The Power of Story in Transformation
In the quiet moments of reflection, I find myself thinking about my own life story, each page revealing moments of growth, resilience, and transformation. I wonder, where are there places in my story where I did my best? My least? When did I show up for myself or others? When did I disappoint? When did I choose to make amends? When did I chose to pretend I was infallible? All of these things are human, and owning up to them is how we get a clear picture of who we are, through the stories we tell. These stories, the tales we tell about ourselves, are the keys to unlocking the doors of personal and spiritual growth.
Think about a time in your life when everything shifted, when the world seemed to pivot on its axis. These are the turning points, the moments of realization that alter the course of our stories. Perhaps it was overcoming a challenge, navigating a difficult choice, or coming to terms with a decision you made. What story did you tell to get you through that moment? Did you make something up that you could aspire to? Did you own up and lean into honesty?
Adversity is not the end of the tale, nor a stopping point, but an opportunity for growth. It’s not the smooth, easy paths that define, but the rocky terrains that build us. Each obstacle becomes a stepping stone, a testament to the resilience cultivated through the struggles faced. Loneliness and isolation were experiences that many of us faced during the COVID 19 lockdown, and too many are still in this space. Enduring this kind of long-term struggle has given most of us a greater sense of connection when we are in the presence of others, in person or online. This is one of many examples of adversity shaping us. What struggles shape you? How do these points of adversity influence your overall story? Do they define you? Are they stepping stones for learning?
I think about the unwritten pages of my story. The narrative is far from complete; the journey of transformation is ongoing. What will the next chapters hold? How will my story continue to evolve? These questions excite me. Encourage me to have hope for a future. To dream big, knowing that anything is possible because I have the capacity to imagine my story. To create the reality I want. It also gives me incredible focus to determine what I really want. If I dreamed to have a big, beautiful thriving garden but no space for one, I would think about what I wanted from that garden. If I want beautiful flowers that I could see all around me, then I can draw or paint them on every scrap of paper I can find, and put them on the walls around me so that every place I look I see beautiful flowers. The method is different, but the result is the same. Dream big.
In the stillness of your own reflections, your own dreaming, consider the stories you tell yourself. What tales shape your understanding of who you are? Are they stories of resilience, growth, and self-discovery, or are they narratives that hinder your potential for transformation? Take a moment to explore the narratives that guide you and reflect on the power they hold in shaping the person you are becoming.
Our stories have the power to script the future chapters of our lives. With intention, we can embrace the story that unfolds with each word, each reflection, and each move forward. After all, the story we tell about ourselves is not just a recounting of the past; it is a living, breathing narrative that shapes the person we are becoming.
Storytelling & Stories that Shape Us
What are the stories that shape you?
What role does storytelling play in your life?
Jacob
CLF member, incarcerated in AK
This has been a harder question for me to approach. Many times we hit the point we want to ignore or hide the truth about the stories that have shaped us, either because of embarrassment, fear, or some other now silly-seeming emotion. As I sit here, though, I realize that if those stories had not shaped me, I may never have made it so far in life before incarceration or even possibly death.
To start, a bit about my familial/social setting. My mom’s side of the family is from Iowa, and my dad’s side of the family is very Hillbilly, Good Ole Country boy types from the Northern Hills of Arkansas. All of that meant a very big learning curve for a child.
The stories of Hedge Witches, Shamans, and Healers are accepted truths from my dad’s side of the family. On my mom’s side, there were hardcore Catholic rituals, teachings, trainings, and underpinnings. The two do not readily mesh, but I always enjoyed walking in both paths of my family, learning from both sides.
Then, you add in the fact that I am homosexual, and could never hide my effeminity. My father and his fifth wife loved to give me lectures on the stories of Sodom and Gomorrah, fixating on the homosexuals while ignoring the full stories. They never appreciated me pointing out the key fact that is was the culmination of the sum of all of the inequalities that led to their destruction. Often this would lead to arguments and anger on both sides.
Disney Princess stories such as Mulan, Cinderella, and Beauty and the Beast made me think, “If they can find love then maybe someday I can as well.” Or can I?
The stories of various novels, like the Ramona series, gave me an escape from the pains of daily life, while motivating my curiosity and creativity.
The stories that family and friends told of their experiences and things they had seen helped shape my ambitions and drive to leave our small town. Grandpa, my dad’s dad, would tell of the antics of his peers and family. Often these would make me not want to be trapped in those same patterns. My Grandma, my mom’s mom, would point me to stories of succeeding, being yourself and fighting for something. These encouraged my drive to help others as well as be an outspoken advocate.
All of these stories have pushed me on, opened my eyes to things I may have missed, as well as motivated me to leave the hills and to see what I could learn and do.
Overall, storytelling has greatly shaped my life. Now I write fiction and non-fiction stories in an attempt to help others in similar situations push through and succeed. We have to share our stories, our truths, and our experiences to help others know that it’s possible to push through it all.
Comfortable
Barney Silk
CLF member, incarcerated in TX
They say I must have grown up with a ‘chip on my shoulder,’ but I’d like to see you come and push my boulder. Or walk a minute in this mile I call my life, and see how well you manage strife. I grew up watching other kids get things they never had to earn, that was a tough lesson I had to learn.
Because you see, I grew up in poverty and never knew what it was like to be rich, having to cut steps in the dirt to get to the mailbox from the ditch. Or wondering how me and my Grandma would make it another day, when black eyed peas and cornbread proved to be the only way.
So please don’t sit in judgment of me from the comfort and confines of your nice big home, because ain’t no one ever just throw me a bone. And don’t try to say, “you know what it’s like,” because I’m no fool, see you don’t know anything about the beatings and sexual abuse when I came home from school. Or about the times I was almost killed, lying torn and bloody in an old farm field.
And I’m not just some writer whose dream it is for his name to be called out from a crowd by a Raven fan, I’m comfortable enough just being a man. Because you see I’m a Silk and I know what it’s like, to not have all the tools yet still get it right.
Gary
CLF member, incarcerated in SC
Growing up in the South of the 1960s, my pre-school days were spent in the tender care of my maternal grandmother. These were seemingly innocent times long before video games, cell phones, or computers. The turbulence of the time, the Civil Rights Movement and War in Vietnam, were far removed from the fresh-baked bread smell of Grandma’s Kitchen.
My days were filled with tomato sandwiches, iced tea with lemon, and snow cream in the winter. But each day came with “naptime.” And naptime always came with one of Grandma’s “Lake Swamp Stories.”
Grandma was from a “little speck of a place,” as she termed it, called Lake Swamp in the South Carolina lowcountry. About 30 or so miles outside of Florence, Lake Swamp was little more than a local school, a tiny grocery store, and a barbershop.
Her daily tales were like a fantasy world to my childhood ears. No TV? No refrigerator? No indoor bathroom? I was fascinated.
The 1920s in rural South Carolina may initially seem a quiet, pastoral scene. Yet, Grandma’s stories of barn dances, alligators crawling out of creeks, thundering circuit-riding preachers, and huge Sunday dinners seemed like an amazing place in time.
But beyond being mere childhood pre-nap stories, Grandma’s tales gave me a unique sense of identity. She, unknowingly, lit the fire for my own love of writing and fed that flame with the basis for many of my short stories.
The 1960s were truly not “Leave It To Beaver” innocence for many, if not most, especially in the South. But my Grandma carved a safe space for my childhood and, importantly, gave me a love of writing.
Grandma
Gary
CLF member, incarcerated in SC
Over a pot she’d dice wild onions
add a “mess” of greens cut from her garden
toss in a chunk of salt pork
then feed us lip-smacking joy
Wells of goodness from humble fare
the magic of a Grandma
a quilt from precious scraps
a christening gown, an old shawl
cornhusks made into dolls
snowcream dusted with cinnamon
and just a speck of rum
Tuberose snuff, yeast-baked bread
pillowy, soft, just life her hugs
Convict Chronicles: the stories that save us
Leo Cardez
CLF member, incarcerated in IL
“Corners,” my newest celly, is middle-aged and polite — the sort of man who carries the normal toil of the world. We have a lot in common and often spend hours talking about this or that. He’s easy to talk to, quick to grin with a wry sparkle to his eyes when he shares stories that are close to him.
Neither of us are much for idle chit chat or gossip, but occasionally we open up about our fears, hopes, and dreams and it can be quite powerful. I can always tell when he’s getting into a story, he leans forward pinning me with the force of his words. Stories of his past life, pre-prison, are tinged with regret; nothing more so than the loss of his daughter. She’s not dead, but when he came to prison in many real ways he died to her. Prison is certainly a type of death. Are we buried yet undead or are we dead yet unburied? She was only 8 years old when he came to prison and he still recalls her bright pink pajamas with the footies she was about to outgrow in another growth spurt. In fact, he told me, there has not been a single minute in a single day since he left that he hasn’t thought about her — not a moment has slid by when the world was not still oriented toward her. His words shook me to my soul. The depth of his tragic story of multi-generational addiction and abuse pinched the oxygen from the air. Yet, by all measures, it was clear to me he had learned to use his grief as a weapon for his faith and inner recalibration.
I see myself in all his stories, it is as if I’m speaking through him, only the names and dates are different. I suppose that is the purpose of good storytelling: be tiny and epic at the same time. The best stories are local slices of Life. They concern the neighborhoods where we grew up, our closest friends, and favorite things. They are close to the bone, the flesh of our lives. And yet, they are universal, too, because they speak to our shared humanity; the fears and hopes we all share as sons, brothers, fathers, and friends. Stories of prison woes, I’ve learned, are very similar regardless of age, nationality, or culture; what happened to one, happens to all.
Corner’s story is rooted in suburban privilege, but the story arc plays out similarly around the country’s prisons: an unfair criminal justice system, fear, loss, and the desperate attempt to find and hold onto hope and purpose in our cold, austere world.
It is an undeniable truth, when we open our hearts to hear each others’ stories — we oftentimes find ourselves in them; we realize we are not so different after all and others’ experiences can become our own. I’m confident employing shared storytelling as part of a larger restorative justice effort, connecting victims and offenders, would certainly break down barriers, shatter stereotypes, and be a conduit to true healing. But, that’s a bigger story for another time.
“There is no agony like leaving an untold story inside of you,” Zora Neale Hurston wrote in Dust Tracks on a Road. That quote is the principle that guides my writing. As much as my writing may have a self-help angle or sense to it, what I really want to impart is the human pulse of the stories. The essence of their message is that we’re all in the same boat just trying to get through this harder-than-we-could-have-ever-imagined thing called life. We need, nay, we must, share what we’ve endured as a means of catharsis and connection. I’ve often encouraged my fellow inmates to write their story. I believe everyone in prison has a novel inside of them waiting to bloom, if only they’d sit down to write it.
Corners’ stories keep unfolding, every one as poignant as the last and as we get to know each other the recitation and exchange of these stories is where the common ground begins to emerge. It is how respect and friendships are built.
My greatest fear is that my own daughter may follow in my addiction footsteps. I’ve read that young people today have the highest rates of anxiety, depression, and suicide in history. Many experts believe they are symptoms of a generation being raised during the digital revolution. As connected as the internet has the capability to make us, apparently today’s youth has never felt more alone and unheard. Stories are unfolding in them and they need to express them. I encourage my daughter to seek help, if and when she feels she needs it; to talk about her feelings. And she does. She’s putting cracks in the emotional walls that hold her hostage, so eventually the whole thing will fall. That’s what happens with enough time and pressure, even the hardest rocks will eventually turn to dust. But, the waiting and continuous effort needed to break down the walls is what is heartbreaking. But, that’s why we must continue to share all those stories we keep hidden in secret chambers of our hearts — they are what make us and what may save us all.
Sin? I’m Against It.
There is a famous joke about early-20th century U.S. President Calvin Coolidge, who was known as a person of few words. One day, it is said, Silent Cal, as he was known, went to church and his wife Grace stayed home. When he got home, Grace asked him what the sermon had been about. “Sin,” replied Cal. “What did the preacher have to say about it.” Grace asked. Cal paused, sighed, and replied, “He was against it.”
Theologians for millennia have disagreed about the nature of sin, and whether and how sins are ultimately reconciled. Some have declared that, thanks to the great harm done to people perceived as committing sins in the name of religious judgment, it is not even a useful concept.
I believe that having a moral code is useful, and that looking at our actions through the lens of that moral code is a worthwhile exercise. I also believe that we, as Unitarian Universalists, need to be careful not to make “sin” into a permanent mark against someone. Sin is not a useful concept if it is used to make people into the dehumanized “other.”
James Luther Adams, a famous 20th century Unitarian/UU theologian once wrote, using the unfortunately gendered language of his time, “It cannot be denied that religious liberalism has neglected these aspects of human nature in its zeal to proclaim the spark of divinity in man. We may call these tendencies by any name we wish, but we do not escape their destructive influence by a conspiracy of silence concerning them. Certainly, the practice of shunning the word ‘sin’ because ‘it makes one feel gloomy and pious’ has little more justification than the use of the ostrich method in other areas of life.”
I agree with Adams.
So what is a Unitarian Universalist theology of sin?
Many Christians define sin as that which separates us from God. This, of course, asks humans to pretend that we know what it is that God wants, and we know the danger that thoughts like that have wrought in humanity. I believe that sin is defined as a separation in relationship as well, just not necessarily our relationship with a divine.
Once again, I turn to Adams, who declared that Unitarian Universalists “deny the immaculate conception of virtue and affirm the necessity of social incarnation.” What does this mean? Virtue—and its opposite, sin—are defined by relationships. There is no such thing as goodness or evil in and of themselves—both are defined by the effects of our actions. The effects of our actions on other people as well as on the interdependent web of existence of which we are a part.
Sin is what separates us from one another.
Sin defines people as “other.” It makes them invisible when they are right here in front of us. Sin silences. Sin abuses. Sin gaslights. Sin knowingly harms another and then blames them for overreacting to that harm. Sin creates systems of oppression that target people for who they are, and makes those systems of oppression replicate themselves again and again.
My colleague the Rev. Molly Housh Gordon draws upon womanist theologians in her understanding of sin. She writes, “I have come to think of sin as an ethic of domination that desecrates particular lives as well as perpetuating sinful systems. Drawing upon the work of womanist theologians like Emilie Townes and Delores Williams, I conceive of sin as the exercise of control over another in a way that objectifies, or, in Williams’s words, ‘invisibilizes’ others and our connection to them. This domination destroys difference—tearing the fabric of the web of life.”
Gordon continues, “Sin is the acts of domination and annihilation that result in part from our illusions of separateness. Our sin is every moment that we forget or violate our relationships within the web of interconnection that binds together all creatures and our world.”
Sin is what separates us from one another. It is what breaks relationships. It is the point at which one stops listening, the point at which one stops caring. It is the point at which we believe another to be irredeemable.
And sin is something we all must grapple with. We all do it. And we all must seek redemption for it when it occurs. It might not be a permanent mark on our souls, but it certainly is a permanent part of life as we know it, since none of us is perfect.
If someone asks you what your minister had to say about sin, you can tell them I’m against it.
Sin & Atonement
How do you relate to the idea of sin, and/or the idea of atonement?
Jacob
CLF member, incarcerated in AK
I do not find evidence to support the existence of original sin, and find it hard to believe that we all pay for one person’s actions. I do find that if you relate sin to the idea of karma within the Buddhist and Hindu traditions, it becomes more legitimate and likely. We pay for our actions either in this life or the next, and through our actions we can burn off good or bad past karma quickly. Ultimately, we have shaped what we are dealing with and as such have to handle it, whether by ourselves or with the help of others.
Adam Scott LYTLE
CLF member, incarcerated in WV
I am writing as a 31 year old inmate, who got locked up at the age of 19 and sentences to 15 years to life.
Sin is not nails in our feet, driven into the floorboards. As individuals or groups we make choices, we make mistakes, and we even commit sins for personal reasons, some wrong and some for the right causes. God understands that, justified or not, “sin” will be “sin.”
“Atonement” is a strong word. It has throughout history been utilizes in so many different ways, from the most gruesome torture to a loving embrace to get people to “atone,” which means to make amends.
I believe that to atone means to be at peace, and to know that change will happen, to realize right from wrong and push toward what is right, no matter what evil stands in the way. It is also to gain intelligence and be happy knowing what you have discovered.
Life is short in general, be as happy as you can be and embrace your peace!
Christopher
CLF member, incarcerated in WV
How do I relate to the idea of sin and/or atonement? Because I’m a Christian who trusts in God’s words, sin is very real for me, and there is a very long history with sin and I’m tempted to get into it, but I’m pressed for time because I see parole for my first time in 2037 and I gotta get ready, so I’ll try to keep this short.
I relate to sin like this: I know what the difference is between doing right and doing wrong. Because of who I put my faith and trust in, to intentionally do wrong against a person, an animal, the earth, or property, first and foremost I’ve committed sin according to Christian scripture. Sin is an intentionally wrongful act. That is how I relate to sin, in a nutshell.
I believe most people, and not surprisingly most Christians as well, do not understand what atonement is. Atonement is an Old Testament word for a blood sacrifice from a pure animal for forgiveness and cleansing. It was the temporary practice until Jesus was able to sacrifice His pure blood on the cross. Fast forward to today, and now God’s forgiveness can be had simply by asking through prayer.
However, not everyone believes this way, so another way of relating to sin and atonement for me is this: when I intentionally say or do something harmful to any mentioned above, I know that I’ve done wrong.
I have done wrong to a lot of people in my lifetime, and even though I pray for forgiveness for which I receive every time, I know I still need to try and make things right with whoever I did wrong to. I have to start by asking for their forgiveness, but there is no guarantee that they will give it. If they do forgive me, I still need to try and repair anything else I may have harmed in order to complete my atonement to that person. It is the right thing to do. If someone damaged something of mine and I forgave that person, I still expect that person to try and make any repairs necessary to complete their atonement to me.
That is how I relate to atonement — but with God, I believe that He just wants us to ask, and it will be given.
ASHER
CLF member, incarcerated in AK
In “Christian Apologetic Universalism’s Scriptural Exegesis” (CAUSE), a book by Jon Neil Herd, it briefly states that sin’s definition is to miss the mark.
I would further illustrate that it is to miss the mark of moral perfection inwardly, and to miss the mark of eternal life and zero suffering outwardly. Everyone of us can achieve this, and it can be accomplished through atonement, which means that we make amends for our ancestors by adherence to the truths we see all around us every day. We can achieve it by striving toward perfection inwardly, and by striving towards our many just causes outwardly.
The Bible speaks of Jesus Christ in this fashion. As a Unitarian Universalist, I believe that I should have hope in God, because Unitarian means one God and Universalist means for all people. Insomuch as we have differences of doctrinal ideas, we may all come to agree under our many banners of faith. That is awesome! And it pushes me onward to discover the deep mysterious truth.
Brothers of Healing
“Brothers of Healing” is an original song written by CLF member Maverik Storm. Maverik wrote this about the piece:
“I hope this can be an anthem for those who are healing, who know brokenness, and those who are committed to advocating for change. I hope that if this song reaches the hearts, minds, and voices of those who hear it and sing it, that they’ll share it. It is an anthem to be shared.”
The Strength of Community
The Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) is a great community of communities made up of people connected and committed to reminding each other that we are more together, that we can take turns at the resistance, that cultivating and growing communal joy is part of what helps us stay stronger and focused on the collective liberation and transformation of all.
One of the tasks of the CLF Nominating Committee is to help our community leadership stay fresh and strong. The CLF Nominating Committee knows that the lead ministry team and staff of our church need the energy and joy and enthusiasm of leaders to co-create our future. Does CLF help you grow your joy and keep your eyes on the prize? Would you like to join leadership teams to continue to work for liberation and transformation at church?
The CLF Nominating Committee is seeking individuals who are actively involved in our congregation to assist how we engage in ministry, leadership, and governance together. Specifically, we are looking for individuals to serve on the CLF Nominating Committee who are committed to matching peoples’ gifts with opportunities to contribute and who understand the role of Nominating in widening the circle of care and leadership.
We are also seeking individuals to serve on the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) Board who are deeply rooted in Unitarian Universalism. The CLF Board and Nominating Committee are explicitly seeking ways to incorporate CLF members with personal or familial experience with incarceration, as we continue the journey of involving incarcerated and recently incarcerated members in leadership opportunities.
Please watch for two opportunities in January 2024 to join a Town Hall meeting. We will chat primarily about CLF Board and Nominating Committee volunteer leadership opportunities. However, there will be opportunities to hear about the broad band spectrum of leadership! This is for the interested and the curious! The only invitation will be an invitation to additional conversation. Representatives from the CLF Board, Nominating Committee and Staff will be on hand to share their experiences and answer your questions. This will be an interesting time to explore the ways you might contribute to CLF. And I am sure we will also have fun together.
Please let us know if you or someone you know is interested in this way of investing in our community. Email nominating@clfuu.org with the subject “Board/Committee Interest” and let us know if you would like to learn more about leadership opportunities at CLF, or if you think someone in your circles would be an excellent person to recruit.
If you do not have access to email, and are interested in CLF leadership, please mail a letter expressing your interest to the CLF Nominating Committee, 24 Farnsworth St, Boston, MA 02210. If you do not have access to Zoom, please let us know and we will arrange an alternate way to explore your interest.
— The CLF Nominating Committee Members: Debra Gray Boyd, Julica Hermann de la Fuente (CLF Board liaison to the Nominating Committee), Michele Grove, and Tie Resendiz
Honoring Our Ancestors
Altars, places to honor our ancestors along with displays of that which we experience as sacred, were never part of my upbringing. I didn’t start having an altar until well into my adulthood. A central part of my home altar is my connection to the ancestors. My ancestors include family and friends who died and some becoming ancestors too soon on their life path.
Our connection to those who lived before us can be deep and profound if we invite their memories into our lives. Not only their memories, but what they worked for and how
they lived.
Those of us who hold identities that have been the target of oppression know that our ancestors faced hardships we may never fully understand intellectually, but we carry the memory in our bodies.
As a woman born in Egypt and raised a strict Muslim in the United States, I have had to face challenges that include anti-immigrant sentiments when I was a child from those here in the United States, and in Egypt I was faced with misogyny and strict rules of conduct because of my family’s interpretation of the faith. I often felt stifled as a child and teenager, rules imposed on me did not apply to my male cousins of the same age. I was angry at the unfairness of it and I finally left the faith in my early twenties.
I connect most closely with my female ancestors, especially my two grandmothers. I knew my maternal grandmother, Labiba (her first name) and I adored her. She was feisty, gregarious and honest to a fault. I am grateful that I remember my maternal grandparents. My grandfather Abdelgawed (his first name), was more of a quiet introvert, who was kind and generous. I have a picture of both my grandparents on my altar.
My paternal grandmother is my namesake, Aisha. By all accounts she was the life of the party, a vivacious, generous and welcoming soul. She died when I was young and I don’t have any memories of her. I was born in Egypt and spent my first year of life living with her in Alexandria.
There is a picture of me as an infant on her lap and it is the only picture I know of with the two of us together.
I will never know what my grandmothers had to endure as Muslim females who were mandated into behaving a certain way in order not to be ostracized. They made the best of their circumstances, that I do know given how generous of spirit they were and how I heard stories of their antics.
My grandmothers are the reason I am alive, they suggested to my parents that they marry each other. They were friends and loved to laugh with each other, host parties and socialize.
I think of them often with the knowledge that I am living the life they didn’t know was possible for a female. I am independent, a faith leader and working for liberation of all. I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams.
Ancestors
What is your relationship with your ancestors like? What shapes that relationship for you?
Shawn
CLF member, incarcerated in PA
My relationship with my ancestors is very, very important. I have relationships with them just like you would with your living relations. Because, as I see it, they are just as alive as our relations, they are just on another plane of existence, yet here with us. They are around you all the time. You just may not be able to see them. Some of us can.
Ancestor worship is important to Wiccans, Druids and Native Americans. The Japanese also have ancestor worship. You can learn from them because they lived in another time and/or place. You can talk to them and worship them. Revere them. They still shape our lives as they did in the past. They flow through our veins. So it is very important to have a relationship with them. I learn from them as I would with my living relations. We have remnants of them in our Megalithic structures.
Gary
CLF member, incarcerated in NC
Growing up in the South during the 1960s was tumultuous but also a time of tremendous change. Coming from Quaker ancestry, my forebears were active in the Underground Railroad at what is now Guilford College, Greensboro, North Carolina.
Heritage means many things. Just as each individual is unique but also complex, so too is one’s ancestry.
Jacob
CLF member incarcerated in AR
My relationship with my ancestors is definitely not what I want it to be. I have barely explored it and feel like I am ignoring parts of their sacrifices and wisdom. I know some of my father’s side but have not been in the situation where I have been able to explore my Cherokee ancestry. My great grandmother Easter Sunrise dropped off the Trail of Tears in Missouri. I do not know much of anything about my mother’s side of things. Who are her ancestors? Due to all of this I have decided to start trying to learn more of both sides. I truly want to know where I came from, where my ancestors’ beliefs came from and what shaped them.
