Fourteen Years Later: My Steps Were Ordered

My grandmother used to say, “Just keep living.” And if I’m honest, when I was younger, it used to frustrate me. Because when an elder says, “Just keep living,” what you often hear is: You don’t know enough yet. You haven’t lived enough yet. You do not have the wisdom yet to fully understand what you are saying, what you are choosing or what you are walking through. But over these last 14 years, I have come to understand the gift in those words. Just keep living. Time will teach you what urgency cannot. Time will reveal what the moment cannot explain. Time will show you that some doors were not rejection. They were redirection. Time will prove that nothing was wasted. Fourteen years ago, I was working as a legal secretary in a Social Security disability law office. I answered phones, built systems, managed details and listened—really listened—to people. Many of our clients had very little. They were waiting for a government system to support them because illness, disability, limited education and limited opportunity had affected their ability to care for themselves and their families. Every day, I saw how systems could work to the detriment of people who were already carrying more than their share. At the time, I did not know God was preparing me. I did not know that answering those calls was teaching me how to listen to a community. I did not know that building systems in an office was preparing me to build systems in an organization. I did not know that witnessing the consequences of broken systems would eventually help shape my life’s work. Around that same season, a door I thought I wanted did not open. But the relationship connected me to another room—with Stephen Cockrell and Sally Garner—where it became clear that we were about to build something and change something together. And then my journey began. God saw fit to grow me up in community. Over these 14 years, I have learned what works and what does not. I have learned what leadership is and what it is not. I have learned that proximity matters. That listening is strategy. That trust is infrastructure. That policy matters, but so does presence. That transformation requires patience, discipline, courage and deep relationship. I have learned that leadership is not just having vision. It is having the humility to be formed by the work. I have learned that the assignment will grow you before it elevates you. I have learned that you can be in the right place long before you understand why. Today, I live in the very community I have the privilege of serving. I sit in rooms where I help leaders think about how to transform neighborhoods. I guide communities working to improve outcomes for children and families. I mentor women leading organizations and movements across the country. I help influence local, state and federal policy. And every day, I have the honor of contributing to work that is affecting thousands of lives. Fourteen years ago, I could not have fully understood what God was building. I did not know that every assignment, every relationship, every room and every lesson was preparing me for this season of leadership. But my grandmother was right: Just keep living. Because if you keep living, time will teach you. And if you keep trusting, God will show you that your steps were ordered all along. For years, I sang the words, “Order my steps in Your Word, dear Lord.” I led that song in worship countless times. But I understand it differently now. Ordered steps do not always feel clear while you are taking them. Sometimes they look like closed doors. Sometimes they look like small assignments. Sometimes they look like listening before leading. Sometimes they look like being planted in a place long enough to be formed by it. On my 14th anniversary with Woodlawn United, I am deeply grateful. Grateful for every lesson. Grateful for every leader who trusted me. Grateful for every resident who taught me. Grateful for every room I was allowed to enter. Grateful for every room I had to grow into. Grateful for the community that helped raise me as a leader. And grateful for a God who could see the entire road when I could only see the next step. I have found my cadence. I know more deeply who I am, how I lead and what is required of me in this next season—not just to lead more, but to lead better. Fourteen years later, I can say with certainty: My steps were ordered. And they still are.

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Celebrating Last Place: What Juneteenth Means in 2026

The legacy of Juneteenth is more. It is more than just a holiday, and it is more than just a celebration of freedom. The legacy of Juneteenth is a statement about freedom. As this holiday recognizes the delayed freedom of enslaved Americans, the legacy left behind is a timeless message: Freedom will not be celebrated, nor declared, until the last of us are free.

This message, which I see as an admirable refusal, emerged in 1865 and is more relevant than ever in 2026. In Woodlawn, we are accepting it as a charge—a charge to refuse to declare freedom until the Last Place has crossed the finish line. We recognize and acknowledge that freedom—whether financial, physical, spiritual, or mental—is incomplete when only a portion of our community has it. This is a part of the legacy we are building.

For the past year, I have had the opportunity to work on the Programs Team, and I believe it is safe to say that, in everything we do, we celebrate the Last Place. With our hands and our hearts invested in more than 30 programs throughout the Kingston-Woodlawn community, we are doing everything in our power to ensure that no child, no adult, and no soul is left behind.

The week of Juneteenth also marks the beginning of two new programs that reflect what celebrating the Last Place looks like in practice. Through Read 2 Rise, we are walking alongside children who have fallen behind in reading and math, providing individualized support so they are not left to navigate those gaps alone. Through the Navigators Program, we are pairing young people with mentors who can help them build confidence, find direction, and feel supported beyond the classroom. These programs are not just about tutoring or mentorship. They are about refusing to let a child's future be determined by the gaps around them.

After all, that is what it is about—the one child left out, the one adult left behind, the one heart that needs healing. Our programs are designed to help residents find freedom through education, well-being, and a stable community. If freedom is more about inclusivity and equity than the declaration itself, we must be willing to ask the harder questions:

What does freedom look like if a child cannot read?

What does freedom look like for someone who does not have access to healthy food?

What does freedom look like for someone who cannot afford housing?

It looks incomplete. It feels unfinished.

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