With Special Thanks to Miriam and Benjamin

*The images in this post are all personal family photos*

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It was Wednesday night, my family's one day out of the week to commune with God's people in God's house at our church in Berkeley, California. Surely my son was ready to rush home and play with his toys once more before going to bed, but I just had to know. Plus, I had already been standing in line to receive a prophecy for almost an hour. What would it have looked like if I would have just given up my spot, gathered my family and our belongings, and called it a night?

Skepticism, insecurity, and anxiety overcame my entire being. Though the optimist in me kept thinking, "What might he tell me? What insight might God relay to him to speak over little ol' me?"

Only God knew the extent of my desire to hear a word directly from His tongue.

Through the enduring of self-doubt, discouragement, and downright heartache, I believed my patience, dedication, and consistency had led me to this exact opportunity—a chance to hear the future works of the Lord in my life.

Finally, it was my turn. My heart raced rapidly like it did when I was on albuterol medication as a small child. The prophet put one hand over my stomach and the other over my head. He then declared, “I rarely get this from God. He’s saying, ‘Just name it.’ ‘Name it, and it is yours.’ He also wants me to tell you that you are central. Even if you don’t have the title, everything runs through you one way or the other.” He removed his hands from my body and gestured for me to walk back to my seat.

To say the least, I was utterly disappointed. I felt gypped, especially since every other person before me received a very thorough and detailed prophecy from God. C’mon, you know, the kind that makes you drop to your knees and weep uncontrollably. But, what could I do? That was all the man had for me... I guess.

I can’t exactly say how and why I ended up with my family in the Bay Area. Truly, only God knows. I mean, I could tell you what I tell everyone else: my husband is in the tech industry, and I aspire to do something in the field of communications and media technologies. So, we moved out here to take advantage of the overload of opportunity.

To be fair though, that honestly is part of the reason. However, it didn’t work out as smoothly as that explanation makes it out to be. What I can confidently share with you is how my life all started.

Well, I was born and raised in the south. My birthplace is Tampa, Florida, but I grew up in the Atlanta metropolitan area for the majority of my life. I lived there, up until this point.

My whole existence is based on my walk with Christ, my dedication to family, my love of gospel, R&B, and hip-hop music, attention to civil rights and African American history, and, you guessed it, eating and cooking Soul Food. What kind of Southern Black woman would I be if I wasn’t indulging in the main component of Southern Hospitality?

When I was a baby, my mother and father sent me to live with my grandparents in their traditional ranch style Florida home. They stayed behind in Georgia with my sister.

From what I hear, my sister, whom was 3 years older and went to the same daycare facility as me, didn't feel the workers were tending to me as well as they should have been. In order for my parents to continue to work full time in their corporate America positions and provide financially, they reached out to my grandparents. Of course, they jumped at the chance to be my temporary caretakers.

My grandmother, Miriam, was a quick to curse you out one moment then hand you the shirt off her back the next moment type of old-fashioned Black woman. She was extremely loyal and devoted to serving those she loved most but also quick to call you out on your B.S.

The other part of the duo was my grandfather, Benjamin, or Billy, as everyone would call him. He was sensitive, kind-hearted, and passionate but stubborn, at times.

During this time in my life, Grandmama and Papa were my main sources of love, affection, and emotional security.

Ahh, I still remember the old-school multi-colored bulbs they had in their ceiling fan. My earliest memory is of me crawling across the brown shaggy carpet in their living room. My grandmother would stop whatever she was doing to exclaim, “Billy, look at the baby!” These reactions— enveloped in wonderment—continued throughout the time God granted for them to spend with me here on Earth.

Whether styling myself in colorful outfits and putting on fashion shows from sun up to sun down, developing creative stories about French toast and bacon themed superheroes with humanistic features, writing and producing songs to perform or enter into contests, or securing spots on my school’s student council and news broadcast teams, my Grandparents never failed to remind me just how proud they were of all of my accomplishments. They always assured me that I could never fail them.

There were also times when they guided me through events that somewhat scarred me emotionally, such as the time the whole 7th grade decided to follow my former-turned-evil best friend. Because of my strong foundation rooted in faith, love, and a deep level of self worth, I powered through “Don’t Talk to Courtney Day” just like my ancestors persevered, despite all the torment that was thrown their way.

It’s statistically proven that by age 3, children have already developed a sense of self-identity and will communicate the essence of that identity through their words, actions, and demeanors for the remainder of their lives.

Could it be a coincidence that God would tell me, “Just name it? Name it, and it’s yours?” Was I upset because maybe I didn’t believe that God would be this straight to the point and direct with me?

Keep in mind that at an early age, I was raised by Miriam, the first Black person to receive a manager position at Tampa’s former leading multi-million-dollar department store, Maas Brothers. She was the matriarch of her family.

Oh, and don’t forget Benjamin—he bulldozed his way through hate and bigotry while playing on various Negro League Baseball teams. After baseball, he went on to own several of his own service stations and apartment complexes and gave back to the community by mentoring and coaching little league baseball players.

I have to remember who I am— I am a product of those who have come before me.

My ancestors were stripped from their homes and forced to survive in foreign lands. They had no choice but to build a solid foundation from the ground up. They casted their cares upon the Lord and trusted in Him to sustain and guide them.

So, why wouldn’t the fruitful seeds they’ve sewn not come back to me? Wouldn’t I want to live my life in a way that causes God to bless future generations of my lineage? Well, yes, of course.

This is why He has planted me as a central member in his army.

Through my art, I believe I will not only leave a legacy that will impact my descendants and my community, but I will produce works that will glorify and magnify His name.

Without living and spending so much time with my grandma and grandpa at such an impressionable age, I don’t think I would have seen life from this beautiful perspective. I am blessed to say that at the young age of 25, I understand the sacredness of living and working for my past, present, and future.

For that, I give special thanks to both Miriam and Benjamin and to all those who carried on before me.

Let me know in the comments what and who has made you who you are. What drives you in life?