I don’t know what’s to come. The future feels overwhelming, but I remind myself that I am not yet overcome. My hope and prayer are that this moment will pass, and the seeds I’ve planted will yield a harvest of abundance—not just for me, but for the community we are building.

In gratitude, other emotions—fear, doubt, exhaustion—can also coexist, but they do not define me. For all of us standing on the bridge between what was and what could be, may we keep our heads high. The defeat has not defeated us. The loss has not lost us.

Community is more than a gathering of people with shared identities or common interests. It is a declaration of commitment, a pledge to be each other's keeper, to pursue justice for all people, and to recognize that our destinies are woven together. We are each other's harvest, bound by a shared purpose to uplift, support, and stand resolute in the face of adversity.

Despite this understanding, I choose to live in hope. I strive to engage in the struggle alongside my community, seeking those spaces where we can experience true freedom, healing, and wholeness. That is why I cast my vote for Kamala Harris in her bid for the presidency—not because I expect her to solve all our problems, but because we are each other's hope.

This past year has tested me in ways I could never have anticipated. There were times when faith felt like the only thing holding me up, times when I needed others to help carry the weight, to hug me through the hurt, and to remind me that I am worthy of the love I try to share with the world. And as challenging as it was, I made it through. I was held, cared for, and loved, and I was reminded, over and over, that faith is not something I can only speak of but something I must live in.

At the end of it all, when the final sentence has been written and the last page is bound, one question remains: did you do your work? And not just any work—did you do it with courage and integrity? Did you infuse it with your unique style and presence, honoring the people and traditions that shaped you? Did you carry out each action with the future in mind, creating a legacy for those who will come after you?

Every day at The Clearing Community Center, I strive to build a world where people can live in fullness and freedom—a world that my uncle would be proud of. This story, his story, is my “why.” It’s the reason I push forward, even in moments of despair. My uncle’s memory lives on in everything we do, and we continue to build this vision of community and justice with his spirit as our guide.

To everyone who steps into The Clearing, you’re not just visitors—you become part of this family, part of the journey we’re building together. My heart is full of gratitude for each of you, and I know that as we continue to show up for each other, peace, love, joy, justice, mercy, and compassion will always be with us.

There is a child sitting at an abandoned riverbank.

God doesn’t do the same thing twice.

Each day it’s a new set of miracles, signs, and wonders.

Each moment is another declaration that God is good all the time.

Beyond shared identity and deeply rooted in shared politic and character. Community challenges convenience— demanding us to honor values, to confront and correct.

For this last week of my music and movement program— I’m honored to flow to a playlist through the times honoring Women who Rap. This full body flow will build off of the last few weeks and empower us to find the layers where we are most free, healed, and whole.

For Week Three of my Black History Month: Music and Movement Program, I’ve crafted a hips and hamstring focused class to the sounds of those good ole church hymns. Music, just like movement, has the ability to make clear of what was never available to us.

If it is true, like I believe in my very essence, God is in everyone and everything, let us from the top of the world to the bottom, call out for Mercy.

I miss the feeling of being on the altar; in the church where I first saw the light, but because they’ve freed me: my being is now the altar.

How do we find a dwelling space where love isn’t secretive or illusive? If not in this world, shouldn’t our homes, where only the walls witness everything, be space enough for love's truth?

I keep thinking about the stories we don’t know about those people who made it out or through or at least to the next generation. I want to know them. Feel them. Squeeze and study them.