“I think we need to be friends.”
Those were the first words out of my mouth when I introduced myself to Rev. Hilda Covington. We’d just finished a county meeting of nonprofit mental health and social service agencies. She was the presenter that month.
We almost didn’t meet because Hilda arrived an hour and a half late to a two-hour meeting.
I later learned that Hilda moves through the world in her own time. That meeting was not the first she was late to, nor the last. But she lit up that room when she introduced her agency, SisterHood, or “Sisters in the Hood,” as the founders named themselves when they decided to serve the families in their neighborhood who were often overlooked or dismissed by traditional systems.
I was immediately taken by her light-hearted, warm-hearted, big-hearted way.
Having spent so many years with communities society loves to marginalize, I recognized a kindred spirit. I went up to thank her for her humorous and honest presentation, and those unexpected words just came out. I’m forever grateful they did.
Fast forward 27 years.
By now, I’ve learned to listen when something unexpected tumbles out of my mouth. Time and again, I’ve watched the Soul guide me into the right moment, the right person, the right doorway. You know how that works — the quiet nudge that opens a relationship that reshapes your life and deepens your understanding of yourself and the world.
Becoming friends with Hilda did exactly that.
We live very different lives. Our beliefs about the bigger picture diverge. Our thinking was shaped by very different worlds. Our ways of serving look similar on the outside but arise from distinct lineages and lived experience.
We speak an entirely different language.
I grew up with a felt sense of safety she never had access to. We were raised a generation apart, with differences in race, class, neighborhood, education, and economic stability.
These differences have paved the way for deep, often uncomfortable, always meaningful conversations.
My mother used to tell me a story from when we lived in Germany. I was a preschooler playing in a sandbox with a little girl who spoke an entirely different language. We chattered and played as if we understood every word.
Lunch with Hilda feels like that sandbox.
I walk in unsure what the conversation will bring — seeking her counsel, planning a project, or checking in about a neighborhood need — and I always end up on a winding path through delight, discomfort, insight, and truth.
She shows me the world I cannot see. I do the same for her.
With Hilda, I could bring both my knowledge and my ignorance.
I could let myself be disturbed without collapsing. I could grow beyond the ideas that once kept me small. I learned to listen past the familiar and allow my Soul to point toward the beliefs that needed to be uprooted.
To be fully accepted — and to offer that same acceptance — is a rare grace.
Despite all our differences, we share the same kind of heart. And thankfully, the same sense of humor. That lightness has carried us through years of challenges, tragedies, and triumphs in her community. It is often through her laughter that my eyes open just a little wider.
A few years ago, I called to wish her a happy birthday. Quarantine had kept us from our lunches, but she was still tending to her community and her flock. (Yes, she’s also a pastor.)
“Kathy! Your people collected so much food!”
Turns out it wasn’t my volunteer contact who told her about our Sidewalk Food Drive. It was the neighborhood.
“Pastor! Your friend delivered food. Name brands!”
I didn’t understand at first.
Hilda laughed and shared story after story about the excitement of receiving name-brand groceries — not the cheap knock-offs typically stocked in dollar stores or donated to poor families. Her joy carried an edge of truth that cut straight through me.
The inequity of our neighborhoods, our expectations, our lived experience landed in my body.
When our call was done, the tears came. Gratitude mixed with heartache.
Another glimpse into a world I don’t live in but care about deeply.
For 27 years, our Soul Sanctuary community has supported SisterHood families in countless ways. What started as a small intention — easing the financial burden of economically disadvantaged parents so they could have a little more room to breathe and be with their children — has rippled far beyond anything I imagined.
A bit of relief. A moment of peace. A chance to read, play, or talk together. Small shifts with long-term impact.
I could tell so many stories of how your generosity helped parents and soothed children, but those stories belong to them. What I can say is this:
When you show up for people, they become “your people.” Period.
Next week, my family will deliver a few car loads of toys and gifts to SisterHood volunteers for the Holiday Giving List — 450 children and teens this year.
My basement looks like the North Pole and an Amazon warehouse had a love child.
This Sunday (12/14), we’ll gather at Soul Sanctuary’s Holiday Open House and collect any last-minute gifts you feel called to offer.
Last week, my husband and I took Hilda and another SisterHood founder, Linda, out to celebrate Hilda’s 80th birthday. We laughed, reminisced, and honored the years of shared work, heartbreak, joy, and community.
So as we wrap up this year’s Holiday Gift Drive, please receive the gratitude of Hilda, the SisterHood volunteers, and the families whose lives you touch.
The greatest “brand name” you can offer another human being is to call them sister or brother — to recognize their belonging in your human family.
For every way you show up, in any neighborhood, for any people, in your own authentic way,
Thank you.
The world needs exactly what you bring.
Keep giving.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
“Recreational companionship” gives a boost to those on both the giving and receiving end. This phrase, coined by Willard F Harley Jr, PhD, combines two very important human needs: having fun and having someone to share it with. If you like rock climbing and your bestie enjoys knitting, you’re probably searching for a middle ground. Explore this concept with your family, friends, and colleagues. Find those activities which others also find intriguing, fun, or worth a try. Doing something interesting together can boost your sense of belonging, active the feel good chemicals, and create some lovely memories (and funny stories!). Communication, creativity, and a sense of adventure go a long way. Enjoy
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.
“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.
A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.” And he calmly parked much farther away. As we walked to the entrance, I asked about that statement.
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
