Author’s Note I grew up an only child in Georgia, my family extending to include those in my neighborhood, school, and church communities. Whether related by blood or not, an African American elder was called auntie or uncle. Young Black men and women called one another brother and sister. Kids my age called one another cousin because we felt as close as siblings.
Nearly three years old when my birth mother died, I was raised in the Southern Baptist Church by a community of mostly older women. We attended church every Sunday and sometimes during the week. I believed in the power of prayer and had faith in miracles. When I was very young, I consistently prayed for my mother to come back to me, and I prayed for siblings. When I was ten years old, I discovered I had an older brother and three younger sisters living in California with the father we shared. My prayers were answered, and we are connected to this day. Of course, my mother didn’t come back to life, but I began to see the world differently. I looked around my community and appreciated the fact that I was blessed with nearly a dozen mothers!
During my childhood, prayer was an essential part of my nighttime ritual. Each evening after homework was done and my favorite television shows were over, I would wash my face, brush my teeth, and get into my pajamas. Before going to sleep, I would kneel beside my bed, fold my hands, close my eyes, and bow my head. My great-grandmother Nettie Mae and my great-aunt Luellen taught me short prayers that I recited each night, but then I would want to pray for everyone I knew: family members, neighbors, teachers, the lunch ladies in the cafeteria, and even cashiers at the grocery store. My prayers were long and sometimes elaborate. At first it was a way to keep the light on in the room a little longer. My prayers were sincere, but I was afraid of the dark, scared that monsters or snakes were under my bed and, most terrifying of all, that some harm might come to the people I loved. Prayer was a way for me to remember that God was watching over everyone I cared about.
When I got older, I no longer knelt beside my bed or said my prayers out loud. I realized that I could pray silently anywhere I wanted for as long as I wanted. Saying a silent prayer whenever I’m afraid comforts me to this day.
The people in my community gave me a strong sense of identity, values to live by, pride in my culture, and a sense of belonging. My hope is that children reading this book will feel the same sense of belonging in their own communities and see how prayer can lift them up as they pray for those they love.
Shay Youngblood
Copyright © 2023 by Shay Youngblood, Illustrations by Kristina Swarner. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
