Death, failure, betrayal, sickness, disappointment—they cannot take our joy, because they cannot take our Jesus.

The Black female is assaulted in her tender years by all those common forces of nature at the same time that she is caught in the tripartite crossfire of masculine prejudice, white illogical hate and Black lack of power. The fact that the adult American Negro female emerges a formidable character is often met with amazement, distaste and even belligerence. It is seldom accepted as an inevitable outcome of the struggle won by survivors and deserves respect if not enthusiastic acceptance.

I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way (s)he handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.

Sugar cane reach up to God And every baby crying Shame the blanket of my night And all my days are dying

You may trode me in the very dirt. But still, like dust, I'll rise.

I made no attempt to wipe away the tears. I could not claim a forefather who came to America on the Mayflower. Nor did any ancestor of mine amass riches to leave me free from toil. My great-grandparents were illiterate when their fellow men were signing the Declaration of Independence, and the first families of my people were bought separately and sold apart, nameless and without traces — yet there was this: 'Deep River My home is over Jordan.

When he finished, more triumphant stories rainbowed around the room riding the shoulders of laughter. By all accounts these storytellers, born Black and male before the turn of the twentieth century, should have been ground into useless dust. Instead they used their intelligence to pry open the door of rejection and not only became wealthy but got some revenge in the bargain. It wasn't possible for me to regard them as criminals or be anything but proud of their achievements.

It becomes easier to die and avoid conflicts than to maintain a constant battle with the superior forces of maturity.

I keep on dying, Because I love to live.

On our worst days, we still look for something we've done toward recovery. Sometimes the best we can do is feel good about what we did not do.

I had focused on the failure because I had not yet acquired the wisdom necessary to attain a better perspective.

Beloved, are you being sifted? Has God permitted the enemy to launch a full-scale attack against you? God knows what He's doing. He isn't looking the other way, and He's not being mean to you. Maybe this is the only way He can get you to attend to the old so He can do something new. Grab onto Him for dear life! Give Him full reign to remove anything in you that needs to go. Hasten the end of the process. Sift, dear one. Sift!