When I think back on my life and how I not only survived the darkness that shrouded much of my childhood and a chunk of my young adulthood, I know that it was that I was incredibly blessed by having many mothers and many moons that shown over me.
This morning my family and I drove down to Corktown in Detroit to meet a couple of those moons for a nice breakfast.
Friends I had not seen in many years. Too many.
Sometime not long after I aged out of the foster care system I found myself at the doorstep of St. Peter’s Inn, a homeless shelter for young women ages 17 to 21 housed in St Peter’s Episcopal Church. I was young, angry and lost. I can’t really say I found myself during the time I spent there, but I did get a lot of help and made some very good friends.
Fr. John was the head of the congregation housed in the building, was always
jolly, never failed to invite us to vespers and was always one of my greatest cheerleaders. Lydia was one of the shelter administrators. She always treated as if we were her own children, struggling with coming of age, respecting us as people, offering gentle council, always encouragement and somehow never came off as judgmental. How she managed to pull that off, I will never know. (And of course I met my good friend Ang There too.)
Years after I left the shelter of St. Peter’s Inn, (now Alternatives For Girls and housed in another building thanks to an Oprah’s Angel Network donation) Mr. Sunday and I returned to the little church on The Corner Of Trumbull and Michigan Ave. to say our “I dos”. You know, the wedding where everyone stood around talking about how they thought it would have been more likely that they would have all gotten together for my funeral than my wedding.
Now I couldn’t go getting hitched without going home and having my old buddy Fr. John preside over the rituals, could I?
