Coming home
Coming Home, Carrying Stories
I was born in Oregon, raised in California, and now I’m back in Oregon. And I’ve learned: where you’re from is one story. Where you’ve lived is another.
When people move between states, they don’t just bring suitcases. They bring concepts, ideas, and ways of seeing the world that their new neighbors may have never considered. That can be uncomfortable — and it can also be a gift.
My journey as a light-skinned Black woman has been different from my darker-skinned sisters. In some counties, I’m met with curiosity. In others, with suspicion. In some, I’m “not Black enough.” In others, “too Black.” California taught me one set of unspoken rules. Oregon has another.
And we have to tell the truth: Oregon has a painful history. Black people were literally written out of the state constitution. Sundown towns existed. In some counties, that systemic racism hasn’t fully healed — it just got quieter. For minorities, for Black women of every shade, that history still shapes how we’re seen, how we’re hired, how we’re heard.
So when “outsiders” come to Oregon — whether from California, Texas, or across the world — I try to remember: they’re bringing perspective. They’ve seen what works and what wounds. They might challenge us. They might also help us grow.
I don’t assume. I listen. I ask. Because I know what it’s like to be misread in 10 seconds.
My prayer is that we make room — room for stories, room for healing, room for the hard conversations about race, colorism, and belonging. Room for the Holy Spirit to do what laws and policies couldn’t: change hearts.
I’m Oregon-born, California-raised, God-refined. And I believe every place I’ve lived gave me something I’m supposed to use here, now, for good.
Let’s be the kind of state where people don’t just arrive — they’re received. Where we look within, look at history honestly, and then look forward together.
