and Christianity.
Insert chill ambiance set to a playlist of lyric-less hip hop songs, nearby an arsenal of books and a revolving wish list of required reading. In two hours, I will begin to ready myself for a one hour commute to my full-time job. I will listen to podcasts the entire drive there. I will park my car and jot down, in my bullet journal, all ideas that are still lingering around able to be captured on paper.
In due time, I stepped back into my childhood church and that very day was introduced to a man that would go on to be my surrogate father and officiate over my wedding. This man would connect the dots from my heart to God’s and remind me that my ransom was paid in blood so greatly was I loved. I would come to understand that my value wasn’t tied to a scale and more importantly that there was a place for me in the Kingdom.
Husband and I lay, backs on the bed staring at the ceiling, no kids at home. Finally, time alone. How would we spend this time? Would it be as all the times before? Pretending we weren’t hurt? Hovering surface level?
Friends, as I type these words today, any person would say that there is no hope left for me. But, Praise be unto God that my life is not defined by my current situation.
These things mark a fresh willingness to seek out new beginnings. They are proof of an understanding that it’s not too late to change, to rediscover truth, to try something new.
I am rising, and that is the miracle.
When I imagined this series, I wanted it to touch people in a way that offered hope in the treacherous terrain we’re navigating right now.