Tag: faith

Image

John Mitchell : The Editor Who Refused One Lane

Posted in Black History Month, faith, God, inspiration, money, selfhelpTagged , , , , Leave a comment

Before panels. Before pundits. Before public relations teams.

There was a young editor in Richmond, Va. who believed ink could confront power.

John Mitchell Jr. took over the Richmond Planet at just 21 years old and turned it into one of the boldest Black newspapers in America.

He investigated lynchings when others excused them.
He printed names when silence was safer.
He challenged railroads, city officials, and mobs with documented truth.

And when threats came, he did not retreat quietly. History records that he publicly confronted intimidation and reportedly carried a pistol — because truth-telling in Virginia required readiness.

But Mitchell did not stop at journalism.

He helped lead Mechanics Savings Bank in Jackson Ward because he understood something deeper:
Information without economic power is fragile. He believed Black communities needed more than headlines.
They needed institutions.

And in 1921, he did something audacious.
He ran for governor of Virginia.
He did not win.
But the audacity mattered.

He refused one lane.
Journalism.
Banking.
Politics.
Different tools. Same mission.

The Richmond Planet ceased publication in 1938.

And just last week, the Richmond Free Press — another powerful Black Richmond institution and sister in spirit — announced its final issue.

Different centuries. Same soil.
Printing presses may rest. Witness does not.

CARRY THIS WITH YOU
Where have you limited yourself to one lane when your calling may require more? Mitchell reminds us that leadership is not about title — it is about refusal to shrink.

Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy.” — Proverbs 31:9

BREADCRUMB
Sometimes the work God gives you is not just to speak truth, but to build structure strong enough to hold it.

SALUTE
We see you, John Mitchell Jr. — for confronting power, building institutions, and daring to run.

Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here.

Image

Bill “Bojangles” Robinson — The Man Who Danced Forward

Posted in Black History Month, faith, God, inspiration, love, money, relationships, selfhelp, Uncategorized, workTagged , , , , , , 2 Comments

Born in 1878 in Richmond’s Jackson Ward, Bill “Bojangles” Robinson did not inherit ease. He inherited survival.

Orphaned young, he found rhythm before he found security. Instead of letting the world bend his back, he stood straight and tapped anyway.

He did not shuffle.

He clarified tap. Clean lines. Upright posture. Dignity in every strike of the shoe.

He
• Redefined tap dancing
• Became one of the highest-paid entertainers of his era
• Performed with excellence on segregated stages without lowering himself
• Created the legendary stair dance
• Gave generously back to Richmond

And when the city would not install a traffic light in Jackson Ward to protect Black children crossing the street, he did not argue.

He reached into his own pocket. He paid for the light. Not for praise. For protection.

Today his bronze statue stands in Jackson Ward beneath that light, shoes mid step, forever guarding the intersection.

On screen with Shirley Temple, he smiled.
Off screen, he built safety.

And Scripture whispers underneath his steps:

“Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings; he shall not stand before mean men.”
— Proverbs 22:29

He stood before kings.
But he made sure children could cross safely at home.

From Jackson Ward to Broadway lights, he proved something we still hold close:

You can climb the stairs without bowing.
And you can light the street when the city will not.

And somewhere in Jackson Ward, if you listen close enough, you can still hear the stairs answering his shoes.

May we be the kind of people who do not just climb them, but leave the light on behind us.


BREADCRUMB
Sometimes progress dances—and still changes the street.


We see you, Bill “Bojangles” Robinson — for dancing forward and making the way safer behind you.


Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here.

Image

Lucy Diggs Slowe — The Woman Who Wouldn’t Play Small

Posted in Black History Month, God, inspiration, UncategorizedTagged , , , Leave a comment

Lucy Diggs Slowe was born in 1885, right here in Virginia. Sharp-minded. Observant. The kind of girl who noticed early on when the rules didn’t quite add up—and instead of shrugging, she kept the numbers in her head.
Lucy loved learning, but she loved fairness more.


She went to college at a time when that alone made a statement. Then she went and won a national tennis championship, not because she was trying to make history, but because she liked to compete and she was good at it. First Black woman to do that. No speeches. No victory lap. Just excellence.


Later, at Howard University, Lucy started seeing something that bothered her. Black women students were being monitored, managed, and micromanaged—while Black men were being prepared for leadership.

Lucy didn’t raise her voice about it. She raised the standard.


She became the Dean of Women and pushed back on rules that treated grown women like children. She fought for privacy, dignity, and the right for Black women to become themselves without apology or supervision disguised as concern.


And when she saw young Black women needing each other, she helped start Alpha Kappa Alpha—not for prestige, but so they’d have sisterhood, scholarship, and somewhere solid to stand. Lucy didn’t perform rebellion.
She practiced alignment.


SCRIPTURE CONTEXT
“Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” — Romans 12:2


BEFORE YOU MOVE ON
Where have you learned to make yourself smaller just to keep the peace? Lucy reminds us that refusing to conform isn’t arrogance—it’s obedience to who God made you to be.


Some people don’t change the room by entering it.
They change it by refusing to play along.


We see you, Lucy Diggs Slowe — for standing firm when shrinking was expected.


Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here.

Image

The Hymn Before the Headline

Posted in Black History Month, cancer, christmas, faith, food, God, inspiration, love, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , Leave a comment

Before it was debated,
Before it was dissected on timelines and talk shows, it was a hymn.

Originally titled
Lift Every Voice and Sing (The Negro National Hymn)

Hymn.

Not rebellion.  Not replacement.


Hymn.

Written in 1900 by James Weldon Johnson, and set to music by his brother John Rosamond Johnson, it was first sung by Black schoolchildren who were barely a generation removed from bondage.

And still they sang.

Psalm 98 says, “Sing unto the Lord a new song.”

Our ancestors did.

They sang through Jim Crow.
They sang through separate water fountains.
They sang when hoses knocked bodies down and dogs were turned loose.
They sang when grief had no courtroom relief.

This hymn was not written to divide a nation.
It was written to steady a people.

When it shows up on a Super Bowl stage,
that is not intrusion.
That is history breathing.

A hymn is not about replacing anything.
It is about remembering.

Black History Month is not about exclusion.
It is about acknowledgment.

And acknowledgment is not an attack.
It is truth standing upright.

So when we lift every voice,
we are not asking permission.

We are honoring inheritance.

Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us.
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us.

Some songs survive because they are catchy.
This one survived because it carried us.

To the children who first sang it.
To the elders who kept it in the pews.
To every voice that trembled but did not stop

Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here..

Image

John Berry Meachum — The Man Who Took the School to the Water

Posted in Black History Month, faith, God, love, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , Leave a comment

John Berry Meachum was born enslaved in 1789 and eventually brought to Missouri, a slave state that worked very hard to keep Black people uneducated. Because ignorant people are easier to control.
Meachum didn’t accept that.


Through years of labor, he bought his freedom. And once free, he did what a lot of free folks might not have dared to do — he started teaching Black children to read. Not secretly. Not halfway. He opened a school.


Then Missouri passed a law that said Black people could no longer be educated.
Now here’s where John Berry Meachum shows us the difference between rebellion and holy wisdom.
He didn’t shout at lawmakers.
He didn’t beg for exceptions.
He read the law.
And he noticed something important: the law applied on land.


So Meachum bought a boat, anchored it in the Missouri River, and moved the school onto the water.
No land.
No violation.
No stopping the lessons.


Children,  enslaved and free,  climbed onto that boat and learned to read, write, and think for themselves. The school became known as the Floating Freedom School, and it floated right outside the reach of unjust power.


John Berry Meachum didn’t break the law.
He outgrew it.


He understood that sometimes obedience to God requires creativity — and that wisdom can be just as disruptive as protest.
“We must obey God rather than men.” — Acts 5:29

In 1846, he published his pamphlet “An Address to All the Colored Citizens of the United States” emphasizing education and self-respect.

His floating school survived after his death until around 1860. Continuing under the direction of one of his former students

Where have you been told “you can’t” — not because it’s wrong, but because it’s inconvenient for those in power?

John Berry Meachum reminds us that sometimes the door isn’t locked. It’s just in the wrong place.

Wisdom doesn’t always fight the system head-on.
Sometimes it floats right past it.


We see you, John Berry Meachum.  Teaching freedom when the law said no.


Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here.

Image

Fannie Lou Hamer: She Was Sick and Tired

Posted in Black History Month, faith, God, inspiration, UncategorizedTagged , , , , Leave a comment

Fannie Lou Hamer did not come to the movement polished, protected, or prepared.

She came poor.
She came uneducated by the world’s standards.
She came with a body already worn down by hard labor and injustice.

And still — she came.

Born in rural Mississippi in 1917, the youngest of twenty children, Fannie Lou Hamer spent her life working land she did not own, under a system designed to keep her dependent, invisible, and quiet. She began picking cotton as a child. Not for character. For survival.

When she attempted to register to vote in 1962 — after attending a voter education meeting — she failed the literacy test that was never meant to be passed. For that attempt alone, she was fired from the plantation where she had lived and worked for nearly two decades. Her family was later threatened at gunpoint for her decision to try again.

All for trying to do what should have been ordinary.

In 1963, while jailed in Winona, Mississippi, law enforcement ordered inmates to beat her. She was left with permanent injuries, chronic pain, and internal damage that followed her for the rest of her life.

She was not famous when she began.
She was not invited.
She was not protected.

But she was awake.

She helped form the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party because the state’s official party was all white — and called America to account for segregation hiding inside democracy itself. At the 1964 Democratic National Convention, she testified on national television about voter suppression and racial violence so plainly that the President of the United States attempted to interrupt the broadcast.

It didn’t work.

“I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

Those words didn’t come from anger alone.
They came from truth-telling — the kind that costs something.

She refused token representation. She rejected symbolic seats. She demanded full dignity, not crumbs dressed up as compromise.

And when the nation listened, it did not immediately change.

She was heard, but not always heeded.
She was visible, but rarely protected.
She was victorious without reward.

Still, she kept going — organizing, feeding families, helping build Freedom Farms so people could eat, vote, and live with dignity. Her fight was never only about ballots. It was about daily bread.

“Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.” — Amos 5:24

She didn’t control the stream.
She didn’t shape the river.

She stood in it anyway.

Faith sometimes looks like prayer.
Sometimes it looks like protest.
And sometimes it looks like telling the truth even when your body is already tired.

If you have ever spoken up and paid a price,
felt worn down by doing the right thing,
told the truth without being spared the consequences,
or wondered if faithfulness was worth the cost —

Fannie Lou Hamer stands with you.

She reminds us that God often chooses voices the world underestimates — and uses them to shake foundations.

We see you, Fannie.
We honor your truth.

Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here.


Love, Chelle

Image

Barbara Johns: She Was Fifteen and Would Not Wait

Posted in Black History Month, faith, God, health, inspiration, love, relationships, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Barbara Johns was fifteen years old when she decided that waiting politely for justice was no longer an option.


In 1951, in Prince Edward County, Virginia, Barbara was a student at Robert Russa Moton High School — a segregated Black school with no gym, no cafeteria, overcrowded classrooms, and tar-paper shacks used as makeshift buildings. Meanwhile, white students nearby learned in brick schools with resources and space.


Barbara saw it.
Barbara lived it.


And Barbara refused to accept it.


Without permission from adults, administrators, or movement leaders, she organized a student strike. She convinced her classmates to walk out, not knowing if anyone would listen — only knowing that staying silent was no longer an option.


Adults were furious.
Leaders were nervous.
Teachers were afraid they would lose their jobs.


Barbara’s name was almost removed from the complaint.
But the case moved forward anyway.
Her courage became part of Davis v. County School Board of Prince Edward County, one of the five cases folded into Brown v. Board of Education.


History changed.
And Barbara Johns?
She received death threats.
She had to leave her hometown.
She lived the rest of her life quietly.
Her name was rarely spoken when Brown was celebrated.
She was victorious without reward.


Barbara Johns teaches us something uncomfortable and holy:
Sometimes the people who force history to move are the ones most quickly pushed out of the picture.
She was young.
She was female.
She was uncompromising.
And she was inconvenient.


“Let no one despise you for your youth.” — 1 Timothy 4:12


Barbara didn’t wait to be older.
She didn’t wait to be chosen.
She didn’t wait to be safe.
She acted — and the system scrambled to catch up.


If you have ever been told you were too young to understand, spoken truth that made adults uncomfortable, sparked change and then watched others take credit, or paid a personal cost for doing the right thing early — Barbara Johns stands with you.


She reminds us that courage does not require credentials — only conviction.
She lit the match.
The world tells the story without her name.
But God remembers.


We see you, Barbara.
We tell it right.


Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here.


Love, Chelle

Image

Robert Smalls: He Knew the Way Through

Posted in Black History Month, faith, food, God, inspiration, love, relationships, workTagged , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Robert Smalls was born enslaved in South Carolina, in a world where freedom was forbidden and intelligence was dangerous.


But Robert learned the waterways.
He learned the tides.
He learned the rhythms of ships and schedules and signals.
And when the moment came, he used what he knew.


In 1862, Robert Smalls did something no one thought possible. He commandeered a Confederate ship, the CSS Planter, disguised himself in the captain’s uniform, navigated past enemy forts using the correct signals — and delivered himself, his family, and others to freedom.


He did not fire a single shot.
He trusted knowledge.
He trusted timing.
And he trusted that God had already made a way through the water.


In my own family, there are those who make a “not quite”  substantiated claim to Robert Smalls — simply because his last name appears in our family line.
I don’t have records to prove it or disprove it.
I don’t make the claim as fact. But who can deny greatness.


However, the instinct matters.
Because sometimes what we are really claiming is not blood —
but admiration.
Not lineage —
but legacy.


Robert Smalls didn’t stop with freedom.
He went on to serve in the U.S. Navy, help recruit Black soldiers, become a U.S. Congressman, and fight for education, voting rights, and dignity for formerly enslaved people.


And still — he faced resistance.
He was pushed aside.
His leadership was minimized.
His voice was not always welcomed in the halls he helped open.


He was victorious without reward in more ways than one.


More than a century after his courage changed the course of history, the nation finally spoke his name aloud.
In 2023, the U.S. Navy commissioned a ship in his honor — the USS Robert Smalls.


It did not restore what had been denied.
It did not erase the years of resistance he faced.
It did not repay the cost of standing firm in a country slow to remember.
But it did stand as a quiet admission.
The Navy knew who led that ship long before history said it plainly.


And eventually, even delayed recognition had to follow truth.


Robert Smalls teaches us that God often prepares people long before the moment arrives.
“I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” — Isaiah 43:19


Robert didn’t create the river.
He learned it.
He didn’t invent the escape.
He recognized the opening.


Faith sometimes looks like courage.
Sometimes it looks like preparation.


And sometimes it looks like steering calmly through danger because you know where the water leads.

For the One Reading This Today

If you have ever:

prepared quietly for something no one else saw coming

felt drawn to a story because it felt familiar in your spirit

honored someone not because they were yours — but because they were right

trusted God to guide you through impossible terrain

Robert Smalls stands with you.


You don’t have to claim someone as family to carry their courage forward.
Legacy travels deeper than blood.


We see you, Robert.
We honor the way you led others through.


Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here.


Love, Chelle

Image

Susie King Taylor: She Served Anyway

Posted in Black History Month, faith, God, health, inspiration, love, relationships, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment



Susie King Taylor was born enslaved in Georgia in 1848, in a world where teaching Black people to read was a crime and Black women’s labor was expected but never honored.


From a young age, Susie learned to read and write in secret. She was taught quietly, moving from place to place so no one would notice. Knowledge, for her, was not just education—it was resistance.


When the Civil War came, Susie did not wait to be invited into history.


She followed Union troops, and at just fourteen years old, she began teaching formerly enslaved soldiers and children how to read. She became the first Black woman known to openly teach formerly enslaved people in a Union camp.


She did not stop there.
Susie served as a teacher, a nurse, a laundress, and a caregiver to wounded Black soldiers. She worked in field hospitals. She tended infections. She cleaned wounds. She buried the dead. She did the work that kept soldiers alive long enough to keep fighting.


She did this without rank.
Without formal pay.
Without protection.
Without promise of recognition.
And when the war ended, the men she served alongside received pensions.
Susie did not.


Her body carried the cost of years of labor and exposure. Her hands had held dying boys. Her back bore the weight of war. Yet the government decided her service did not count.
She was victorious without reward.


In 1902, Susie King Taylor published Reminiscences of My Life in Camp with the 33rd United States Colored Troops—one of the only Civil War memoirs written by a Black woman.

She wrote because she knew that if she did not tell the story, it would be told wrong—or not at all.


She documented unequal treatment, exhaustion, racism within the Union Army, and the quiet strength required to keep serving anyway.


Recognition did not follow.
She died poor.
Her contributions remained footnotes.
Her name was largely absent from textbooks.


And yet, without women like Susie King Taylor, the war would not have been survivable for Black soldiers.


Susie King Taylor teaches us that some people do the work because it needs doing, not because they expect to be thanked.
She was not disguised like Cathay Williams.
She was not sidelined like Claudette Colvin.
She was fully visible—and still denied.


“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters.” — Colossians 3:23


If you have ever done essential work no one wanted to name, given care without credentials, served faithfully while others were promoted, or known your contribution mattered even when systems said it didn’t—Susie King Taylor stands with you.
She served anyway.
History followed later.


We see you, Susie.
We honor you now.


Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here.
Love, Chelle

Image

Claudette Colvin: Nine Months Before History Was Ready

Posted in Black History Month, faith, God, love, relationships, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , Leave a comment


Claudette Colvin, who died recently on January 13, 2026, was one of the last remaining living catalysts of the Montgomery Bus Boycott.


This must be said plainly:
Nine months before Rosa Parks,
a fifteen-year-old girl named Claudette Colvin refused to give up her seat on a segregated Montgomery bus.
Nine months before the cameras.
Nine months before the speeches.
Nine months before it was considered “safe.”
She was early — and she was right.


When police dragged her off the bus and arrested her, Claudette did not yet know she would be asked to step back from public view. But she would be.


Not because her courage was insufficient —
but because the movement decided she was not the face America would accept.
She was:
– a poor Black girl
– from a working-class family
– and soon after, pregnant
– struggling emotionally after trauma and arrest


Movement leaders made a strategic decision.
They chose respectability.
They chose optics.
And Claudette was quietly sidelined.
Yet her courage did not disappear.


She became one of the plaintiffs in Browder v. Gayle — the federal court case that ended bus segregation in Montgomery. The law changed because of the stand she took first, even though her name was not lifted alongside the victory.
She was victorious without reward.


Claudette Colvin teaches us a truth history often resists:
Being first does not mean being credited.
Being right does not mean being chosen.
And being faithful does not guarantee being celebrated.
A poor Black girl,
a pregnant teenager,
a traumatized child —
said no to injustice nine months before the nation was ready to listen.


That is not a footnote.
That is a foundation.
“For God chose what the world considers foolish to shame the wise.” — 1 Corinthians 1:27


If you have ever stood up too early,
told the truth before it was popular,
been asked to step aside so the story could be cleaner,
or watched others be celebrated for a door you opened,
hear this clearly:
Your timing was not wrong.
Your courage was not wasted.
And your obedience still counts.


Claudette Colvin stood first.
History followed later.
We see you, Claudette.
We tell it right now.
We honor you fully.


Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here.


Love, Chelle