Let me be clear about where I stand before going further. My love for this woman’s catalogue runs back most of my life, and what follows comes from devotion rather than spite. That distinction matters more than it once did, because somewhere in the last ten years or so we quietly lost the ability to talk about her as if she makes songs instead of miracles. Play “Morning Dew (Donk)” with clean ears and you hear a pleasant, minor, slightly dated groove that any of a dozen artists could have released to a shrug. Fine, is all. A B side, no more. Yet the apparatus around her cannot process fine, so fine gets translated into triumphant, and an old unreleased song becomes evidence that the reigning queen has never once wavered.

Think about the last time you read a genuinely searching review of her work. Not a rave. Not a takedown either. Something in between, the kind of writing that sits with a record for a week, admires the audacity of the thing while admitting the second half drags, or that one feature never earns its place, or that a concept got announced louder than it got executed. I have to reach back years to find one, and when I do, I remember the pile on that followed. The writer’s mentions turned into a courtroom. Their whole taste went on trial. Every motive got read like tea leaves. And the lesson every music writer absorbed, whether they say it out loud or not, is simple. You praise, or you stay quiet.

The machine that enforces this is famous enough to have a name. The hive shows up fast and it shows up organized, and I want to be careful here because there is a lazy version of this complaint that treats fandom itself as the villain. It isn’t. Passionate listeners are the whole point of making anything. What has changed is the temperature and the reach. A three out of five used to be a defensible opinion. Now it reads to a certain corner of the internet as a moral failing, an insult flung at a Black woman who has already given more than the culture ever thanked her for. And that framing, the one that turns a middling score into an act of disrespect, is where the honesty starts to drain out of the room.

Here is the part that keeps me up, though, the part the cynics skip. That protective instinct did not come from nowhere. Black women in this industry have been robbed in slow motion for a century. Their sounds get borrowed and repackaged and handed to prettier, whiter faces who then get called geniuses for it. The wins arrive delayed, questioned, asterisked. You can watch a woman dominate a decade of popular music, reshape what an album even is, and spend years watching the biggest prize remain out of reach before Cowboy Carter finally broke that pattern. So when her people close ranks, I do not roll my eyes. I get it in my bones. The defensiveness is a scar, and scars form for a reason.

But a scar can grow over a wound that already healed. The tragedy of the current moment is that the shield built to protect her from an industry that undervalued her now protects her from the one thing every serious artist actually needs, which is a listener willing to tell the truth. Somewhere the logic flipped. Loving her stopped meaning engaging with the work and started meaning defending the work, and those are not the same act. A bodyguard and a critic want different things for you. One wants you safe. The other wants you great, and greatness has never come from a room full of yes.

None of this is helped by how thoroughly she has mastered the art of the event. The surprise drop she pioneered, the visual album, the rollout so meticulous it feels less like a release and more like weather moving in, all of it reframes each record as a cultural occasion rather than a collection of songs. And you cannot review an occasion. You can only attend it. When the discourse arrives before the download finishes, when the think pieces about what it means for the country are already queued up, the humble work of listening closely and deciding whether the bridge on track nine lands starts to feel almost rude. Small. Beneath the size of the thing. So critics reach for the language of significance instead, importance, moment, statement, reclamation, and that vocabulary is a beautiful place to hide. It lets you say a lot without ever saying whether the record is any good.

Take her country turn, which I adored and will defend to anyone. That record was a genuine act of reclamation, a Black woman walking back into a genre her ancestors helped invent and got shut out of, and the sight of it moved me. But watch what the conversation became. So much of it centered on the gesture. About Nashville and gatekeeping and history, all of it real and worth arguing over. What received less attention was the actual sequencing, the moments where the album’s ambition outran its focus, the tracks that felt as though they were there to prove a point rather than to be lived with. Those observations existed. They just could not compete with the weight of the story, and so they got whispered, if they got said at all. An artist that big absorbs criticism into her mythology. Every complaint becomes proof of what she is up against. Every doubter becomes a character in her comeback.

And I have not even reached the loneliest corner of this, which belongs to critics who look like her. A Black woman writing honestly about the biggest Black woman alive walks a wire nobody stretched for anyone else. Praise her and you are accused of bias. Question her and you are accused of betrayal, of handing ammunition to people who never wanted her to win in the first place. I have felt the second one personally, the flinch before you type a mild reservation, the internal negotiation about whether the truth is worth the cost to your own standing in your own community. That is not artistic freedom. That is a tax, and it gets levied hardest on the people best positioned to write about her with real understanding.

So can she still be reviewed normally? My honest answer is almost, but not quite, and the gap is widening. The infrastructure that should make honest assessment possible, editors willing to run a lukewarm take, writers willing to sign it, readers willing to sit with disagreement instead of treating it as an attack, has gotten brittle around her specifically. Other enormous artists get the occasional rough review and the world keeps spinning. Around her, the stakes got tangled up in something bigger than the music, in race and legacy and a very justified exhaustion with how this industry treats women who look like us, and once those wires cross, ordinary criticism reads as something it was never meant to be.

She does not want this, for what my reading is worth. The woman is a documented perfectionist. She reportedly reworks, rejects, rebuilds until the thing is right, which means she must know, better than her most devoted defenders, that adoration and improvement live in different houses. You do not sharpen yourself against applause. Somewhere she has to feel the difference between a room that loves her and a room that will tell her the truth, and I suspect the second room has gotten very quiet.

The kindest thing we could do for an artist that magnificent is remember that a mixed review is not a slur. It is a form of respect, maybe the highest one, because it assumes she is an artist and not a monument, capable of a weak song, capable of growing past it, worthy of being met with a whole mind rather than a raised fist. We used to give her that. I would like us to try again. Not because she has fallen off, but because the woman I have followed my whole life deserves listeners, not just guards, and honest music has never had anything to fear from an honest ear.

Staff Writer; Raven Jones

Raven writes about music, relationships, and the everyday ups and downs of Black women… She keeps it honest, encourages other sistas, and can be reached at RavenJ@ThySistas.com.

Let me clear the air early, because these conversations get twisted the second they start. I am not asking for Cardi to be canceled, silenced, or shoved out of the business. Making whatever records she wants is her call, and grown folks have every reason to spend their money on them and shake whatever the good Lord gave them while they do it. Her talent is not up for debate. Funny, quick, magnetic, she built a career out of a personality most executives would have sanded down to nothing. Earned, every step, and it belongs to her. My question runs along a different road. Why does ESSENCE, a brand that has spent decades telling Black women they are worthy and brilliant and whole, decide this particular message deserves one of its biggest stages on its most important weekend?

Because a Friday headliner slot carries weight. No small favor, that. The message could not be plainer: this is who we hold up. ESSENCE promoted her as a marquee name, slotted her at the top of the bill next to Kehlani and Latto, sold three day packages behind her face, and stocked BeautyCon with her hair line. Nobody was tricked. Everyone in that building knew the catalog, the stage persona, the raunch, the joyful vulgarity, the beautiful and complicated package all of it arrives in. Cardi has never once pretended to make inspirational music, never sold herself as a role model in the church basement sense. There is a strange integrity to that, honestly. What you see is who she has always told us she is. My discomfort, then, is not about her fooling anybody. It sits with the institution choosing her, eyes wide open, then asking the rest of us to read that choice as a celebration.

Here is where it gets tender for me. Cardi stands for the uncomfortable side of authenticity. We spend so much breath telling girls to be themselves, to stop shrinking, to quit apologizing for taking up space. Beautiful advice. Except the culture only hands its trophies to certain versions of that self. Be yourself, we say, but stay palatable while you do it. Speak your mind, only keep it classy. Enjoy your body, sure, just not so loudly the room turns uneasy. That fine print, she ignores entirely, and part of me cheers the nerve of it even as another part flinches at where it lands. The very trait gets her punished and praised, sometimes inside a single week. Online, folks drag her for being crude, then stream that same filthy song forty million times. Nobody in this arrangement keeps clean hands, myself included.

What made this edition sit so heavy was the company she kept on the calendar. That very night, ahead of the concert series even cranking up, Michelle Obama took the stage with Keke Palmer for a live conversation tied to her latest book, The Look, talking about identity, scrutiny, purpose, and the weight of being watched and judged as a Black woman in public life. Sit with that whiplash a second. In one corner of the building, a former First Lady is unpacking the exhausting labor of dignity, the expectation to represent an entire people without a single misstep, the way she is never once allowed an off day. Hours later, on the largest stage the weekend offers, the festival throws its considerable institutional muscle behind music that plenty of women in that very crowd feel shrinks female sexuality down to a sideshow. Both moments belong to ESSENCE, each handed the platform. I doubt the people programming it ever paused to sit with how strange those two rooms look side by side.

Now, I can already hear the pushback, because I have stood on that side myself over kitchen tables and in group chats. Sexual freedom is Black women’s freedom too. Our foremothers were denied the right to want, to enjoy, to name their own desire until somebody weaponized it against them. There is real liberation in a woman planted flat footed before a stadium crowd, saying out loud exactly what she likes with zero shame. I believe that down to my shoes. I have defended raunchy Black women artists all my adult life against the respectability crowd that would have muzzled every last one of them. So no, I will not pretend this splits neatly into good taste and bad. It does not. Real tension lives here, and anybody who swears it is obvious is peddling you a story.

What I cannot shake is how choosy the applause tends to be. A white pop star sings a filthy verse and gets called bold, a boundary pusher, a genius in charge of her own body. A Black woman does the identical thing and the culture reaches for uglier words, then turns around and profits off her anyway. The double bind is not Cardi’s doing, and it is no reason to shove her offstage. It does mean, though, that the stakes of who the institutions we built choose to lift up run higher for us than for anybody else, because we are already being watched through a warped lens. When the mic is in our hands, the choice weighs more, not less.

Freedom and celebration are not the same word, though, and ESSENCE keeps smudging the line between them. To say a woman may make whatever art she pleases costs nothing. Insisting that art belongs at the sacred middle of a gathering built to affirm us is the heavier claim, and a different one. A festival, stripped down, is a pile of choices about what a community wants to raise up as its best face, its hope, its point of pride. When the flagship celebration of Black womanhood makes that particular sound its Friday centerpiece, it is quietly answering a question about what it thinks we most want to see reflected back. And I am not convinced the answer it gave this year is the one most of the sisters in that room would have chosen.

There is also the question of who gets flattened along the way. This year’s lineup ran gorgeously wide. Patti LaBelle. Brandy and Monica together, which had me hollering out loud. George Clinton hauling the Mothership back after fifty years. Babyface. Public Enemy. Soul, funk, gospel, the diasporic songbook laid out end to end. Breadth like that is the case some will make in its defense, and it is a fair one. Cardi was a single thread in a rich tapestry, not the entire cloth. Fine. But threads do not carry equal weight, and everybody knows it. A headliner sits at the peak of the bill for a reason. When the marketing leads with a certain image, that image turns into the shorthand for the weekend, top to bottom, in a way a Sunday tribute set never will. Our elders get honored. The young provocateur gets pushed out front. Read that gap however you like, but do not tell me it means nothing.

I keep circling back to the mothers and the daughters. I watched grandmothers, mamas, and teenagers drift through those daytime spaces together, three generations shopping the Black owned marketplace, sitting in on panels about ownership and wealth and healing. That intergenerational current is the soul of ESSENCE, the true reason for the pilgrimage. So what is a fifteen year old meant to make of a weekend that lifts up Michelle Obama’s discipline in one breath and, in the next, crowns a starkly different notion of what a woman’s body is for? I do not have a tidy answer. Honestly, there may not be one. What I do know is the organizers showed no sign of wrestling with the contradiction, and that absence of struggle is what nags at me. It read less like a considered stance on identity and more like a bet on ticket sales dressed in the language of empowerment.

Maybe that is the crux of it. Somewhere along the line the vocabulary of liberation curdled into a marketing tool, and now any booking, any brand deal, any filthy verse can be scrubbed clean by the word empowerment until it means precisely nothing. Cardi did not build that. A machine assembled around all of us did. Walking through a door somebody else propped open is no crime, and any of us would have done the very same.

Getting rid of her is not what I am after. I want the institution to look itself in the mirror and be plain about what it picked, and why it picked it. Celebrate us, by all means, mess and glory and all the shades in between. Just do not wave a pretty slogan in my face and expect me to miss which version of a Black woman keeps landing the loudest mic, while the other one gets a folding chair, a courteous little clap, and a panel that wraps up before the lights come on for the real show.

Staff Writer; Raven Jones

Raven writes about music, relationships, and the everyday ups and downs of Black women… She keeps it honest, encourages other sistas, and can be reached at RavenJ@ThySistas.com.

The church has been influential in the foundation of education for our people, and they have helped to put thousands of our people through college. Denominations like the A.M.E are rooted not only in the Word, but in activism, and education. Because of our history of intelligence having a strong place in church…anti-intellectualism in the church is damaging. The minds that need to be in the church back away, because they are scolded and judged for studying the word and applying it to the world around them. They respect tradition but that does not rank higher than righteousness.

In congregations with Elders that look down on the intelligence in those younger that ask questions they tend to remind of the men and women of God in the Bible that were not scholars. They focus on the leaders in the bible that were “everyday people” and hype up the importance of their humility and their being led by the Spirit which is what made them successful in ministry. No one can argue against being led by the Spirit, but everyone used by God was not uneducated.

Some of the greatest names in the book were not only intellectuals but formally educated. Moses, Soloman, and the Apostle Paul are just a few of the lives God would use to lead and teach his people. Why then are we judging and scolding intellectuals in the church. This is dangerous, and it seems to be sweeping congregations silencing men and women of God who dare to speak up regarding the word, and things going on in the world. When one doesn’t just bow to tradition and title here is a fight coming that should not be. What is unfortunate is one can also have the same fight in family where the elders of the family are clergy. Younger people find themselves in battles at church and amongst family simply because they are critical thinkers around their belief system and speak up about it.

This is not the origins of our church according to our history in this country. Anti-intellectualism in the church can divide congregations, and even harm members spiritually. We should all be working together to edify each other in Christ. Just as Peter had a place in the church, so did Paul. If we continue down this path, we are asking for our thinkers to walk away from any calling God may have on their life in terms of ministry because they may feel they value their peace. The hypocrisy is just too loud in this area. The inferior and insecure behavior that causes this must be addressed especially when it comes from those in leadership. God qualifies the called, and that includes the intellectual. Being a critical thinker and studying deeply does not mean you are not led by the Spirit. That is something that must be stated and understood because nothing feels worse than having your salvation questioned because you are an intellectual in the church.

Lastly, we must be mindful not to do to each other what has been and is still done to our people in this country. Black people have had to fight for their minds to be respected and are still fighting. We have created, invented, and built a nation that calls us intellectually inferior. Our credentials are always questioned as though our ethnicity is an invisible asterisk. We have managed to rise despite, but there are still challenges created to slow us down. Knowing this, how can we sit back and do this to each other in the most sacred space we have? How is it that we can disregard the minds God have given our congregation and communities because they often call us to account? These minds are calling us to dig deeper in our understanding of God, faith, and each other. Just as every regular mind is not devoted, every intellectual mind is not disrespectful and without Spiritual guidance. We must remember there is a place for all in the House of God as he gifts us as he sees fit, and those gifts should be valued.

Staff Writer; Christian Starr

May connect with this sister over at Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/christian.pierre.9809 and also Twitter; http://twitter.com/MrzZeta.

As a writer and advent reader, I’ve spent years learning about how our stories move through generations, and I’ve learned that storytelling has always been one of our greatest tools for survival and joy. Long before we had libraries or classrooms, we had porches, living rooms, and laps. We had elders who could turn a simple moment into a lesson. We had tales that carried our history, our humor, our warnings, and our dreams. And even now, with tablets and apps and AI reading assistants everywhere, nothing replaces the feeling of a book in a child’s hands.

Physical books slow the world down just enough for a child to breathe. They give the mind room to wander, to imagine, to question. When a child flips a page, they’re not just moving through a story—they’re practicing patience, curiosity, and focus. And for Black children especially, books become mirrors and windows. Mirrors that show them they matter. Windows that show them what’s possible.

In our community, storytelling has always been more than entertainment. It’s how we’ve kept our culture alive. It’s how we’ve passed down traditions, values, and identity. When a Black child reads a book about characters who look like them, speak like them, or come from families like theirs, something powerful happens. They see themselves as heroes. As thinkers. As creators. They learn that their voice belongs in the world.

And when those stories are shared out loud—when a parent reads to a child, or a grandparent tells a tale from their own childhood—that’s when the magic deepens. That’s when storytelling becomes a bridge between generations. I’ve seen children sit at the feet of elders, listening with their whole bodies, absorbing not just the words but the rhythm, the emotion, the love behind them. Those moments strengthen family bonds in ways no screen ever could.

In 2026, our children are growing up in a world that moves fast and doesn’t always make space for them to simply be children. They’re exposed to news, images, and pressures that can weigh on their spirits before they even understand what they’re feeling. Books offer a kind of refuge. A place where they can explore big emotions safely. A place where they can practice problem‑solving through characters who face challenges and find their way through.

I’ve watched children learn empathy from stories. I’ve watched them learn courage. I’ve watched them learn how to ask questions, how to imagine new worlds, how to dream beyond what they see. And I’ve watched families grow closer when they make reading a shared ritual—bedtime stories, Saturday morning library trips, or even just ten quiet minutes together on the couch.

There’s also something deeply cultural about holding onto physical books. They become heirlooms. A book signed by a parent. A book passed down from an older sibling. A book with worn edges because it was loved so much. These objects carry memory. They remind our children that they come from a lineage of storytellers, thinkers, and dreamers.

And yes, technology has its place. Digital tools can support learning, open access, and spark interest. But they should never replace the intimacy of reading a book together or the grounding presence of a story told face‑to‑face. Our children need both, but they especially need the kind of storytelling that roots them in who they are.

In a time when the world often tries to define Black children before they can define themselves, storytelling becomes a form of protection. A way of saying, “Here is who you are. Here is where you come from. Here is what you can become.” And physical books become the vessels that carry those truths.

So yes, in 2026, our children still need books they can hold. They need stories that honor their culture, spark their imagination, challenge their minds, and strengthen their spirits. They need the sound of our voices reading to them. They need the warmth of our presence beside them. They need the stories that remind them they are part of something bigger—something beautiful, something powerful, something deeply Black.

And as a community, we need to keep telling those stories. We need to keep passing them down. Because when we strengthen the imagination of our children, we strengthen the future of our people.

Staff Writer; Christian Starr

May connect with this sister over at Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/christian.pierre.9809 and also Twitter; http://twitter.com/MrzZeta.

The mentor knows your spiritual goals, life goals, and career goals. Sometimes this person assists as mentor to all those areas, and of course it could be individuals for each area. She is who we go to for direction, and for knowledge of how to move ourselves from one point in our journey to the next. She knows our strengths and weaknesses and helps us grow in strength and diminish weaknesses. There is confidence that must be kept because often times you are an open book to your mentor. It is imperative that this Sistah does not envy you, is not jealous of you, does not see you as a threat, and does not diminish you. And in like fashion you should not have a mentor you are envious of, jealous of, or see as a threat. Trust is important because at some point this person will know you enough to do as much harm as she does good towards you.

Far too often when we find a sistah that can actually mentor us and can understand who we are there is an excitement and an ease that comes over us. We feel that we are not alone as we push forward towards our goal. There is a camaraderie amongst sistahs, and we not only trust our mentor, but we will stand with them and defend them fiercely. This is a beautiful relationship amongst Black women and has gotten many of us through degree programs, through loss & trauma, and helped us situate self in our spiritual walk.

It is important that we choose our mentor wisely. For as influential and positive as this relationship can be…it can be equally, if not more, destructive. If you find yourself in a situation whereby you mentor sistah is experiencing trauma it is natural to want to stand by her side and be there for her. However, if she begins to lash out causing you to bare the brunt of her anger and hurt you might need to step back. If you find that in the pain and abuse she is enduring envy seeps in, it is important to notice this and re-evaluate the nature of the relationship. You would know something is off if she once kept you mindful of your goals, and now she advises in a way that will stagnate you or set you back. You may experience micro-aggression as things are said to you that make you feel inferior while she appears to be empowered. There can also be gaslighting and more belittling under the guise of corrective criticism and wisdom. In worse cases, especially where academia and spiritual matter are involved, you may be led to view yourself as less and even subservient to the mentor. These are just a few warning signs that you need to remove yourself.

No mentor relationship is perfect as we are all human. However, you must choose this person wisely knowing that they will not harm you when they face their worst. You must want to see each other win. It’s easy to say, but too many Sistahs are in dangerous competition with each other for various reasons. Regardless of the reason, it harms the women involved, the women that witness, and the next generation coming. Be mindful of how all parts of your sistah circle is assembled and be sure you are not the toxic in the circle either.  We must mentor and walk with each other in love and support. When one of us rises all of us rise.

Staff Writer; Christian Starr

May connect with this sister over at Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/christian.pierre.9809 and also Twitter; http://twitter.com/MrzZeta.

It is a terrible feeling to come to the conclusion that you feel like an outsider with no community…no family. Regardless of if that is the fact of the matter technically, the reality of how you feel takes center stage. The world is smaller, and no lover requires transportation to constitute a sense of community. What you need for social validation, and a sense of community whereby you are truly seen and understood might the virtual.

Some of us grew up in a world whereby community was based on experience and proximity to the people we considered a part of said community. It may not have just been our neighborhood…but the city, state, or region we lived in. Unfortunately, this is no longer the case. We are more spread out whether it was to go to college and we never move back, jobs move us to another part of the country, or natural disasters displace us. For many reasons we no longer live in our bubble. Another thing to consider is we can be among each other physically, but we no longer align. In this instance relationships are being held together by blood, obligation, trauma, and even love.

Nevertheless, this is no longer your village in a supportive common ground’s basis. Too many of us live in this reality and it gives place to mental and physical health issues as we are merely existing but not living. In this space you can be surrounded by people that know of you but do not know you…you are isolated and alone.

Though we can be leery of it, technology does have its assets. Through social media many of us engage with others and the issues of our communities and country. Because of technology, the world is much smaller. There is a virtual community for just about everything for just about everyone. Before you speak against it remember once upon a time there were those leery of a telephone, a TV, a computer. As time went on, how we interacted with each other evolved. Though you should do so carefully one should consider interacting with the world. You will find there are people you can talk to about life and living that are outside of your community physically, but in terms of values and interests they are your village. Family might take on a new meaning as it can become more than blood and close proximity to you. This means we don’t have to be alone; we just have to be willing to get out into creation in a different form.

Its okay to be apprehensive. However, you are living in isolation when there are options. This is where we might want to be less stubborn. There are people who will genuinely bond with you and should up for you when they have never met you in person a day in their life. They might be across the world from you. However, they talk with you, engage in hobbies with you, sit on video chat with you when you are in distress, some have helped you making sure you had enough money to eat or keep the utilities on, they remember your birthday and genuinely care about your wellbeing. Just as you aren’t a crazy person on the internet there are others out there just as sane. I was playing a game on Xbox, and the game has a pretty tight community. One of the gamers passed away and in the community’s way we mourned her and honored her life as we knew it. Even though many of us never met her in person she mattered to us all. It may be time to consider that your community might be virtual, especially when you can’t move around much, or your current community is toxic to you. Allow yourself to have a chance to interact with people that will value you…even if they are far away.

Staff Writer; Chelle’ St James

May also connect with this sister via Twitter; ChelleStJames.

Furthermore, one can argue there is more to facilitating marriage than just the ceremony and signing the documents. Getting ordained as a minister can be a step in the direction of starting a church, building a congregation and having people that look to you for spiritual council and leadership. While this is happening there are conversations being has now about the order of our services, how the Word is being taught, what the church’s responsibilities are withing community…and if the church is still a valid institution. It’s hard to have these conversations when someone can just hop online and decide to be ordained without training. Its understand able that this is liberating to some, but it can be dangerous for the masses as ordination is a serious matter.

Marriage is something  that is being re-defined, but the nature of it for many have not changed. It is still seen as a covenant steeped in commitment,  love, and longsuffering. Many are still marrying and fighting for those marriages daily. Marriage counselors in the faith and within the mental health industry are needed to help navigate the nuances and difficulties of marriage for so many. The church use to be a place people would go when they needed guidance for their marriage when hardships arise, and before the marriage. Usually the pastor that does the marriage counseling might be the pastor presiding over the nuptials. This is not something random…depending on the faiths of the couple they would want their minister to understand the spiritual ramifications of marriage. This is difficult when the person presiding does not have that background. They might be able to offer logical advice but can it be considered sound spiritually. This is not to say it can’t happen…but one can argue more should be involved than just an online piece of paper.

Once could ask what of the Justice of the Peace. Well, that is a judge presiding over the legal aspects of a marriage. There is no counselling, and no expectation of such…there is no spiritual culture involved. Going to the Justice of the Peace is purely legal. The judge is certified and their area to perform the ceremony. The credentials and expectation check out. Whereas this might not be the case if someone is just performing marriages with no knowledge base. The responsibilities of a judge are understood from the beginning.

One can argue we need to have more care given in church for those who are called to ministry. It can be said that too many are in positions they are not called for, and there are two many on the pew that should be ministering to the people. The nepotism and clique behavior in church ministry…the politics of it is something that has to be looked at and addressed honestly. It is something that the congregation is going to have to take a stance about. Not only does it lead to poor leadership, but it can open the door for what we are seeing in the sense that some feel its better to just get an online ordination verse having to be taught or go through any process. When the call to ministry becomes unfair…the call itself can be misused.

Becoming an ordained minister is about more than performing marriages. The responsibilities are deep and necessary within a congregation. There has to be a change within the church as the culture of it is at risk. The faith is riddled with problematic issues that could be addressed if God and the people were the focus. That is also a part of the responsibilities of ministry…do you care for the people of God. Are you ministering to the youth, caring for the elderly, caring for the ill, caring for the widows…being a beacon of light for our community? All of this is more than just a marriage ceremony, but it call comes with the title of ordained minister.

Staff Writer; Chelle’ St James

May also connect with this sister via Twitter; ChelleStJames.

“When terrible things happen to us, we must choose how to move forward in the aftermath; but it’s not always clear which paths are the “right” ones, because morality is almost always gray. Countless people of color have had and continue to have to find a way to push forward in the wake of blatant and consistent denial of our right to exist in peace and equality.”

Spiritual culture in the book was not overused, nor out of place. It didn’t overshadow the story, though it is deeply involved in the plot it is woven in as a part of a strong culture. Black family, and society is at the very heart of this book. How relationships respond to betrayal, disrespect, lies, deceit, and the stealing of one’s rights. The reader is immediately drawn to the main characters, and it is easy to identify with them. Many of us will see our family members through the characters and relate to the different challenges and pain they encounter. You will find yourself deeply hating some, cheering for others, and having to give grace in spaced you don’t want to.

“The blessing was an easy ritual, only requiring blessed water and a sincere prayer to the ancestors under the light of the moon.”

The author masterfully crafted this story and how the systemic racism of white people is a constant battle and threat to black culture and community. In this the story felt very personal to me as this battle in New Orleans continues even to this day. We are constantly in a fight for our culture and city, and in that fight far too many times our families are deeply damaged. This is woven through the narrative well.

“A person’s worth is not tied to their ability to conceive, nor are they obliged to pop out children to serve the patriarchy. Lenora Savant is undeniably on of the Black people Harriet Tubman would’ve shot.”

This book was an emotional ride that will leave the reader ready for book two, without making them feel too much was unresolved. We got enough closure to be satisfied. I laughed, cried, was angry, and felt the need to cuss at times right along with the character. I highly recommend this story for book clubs, community conversations through narrative, and purely for enjoyment. I can’t wait to read the sequel.

“I smile despite myself, but it fades fast. “I still can’t believe all this mess started thirty years ago because a white lady couldn’t deal with someone telling her no.”

“Blood Debts” can be found at your local bookstore, Amazon, and anywhere books are sold.

Staff Writer; Christian Starr

May connect with this sister over at Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/christian.pierre.9809 and also Twitter; http://twitter.com/MrzZeta.

Unfortunately, fangirl behavior can cloud reality when this space becomes how all of life is coped with. For some when life gets hard watch your favorite K-drama…when depressed turn on BTS. I can definitely understand why one would do it; I admit if my morning is rough BTS is a happy encouraging go too. They have been a wonderful addition to my current playlists. However, some of us tend to overlook issues regarding race and racial appropriation when they happen. Furthermore, in this new found love of Korean men…we end up trashing Black men without cause. We can love the culture and its entertainment while still being honest about the state of the world and keeping our identity.

While I love cultures, I tend to stay away from artists that commit the appropriation crimes. If there is an issue whereby there is true ignorance, and that artist does the work to be better humans and that is reflected in their medium of art…I can forgive. However, the blatant appropriation with no regard to the feelings of the people that support your work is unacceptable. We need to be fair in this. If the behavior is in appropriate and disrespectful when we are dealing with White people…then it is the same for People of Color all over the world. If we are not fair across the board, we are sending a message that it is okay for some to not value our culture…this will never be okay as it further chips at respect. I for one am not a Black Pink fan for this very reason…I can’t abide the constant appropriation issue with what looks like no intention to fix the disrespectful behavior. Even if it’s your favorite artist and you choose to continue listening, it is important to be honest about the problematic situation. It’s known that even amongst our artists there are those that choose to separate the music from the individual. However, some of them can admit the individual is toxic and a terrible person. The same situation applies to other groups if you choose to keep listening.

It is important to understand yes there are those that are racist within the groups of whose culture you love. If you go visit those cultures, you may have encounters that remind you of this trust. No, it is not everyone…but again this is about being honest. We cannot equate all the people of a particular group to just what we see in the art of a few. This must also be considered when looking at men. Every Korean man is not the actor you love in the K-dramas. The idea that other groups of men are automatically better than Black men as a whole is a dangerous false narrative to feed yourself. There is good and bad in every group yes but remember this when you scold Black Men for this position regarding other groups of women. If you like what you like there is no need to drag Black men into that. Black men know our plight better than others because they too live it…this is still the truth.

Enjoy engaging in other cultures and meeting the people. Enjoy the art forms if they make you happy. I absolutely love music from all over the world, and it is the same with film & TV for me. However, I am not so far off into any fan girl behavior that I forget who I am, and the truth of the world I live in. These two things can exist in the same safe and both of them be true.

Staff Writer; Chelle’ St James

May also connect with this sister via Twitter; ChelleStJames.

“Even a carpetbagger can’t sneer at any undertaking we women might fashion for ourselves. Vigorous as we are, quick to whistle when drowning but not to worry: we’re xerophytic and not easily lost as a yacht, its tiny flags flailing, the see color of zirconium, or some other form of divination.”

Every concern we face as Black women that stem from our ability to survive, the questioning of our worth, the relationship to each other and our children, wo we are, and what we deserve are all addressed here. The poet carefully addresses these spaces using history, and words that make us pause think and digest. This is not a book that is fully understood in one read. It comes to you more every time you engage in the text. The reader will keep coming back because the text literally calls to you.

“The body isn’t an allegory­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­—history doesn’t fail, we fail history while raptors’ faces hover in the storm”

The form of the verses is free and continual like moving waters. There isn’t the traditional punctuation and stops that come with periods…the format looks like an example of what we should be. Every poem is not formatted the same. There should be authenticity and bold individuality among us as there is in the presentation of the collection.

“Till the old junk man Death plants your feet in the cool swamp mud shake your brown feet, honey. Stay awake all night with loving or be a woman in the doorway.”

Lynne Thompson held our hand as she navigated us through our origins and pains of what it means to be a Black woman especially here in America. There are reminders that we must live as much as we work, and my favorite part…that we deserve love and to be loved on through our bodies at every age our body will see. This body of work is important to the strength and healing of Black women specifically, and then all who encounter it. This is a great book for sister circles, and for women to share with the different generations of women within their family. This is a poetry book that I want to read with my mother and sisters. It is one I highly recommend as it is an answer to the needs of our heart, and affirmation desires of our soul.

“Allow yourself everything, especially those things you have stored on a shelf, saying that’s not for me or I’m not able.”

“Blue On A Blue Palette” can be found at your local bookstore, Amazon, and anywhere books are sold.

Staff Writer; Christian Starr

May connect with this sister over at Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/christian.pierre.9809 and also Twitter; http://twitter.com/MrzZeta.