shadowA good friend of mine used to call me and share with me his frustrations when he and his girlfriend were fighting. This went on for about 6 months while we were both away at college in two separate states. Eventually, when I met her I was shocked. She didn’t have horns, or warts, or a broom. She was far different than the picture he painted for me over the phone and I struggled with getting to like the nice person in front of me when I couldn’t get away from the image that was given to me over the past 6 months. I was never comfortable around her because I couldn’t find the antidote for the 6 months of poison I was given. She never had a chance with me and that had nothing to do with her. I couldn’t see who she was because I couldn’t un-hear the bad image I heard through the phone.


The grand jury that assembled to review the John Crawford III incident in Dayton, Ohio decided the police officers should not be charged in John’s death. John Crawford III was the young man who was shot and killed in a Walmart while walking around the store carrying a toy gun.

I don’t get it….

I just don’t get it.

This last year has been a tough year. A little over a year ago I watched the Treyvon Martin trial and listened to the debates and saw the life of a young black man be deemed worthless. A jury acquitted George Zimmerman of killing an unarmed 17 year old and George has been raising hell since then but he still walks free.

In late 2013, a young Black woman, Ranisha McBride, was involved in a car accident where she hit a parked car in the early morning hours in Dearborn Heights just outside of Detroit. Ms. McBride left the disabled vehicle and showed up at the home of Theodore Wafer at about 4:30 in the morning asking for help. According to Mr. Wafer she was panicked banging on his door asking for help.  Mr. Wafer fired his shot gun through his front screen door hitting Ms. McBride in the face and killing her. Mr. Wafer was charged and convicted of second degree murder and sentenced to 15-32 years in prison.

On my birthday, August 9, of this year, Michael Brown was walking in the middle of the Canfield Drive, in Ferguson, Missouri with a friend. Officer Darren Wilson drove up to Michael and ordered Michael and his friend to walk on the sidewalk instead of the street. 3 minutes later Office Wilson had shot Michael Brown 6 times. Michael was unarmed and died soon after.

4 days before Michael was killed, John Crawford was walking through a Walmart store in Beavercreek, Ohio, just outside Dayton. He had picked up a toy gun that was on a shelf that someone else had taken out of its packaging. John was carrying around the toy in the store while he talked on his cell phone. He had the gun pointed towards the ground and was casually walking up and down the aisles. A customer saw John walking through the store with the gun and called the police. The police arrived and shortly after John was shot while still on the phone with his girlfriend and mother of his two children. The officers stated John would not obey their orders so they were forced to fire. John would die later that day.

When the Trayvon incident occurred I was hoping Zimmerman was a delusional racist. Although some will argue that he is, I’m not sure I agree. The easy answer is he is a mentally unstable racist.   The scary answer is he is a product of messaging.

We are fed subtle messages through TV, movies, and the news, that tell us Black is bad. That messaging is repeated over and over and over and eventually people begin to subconsciously believe it. So when a 17 year old Black boy walks through a neighborhood with his hood up, subconsciously he is a threat and if someone feels threatened then they are justified in defending ourselves. But sadly, when the sun comes up, or the lights get turned on, or the pace slows down we see only an unarmed 17 year old boy, or a scared 19 year girl who needs help, or an 18 year old who would start college in two days, or a 22 year old father of two carrying a toy. When these subconscious beliefs are mixed with fear and adrenaline the results have been deadly and these tragic results appear to be more and more common.

I recently listened to a behavioral psychologist explain how this messaging can be so dangerous. Our minds begin to believe these messages so when some come across a Black person, someone who we have been told to fear, our mind creates what isn’t there. The messages are so ingrained that the mind’s interpretations of the incidents are screwed.   For example people become convinced that a person raising their hands in surrender is raising their hands in defiance and aggression.

There’s a viral video traveling the internet that was shot from a police officer’s dash-cam in South Carolina. The officer approaches a Black man as he parked and was exiting his vehicle in a gas station parking lot. The officer noticed the man wasn’t wearing his seat belt as he rode through the parking lot.   The young man was in the process of going in to the gas station when the Officer ordered him to stop and demanded the man show him some identification. The young man went back into his vehicle to get his license and the officer responded by shooting at the man who was now five to eight feet away. Later when the officer was interviewed, the officer used phrases like, “He dove back in to the car.” When I watch the video I see the man calmly and casually turn and reach in to his car. But because of this messaging, in the officer’s mind he saw something totally different and on tape you can hear him yell, “He’s got a gun,” as the Black man reaches into his vehicle. His mind has been predisposed to think that Blacks are dangerous, violent, and more likely to carry weapons. This suspected profile plays in the head of the officer as he exits his vehicle looking for any shred of evidence to support his subconscious beliefs. It is not because he’s a racist but because he is convinced he is in danger because he has been told subconsciously, “Blacks are dangerous, proceed with caution.”

Messaging is a lot like those phone calls I would get from my friend at college. He would spend hours telling my why he and is girlfriend got into a fight and she was always the one at fault. The picture he painted of her was dark and gloomy and evil. When they would make up my phone wouldn’t ring; only when they fought would I get a call. In that call he would add more and more dark paint to a picture that was full of shadows. She never had a chance with me because I couldn’t dissolve the layers and layers of dark paint he used to paint her. I was predisposed to not liking her. This is what messaging does to people of color and it scare me to death.

I fear the person who comes across my sons will believe the subtle messaging and see a shadow cast from them in the form of a thug before they see their humor or their wit or their intelligence. Instead they will respond to a thug instead of the writer my oldest son is or the math wiz my youngest son is and the response to the thug is must more aggressive. The response to the thug is much more adversarial; much more controlling, much more fear-based, much more violent.

This was the shadow that was cast over Treyvon, Ranisha, Michael and John. Through these shadows shots were fired and lives were extinguished and these kids never had a chance and I don’t know how to stop it from happening.

Often when we talk about race and the subject of history and slavery comes up a very common objection is, “That happened decades ago. Why do we have to keep bringing it up? Can we just move on?” In my mind those statements are translated to one; “Just get over it!”

So why can’t people of color just get over it? Why can’t we just move on?

Recently my wife and I subscribed to HBO and the movie 12 Years A Slave seems to be on a repeating loop. Every time I have some free time I sit down and flip through the HBO stations looking for a good movie. I scan through the guide and see it in bold letters, 12 YEARS A SLAVE and I wonder if I should watch it. I’ve seen it before and the emotions it stirred in me were painful. It took me weeks to get some images out of my mind but when I see it listed in the guide part of me wants to watch it because I know we mustn’t forget. I feel bad even debating it when I think about the treatment so many endured and yet I want to turn away from just looking at it.

So I select it and I turn it on. Immediately I gauge the movie by one scene. As the channel comes up I try to remember, “Is this before or after Solomon is forced to whip fellow slave Patsy?” It is in that one scene that my heart breaks and screams. When I first watched the movie, I sat in my office in my comfortable leather chair and I squirmed and shifted restlessly. As Solomon whipped Patsy and she cried out in pain so did my heart. In the 2 hour in 14 minutes it took me to watch the entire movie, it felt like 2 hours and 12 minutes were of this scene. I remember saying aloud, “Okay! Okay! Stop!” This scene seemed to go on and go on and again I had mixed emotions. I wanted to look away but part of me felt obligated to watch and feel and live what slavery was really like..so I would not forgot.  So I didn’t turn away and I felt every lash Patsy received deep in me.

The woman who played Patsy, Lupita Nyong’o, went on to win an academy award for her portrayal of Patsy and she should have won. The fear of being whipped rang out as she sobbed as they tied her to the whipping post. The cries of pain grabbed me and squeezed me and stayed with me for days after. As the pain became so unbearable she lost her breath and even crying became impossible and I felt it all…deep.

Solomon, her fellow slave, was forced to beat her. Patsy was being punished for leaving the plantation to get a bar of soap so she could wash herself…A BAR OF SOAP!  The inhumanity of forcing one person to beat another to the edge of death was unbearable. The degradation Solomon endured throughout the movie was humbling and I often wondered how I would respond in the same situations. I also weighed back and forth who was more fortunate, the slaves that were hanged or those that had to live through such torture.

In the middle of the whipping scene by 14 year old son walks by to give me updates on the Detroit Tigers chances to make the playoffs and I debate whether to let him see what I am watching or not. I decide not to…today. Stealing some of his innocence today just didn’t seem right. I pause the movie and my son and I talk about our baseball team for a few minutes and he leaves to go play video games. He knows all about slavery, and life’s inequalities but he doesn’t need to know it at this level…today. This will be a movie we sit down and watch someday…but not today.

Patsy explaining why she left the plantation.

Patsy explaining why she left the plantation.

Finally the scene ends and Patsy is cut down and hovers just above death. A group of slaves gathers to take care of Patsy’s wounds and just be close to each other in their small living quarters. In this, I see community, compassion, strength, and beauty born out of hell on earth.

This movie does a wonderful job showing the degradation, and the inhumanity of slavery. It shows it as it was not colored with romanticism or white-washed to be less painful.

The next time someone asks me why we still wallow in the past I will ask them if they have watched this movie. After watching this movie it’s impossible to look past the past and the scars it has created.

My old pastor used to tell a story about a young couple who hosted Thanksgiving at their home soon after getting married. As the wife was cooking a beautiful ham the new groom stopped her and asked her why she didn’t cut the end off the ham. The wife was taken aback by such a strange request to which her young groom replied, “Any good cooks knows you always cut the end off the ham before you cook it.” The groom was too new to understand not everything you think should pass over your lips; It was too late to lasso the words back. The words were out and this began an argument that lasted right up until the first guest arrived.

The tension was obviously still present when they all sat down to eat. The table was strangely quiet as dinner began and the groom couldn’t contain himself. He wanted and needed to prove he was right. The groom turned to his mother and said, “Tell her, you have to cut the end of the ham off before you cook it!”

His mother agreed. “Well of course you do. Everyone knows that.”

The bride sank in her seat and simply stated, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that…. but why?”

Her mother-in-law was stumped. “Well you just do, it makes it taste better.”

The groom’s grandmother who was present at the table and quiet to this point started to giggle. “That’s not true. Where’d you get a crazy idea like that?” The grandmother said as she turned to her daughter.

“From you Momma. That’s how you’ve always done it.” The daughter respectfully replied.

Oh, Lord, when I first got married and I would cook a ham, I would cut the end off because the pan I had was too small. The ham wouldn’t fit in the pan unless I cut the end off.  I couldn’t afford a new pan so I guess I just kept doing it.” The grandmother smiled and turned towards her grandson, the new groom. “and when your mother watched me cook she saw me cut the end off the ham and I guess she started doing it too.” baked-ham-treacle

A few weeks ago, the Minnesota Vikings deactivated their star running back, Adrian Peterson when it surfaced he was accused of beating his 4 year old son.   Adrian admits he beat his son with a thin tree branch leaving welts, and cuts and bruises all over the child. This has been the dominant subject on sport talk radio this week and many callers have been in support of this type of discipline. The overwhelming defense has been, “My parents hit me with a switch and I turned out okay,” which I think is an incomplete argument. The psychological toll this type of discipline leaves is hard to erase.  Just because it was done in the past doesn’t make it right.

Ex-Viking Chris Carter spoke about this in the pre-game show last Sunday. He said, “My Momma raised 7 kids on her own and she did the best she could but some of the things she did were wrong. Beating a child is wrong!” I could feel the emotion in Chris’ voice when he spoke. I could feel his struggle with saying the right thing while at the same time saying is mother was wrong. He was so right. It was wrong then and it is wrong today. Even more so is it wrong today because we have at our finger tips study after study that shows exactly what hitting a child with this force can do to the child emotionally and psychologically.

I understand why so many in the past felt that beating their children was a necessity. The belief was, especially for children of color, that beating them in to submission would teach them respect for their elders and those in authority. Many believed, “I will kill them with my own hands before I let the streets take my child.” I understand the history and the mentality behind such thinking but we must do better now that we know more. I understand this has deep deep roots in some cultures but we can no longer look the other way and offer up the other cheek of an innocent child.


After several years, the grandmother was able to afford a larger pan, but she continued to cut off the end of the ham because that is all she ever did when she cooked a ham. I wonder how much great ham was wasted clinging to tradition that makes no sense.

Two Elevators

Two elevators

Two grainy videos

Two Black men

Two different responses

Rapper and entrepreneur Jay Z enters the elevator and his sister-in-law unleashes on him, kicking and wind-milling her arms and he calmly steps to the side, blocks her assault and chooses not to retaliate. Several seconds later Jay Z emerges from the elevator as if nothing happened. There has been plenty of speculation around why the sister-in-law attacked him and I don’t really care why. I care about the images that are sent and received.

Baltimore Ravens running back, Ray Rice and his fiancé enter the elevator. The doors close and the fiancé lofts a swing at Ray after he spits on her. Ray retaliates with a punch to her face. She moves towards him and he punches her again…in the face.  She falls lifeless and is unconscious before she hits the cold marble floor. Many have argued that she could have provoked this and want to argue that we don’t know the whole story and I really don’t care why. There is nothing she could have done to warrant this abuse. Period. I care about the images sent and received.


The message I got from the first elevator ride was focused on how crazed and out of control Jay Z’s sister-in-law was during the floor to floor ride. It wasn’t on Jay Z and that fact that he did the right thing. The focus wasn’t on the fact that he did what I hope my son’s would do if ever in that situation. But “thugs” don’t do good things so instead the focus falls on the image of the “crazy Black girl.”

The message I got from the second elevator ride was focused on Ray and rightly so it should have been. What he did was indefensible and that image of his brutal act will be play over and over because it fits the stereotype. I’m furious at Ray, the man, for hitting a defenseless woman. I’m furious at Ray, the Black man, because he offered up footage that will be used to show black males can’t control their violent tendencies.

As parents of children of color you must alter the lenses through which you view life. You must be aware of the messages sent and received, the stereotypes, and the assumptions that come with the color of your child’s skin. It is through these altered lenses that you must view the world that goes on around your children. So when your daughter is treated unfairly because the image of “the crazy black girl” replaces who she is you must be able to recognize that and advocate for her. When you son is unjustly punished in school because the image of the violent black male replaces the sweet child he is you must be able to recognize this bias and advocate for him.

When you advocate, do it tactfully and be aware of the reaction that comes with race or even a hint of racial bias. The reactions will come in statements like, “I am not a racist!” “Why are you playing the race card?” “We don’t see color!” … Don’t let these statements distract from your mission. Your mission is to be your child’s advocate. Your mission is to help others to see beyond the characters and stereotypes that are assigned to your child and help them see the individual your child is and can be come.

Comedian Chris Rock has a bit he does where he talks about his role as a father.  In the punchline of the joke, Chris Rock says his role as the  father of a little girl is the same as every father raising a little girl….”To keep her off the pole!” Its a funny bit and I enjoy his presentation and comedic approach.

My role as a father of two Black boys doesn’t elicit the the same chorus of laughter.  My role, which has become more and more immediate almost on a daily basis, is to keep my sons off a list that continues to grow and grow and grow.


Michael Brown


Oscar Grant, Trayvon Martin, Jordan Davis, Renisha McBride, and Michael Brown; They were all young Black children who were unarmed, shot and killed because of what someone thought they were.


Renisha McBride

I am raising young Black men in my home and with each unjust death of someone like them I have less to tell my sons. I don’t know what to say to assure they will be safe in a world that has declared open season on those that look like them.  I haven’t followed the Michael Brown case very closely because I don’t want to look at it in the face like I did with Trayvon.  Trayvon’s picture is burned into my brain and instinctively when I see his picture I go back to that night where I’m sure he was scared, and wet, and terrified and died with his executioner standing over him as he drew his last breath.

I can’t do that with Michael.  I don’t want to see the face of another Black youth that will no longer age.   I stay blissfully ignorant because the facts and circumstances are too real, too painful.   The more I find out about Michael Brown the more I can draw comparisons between him and my young Black sons; the easier it would be to mentally photo-shop my sons faces on to Michael’s body. Too scary.   Too real!   Too heartbreaking.

When Trayvon was killed I told my sons when they are confronted to move slowly, hands out of their pockets and hood or hat off their head. I told them to do whatever they had to to get home alive.   But that didn’t seem like enough.   The stalking and killing of a young 16 year old like he was an exotic animal is hard to protect against or strategize around.


Trayvon Martin

A few years ago, I was riding my bike and came up to a “road closed” sign. Not wanting to take the long way around I decided to continue down the closed road.   As I came around a corner there sat a police cruiser with a young White officer behind the wheel.   I knew enough not to turn around; not to run.   He saw me and there was no way out of it.   So I slowly pedaled forward. As I got even with the cruiser the young officer bolted out of the car and into my path.   He was frantic, waving his arms wildly,  and yelling in my face.   He was about half my age which added an interesting sting  to the story.  As I grow older the treatment I  receive from some  younger White people adds to the pain and frustration of moments filled with such disrespect.   As he stood 6 inches from my face yelling, I had a decision to make.  I could meet his intensity with my own or I could take control.  I paused, took a deep breath, and as I motioned with my hands as if pushing air down in front of me, I calmly and quietly said, “Okay,Okay.”  I knew I had to negotiate a way out of the fight that he seemed to want.   My calm demeanor and quiet voice caused him to reset.   He lowered his voice, slowed his movements, and became calm.  I apologized for ignoring the sign, he took my license, ran it through his computer and let me go.

Jordan Davis

Jordan Davis


From this incident,  I  gained the words to instruct my sons. I will now tell them you must be the cool head. You must become the negotiator. If you fire back with the same intensity you will burn from the explosion that results. You must shrink, but not cower. You must control but not overpower. Speak calmly, be humble, never step forward,  stay as still as possible,  never move quickly unless told, and stay calm because your life depends on it.

Concentrate on the mission: The mission is to come home to your mother and me.  Understand,  I can’t be the parent at the No-Justice-No-Peace rallies marching with your picture talking about what you were going to be in life. Selfishly, I need you to stay calm and focused and negotiate your path through our front door.

I am fortunate because my sons are small and their skin is light.  A large dark skinned Black young man activates warning signals in the minds of many.   If they were big I would tell them not to raise up to their full height while in this situation.  I would tell them to make themselves small; no puffing of the chest, no flexing of the arms, stay relaxed in this tense situation.  Be humble; be calm, because your life depends on it.

Oscar Grant

Oscar Grant

I shouldn’t have to tell my children to be the mature one in this situation. I shouldn’t have to set up these rules.  I shouldn’t have to…But I do…because their lives depend on it.  This is what I tell them today knowing the next incident will add more rules and more conditions and more “what ifs.” Until then we will talk about Oscar, and Trayvon and Renisha, and Jordan and Michael hoping the list and rules will stop growing.   We will talk about what to do to stay off the list and I pray what I tell them is the right thing and I pray they will never need to use it and I pray if they need it they will remember, and I pray…

and I pray

and I pray

and I…

*Note:  Since I began this,  the list has grown.  John Crawford III was shot and killed in a Dayton, Ohio by two police officers because he was carrying a toy gun in the store.

John Crawford III

John Crawford III

I’m Done!

“We have a hard enough time getting our 4-6 year olds adopted. We don’t have much hope of getting our teenagers adopted.” This was said by a supervisor at a child welfare agency;   an agency who is tasked with finding homes for children…all children.

My ears heard it but my mind was having a hard time translating it. This sad statement was said in a meeting between the agency, myself, and a group of recruiters from the Dave Thomas foundation. I sat with the recruiters and we tried to convince the agency to allow us to help with the recruiting of families for their teenagers who were aging through the foster care system.

This sforktatement was said in the presence of other supervisors and case workers who sat silent nodding in defeated agreement and I was done. I spent the last year working as a recruiter trying to find homes for these wonderful kids but at every turn the agency we were trying to help resisted, and fought, and kicked and screamed, and rejected our assistance. Every meeting, every conversation, every contact with the agency was like entering in to a world where the floor was the ceiling and the ceiling was the floor and everything I thought I knew was contradicted, challenged and shot down.

In this same meeting, I was chastised for presenting to the agency a perspective adoptive mother who was looking to adopt one of their “unadoptable” teens. I had done my job and brought to them a woman who was qualified, had done the requirements, had a valid home study and was willing to begin the conversation of adopting one of the agency’s youth. During the meeting the supervisor asked me what she should do with the home study I had forwarded to her. I didn’t know how to respond.

I wanted to scream, “How ‘bout you do your job and we try to find this child a home?” Why was she asking me how to do her job? Didn’t she know the process?   I simply responded, “ That sounds like an internal process that you and your people will have to address.” I was done and tired from walking on the ceiling.

I spent the last year meeting these great kids and in each one I saw me. In each one I saw what could have been my fate and it hurt. I hurt for them and the guilt I felt weighed on me. I saw amazing children that were camouflaged in hurt who had been “saved” by the system only to be victimized by it. I saw kids who were pushed through a process; a process that took priority over the needs of the kids and I wanted to scream. The Dave Thomas Foundation saw value in these kids and has put together an amazing program to find homes for the children. In the agencies where the Dave Thomas Foundation has been allowed to work success has been found and the results are impressive. Unfortunately, the agency I was working with refused to see what could be done. Instead they would respond saying things like, “We have done it this way for over 30 years….” Again, my mouth dropped open. I can’t think of any other organization who would take pride in the fact that they haven’t changed in 30 years. The organizations that don’t change– fail and this organization has a long history of failure. It has become a relic, a floor model TV with a tube; just something taking up space and I was done.

For a year I was trapped in a system that didn’t see the need for change and trying to get them to change was like trying to change the course of a cruise ship in a back yard pool; it was impossible. My ability to impact lives and exact change was bound and gagged and I struggled mightily to find my place in this upside down system.

The morning of the meeting where I was told teenagers don’t have a chance at adoption, I was offered a job and the opportunity to go back to being an insurance adjuster. This meeting and the frustrations of the past year made my decision easy and after a year in the system I HAD to get out.  I accepted the offer at the insurance company and gave my two week notice.  Over the last year, these are the lessons I’ve learned. .

  1. My strength is not working from with in the system. My joy comes from impacting lives and making change and the system I was in was not built for that and I was not built for it. I have become accustomed to making a difference. In this  blog, or when I speak, or do training I know I am helping someone and that matters to me.
  2. Working with kids in care is not my gift. It was too painful and my skill set is not designed to work with kids. My skill set is to work with adults who are interested in making things better for children. The energy that was drained from me was not healthy. In that year of work I wrote maybe two or three blogs. The triggers that went off for me while working with these great kids dissolved my creative energy and didn’t allow me to do what I am good at and enjoy.
  3. Finding what you’re good at sometimes means finding out what you’re not good at.
  4. The system is broken and I’m not sure how it will get fixed. The group and system that I worked in was like a large boulder that was pushed down a steep hill. No one knew who pushed and no one dared to try and stop it. The momentum behind the boulder is too great for any one person to change its direction. It will take a courageous cultural shift within this organization to redirect its course and the leadership to do that isn’t present at this time.

I choose to walk away because this is not my lane of travel. Many will argue that I gave up and walked away and turned my back on those caught in the system and that is something I struggled with over and over.  Believe me the guilt that is attached to me from walking away is felt with every step. But in the end, I am not much good if I too am bound. I don’t have within me the power to change the system and I had to get out before the evil fog of the system enveloped me and changed me.   My hope is the impact I will make will be in a place where I function best and the best me hopefully will make others better. I look forward to getting back to writing and contributing the best I can.

A Higher Calling

I’ve never been good at asking for money.  My gift is not in fundraising and the thought of asking people to donate money makes me nervous.  But to broaden the scope of the people I can help and touch the fundraising is a necessary evil.  

Initially, when I came up with the idea to create a film about my bio-mom’s decision to have me aborted, I thought I could fund the project myself.  When I sat down and started adding everything up it became very very clear that if I wanted to do this right I was going to have to ask for help.  So I swallowed my pride understanding that to get to the next level, to respond to a calling that won’t let me go I had to ask for help.

Presenting the vision of the film to people is easy.  I tell them the story of my mother approaching her sister to borrow money to have me aborted and right away people are enthralled and captivated by the story.  When I explain my White mother was pregnant with me as a result of an affair with a Black co-worker in the late 60′s in Detroit people are riveted by the drama of the story.  The point when I share that I was born in the wake of the Detroit riots in 1967; a biracial child in the midst of this racial tornado people are stunned.

The story is compelling and the messages that are hidden in it are endless.  So many conversations are embedded in this juicy tabloid-like story.  There is race, their is shame, there is guilt, there is drama, there is life, and there is death.  It is a compiling story that could be the gateway to a higher calling.  It is the reason why the story and this project just won’t go away.  It has been in my mind for two year incubating, growing, and churning.  I’ve tried to put it down, I’ve tried to walk away but it follows me like an haunting shadow.  The good this film could do far outweighs my pride.  So I humbly have to ask for support, and assistance.

Many have remarked at how they could use the film to impact people and right away they brainstorm about the effects the story could have and where it could be used.  But the truth is,  if it is not funded the good that it can do will never be achieved.  The lives we could touch, the conversations we could start go quiet.

If you can help it would be wonderful.  If you are not in a place where you can help would you forward this blog and link to anyone and everyone you know who may be interested in joining this Calling?  Please take the time to view the Kickstarter page and see what great work has already been done in hopes that people will latch on and take the ride with us.



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