My Story (So Far)

Yet, my origin story carries within it many of the struggles that are common in the US. My mother’s father, my Papaw, Walter, was half-Comanche. In World War II, he was drafted into what were called, at the time, the “colored units.” He was sent to dig latrines for other soldiers, with no regard given to the special  tensions between First Nations peoples and Black soldiers, fraught with martial history. He went AWOL from the army, jumped on a motorcycle, and high-tailed it across the country to pick up my 17 year old Nana. Together, they traveled East and Walter signed on with the Coast Guard. By the time the army found him, he was on active service at sea. He tested new battleships; he lost most of his hearing testing weapons on one of the last ships built before the end of the war. 

My Papaw, my mother and my aunt all suffered the more overt impacts of racism against Indigenous peoples, because they carried this part of their identity on their skin. But the legacies of racism seep into the bones and blood, and my Papaw died of alcoholism, my aunt was dead before her 55th birthday, and the epigenetic impacts continue on in my body, too. 

But my grandfather and my mother’s story are still different from my own, because I inherited my father’s blonder hair and lighter eyes and skin tone, and thus my story was easily erased into Whiteness as it exists in the US. For multiracial people, where and how to tell the stories of your people is awkward, especially when no one asks because they assume they see who you are: assume your gender, your sexuality, your ethnicity, where you belong. So I try not to assume I know you or your story. Sometimes, I succeed.

How can I rush through the highlights of a life lived in moments and relationships? Here it is in a tumble and rush. 

I married my high school sweetheart when we were in college, and had my daughter Ember. College was fine, but I count so much of what has mattered to me most in this life from the time Ember made me a mother. I figured out within a year of her birth that marrying her father was not the best decision, and we separated as amicably as such could be done. When he remarried, he stepped out of her life and into a new one, and Ember and I made our own way. Because of her, I became a dedicated activist, wanting to build a better world. Because I wanted to be the best I could for her, I chose ministry and my little girl came to seminary with me at Starr King – one of a few kids we co-raised together there as a community. 

I had entered seminary intending to become a community minister, serving as a prison chaplain, but everything changed when I interned at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Asheville, NC in 1999. As I preached and offered pastoral care, led classes and participated in the life of a healthy, thriving congregation, I discovered that my gifts were for parish work. I am, at heart, a minister invested in community, and the congregation and city opened those doors in new ways. After I graduated seminary and completed both an internship and summer ministry with Asheville, I stayed in the city an extra year and a half, serving as Executive Director of a new non-profit, Stewards of the Earth, before I answered the call to a pulpit of my own in Roanoke, VA. But Asheville stayed in us. Ember went to school at Arthur Morgan, and even now we return as often as we can, as we make our way to Greenville, SC to see my family. 

I served my first congregation for over 11 years, and am still their longest-serving minister. In Roanoke, I learned how to be a solo pastor, to weave a ministry that included community partners and interfaith work; I started a strong anti-war organization and I helped that congregation transition from relying heavily on large donors to being a congregation of generosity at every level. I still remember the conversation I had with a homeless member of the congregation, who came to me in tears because we had not approached them to pledge. From her I learned that generosity and giving are not dictated by circumstance, but by the heart and its commitments.  

It certainly cannot go without saying that the very best part of my time in Virginia was meeting my husband Rob, and after we married, welcoming a baby. At birth, we named our baby Ani and thought our kiddo was a girl, but in time we learned we have a son named Mars. Rob’s love, support and flat-out hard work is why I have been able to do the ministry I have done. He’s my tech guy, my cheerleader, our family’s go-to guy. He’s someone who says yes when we need him, and he became Ember’s father even before the moment we said “I do.” (He asked her if he could marry me!)

Moving out West to the literal frontier to serve in Wyoming was one of the biggest leaps of faith we’ve ever taken. Though I had offers for larger congregations and different compensation, what I knew what I wanted was a healthy congregation with whom I could build trust and make a difference. The power and impact of the Cheyenne congregation was outsized in the state, and with their location in the capital. They had a building with plenty of space to serve their community (food gardens! Housing for homeless families!) and a heart to serve. I was proud to serve with them and within a few years of their 50th anniversary, to help them discern their role in our movement as a teaching congregation for new ministers serving their first congregation. They have continued to be healthy enough to do this without needing interim ministry, as an intentional process in collaboration with the UUA Transitions Office. 

Since just after Hillary Clinton lost the 2016 election, I have served the historic congregation of All Souls, NYC. I am the first woman in its 200 year history to be called directly to this pulpit. Together, we have tackled capital fundraising, NY construction, floods, long term lease negotiations, the sabbatical months taken by my ministry colleague, covid, and more. Even as we deal with tremendous staff reductions and turnover, the All Souls team works day and night to serve not just our New York community, but the over 800+ who have joined us from around the world in the last few years.  I am proud to have  helped All Souls pivot to a robust online presence through a virtual campus, daily programming, and a greater spirit of innovation. These years have profoundly convinced me of the value of community building and a ministry of presence, as well as the need for radical hospitality and a hunger for justice. 

Along the way, I have earned my doctorate in Public Theology, specializing in the art, science and spirituality of creating change. I have watched my younger child blossom into a young man of his own making. I have seen my husband expand his horizons as he completes a certification program for a new field of work.

There are so many more things I could write – more about Ember’s life as an adult, and the challenges of being away from aging family; hobbies and interests and non-work passions. The wonder of being one of the more senior ministers in our faith, as colleagues retire left and right. The perspective of having lived and served our faith on both coasts, down South, in the West and now in the powerhouse that is NYC. But in the end, it bears repeating: what matters most is relationship. I’ve told you a little of my story. What I really want is to hear yours. Let’s talk.