It was the year 2012. I had written my testimony in a book detailing God's grace and His mercy. I'd written a grant to start my health and social service ministry as well. I was excited. I survived seeing you later to my mother, a woman who had fixed my shoes for the journey many years prior. I did everything to honor her memory.
What the courts didn't know initially, I was honoring the spirits of women before me. All were with Jesus except one, and I wished for her to see me well before her journey to be with Christ. I filed a petition application for a discretionary appeal.
I wrote pursuant to the honorable court's Domestic Relations Pilot Project to establish and further develop common law. From what I read, applications were seldom denied. However, mine included enumerations.
It was a political year. Wages noted for women," usual weekly earnings were highest for women age 35 to 64; weekly earnings were $740 for women age 35 to 44, $754 for women age 45 to 54, and $766 for women age 55 to 64." During the same period, "the uninsured women increased between 18-64 and one of seven women had no usual source of healthcare." I was a nurse in divorce, walking by faith.
I was unemployed and confident that God would see me through. Healthcare was on politician's agendas. It's the perfect time for me to get divorced for two reasons, it was time, and It's Time. As attorneys had inquiry me on my station in life, when I made it in the walls stated as justice, I had questions of my own.
For any student who learned on the sacred grounds birthed into existence in 1881, you will know without my ever calling his name. I thought of the instructor who sat sitting pretzel shaped and listened to his explanation of a man named Abraham Maslow. It had been a long time since I thought of him, and since then, I sat in the building that nursing hopefuls gathered to learn what the Maslow pyramid meant in relation to health care.
I don't know who was sitting on the bench in my grandmother and mother's home state, but I presented as kin to generations who picked cotton. In their spirits, I made it to the Supreme court with a cause. In a law brief, I identified myself as Appellant.
I came on their behalf to advocate for the poor and speak on women's issues. The mere thing that brought me no joy is responsible for my second book's title, JOY: Jesus on You.
My bold grandmother left Georgia's cotton fields to give her children more. When Tuskegee celebrated 100, my mother sent me to college, confident I would become a nurse one day. The path to redemption.