Eat. Love. Pray.: A birthday led by God

God speaks to me a lot through signs. So, when my initial birthday plans began to fall through one by one, I knew He was up to something.

First plan: Virgin Islands. Nix.

Second plan: New Orleans and the New Edition, Boyz II Men and Toni Braxton concert.  Nope. (Should have gone to see them in Charlotte.)

Tampa, Florida: Seriously. 

(Shoutout to the travel agent who endured my ever-changing itineraries. You know who you are. You are appreciated and on deck for my next planned trip, God willing.)

Then how shall I celebrate my 56th birthday, which falls on Good Friday? The one idea that gave me peace was to go somewhere and be still and listen.

Where could I go to do that and still be surrounded by what I love?

Then it hit me like a crashing wave: The Outer Banks (OBX) of North Carolina.

I had not been there since 2010, and at that time it was a quick day trip with an old friend.

So, I called up by travel besties and gave them my plan.

Birthday theme: “Eat. Love. Pray.” (From the popular movie of the same name)

Location: South Nags Head.

Itinerary: Bring your own joy!

And that’s exactly what we did.

 

For five days, we settled into a rhythm of peace at the OBX, where it seems like serenity is the rule of law. It’s quiet. It’s remote. It’s sacred in its own way. It’s an ideal area to meditate, pray, be still and listen. Just what God ordered.

It’s the complete opposite of Myrtle Beach. At times, you don’t even feel like you’re in North Carolina with the windblown sand sweeping across towering dunes, the possibility of spotting wild horses and beach houses that sit right at the water’s edge. With a permit, you can even drive along the shoreline and build campfires on the beach.

Each morning, my day began with a walk on the beach. Like many people have said before, there’s something about the water that makes God’s voice easier to hear. Or maybe, it’s something about standing next to one of his most majestic creations. Or maybe, we're just quieter there.

Either way. I heard Him. I got answers. I got clarity.

Not the full blueprint because God rarely gives us that. Seeing the whole picture wouldn’t require faith, now would it.

But dear God, can I at least see the next step?

My friends were blessed as well. We rested. We watched TV. We played games. We sat on the beach. We did whatever brought us joy. There was no itinerary except for on my birthday, which was a photo shoot on the beach and dinner.

I am grateful for friends who don’t always have to have big, shiny things to make them happy, who don’t always need grand experiences to define joy. 

Don’t get me wrong. That can be us sometimes. But we also know how to “get somewhere and be still,” as my grandmother would say.

On Easter Sunday, we held our own sunrise service right there on the beach. We had prayer, Scripture, songs and a devotional God gave me the prior weekend while watching a movie. (another blog for another day).

My birthday theme came to life as God intended. We did a lot of eating. We did a lot of praying and in the midst of it all there was love: Love for each other. Love for ourselves. And the greatest expression of love of all: the Son-rise of Easter. 

This video link shows some of the signs God gave me while in the OBX for my birthday: Eat. Love. Pray. Video

My Dream Twin Went First: How Brandy Hunter lived the Liberian dream and left proof that mine is possible

Brandy Hunter

This holiday season, amid the fellowship of family and the laughter of friends, I have been quietly grieving.

A few days before Christmas, a friend I called my dream twin slipped into her eternal rest.

Brandy Hunter was my shero.

I met Brandy while working with the Liberian Organization of the Piedmont, a Winston-Salem–based nonprofit whose mission is to champion the cause of Liberians living in the region while advancing educational opportunities.

On Zoom calls filled with West African accents, one strong, confident voice would rise above the chatter. She spoke with resolve, assurance and authority. You didn’t have to ask who was leading -  Brandy made it clear.

When I finally met her in person, I asked if I could take her to lunch for her birthday. During that meal, I learned something that genuinely surprised me: Brandy was not Liberian.

All that time, I had assumed she was. She was so deeply embedded in the culture, so committed to the cause of the Liberian people, how could she not be?

As we talked, we discovered we shared the very same dream.

“I want to live in Liberia,” Brandy said.

Me, too.

“I want to build a home there by the beach.”

Me, too.

“I want to buy property and sell it to other Black people interested in relocating to Liberia.”

Me, too.

By the time lunch ended, we were best buddies.

Brandy was also a chef, and I happily supported her pop-up plate sales. I even convinced her to cater my mom’s 92nd birthday party, an event she handled with the same excellence she brought to everything else.

But it wasn’t until we began planning the Liberian Gala in September 2024 that I truly came to know Brandy on a deeper, more professional level. Brandy, Pamela Turner and I became the three American musketeers on the planning committee.

From the smallest details to the most critical moments, Brandy poured her heart, soul, sweat and energy into the planning. I watched in awe as she worked meticulously, meeting every challenge head-on, solving problems in real time, and refusing to quit when obstacles appeared.

I think the entire committee would agree: Brandy almost single-handedly planned that gala. The rest of us simply followed her lead.

The event was a tremendous success. And once it was over, all of Brandy’s energy shifted toward her ultimate goal, which was relocating to Liberia.

Within months, she left Winston-Salem, heading to Liberia by way of Virginia.

But fate intervened.

Brandy became ill. Cancer struck her body and delayed her departure. After surgery and months of recovery, she remained resolute. For Brandy, delay was never denial.

In March 2025, she finally moved to Liberia.

When we video-chatted, the glow on her face rivaled the Liberian sun. She was home. She was in her happy place. And I was planning to go visit her this year.

I spoke with Brandy at length on November 6. She excitedly shared updates about her work on the local town council there and her progress toward acquiring land. With pride, she told me she had purchased 50 acres.

She also mentioned she was recovering from malaria.

What she did not tell me was that her cancer had returned.

A few weeks after that call, Brandy flew back to the United States. She was hospitalized immediately and transitioned just days later.

I had the honor of speaking with her one last time as she lay in her hospital bed.

I told her I loved her.

She told me she loved me, too.

“Liberia needs you,” I said, still believing, still praying for a miracle.

Brandy lived her dream, even if only for a short while. She became my compass. She proved – and validated – that our dreams are not foolish, not far-fetched, not impossible.

As Brandy is laid to rest today, and as we step into a new year, my hope is renewed. I am recommitting to the dream and purpose God placed in me for Liberia.

Because if Brandy could do it…

I can, too.

_____________________________________________________________________

Arrangements: A memorial service will be held Jan. 3, 2026, at noon at New Mt. Joy Food for Living Ministry in Suffolk, Va. Locally, a Celebration of Life Music Gathering will be held Sunday, Jan. 4, 2026, at 3 p.m. at Goler AME Zion Church in Winston-Salem, where she served as minister of music prior to relocating to Liberia.

From left, Brandy, Pamela and me (three American musketeers) with Olu Brown and his wife.

Brandy with Sayo Doe Sio and me at the Liberian gala.

Remembering Alex Gaddy

 An Ode to Alex 

Nov. 5, 1956 - Nov. 2, 2025

When you are in alignment with God’s will, He sends you helpers, angels if you will, who are placed in your life to bring His vision to fruition.

That is exactly who Alex Gaddy was to HOLLA! (Helping Our Loved ones Learn and Achieve, a successful nonprofit in Anson County.)

It seemed as if, out of nowhere, Alex arrived in Anson County, connected with HOLLA! and got in where he fit in, eventually serving as activities director.

Alex was bold. He was never afraid to approach anyone, anywhere, to ask for anything that was needed. He spoke up at meetings with community leaders and decision-makers; he made cold calls to make BIG asks; he followed up and followed up again until you were persuaded to help

God knew that HOLLA! needed that fearless, unorthodox mouthpiece.

Then Alex found his true niche, which was helping to start and grow the HOLLA! tennis team. Through the tennis program, several young children of color were exposed to a sport that would have otherwise remained out of reach.

They attended camps and events that featured tennis greats including the famous Venus and Serena Williams and their father, Coach Richard Williams. These players evolved not just as players, but as disciplined scholars as well.

One of those students was Brenre. Because of her involvement in the HOLLA! tennis program, she went on to earn a tennis scholarship at Livingstone College, where she graduated not long ago.

This achievement was a crown and glory moment not only for the program, but for Alex. Many weekends and holidays, he made sure Brenre had transportation to and from the college. He ensured her needs were met. He even built relationships with the college tennis coaches there and partnered with them to host camps, giving even more young people exposure to the sport.

Alex was a force to be reckoned with when he was on a mission. It was hard to say “no” to him – even for me.

When Alex found out I was traveling to South Africa, he asked me to bring back some dirt from the Motherland. I said yes, but later discovered that dirt was considered contraband. Don’t ask, don’t’ tell, but Alex told me exactly how to do it – and I did.

The motherland was one place that Alex longed to see with his own eyes - on this side of heaven.

Now that his spirit is free, perhaps he is seeing even more of this beautiful world – from the other side of heaven.

May God bless the work He accomplished through Alex at HOLLA! and through all the lives that he touch. May his legacy live forever.

_____________________________________________________

This tribute was read on my behalf as a founding board member of  HOLLA! at Alex's memorial service, held at the HOLLA! Center in Morven on Nov. 15, 2025.

Alex Gaddy, far right, watches as Brenre officially accepts her tennis scholarship to Livingstone College. Standing, from left, are Dr. Anthony Davis, then Livingstone College vice president; her mother, Brenda Taylor; and Chris Stinson, Anson High principal, during a visit by Livingstone to the high school.

Alex Gaddy, right, with HOLLA! Founder and CEO Leon Gatewood, collecting water from Livingstone College to be transported to Jackson, Miss., during its water crisis for Black Voters Matter.

America needs a vacation!

I’ve always heard, believed and personally experienced the idea that traveling is educational. My recent trip was no less enlightening.

Indulge me for a few minutes.

When I first traveled to the continent of Africa in 2011 – to Johannesburg, South Africa, to be exact – I realized that less really is more; that the bush is not the sum of Africa as portrayed on TV; that the people are just as fascinating as the Big Five; and that the fruit there is sweeter than what I consume in America. 

When I traveled to Kenya, I learned that Hakuna Matata is more than a “Lion King” song but a preferred way of life, and that cash American dollars can get you out of a sticky situation at a police checkpoint.

And when I ventured to Liberia twice, I lived and breathed the truest sense of hospitality. I actually felt at home there and even found the person I would call son. (I love you, Hakim.)

This past summer, I was approached about going on a six-day cruise with my best friend and her family. It had been five years since I traveled out of the country and for many  good reasons: Covid, post-covid, the current federal administration and political and racial tensions.

If I’m honest, I was overwhelmed with angst. But I agreed to take the trip, though so many questions flooded my mind about my personal safety and my mental and physical health. It didn’t help that the cruise would be during hurricane season and there were storms brewing in the Atlantic Ocean as we were about to depart. Urrgh!

I fasted. I prayed. I put my trust in God and then put the pedal to the medal and burned rubber down to Port Canaveral to set sail on the Carnival Vista.

Shortly after boarding, it was announced that our itinerary would change due to the stormy weather. Cool with me because safety first.

Once that anxiety trigger was allayed, all my troubles left as soon as the deejay pumped up the volume for the bon voyage party on the lido deck.

From that moment on, the sense of camaraderie among everyone on board was palpable. Strangers became friends. Lounging areas became neighborhoods. Politeness and kindness were served with the same quickness as Guy’s burgers and rum punch.

People said excuse me if they accidentally bumped into you. They struck up conversations on elevators. 

My best friend’s son, who is 25, met other young people from Charlotte – different races and genders – and they became his crew during the entire trip. They ate together, partied together and did who knows what else – together. They have continued their friendship beyond the cruise.

I witnessed an older Black man trying to get his electric wheelchair into his stateroom. There was a young White man walking in front of me who stopped and asked if he could assist.

A young Black kid fist bumped me once as I was walking to the elevator – just because.

Meanwhile, a man I knew from Hamlet, NC, was traveling with his wife for an anniversary cruise on another ship and they were re-routed as well. We kept up with each other on Facebook Messenger. I haven’t spoken to them in person in years yet there we were, checking up on each other because of a similar situation. I mention that they are White only to make my point.

And the point is that the humanity and brotherly love I experienced was exactly the reassurance I needed to believe that the virulent behavior we see in the media is the minority, not the majority of Americans.

I could surmise that it’s because we were all on vacation – vacating from all that consumes us on a regular basis and choosing to live in the moment of relaxation, of serenity, of fun. Vacating from the tensions of the real world that segregate us. Vacating from ideologies that no longer serve us well and choosing instead to treat people based on who they are not what they are. Vacating from the poison of political pressures. Vacating from disinformation. Vacating from hate.

For six days, we were just Americans on the same boat – getting along just fine. We weren’t red or blue, for or against, inferior or superior. No one asked and no one cared. 

I wish we could take a lesson from my best friend’s son and extend that same brotherhood beyond the cruise - instead of abandoning ship.

That's my prayer.

That's a horrible idea! What time?

Seize the moments of 2025

Here we are again at the dawn of a new year, given another opportunity to achieve our divine assignments on earth.

As I grow in maturity and in, um, age – I will turn 55 this year - I’ve learned some valuable lessons of life. First and foremost, you can’t change people, you can only control how you respond to them. Number two, procrastination is essentially laziness. And I’m not lazy. And No. 3, carpe diem – seize the moment.

No. 1:

This has been a challenging year for me and my family as we have confronted issues that have tested our resolve as a family unit. I’ve also had to overcome some relationship issues that landed me on the figurative couch of a therapist.

Yes, for the first time in my life, I spent some quality time with a therapist for the first six months of 2024. I was hoping she would tell me what to do. Not so. Instead, she posed the right questions, that led me to dig deeper into my childhood, bringing to surface insecurities that shaped my life and choices today. Whew, child! Talk about starting with the man in the mirror.

I journaled. I cried. I took back control of my emotions. The work continues.

She did advise, however, that I date myself last summer. So, I did. I took myself to the movies. I attended street festivals solo. I was a party of one at restaurants. I went to one favorite spot where they sat me at the same table each time. This must be the designated single table; I thought to myself.

Nonetheless, I enter this year an emotionally healthier version of myself. I recognize that I have to accept people as they are and where they are in their lives – forgoing potential and promise and embracing – or rejecting – what is.

If this concept keeps me single yet happy, I can live with that. But I prefer existing in a mutually loving relationship with someone who accepts me for my corny, witty, sociable, kindhearted, optimistic, adventurous, spiritual self (shameless plug).

No 2:

This year, I also achieved something that I had been putting off for six years: obtaining my master’s degree. Earning a graduate degree was not on my radar until I started working at Livingstone College in 2017. My department lead at that time, Dr. State Alexander, advised that if I were to elevate in higher education, I needed an advanced degree.

At first, I resisted the notion. If I were a professor or faculty member, yes, I see the need. But I’m in communications. As long as I know how to write a press release, conjugate verbs and chummy up with the media, I’m good. Not so.

In July 2023, I discovered an accelerated online program at Full Sail University. I wasn’t one month into the program when I got a job offer from my alma mater, Winston-Salem State University. In the beginning, I was commuting two hours one way to work, coming home and doing my lessons, all while taking care of my elderly mother.

Then I decided to move to Winston-Salem, settling in an apartment that is only a five-minute drive to work. What I saved in gas is now going towards rent – and then some.

My new routine was going to work by day and studying and doing my lessons by night and on the weekends. For an entire year, I experienced FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). I had to say, no, to tempting invitations that dangled in front of me like a carrot.

But it all paid off. I graduated with a perfect 4.0 GPA and was valedictorian of my class. This was a redeeming moment for me. When I graduated with my Bachelor of Arts in Mass Communication and Spanish from WSSU, I missed being an honor graduate by a few points because of El Espanol.  I allowed my professor to talk me into double majoring because by now, as he prophesied, Spanish would be the official second language of America. This would be the perfect place to insert “Not so,” but truth to told, the United States does not have an official language, let alone an official second language, on the federal level, though English is our primary language. (Go ahead, fact check it.)

My family and close friends joined me to celebrate my graduation during a week's stay in Florida. I am proud and grateful for this accomplishment. Now, let’s just hope Dr. Alexander was right and this degree will pay off for me because repayment of those student loans starts this month. 

No 2 and 3:

Life is fleeting. Not to put a damper on my optimism, but I personally know a couple of people who received cancer diagnoses last year and were gone to heaven within three months. 

So, no matter what you aspire to do this year. No matter what your goals or resolutions are. GET STARTED! Dreams don’t work unless you do. A month from now, we can either have a month of progress or a month of excuses.

My friends and I have decided to be each other’s accountability partners. This means, we had to be vulnerable and share with each other those things that we want to accomplish and those bad habits we want to cast away. With God at the center of our lives and with conviction as our compass, we are committing to not allow age to define us. Just because we are aging gracefully doesn’t mean we have to always act our age – whatever that means.

We will seize the moments because who knows how much longer before the trumpet sounds.

Some people feel like they have to wait on the right time, the right person, the right finances, the right weather, the right right to get started. Not so. 

To remind my circle of friends of our pledge, I purchased them drink coasters with these words: “That’s a horrible idea. What time?”

How about now!

I did a new thing - and it was a long time coming

On Saturday, May 25, 2024, I did a new thing.

It may seem small to some, but it was a huge deal for me and one that has been a long time coming. Look closely at my face, in particularly, my left nostril. You see it? Yes, I got my nose pierced!

It was about 32 years ago when I first wanted my nose pierced with a diamond stud. I was a senior at Winston-Salem State University. When I shared with my public relations professor, Dr. Marilyn Roseboro, what my plans were for my face, she immediately scorned the idea. 

"It's not professional," she said.

"But I can take it out," I responded.

"But the hole will still be there," she quipped.

"But makeup could cover it," I said to myself. Because you knew better not to go too many rounds with the Dr. Roseboro. After all, she held my final grade in her hands.

She was known for being tough. In fact, I feared her class because of her reputation. We were warned that no one gets an 'A in her class. I walked in determined to defy the odds. 

And I did. I finished with an 'A' and was the envy of those who relented to the bluff and bluster of their peers (insert diabolical laugh). I challenged myself to do the assignments, to ask questions and to seem genuinely interested in the class. 

In fact, looking back, my personal experience in her class was actually a real life, hands-on lesson in public relations itself. I built a trustworthy relationship with her, was responsive to her assignments and lectures, and displayed genuine responsibility: the three R's of PR. 

My major was mass communications with a concentration in radio and TV broadcasting. I wanted to be in front of the camera not behind it. So I relented and decided to hold off on piercing my nose.

Back then, news anchors were required to have a certain look. Hair - straight. Body type - slim. Dress - conservative. Nose piercings - no. Tattoos - hell no. 

But look around, look around. Times have changed. News anchors come in all shapes, sizes and shades. They wear short sleeves, wigs, braids, tattoos and yes, nose piercings. So do your doctors and nurses, teachers and preachers, lawyers and judges, clerks and cashiers. 

And most of us should recall the distinguished TV journalist Ed Bradley, who dared to don an ear piercing while he worked for CBS' 60 Minutes.

According to an article in business.com, body modifications are becoming more mainstream. As competition for top talent grows more intense in the hiring process, many workplaces no longer frown upon tattoos and piercings.

"Labeling something taboo is dangerous for workplace transparency," said Kirsten Davidson, former head of employer brand at Glassdoor and current managing partner at Employera. Companies that let people be themselves are rated highly for company culture and values, she said. "We often saw employee feedback about feeling comfortable bringing their whole selves to work, or feeling free to be authentic."

Authenticity fosters creativity and innovation, allowing employees to produce their highest quality of work. Furthermore, employers are more focused today on the mental well-being of their employees.

Studies show that 41 percent of millennials have tattoos, followed by 32 percent Gen Xers, and 23 percent Gen Zers. Piercing data shows that nostril piercing is the second most common with earlobe piercing being number one. 

Among women, 19 percent have nostril piercings. 

Many years ago while a staff writer for a daily newspaper, I was promoted to news editor just before I was scheduled to get my hair braided with kinky twists. Fearing this would be shunned upon, I asked my white male publisher how he felt about me getting braids.

"I don't care how you wear your hair," he replied. 

This past weekend, I didn't seek permission from anyone. I didn't consider what people would think. I only heard the refrain of influencer and actress Tabitha Brown in my head: Do a new thing.

This nose piercing is a celebration of completing my master's degree program in a few weeks, which I had put off for years. It's a declaration of my independence from people pleasing. It signifies empowerment, freedom and new beginnings. 

My best friend Patricia and I walked into Black Cloud Tattoo in Charlotte nervous and giddy. We were the oldest ones in the shop. Others waiting inside cheered us on and said how excited they were of us having the courage to do it - finally. They showed off their piercings and tats and allayed our fears of pain.

As the needle penetrated my nose, my left eye watered. I didn't flinch. 

And just like that, a new thing was affixed to my nose - a constant reminder that it's never too late to do something new.

Email Kimberly Harrington at onyxlyspeaking@gmail.com

All's well that ends wells

Every now and then God will add an espresso shot to your regular coffee - without telling you.

That's what the past couple of weeks of my life have felt like. Supercharged!

So many things were happening in my professional and personal life all at once that I look back and wonder how I got through it. But for God.

I will begin with the visit by famed Atty. Benjamin Crump to Livingstone College. He is the national spokesperson for Equal Justice Now (EJN), a not for profit social welfare organization that advocates against false arrest, unreasonable detention and wrongful conviction. EJN held a national panel discussion on our campus to discuss bail and police reform.

As director of public relations, I was assigned as the project manager. While this was indeed a fascinating experience, it was overwhelming to say the least. This was huge for our campus to have such a national figure, regarded as the "Black Attorney General" to come to our campus.

The security details, the speakers, the program, the marketing and promotions, getting students to attend, getting the public to attend - and did I mention the security details. That in itself is a whole separate blog. 

It's no secret that along with Atty. Crump's popularity comes the haters. And just before he was to attend our campus, he received credible death threats, which meant security had to be even tighter. Our campus security was not enough and getting local support proved to be straining. Without going through the rigmarole, we were able to secure four officers from the Salisbury Police Department, and Sheriff Garry McFadden of Mecklenburg County, who served on the panel, brought sheriff's deputies to supplement our detail. He was a lifesaver.

Unfortunately, no local law enforcement was represented on the panel though they were asked to participate. On calls with EJN, we had to defend that the city of Salisbury "is not" a sundown town. It is a reputation that precedes the city to the national audience but the truth is that Salisbury is progressing and diversifying. Now, the town of Faith, on the other  hand, which is located within Rowan County, is a different story and blog.

 

All's well that ends well. We (the Livingstone College team and EJN) executed a dynamic event with the largest crowd EJN has seen to date since traveling across the country with these panel discussions. Students and the public showed up in droves to the number of at least 800 in attendance. Security was on point and on guard and there were no incidents.

While planning for this event, which demanded my full attention on and off the clock, my 90-year-old mother got gout in her left foot, the first such attack in her elderly life. The pain caused her already slow gait to come to a near halt. It would take her one minute to take 5 steps it seemed. One medicine prescribed to her offered more side effects than relief that landed her in the hospital for dehydration.

But again, all's well that ends well. Today, she is on another medication and improving slowly.

Again, while planning this event, I was asked to speak at a fundraiser to support the construction of a school in the Back Bush community of Liberia. My goal was to memorize my speech - in preparation of doing a Ted Talk that is on my bucket list. But with all that was going on, the best I could do was write it down and read it like a rock star. What I didn't expect was for God to pinch my heart during the process and get me all choked up and emotional while delivering my remarks. 

I mean it came from out of nowhere. I was talking about my adopted son Hakim when suddenly, my voice started cracking and I was holding back the tears. Would this have happened had I memorized it? I don't know. But it worked and people were inspired by my story and experience in Liberia. 

The highlight was being able to donate $500 from HOLLA! Africa to the construction of the school - and of course dancing and the jollof rice.

On the same day the Ben Crump event ended, a Livingstone College colleague, who was doing a play at the Knight Theater in Charlotte, called to see if I could fill a role. The original actress was facing a health crisis with her mother and not sure she could continue. This was on Thursday and the play was three days later on Sunday.

Of course, I said yes. Acting is a passion of mine though I don't have time to commit to it as much as I would like. It would be a small role, but a BIG opportunity. I went to rehearsal that Friday for five hours, only to learn that the lady's mother was doing better and she would be in the show. But as God would have it, they found me another role to play - even smaller, but again, a BIG stage.

I had an amazing time sharing the stage that Sunday with the Prince of R&B Tony Terry,  R&B's Sunshine Anderson and Sunday Best winner Y'Anna Crawley. I told Tony Terry that I used to work with his father at the Richmond County Daily Journal and that one Christmas season years ago, I was invited over to interview him for a newspaper feature story. I got a chance to tell Sunshine Anderson that my classmate is Mark Sparks (Mark Blount), the one who basically discovered her. She said if not for him, no one would know her name.

After the show, we were out front in the lobby signing autographs and here I am, the one with the smallest part, sitting beside Tony Terry signing my name, too. 

As I sit here at the beach celebrating my birthday weekend (April 3) writing this blog, I am grateful to God for the all the times I've said yes and he has elevated and exposed me to experiences I thought I would never have. I've been to Africa three times; I've been the guest speaker for a program in Monrovia, Liberia; I've covered the arrival of President Barack Obama for the Democratic National Convention as a reporter; I've been in a play starring major music artists; and I've coordinated a visit by Atty. Ben Crump, just to name a few.

Me, a little black shy girl from Lilesville, NC, a one caution light kind of town, who was picked at while growing up for being too dark. Me, who was born out of wedlock but who has become a vital member of my family as I am the caregiver for our beloved mother. Me, who has overcome a domestic violent relationship and now know my worth. 

Dear God, I'll take another espresso shot, but this time, add cream and sugar. 

How did you get here? A matter of the heart

(This post was started on March 16, 2022, and completed on Feb. 22, 2023)

Never before have I paid this much attention to my heart. 

It may have something to do with this white box that is attached to my chocolate skin in the center of my chest on today, March 16, 2022.

Hello, my name is Kimberly and I'm wearing a heart monitor.

There was a song a few years ago by Deborah Cox that asks, "How did you get here. Nobody's suppose to be here?" The singer was talking about a man, a lover, who slipped into her heart pass the gatekeeper.

I'm asking the same question, but of this monitor. How did it get here? Ever since my sister died suddenly of a heart attack on Dec. 11, 2011 - the first of my eight siblings to transition - I've been careful about all matters of my heart, meaning holistic care.

A few months after her death, I scheduled an appointment with a cardiologist to see how my heart was doing. He gave me a stress test and said everything looked fine, and recommended that I take a low dose aspirin when I turned 50, which was 10 years away at that time. He told me how to eat heart healthy and sent me on my merry way.

Fast forward 11 years and a few weeks ago. I was on my evening commute home when suddenly, I experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness and heart palpitations. I pulled onto a side street named Southbound. There was a church just a stone's throw away that I had just passed, so I decided to go there because that landmark would make it easier for someone to find me.

I called 911 and the paramedics met me at the church. They did an EKG in the back of the ambulance, which turned out normal, but advised me to go to the hospital anyway. I declined and said I would be careful going home.

The next day, I had two more episodes so I checked myself into the ER at Novant Health Rowan Medical Center in Salisbury. They, too, ran several tests and again, nothing alarming was discovered. I did have a slight irregular heartbeat, but it could have been normal, the attending physician said, since they did not have another test to compare it to.

I decided to make an appointment with my cardiologist - yes, the same one I saw 10 years ago - and he decided I needed to wear a heart monitor. The timing was the worst as it was only a few weeks before my 52nd birthday. 

Though I've never worn a heart monitor before, my mom has. And technology has made it more bearable or should I say wearable. The clunky machine has been replaced with a cell phone. And not just any cell phone - sound the alarm - an Android. I'm a Samsung Galaxy kind of girl and defend it all of the time to my friends who are iPhone users. There is something about an iPhone that screams elitist and I'm more of an equalitarian.

But back to my Samsung Galaxy powered heart monitor.

After going to the hospital to get an echocardiogram, I had the nurse to attached the device to my chest. The white small box was conspicuous. I tried wearing clothing to cover the device but since I'm a fan of V-necks, that was nearly impossible.

Each time I felt a flutter, palpitation or heart pounding or racing, I was to note it on the Samsung Galaxy - notice the product placement again that is also conspicuous. I wore the device up until my birthday trip to Destin, Fla. I figured I had input enough data for the doctors to come to a diagnostic conclusion.

On my last full day in Destin, my best friend Patricia and I were at the beach playing volleyball and enjoying the sunshine when she said something to me that resonated. On January 2, my last living brother, Tommy, passed away with lung cancer. He wanted to live. He fought to live. I wanted him to win. God, instead, called him from labor to rest.

Patricia said, "You know, you've never really grieved your brother." I pondered what she said and realized, I had not. I am the primary caregiver of my elderly mother. I commute 3 hours a day back and forth to work. I have a demanding job as a public relations director for a private historically black college. I went straight from the funeral back to my normal routine of handling things the best I could. 

My brother was my best supporter in helping me to take care of my mother. He would elder sit and offer me time away to relax, relate and release. He never complained about doing it. He just showed up. I could count on him more than any of my remaining living siblings.

They say, you know the truth when you hear it. When Patricia said those words to me. I heard the truth. In a way, I was disappointed that God did not heal my brother. I never voiced it, but it was a real feeling bottled up inside of me.

That day, on a beach in Destin, Fla., I picked up a handful of sand, told God explicitly how I felt - that I was sort of angry with Him for not healing my brother, but that I accepted His will, though I didn't understand it. I tossed the sand into the sea and whispered a prayer of love and forgiveness and told my brother that I loved him.

 I will never forget that day. It was April 3, 2022, my 52nd birthday. And the day I set my heart free from stress, disappointment and heartache.

My heart didn't need a monitor. It needed liberation. It needed permission to grieve. It needed permission to cry. The anxiety attacks were simply alarms to get my attention to the deeper needs of my soul.

I'm happy to report that since that day, I have not had any more anxiety attacks or unexplained heart palpitations.

On that day, God gave me the best birthday gift ever: He gave me back my healthy heart - with a little sand in between my toes to boot.

T is for trials, tribulations - and Thanksgiving

I haven’t done this in a while: Write in my blog or make my list of the Top Ten Things I’m Thankful For.

I’ve been busy. Really busy.

I started a new and demanding job in June. I never imagined working for Livingstone College, but it has been the most wonderful experience thus far.

From meeting new people and making new friends to learning new things and being inspired to achieve more for myself, this journey has proven to be necessary for my personal and professional growth.

But life keeps happening - no matter the journey.

A little more than a month after taking the new job, the unthinkable happened to my best friend. He was injured by a relative. Stabbed. In the neck. While he slept.

He was hospitalized for 11 days.

He would be the first to say he is a walking miracle. I would be the second and the LOUDEST.

His family doctor is still in awe over how the main artery was dodged. It was nothing short of divine intervention. We know it was God Almighty, our fortress and tower in times of trouble.

Many wonderful things happened from this tragedy, though. He would be the first to say that as a result of all the good consequences, he would go through it again if necessary. (I would like to think that’s an exaggeration – just in case the angels are listening.)

Family situations were reconstructed and resolved. Prayer meetings were held nightly in the waiting rooms. New friendships were forged and old ones were renewed. Family ties were strengthened. Doubt was eliminated. Faith was rekindled.

I’ve learned that that’s the way God is. He intervenes in a way that we least expect sometimes. While we’re looking left, He’s coming from the right. While we’re looking up, He’s tapping us on our shoulders. While we’re sleeping, He’s controlling the hands of evil. And while we’re healing and recovering, He’s rearranging our circumstances.

I understand better now the Scripture of James 1:2-4: My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.

Of course it doesn’t feel good when we’re going through tribulations, but if we persist through them with faith, hope, love and an unwavering belief in God and his power, life will be as it should be on the other side of it.

So this year, though it sounds odd to the ear, I’m thankful for my trials and tribulations. Without them, I would not have made new friends and gotten reacquainted with old ones; I would not have a renewed devotion to an enduring friendship; and I would not have witnessed a miracle, a testament to God’s mercy and grace.

My best friend would be the first to say this is what he is thankful for, too. But I would be the second ... and the LOUDEST.

(Wait, I was the first to say it. Oh well ...)

Aging best motivator of all

I could write my own book on all I’ve learned over the years from self-help publications.

Yeah, I’m a fan. Some people puke at the idea of digesting this genre, but I swallow up the concepts with a big spoon.

And try to apply them to my life.

Live the life you imagine.

Start your day with positive affirmations.

Put feet to your prayers.

That thing you wanted to be as a child is what your true purpose is.

In order to get something you’ve never had, you must do something you’ve never done.

Follow your instinct.

Jump.

Don’t go in the red room. (Ooops, wrong book)

My point is, I’ve read it all, tried it all, been there, done that.

And yet, my big breakthrough doesn’t appear to be on the horizon.

I’m always searching for that one thing that will get me so focused on attaining my dreams that I have to remember to breathe.

I must confess, my biggest deterrent has been procrastination. So, for Lent, I gave it up. I made a list of things I needed to do and vowed to complete them in 40 days.

Cue the music: I checked off everything except for one. I’m so proud of me.

One of the things I put into practice was turning off the TV and doing something productive instead. Bye-bye “Scandal,” “Empire” and “Greenleaf” – at least until Saturday morning when I could binge watch them all.

I got the turning off the TV part down pact. It was the productive part that, well, wasn’t so productive. I found myself talking on the phone or browsing Facebook instead of doing something constructive.

But I’m a believer of small steps making up a journey, so kudos to me – if I must say so myself – for taking the first step in turning off the tube.

Back to that one thing that will get me focused. I think I found it. It was on April 3 of this year when I turned another year older.

This birthday reminded me that I might not have as many years ahead of me as I have behind me. Strike that – let me make this positive: If I live as long as I have, I will be grateful. (See, told you I’ve learned some things.)

If I want to live the life I have imagined for myself, I must start now, while I’m still in my right mind, able-bodied, and can enjoy the fruits of my labor.

So, the best birthday present I can give to myself is to get started on fulfilling my dreams and hope my contributions to this world will make an impact on someone or something.

I declare and decree that from this day forward, I will take action and incorporate the seven habits of highly effective people to live my best life now to reach my destiny rather than focus on who moved my cheese so that I may think and grow rich in my purpose driven life before I turn 50 shades darker (oops, wrong book again.)

Taking care of aging parents requires balancing act

Two years ago, I became a half sandwich. (Keep reading.)

No only did I return to journalism after a six-year hiatus, I also moved back home – with mom.

While both have presented their own challenges, a free-spirited, adventurous single woman in her prime having to tone it way down to accommodate an elderly parent wins the gold.

I love my mom. She is 84 years old, still works part time, and can still cook and clean for herself whenever she wants. She is independent, strong and determined – sometimes to a fault.

After her two live-in grandchildren went to college, she was left home alone and we didn’t want that, especially at night.

So we called a family meeting two years ago and I drew the shortest straw. Well, not really, but I was an obvious choice as I was the only single, eligible female sibling – and I called the meeting.

I am the youngest of eight children. I had five sisters and two brothers. One sister died in 2011 and one of my brothers just died this past March.

My oldest brother shares a home with his daughter. My brother who recently died was not in the best of health during the family meeting, so his moving back home was not a viable option.

All of my sisters are married except for one who lives in an assisted living facility.

So, like I said, I came into the family meeting with a home-sweet-home bulls-eye on my back.

After all was said and done, I asked my siblings if they would give me one free weekend a month away from home to “just do me,” as the young people say.

 

Taking care of an elderly parent, even if they are semi-independent, is far from easy. It is a labor of love.

In addition to your own needs and to-do tasks, you have to keep up with theirs – and they want it done yesterday.

There are doctors’ appointments that must be scheduled and met, and medicines that have to be refilled, picked up and arranged in reminder containers. Because my mom still works, transportation to and from her job also has to be arranged when I’m not available.

Studies show that the number of adults taking care of aging parents has tripled in the past 15 years because people are living longer.

The sandwich generation is a title given to people in their 30’s or 40’s who are raising their own children and taking care of their aging parents.

I don’t have children although I helped raise my niece who is now in college. So what do you call people in their 30’s or 40’s without children who are taking care of their elderly parents?

One research result on the Internet showed a term called open faced sandwich. Open faced because it only contains one piece of bread – the missing piece are the children, I guess.

I prefer to call it the half-sandwich generation. I’m partial to two slices of bread because I may not have children, but that other slice represents a life, career and significant social and community connections that add value to my life.

I have a few other friends who are also in the half-sandwich generation and are dealing with the same types of challenges – which is balancing the responsibility of caring for an aging parent while also holding on to what defines you.

It is indeed a balancing act. And one that we all feel is unbalanced most of the time.

Studies also show that caregivers of aging parents tend to neglect caring for themselves.

We all agree, however, that the joy of it all is getting to know our parents on a deeper level and spending more quality time with them. That yields a satisfaction like no other.

And it doesn’t hurt to know that God is pleased with us. The Scripture 1 Timothy 5:3-4, 8 (New International Version) says, “Give proper recognition to those widows who are really in need. But if a widow has children or grandchildren, these should learn first of all to put their religion into practice by caring for their own family and so repaying their parents and grandparents, for this is pleasing to God. Anyone who does not provide for their relatives, and especially for their own household, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.”

This tips the scale in our favor.

Share your story

Are you or someone you know in the sandwich or half sandwich generation and would like to share your story in a developing book on the topic of caring for an aging parent? Your story could inspire others who are living through it and offer ways to cope with the challenges it brings.

E-mail twiceachildbook@gmail.com and give a brief description of your experience, either past or present, and contact information.

I pledge to reclaim Thanksgiving Day

If I were Thanksgiving, I would feel a bit underappreciated.

Seems like we go straight from Halloween to Christmas cheer and leave the one holiday where we are to show gratitude lost in the transition.

To add insult to injury, businesses and retail giants are opening up on Thanksgiving Day to lure in customers looking for the best holiday deals – for Christmas.

A few years ago, at least, we would finish up Thanksgiving dinner and rush our families out the doors so we could slip in a nap before having to be at Wal-Mart by 5 a.m.

Now, we gobble up the turkey meal, hop in the car and go over the river and through the woods to the nearest shopping outlet, we go.

Poor, Thanksgiving. I can imagine how it must feel.

Dismissing this holiday says a lot about the moral character of this country.

According to a 2014 article from The Truth about moral decline in America:

• Fewer people attend church and nearly one-fifth of all adults have no religious affiliation;

• America has the highest divorce rate in the world;

• More than half of all couples move in together before they get married;

• The average young American will spend 10,000 hours playing video games before the age of 21;

• Average SAT scores have been falling for years;

• The rate of violent crime in the U.S. is increasing;

• America has the highest rate of illegal drug use on the entire planet;

• America has the highest incarceration rate and the largest total prison population in the entire world by a wide margin; and the discouraging list goes on and on…

Mahatma Gandhi said, “You must be the change you want to see in the world.”

Well, here goes. I pledge the following:

I refuse to allow society to alter my idea of Thanksgiving. I will not interrupt family time to get to Belk’s. (Now, if all the family members have left already, that’s a different story.)

I will not compromise storytelling, laughter and a second piece of cake with my sisters for a lawn chair and a blanket outside in the cold waiting for a store’s coupon.

I will embrace every single minute of Thanksgiving, every delicious bite of smoked turkey and chitterlings (yeah, I said it), and every mouth-watering piece of dessert without my mind wandering if I really need another 34-piece food storage set as I gaze the leftovers.

I will welcome our family tradition of holding hands and telling what we’re thankful for without thanking God in advance for the pair of boots I plan to buy on Black Friday.

I will enjoy seeing the men in the living room watching football while the women clean the kitchen. (Wait a minute. On second thought, not.)

Bottom line: I will not forsake Thanksgiving for Black Friday. Friday will come and yes, I will be out there hunting for deals like most consumers.

But – it will be FRIDAY and not THURSDAY, Thanksgiving Day.

Who will join me in this crusade to reclaim Thanksgiving for its true purpose? Gratitude, fellowship and family – not deals and steals.

Have a happy Thanksgiving, wholeheartedly.

Willingness to forgive is easier said than done

Oftentimes, I like to flip through my book of daily devotions for women and read whatever page it stops on, rather than going to the current date.

This was the case a couple of weeks ago. And the page I “divinely” stopped on spoke of forgiveness: “A Willingness to Forgive.”

I pondered the appropriateness of this topic for my personal life. I searched my heart and even whispered within myself that I didn’t have “ought or fault” against anyone, so why would I need a lesson on forgiveness?

Fast forward a few days later and the unspeakable happened. A white 21-year-old man walked into Emanuel A.M.E. Church in Charleston and sat with the Bible study attendees for almost an hour before shooting nine of them, including the pastor, multiple times.

People were outraged and angry – and rightly so. I was, too. Still am.

So it was stunning to hear the victims’ family members express their forgiveness to the shooter during his first court appearance via video only a couple of days later.

They forgave him? Already?

Of course as Christians we’re suppose to forgive others. We recite it in the Lord’s Prayer: “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

In order for God to forgive us, we must forgive others. This is easier to do when someone says something to offend you, or admits they lied to you or even betrays your trust.

But murder in the first degree – nine times – because of the color of someone’s skin? This is tough to even fathom in the 21^st century let alone forgive.

Yet, the family members of the victims remarkably did. As I write this, tears well in my eyes because of their terrific courage and their unshakable love to do what is right.

That itself is the greatest testament to the legacy of the lives lost. The family members credited their slain loved ones’ influence and teachings as the inspiration for their forgiveness.

I have several Christian friends and acquaintances who are struggling with forgiving this shooter, some of them ministers.

They are not there yet. They wrangle with praying for him.

I’ll be honest, I thought I was there. That is until I paid my respects to Senator Clementa Pinckney and the other eight victims last week when I visited Emanuel AME.

To walk into that beautiful edifice and know the evil those parishioners encountered is emotionally overwhelming.

It almost feels more natural not to forgive him.

Yet I am reminded of the page from my daily devotion: “God’s commandments are not intended to be customized for the particular whims of particular believers. God’s word is not a menu from which each of us may select items á la carte, according to our own desires. God’s holy word is a book that must be taken in its entirety; all of God’s commandments are to be taken seriously. And, so it is with forgiveness.”

Forgiveness is difficult, but it is God’s way – and it must be ours, too.

Sure we’re allowed to be angry. But we must not sin in our anger. Forgiving him does not minimize what he did. It does not excuse his behavior. Instead, it promotes our healing and helps our hearts to mend. It is more for us.

Anthony Thompson, the husband of slain Myra Thompson, told the shooter, “We would like you to take this opportunity to repent. Repent, confess, give your life to the one who matters most: Christ. So that he can change it, can change your ways no matter what happened to you and you’ll be OK. Do that and you’ll be better off than what you are right now.”

How incredible and what spiritual fortitude to pray for the soul of the person who killed your loved one? Their response to this tragedy is a lesson in unconditional love and we must follow the path they are forging for us.

As I waited in line to enter the church last week, a minister stood behind me. I asked him if he, too, were encountering Christians who were having trouble forgiving the shooter.

“Yes,” he answered. “In order for people to forgive, they must have the love of God in their heart. You can’t do it without the love of God.”

As we continue to pray for the victims’ families, as we continue to pray for Charleston, as we pray for improved race relations, remember to pray for your fellow Christians who are struggling with forgiveness.

Because in this case, it is easier said than done.

My Best April - Part 3 (final in a series)

Hustle and flow: Will pose for tips

My gaping over the extreme extravagance of Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, Calif., was suddenly interrupted:

“Excuse me, would you like to support our high school football program. We are selling these candy bars?”

“How much?”

“$10.”

“For a king size candy bar? Really? No thank you. We’ll just give you a donation.”

And we gave him $4 and walked away.

Even if I thought he was legitimate, I wouldn’t have given him $10 for a candy bar that I could buy from CVS two for $3.

My intuitive nature, however, tells me he was more of a hustler instead of a high school football player.

I was actually quite surprised to be propositioned on the rich and famous Rodeo Drive. It caught me totally off guard. Amid the expensive, fancy cars, and the exquisite buildings donning popular designer names, this hustler stood out like a knock off Michael Kors. (I know because I have one).

This got me to thinking: Hustling is everywhere and the business of it is evolving. Yes, it is a business. Some of these artists make a lot of money.

Last year while visiting downtown Charlotte, a street dancer was performing on a corner. I pulled out my cell phone to take a photo and he pointed at me, then to a sign on a box near his feet that read: A donation for photos.

Now I didn’t want a photo with him. I just wanted a photo of him. I was going to tip him anyway – after I took the photo – because I respect good talent. But his demanding gesture caused me to tip less than I would have.

While in Vegas, several street musicians were a bit aggressive in having spectators pay first before taking a photo or video.

This perturbs me. Even a restaurant only applies your tip  “after” you eat. Here’s the deal: If you’re in a public place, people can photograph or videotape you – without your permission and whether you’re performing or not – and do not have to tip.

Tipping street musicians is a courtesy, and a good one to possess. But these artists need to keep in mind they perform at the mercy of our generosity and that’s a risk they take.

I found myself on this vacation tipping more to those who seemed to simply enjoy sharing their gifts, those who appreciated the fact that we paused our hustle and bustle to acknowledge and value their talent.

Now, people who want to take photos with cartoon or super hero characters are a different story. These people are not performing. They are simply in costume. If you want someone dressed as Batman to stop and pose in a photo with you, the Dark Knight is going to ask for a tip. After all, he has to stop and strike a pose.

But why do we pay to have photos taken with the Transformers or the Avengers or Michael Jackson lookalikes?

When we’re at Disney World, Mickey and Minnie don’t charge us for photos. But on the Vegas strip, it’ll cost you to pose with Elvis.

It’s all hustle and flow, and I don’t knock anyone who is trying to make a living. For some street musicians, it’s a way to expose their talents or to supplement their income.

For the cast of characters, it’s a way to make easy, quick money from enthralled tourists.

I respect the game. All I ask is that you be nice about it.

So when planning your vacation, keep a few loose dollar bills in your pocket not only for the tour guide, the bellhop and the friendly waitress, but also for SpongeBob SquarePants, the break dancer, the street magician, Superman, the bagpipes player, the showgirls … and for a $10 candy bar in case you get hungry.

Yep, I had to tip for this photo.

My Best April - Part 2

Spiritual lessons of the Grand Canyon

“I can’t wait to see this big ditch.”

Day two of my West Coast getaway was spent on a bus tour to the Grand Canyon.

We couldn’t possibly get this close to "the big ditch" and not go see it. (Close is relative.)

While I had an interest in seeing the canyon, it was on my traveling partner’s must-see list in life. For as long as I’ve known him, he has always wanted to visit the Grand Canyon.

When booking the tour, the hotel concierge offered us a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon.

My eyes widened with eagerness. “Yes,” I said.

“No,” he uttered. The turbulence on the plane ride to Las Vegas was enough off-the-ground excitement for him.

So we opted for the bus tour – one that departed at 6:25 a.m. and wouldn’t return until 10 p.m. that night. I wasn’t quite expecting an all-day excursion. I was thinking more like a half day. We go, we see, we conquer, and return to the hypnotizing neon lights of Vegas.

Not. It took half a day just to get there. We didn’t arrive to “the big ditch” until 2:30 p.m. But mind you, it wasn’t a direct trip. We stopped for photo opportunities at the Hoover Dam and then at a gift shop on Historic Route 66, the first major U.S. Highway.

So far, so good. No, make that so far, so great. The bus driver/tour guide was comical; we sat near a friendly couple from Greensboro, N.C., which is where our flight departed; and the honey baked ham lunches the tour provided were yummy for our tummies.

The only annoying part was a couple sitting directly in front of us who must have been on their honeymoon. They couldn’t keep their hands – or lips for that matter – off of each other. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of public display of affection, but they needed a room and at one point, I was willing to pay for it to get them off the bus.

Anyway, we finally arrived at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon National Park, which stands 7,700 feet above sea level. According to the guide, the United States only owns 50 miles of the Grand Canyon, which is the park part. The rest of the 277-mile world wonder belongs to Native Americans.

The guide says way back when, the U.S. saw the canyon as a hindrance – as in how could it be crossed rather than seeing its geological grandeur and beauty.

Fast forward hundreds of years and the Grand Canyon gets five million visitors per year. Entranceway into the national park features an airport – dubbed the biggest smallest airport in the world. It was an airport crash there that led to the formation of the Federal Aviation Administration, says the guide.

The national park itself consists of six hotels, a restaurant, grocery store, fire department, medical clinic and a school – all for the employees and their families who live at the park. Yes, you read correctly. Employees live at the Grand Canyon.

If your environment affects your mood, those should be some of the happiest people in the world. To awaken each day to such natural beauty and breathtaking views is life at its grandest.

The Grand Canyon looks like a rock city. The varying heights of the cliffs and the different colors of the rock layers paint a natural masterpiece, one that the mighty Colorado River helped to carve at least five million years ago.

It is spiritual there, to say the least. Our spirits immediately connected with the awesome God that created this. One can only stand in awe and reverence not only the creation, but the creator.

There are many lessons to learn from its formation. Like how a persistent, faithful river didn’t allow a mountain to stand in its way – and neither should we. Instead, it carved its way through it and like so, we should persist in life when confronted with obstacles that appear as mountains.

Like how erosion of the rock layers reveals the beauty of the canyon – so is our strength and character revealed during breakdowns in life. It may take years to see the results of our faithfulness, but at the right time, it will show itself and leave us in awe – as does the Grand Canyon.

“It was amazing. It was breathtaking,” my friend said of seeing it. “I had always heard about the Grand Canyon and wanted to go but I never imagined it. You can never imagine it. You can see pictures but you can’t imagine what it really looks like until you see it in person.”

And after seeing it in person, it’s no longer fair to call it a “big ditch.” It’s much more than that.