It’s the letters I get from readers that give me hope and open my mind | Opinion

I get many wonderful emails from my readers. Some of them make me smile and some almost bring me to tears. One recent letter caused me to tear up and smile as well.

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The writer told me how angry she gets over what is going on in our country these days. I understand. We are living in trying times. Then after telling me how she and I share the same views, she wrote:

“…I am sure you have heard this before… after I read so many of your columns I feel as if I have just left church and the pastor gave a really good sermon. You have listened to so many sermons over your lifetime I think it has influenced you to write in a similar fashion. Whatever the reason, I hope you keep writing for many years to come, telling the truth in your soft and sweet way…” – Maureen Adelman

I read and reread her letter, as I often do with my fan mail — even the ones that don’t agree with me. I was touched. While I never want to sound “preachy” when I write, as a Christian believer, I do want my faith to dictate the tone of what I write.

I don’t ever want to sound angry. I believe, like it says in the Bible, that “soft words turn away wrath.” That doesn’t mean that I should sugarcoat what I write. I believe I can get a tough point across without sounding like an angry Black woman.

Still, like many of you, I get angry at some of the things I read and hear. I often don’t like what comes from President Trump’s mouth. I think he is mean-spirited and does nothing to bring about unity to our nation.

I further believe that his soul could use a good spiritual bath. But he is the president, and I work hard not to hold any anger in my heart against him. Rather, I try to put my faith in action and pray for him. I don’t let the sun go down on my anger.

This isn’t to say that I am holier than any of you. I am just a journalist who tries to live my faith in every aspect of my life. I don’t mean to sound preachy, but if my writing reflects my faith, then that makes me happy.

Maureen wasn’t saying that my columns sound “preachy.” She simply said what I have always wanted those who read my columns to gain from what I have to say – that I write about what I believe to be the truth in the only way I know how – with love and gentleness.

I know that not everyone who reads my column agrees with me. And that’s a good thing, because although I always mean well, I might not always be right. So, I welcome the letters from those who disagree with me as much as I welcome the ones who agree with me. I call it a healthy exchange of ideas and opinions.

I count writing this column each week as one of my many blessings. It is a valuable platform, and I don’t take it for granted. This space gives me the opportunity to not only voice my opinion about what is going on in our community and country, it is a platform to inspire, to help brighten someone’s otherwise gloomy day.

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It gives me the opportunity to share stories about myself and my culture with you. And, in turn, I believe you feel free to write me and tell me your stories. That way, we get to know each other. I love it!

Here is a little backstory. Growing up in the Jim Crow South in the 1950s, I could only dream of becoming a journalist. I didn’t know about Ida B. Wells, a pioneer Black woman journalist who worked in Chicago, until I was grown.

Wells was an investigative reporter who fled Memphis after threats against her life for exposing the horrors of lynching. Until I learned of her, my role model had been Brenda Starr, Star Reporter — a white comic strip character.

In high school, I had this wonderful journalism teacher, Marian Shannon, who taught her students at Booker T. Washington Junior/Senior High School in Miami’s Overtown to reach for the stars even when we couldn’t see them. Back then, there were no opportunities for any of her Black students to get a job at The Miami Herald. Still, she gave us hope. She believed that one day the doors to our dreams would be open.

She believed that my becoming a journalist was not that farfetched. And even when I didn’t see any evidence of that happening, Marian Shannon wouldn’t let me stop dreaming. We stayed in touch even when I was out of school and married with two children, became a widow and when I went back to school. But thanks be to God — she lived to see my dream come true.

I think of her sometimes, when I am writing. I still have the last note I got from her. Marian Shannon would have been a terrific journalist. She didn’t have the opportunity, but I hope I have made her proud.

In 1966, God made it possible for me to get a job as a file clerk in the Miami Herald’s library, where I met another mentor — the late great Fred Shaw (as I like to call him), then The Herald’s book editor. Like Marian Shannon before him, Fred Shaw told me I had a future as a journalist.

Remembering my journey of how I got here — from dreaming of becoming a journalist to being one — helps to keep me grounded. And the fact that writing this column has helped to break down barriers of race and indifference blesses me.

That’s why I love getting emails from you, even when you disagree with what I have written. I value your opinions. This sharing of ideas and thoughts is just one of the blessings this column has afforded me.

So, thanks, to all of you who take the time to write to me. You are part of the reason I could never take writing this column for granted.

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