When You Stop Looking, You Find It
I wasn’t raised in a Christian home.
I know, right? Shocker.
Growing up in a black southern family means a Baptist or maybe C.O.G.I.C. upbringing or something similar.
For me? Things were a little different.
My mother, by all accounts, had a pretty average childhood growing up in the boondocks of Goldsboro, Florida – now known as Sanford (The small black township was enveloped by the city back in the day), my mother didn’t spend much time in any church until her uncle was called to become a pastor when she was in her teens.
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