Then this past year these things—unimaginable things—were put to the test again. Far too often, we found ourselves on the defensive and boiling with anger, fighting dueling feelings of helplessness, brokenness, vulnerability, and pride. And in the dark, we sat. We talked. We cried—oh, did we cry. We leaned on each other and shed more tears than prophets could have foretold. When our hearts were heavy and the melanin in our skin tried to force a wedge in what we believed in, we continued to build. Because when there seems to be nothing left, all you really have left is faith in the piecing together of shattered bits. For the faith that stares back at you in those shattered pieces has no choice but to be louder, fiercer, and gentler than what was.
2015 has taught me that it exists around every corner, if I seek it. And even when I don’t, it is there waiting in the night, yearning to bring us in and wrap us warm. It is waiting to battle with us, to openly cry with heaviness too. It's waiting to piece together in darkness, only to come out thicker and more profound. Sisterhood is waiting.
Rubi Jones on hair; Maia Harms on photography; modeled by Antia Joseph and myself. Leap Dress and Tabernacle Suit by Samantha Pleet; and skirt by Family Affairs.