"As day comes, and night falls/
For the rest of our lives we'll miss y'all/
And even though life must go on /
We still mourn /
While wishin' y'all were home"
-- Nas feat. Quan ("Just A Moment")
I met Ms. Whitt about 24 years ago when I was about 14 years old, and for two years in high school, she took my best friend Gwen and me under her wing. Together the three of us worshipped at New Hope and visited many other churches, and Ms. Whitt let us tag along with her wherever she went. She talked about the Word with us, prayed with us, let us hang out at her apartment -- she shared her life with us, in all of its trials and triumphs. Ms. Whitt was real, transparent, down-to-earth, funny, spiritual, and she loved life. And she encouraged all of these things in Gwen and me. She took two 'know-it-all' teenage girls who were short on humility and she put up with us. She let us bug her on the phone, listened to our problems, hopes, fears. That meant a lot to us. To me. Especially since the adults in my home were dealing with their own demons of addiction. And Ms. Whitt never said anything bad about my parents. She was just there for me. She was like a mother to me. A spiritual mother.
Ms. Whitt encouraged us to be all we could be for God. So when we went off to college -- one to Harvard, the other to Yale -- she cheered us on. And when, after two years of college, I came home pregnant, Ms. Whitt still accepted me. I'm sure she was disappointed, but she didn't scold me. That was not her way. She was forgiving. She even shared her own struggles in this area with me, and encouraged me to keep going. She visited me in the hospital right after the birth of my daughter, calling her an angel and her deformed arms 'wings'. And when I went back to Yale with my daughter and graduated two years later, Ms. Whitt set up a City Hall honoring of me, which led to a newspaper article and my first teaching job and a monetary show of support for my daughter from the Whighams.
None of this was asked for. It was just Ms. Whitt's way. She was giving. And even when my relationship with my best friend Gwen became strained and ended, Ms. Whit always asked me, whenever I talked to her, "When was the last time you heard from Gwen?"
I'm under no illusions about Ms. Whitt's shortcomings. She was human. She liked men, and she liked to smoke. One of the funniest memories I have of her is the three of us being on the phone, and Ms. Whitt talking to us about God through puffs of a cigarette. Which was always followed by Gwen and I reprimanding her about her smoking, and her telling us she was asking the Lord to remove the taste of cigarettes from her mouth. Flawed as she was, I am confident Ms. Whitt knew and loved God. She never justified anything that was not right in her lifestyle. In fact, for a period, she pushed Gwen and me away because she did not want to be a bad influence on us. It's undeniable Ms. Whitt loved God and she loved people. No matter how many mistakes she made in life, she clung to God, held on to her Savior.
I'm going to miss you, Ms. Whitt. Maverick. Evangelist. Prophetess. You wrote in my high school yearbook that we'd build many churches in Jesus' name. Well, I haven't planted any churches, but I am starting a high school from scratch. If I can touch the lives of teenagers the way you touched my life, if I can build their confidence and put wind under their wings so they can soar past their troubled environments to unseen heights, then I'll be satisfied. See you in heaven, Ms. Whitt.
Ms. Whitt encouraged us to be all we could be for God. So when we went off to college -- one to Harvard, the other to Yale -- she cheered us on. And when, after two years of college, I came home pregnant, Ms. Whitt still accepted me. I'm sure she was disappointed, but she didn't scold me. That was not her way. She was forgiving. She even shared her own struggles in this area with me, and encouraged me to keep going. She visited me in the hospital right after the birth of my daughter, calling her an angel and her deformed arms 'wings'. And when I went back to Yale with my daughter and graduated two years later, Ms. Whitt set up a City Hall honoring of me, which led to a newspaper article and my first teaching job and a monetary show of support for my daughter from the Whighams.
None of this was asked for. It was just Ms. Whitt's way. She was giving. And even when my relationship with my best friend Gwen became strained and ended, Ms. Whit always asked me, whenever I talked to her, "When was the last time you heard from Gwen?"
I'm under no illusions about Ms. Whitt's shortcomings. She was human. She liked men, and she liked to smoke. One of the funniest memories I have of her is the three of us being on the phone, and Ms. Whitt talking to us about God through puffs of a cigarette. Which was always followed by Gwen and I reprimanding her about her smoking, and her telling us she was asking the Lord to remove the taste of cigarettes from her mouth. Flawed as she was, I am confident Ms. Whitt knew and loved God. She never justified anything that was not right in her lifestyle. In fact, for a period, she pushed Gwen and me away because she did not want to be a bad influence on us. It's undeniable Ms. Whitt loved God and she loved people. No matter how many mistakes she made in life, she clung to God, held on to her Savior.
I'm going to miss you, Ms. Whitt. Maverick. Evangelist. Prophetess. You wrote in my high school yearbook that we'd build many churches in Jesus' name. Well, I haven't planted any churches, but I am starting a high school from scratch. If I can touch the lives of teenagers the way you touched my life, if I can build their confidence and put wind under their wings so they can soar past their troubled environments to unseen heights, then I'll be satisfied. See you in heaven, Ms. Whitt.
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