When I grew up, we had dinner together around the dining room table. In the kitchen, my mother was the primary cook of all the meals.

There were times me or my sister had to get dinner started if we arrived home before our mother. I made many mistakes, but they were never criticized at the table. But we all knew when it was bad; like the time I fried the chicken too fast.

The two-week emotional ride in the land of my ancestors with a rich, complex history, can’t be fully explored in a single blog post. But there is one thought that rises to the top of the entire experience:

What does it mean to extend hospitality and what does it mean to receive it?

Recently, I watched “Fight the Power: How Hip-Hop changed the World”, a 4-part documentary produced by Chuck D., member of the legendary rap group Public Enemy. I found the documentary by accident scrolling through television channels. I was captivated. I love music and history. This was an event that used both to remind some and educate many on the social context the genre of Hip-Hop was birthed out of.

When I walked into the Women’s Sewing Center in Kamina, Democratic Republic of the Congo, the smell of the fabric, the smiles on the beautiful brown faces and black sewing machines told me my mother was present.

This center trains young women to become entrepreneurs as tailors. It is one of the ministries of the United Methodist Church.

When I looked at myself, I was unrecognizable and that unsettled me. I was going to call the stylist and have my hair cut shorter, but I waited. Twenty-four hours and many YouTube videos later, I fell in love with my hair and received compliments beyond what I had expected.

Recently, my aunt and mother’s youngest sister handed me a bag of aprons she’d been storing in her attic and wanted me to have them. I returned home with the bag and put it on the shelf in my bedroom closet. Weeks later when I saw her, I asked her about them. “I don’t want these aprons to carry ghosts of unknown dead people in my house.” I joked. “No, all those aprons belonged to someone in the family,” she said.

I walked into my local grocery store and was greeted by a display of beautiful flowers. “I don’t recall seeing those here before,” I thought as I shared my admiration of the bouquets with another shopper.

I continued to shop for the few items I needed and remembered one item not on my list. Making my way to get that item, I heard someone say, “There are a lot of Mother’s Day cards this year!” I stopped in my tracks; frozen. A well of emotions made its way from my heart and begged to be released in a surge of tears along with a loud scream. “You better not lose your shit now!!” said my reasonable self.

A few weekends ago, I returned to my home church to participate in a pop-up shop. The event was a vendor show celebrating Mother’s Day hosted by the church’s United Women in Faith unit. It has been a tradition for this event to happen once or twice a year.

I was invited to have a space to display and sell my aprons. I was happy to do so. For months I had been sewing many aprons with the fabric I had on hand. So, I didn’t have much to do to get ready, but to show up in Cincinnati.

I love the rain. I always have.

I love to listen as rain falls against the leaves on trees and trickles down its branches.

I love road trips! I enjoy traveling to a destination in a car or truck, especially with my husband.

On our first road trip together, I thought I had hit the jackpot. I had always wanted a partner to travel with but had never met that person until Curnell. He was chill. He read the road signs and mile markers, he knew how long it would take to get from place to place, he didn’t require a lot, and was happy to let me drive when I wanted to

WOW! A recent blog entry from Gwen Henderson’s Reboot, Rejuvenate, Resurrect titled Inconvenient hit my heart. It summed up exactly what I am feeling. One line in particular:

Deepak Chopra says, “All great changes are preceded by chaos.” I don’t know if this change will be great, but it is chaotic. My apple cart is upset. I feel a bit vulnerable and exposed.

Yes! I was feeling all of that. I read the line as I sat waiting for a flight returning home from South Carolina where my husband accepted a pastoral appointment to begin July 1; months away!

Recently, my husband shared an article from a friend who lived in Atlanta with the headline, “Within 12 hours, 14 young people were harmed by gun violence in Georgia.”

It’s hard to settle with the statistics related to the impact of gun violence in the United States. Each day, there is a report of the shooting in the local news. It saddens me that freedom looks like the right to carry an automatic weapon.

This article prompted a question: How can we cease to find a way to curb gun violence but continue to be riled up against a curriculum in schools that shares all American history?

Through life, our instinct is to keep our head down, stay focused on our goals and keep working to be the best we can be for ourselves and family. Yet, I bet while we are looking down, we are missing people standing in front of us seeking a kind word of encouragement in this harsh world that makes it hard for some to keep going. We all have an encouraging word to share.

I was bored while waiting for the cake to finish baking its last 15 minutes. As the vanilla scent engulfed my apartment, I remembered I had to wait for the cake to cool before slicing. I was proud to accomplish making a cake like my grandmother seemed to do every Sunday.

I am a second-generation Cincinnati Bengals fan. My father was a fan and indoctrinated his wife and children to the club.

Each Fall, we began to gear up and plan Sundays to gather at our parent’s house to watch the Bengals. Some Sundays, I may have cut out of church a bit early.