There are two things that make me feel unstoppable: my boots and my lashes.
When I slip into my boots, you can’t tell me NOTHING! The way they hug my stride, the way they make me walk with confidence—it’s a feeling I can’t explain. Sneakers or gym shoes don’t give me that same energy. Boots transform me. They make me feel sexy, powerful, and like I own every step I take.
And then there are my lashes. I don’t wear them often, but when I do, it’s a whole mood. My lashes give me that sultry, captivating look when I glance at men, but they also let me serve serious energy when I need to. They sharpen my attention, make me feel polished, and remind me that sometimes the smallest details carry the biggest impact.
Boots and lashes—two simple things, but together they unlock a version of me that’s bold, confident, and undeniably sexy.
I’ve always been a listener. Since I was about 10, maybe 12, I asked a million questions. I didn’t even know back then that I wanted to be a writer—I just knew I loved reading, loved stories, reading the Bible and loved the truth. Truth has always been my thing. God knows me: I’m going to tell it.
One day, out of the blue, my dad sat me down. Looking back, I think it had been on his mind for years. He told me he had a daughter before he met my mom. He was about 15. He said he saw her sometimes. I remember asking, “Well why can’t I meet her?” But my dad would shut down when I asked too many questions. He’d give me just enough to keep me interested, but never the whole story. That was him.
He told me she looked like me. That was enough to keep me dreaming. I’d go to bed thinking about her, wondering what it would be like to play with her, to see her face. I never thought he was making it up—I knew my dad. I woke up to him every day of my life. He knew me, and I knew him.
Years passed. I was about 15 or 16 when he wanted to talk about her again, he finally gave me HER mother’s name. Back then there was no internet, no cell phones, no Facebook, no Instagram. Just a name that didn’t ring a bell.
Later, when I was grown and had internet. My Sister came to my mind again. I tried to research her mom, but Dad wouldn’t tell me her name. Still, I held onto the pieces he gave me. I knew My Sisters name. Even if I didn’t know how to spell it. MY FB name is LaCrease, but MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE name is LaCreasea. My mom and dad don’t know how the a got on there, but it’s on my SS, Driver’s License and all my business. I have to use that name. Her name is Lateresa
Then one day, my dad called me: “Zee, your sister just left my apartment.” I was like, “For real, Daddy? Are you serious?” He said yes. I asked him a billion questions. I remember running to Belle Isle—my place of peace—to thank God. I cried. I knew He had answered the prayer I’d been carrying since I was 12.
He gave me her phone number and finally me and my siblings met her. I was tripping on how much she looked like my grandmother. I thought back to 1985 when my grandmother took me on a week train ride to Toronto—we had the best time. Seeing her reminding me how much she looks like grandma.
But life is life. Things slowed down. A lot of things concerning this story had me second guessing. Ups and downs came. I told God, “Okay, I’m done with this for now. When it’s time, I’ll be ready.” But one thing for sure in all of it. I KNEW WHAT MY DADDY TOLD ME WAS THE TRUTH.
After my dad passed in 2019, I heard from her again briefly. We always small talked on each other FB post from time to time, but at least I knew where she was at ALL times. I had peace. God gave me patience and understanding in this situation. I had time.
Then last week—out of nowhere—she contacted me again. She sent me a DNA list with names. I want to post it, it’s funny who all names popped up. I looked at it, and I knew EVERY single person on there. Everyone!!! I asked her what made her finally do it. She said, “I was tired of wondering.”
And that’s our story right there. We all get tired of wondering. Tired of silence. Tired of secrets. I share this because families need these conversations. Some people won’t like it, some will feel uncomfortable. I’m cool with that. Because I love truth. And I am not alone. Here are some photos of her and my niece and nephews!!!! Yeaaaaa!
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There is another story I would like to share. I got permission from THOSE, THIS STORY BELONGS TOO. I will only share the JOY it brings me, just because its MY DAUGHTERS STORY NEISHIA.
JUST weeks before I had a stroke. Nesha got a text from her cousin telling her that someone had taken a test ** I really don’t know how those test goes**, but the names on that paper LEADS to known people and their names.
She called her dad and they had a conversation, and the first thing I ask Nesha was does she have a FB? Nesha had photos of her already in her phone. She gave me her name and when I tell you I stalked her page. LOL I was so HAPPY. MY baby has a sister now. She was excited. Not only that but Nesha is an auntie. I can hear them saying Auntie Nesha. LOL I love it.
It just amazes me how things happen. God made us all and he can pair up to be family as he wishes.
When I came home from the hospital, I didn’t return to my apartment. Instead, Nesha took me in and cared for me for over four months. She put her whole life on hold—her plans, her schooling, her dreams. She had signed up for her Master’s program, but life “lifed,” as we say, and she chose to be there for me.
During that time, she spoke with her sister over the phone, but they never met in person.
Now, I’m well, moved into my new apartment, she’s working on getting her life back and it’s time for those quiet gurls to meet!!!!! I’ll see my sister next year * she moved from Detroit* but Neshia’s sister lives right here. I’m going to let them work it out, I’m just excited on the side lines. They are both businesswomen, own their own homes, and NEED TO MAKE TIME FOR EACH OTHER.
🌸 Closing Thoughts
This story is more than just about DNA tests or family connections—it’s about God’s timing, answered prayers, and the joy of discovering new bonds. Families need these conversations, even when they’re unexpected or uncomfortable. Truth has a way of bringing healing, and joy has a way of multiplying.
We all carry both personality and character. When life is good, we often show up in a certain way—smiling, laughing, moving through our days with ease. But what happens when life shifts? What happens when something unexpected knocks us off our feet?
If something ever happens to you—whether it’s a car accident, an illness, or a situation that leaves you homebound—you’ll quickly discover who is truly there for you. You’ll see it in the people who show up at the hospital, who bring food when you can’t cook, who send money or cards, who call or text just to check in. You’ll see it in those who sit with you when you’re lonely, who drive you to appointments, who pick up your kids from school, who wash your clothes, or who simply pray for you.
I’m not talking about being sick for a few days. I’m talking about the kind of life-altering moments that require months of recovery, daily care, or even 24-hour support. In those times, you learn who your community really is.
And here’s the truth: we are all just one accident away. One diagnosis, one unexpected event, one moment that changes everything. That’s why now—while you’re healthy, while you’re standing strong—is the time to change the way you think. Build relationships. Be present. Treat people with kindness. Because when you’re down, the people who show up are often the ones you’ve poured into, or those who are simply good-hearted enough to love without condition.
Everybody can’t do everything. But everybody can do something. Even a simple phone call or prayer matters.
I see people on Facebook airing out who didn’t show up for them, but I always wonder: who were you when life was good? Did you show up for others? Did you build a community, or did you expect one without giving?
So I say this: build yourself a community and be a community. Because one day it might be them who needs support—but tomorrow, it could be you.
Life has a way of slowing you down when you won’t do it yourself. And when it does, you have two choices: get bitter or get better.
I chose better.
This week, I want to share four life lessons, a total of 4 days. I’ve learned since the stroke. I’m fine now—Thank God. But I’m not the same. And honestly, I don’t want to be. Because through the pain, the fear, and the stillness, I found something deeper. I found clarity. I found purpose. I found God in a new way.
When you go through something life-altering, you have to take a step back and ask: “God, what are You trying to teach me?” Not “Why me?” but “What now?” Not “What did I lose?” but “What did I gain?”
Each day this week, I’ll be sharing one lesson that changed me from the inside out. These aren’t just words—they’re truths I live by now. They’re the kind of lessons that come from sitting still, listening to God, and letting Him show you who you REALLY are.
So, whether you’ve been through something hard, or you’re just trying to make sense of life’s curveballs, I hope these reflections speak to your heart. I hope they remind you that healing is possible, growth is real, and God never wastes a wound.
Come back tomorrow (( Monday)) for Lesson 1. I promise—these four you won’t want to miss.
I’ve always been the strong one. The one who never gets sick, who powers through life with grace. The last time I was in a hospital was in 1986—giving birth to my only child- daughter. Since then, I’ve caught a cold twice every couple of years. So, when I had a stroke, it didn’t just shake me—it shocked my entire circle. Family. Friends. Even me.
But God doesn’t miss. He doesn’t make mistakes. And in the aftermath of that storm, He gave me something beautiful: a apartment in downtown Detroit. Not just any apartment—surrounded by music, sports, and dog lovers. It’s perfect. It’s peaceful. It’s mine.
My family has wrapped me in love, making sure I have everything I need. And now, I’m ready. Ready to start making candles again. Ready to launch my YouTube channel and share my testimonies. Ready to turn this healing into purpose. I’m funny too.
But here’s the truth: the waiting is hard.
I’m in the middle of tying up loose ends, getting things in order. My needs are met, and I’m grateful. But I get lonely sometimes. I get tired of writing and reading. I want to create. I want to build. I want to pour my energy into something that brings me joy—and maybe a little income too. I want to start back making candles again.
I know my YouTube channel will take off. I feel it in my bones. I know the candles I make will light up more than homes—they’ll light up hearts. But right now, I don’t have the money to buy wax and supplies. And that “right now” feels heavy.
Still, I trust God’s timing. I know He’s aligning things behind the scenes. But I’m ready. I’m so ready. And sometimes, that readiness feels like restlessness.
This is Chapter Two. Chapter One was survival. Chapter Two is preparation. And Chapter Three? That’s the breakthrough.
Until then, I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep praying. I’ll keep believing. Because even in the waiting, I’m walking in purpose.
Growing up as the oldest of four, I carried a lot on my shoulders. I love my siblings deeply—love love love love love them—but being the eldest came with expectations. I was serious, intense, and often misunderstood. My parents would constantly tell me, “You need to change your attitude.” At the time, I didn’t get it. I thought I was just standing up for myself. But looking back, I see how often I let small things turn into big storms.
My mom used to say, “Having an attitude will get you nowhere.” She’d tell me to ignore people when they upset me. I remember telling her, “That’s hard.” And it was. How do you ignore someone who says something that cuts deep?
Fast forward to my late 30s, working at Walmart. That job taught me more about life than I ever expected. It took me nine years to learn how to develop thick skin. Nine years to master the art of silence. One day, I remembered my mom’s words. I tried it—really tried it—and it changed everything.
Now? I ignore people who want to argue. I don’t go back and forth. I don’t entertain drama. Online, I block and delete. In person, I walk past like I was never there. I don’t stick around for foolishness. I won’t participate in anything that makes me angry.
I love communication. I believe in finding a middle ground. But arguing? That’s not my lane anymore. And that shift—that decision to protect my peace—is the best advice I’ve ever received.
There’s something timeless and comforting about Bible stories—especially the ones told through vibrant cartoons or illustrated books. I still remember the joy of flipping through those pages as a child, when my mom would bring home books filled with stories of courage, kindness, and divine wisdom. Those moments weren’t just entertaining—they were formative.
Now, as a parent, I see the same spark in our children’s eyes when they watch these stories unfold. Whether it’s David facing Goliath or Esther’s brave stand, these tales speak to the heart and soul in ways that stick.
🌟 Why It Matters If we take just 15 minutes after school, a few days a week, to share these stories with our kids, we’re doing more than filling time—we’re setting a foundation. These small moments can shape their values, fuel their curiosity, and build a lasting love for Scripture. Trust me: when they grow up, they’ll crave the Bible—not out of obligation, but out of genuine connection.
📅 A Simple Routine with Big Impact
Choose 2–3 days a week for story time
Keep it short and sweet—just 15 minutes
Let them ask questions, reflect, and even retell the stories in their own words
Mix it up with cartoons, books, or even audio stories
These stories aren’t just for children—they’re for the child in all of us. And when we share them, we’re passing on more than tales—we’re passing on truth, hope, and a legacy of faith.
Before I even step foot in Walmart, I ask the Lord to cover my day. I’m not the type to walk in with an attitude—I smile, I greet, I do my job. But every now and then, somebody walks in like they’re auditioning for a role in “Let Me Test Her Patience.”
One Saturday evening, a man around 41 walks up to my register. His total? $4.68. He hands me a $5 bill and 68 cents in Canadian coins. Now listen—everybody and their 4-year-old knows we don’t take Canadian money in the U.S. So, I say, “Sir, we don’t take Canadian coins.” He hits me with, “WHY? Where’s the sign that says that?”
I told him, “Ain’t no sign. We just don’t take Canadian money.” I finish the transaction out of the $5, and he suddenly wants a refund. I asked him why? He says because I want to know where is the sign that says no Canadian money. This thang clearly wanted to argue with me. So, I said well in order to get your money back I will have to call a CSM. He was like call em then. Because he didn’t like how I said it. Said I wasn’t “professional.” Mr. Sir Man, ** didn’t say all that LOL* what other way is there to say “we don’t take Canadian money”?
My CSM, comes over. He doesn’t want to talk to her. She tried to talk to him but he gon say. I don’t want to speak to YOU, I WANT TO SPEAK TO SOMEONE HIGHER!!!! So here comes our Assistant Manager. And this man tells him that I wasn’t professional. Says he used to work for Walmart. Well then, sir—you should know the policy!
He refused to sign the refund slip. Tried to snatch the money from my hand. But I held firm. I knew if he acted out, everything he said about me would crumble. So, he took the money politely and walked away. But I could feel that he wanted to snatch it so bad. I was cracking up in my mind!
💭 My Question to You:
Why do some folks take “NO” so personally? Like the rule was made just for them. Do you feel like you’re always right when you’re out in public—at a store, restaurant, wherever?
I blog because I have something to say. Not just to speak—but to express, release, and reflect. Blogging gives me space to get things off my chest, to share what’s on my mind, and to honor the experiences that shaped me. I’m an individual with a story, and I believe stories are meant to be shared.
I love to read because I love to learn. I would listen to an animal if it could tell me about its life. That’s how deep my curiosity runs. Every blog I read is a chance to pause, reflect, and say, “I never looked at it that way.” Those moments—those quiet revelations—are why I keep coming back to the page.
When I write, I’m not just telling my story. I’m inviting you to think about yours. Maybe something I say will remind you of a time you faced a similar situation. Maybe you’ll see how I handled it and think about how you did. That’s the beauty of blogging: it’s not just about me. It’s about us.
We’re all different. Our experiences take us down different streets. And that’s okay.
I love New Balance shoes. I love the way they feel on my feet. But does that mean I should talk down on other gym shoes? No! It just means I prefer what’s comfortable for me. That’s how life works. We learn from each other’s preferences, stories, and truths. We don’t have to agree to grow.
I LOVE meeting someone who is not me. It gives me joy to read about someone else’s life, to walk in their shoes for a moment, and to see the world through their lens. That’s why I blog. That’s why I read. That’s why I listen.
Because learning starts with listening.
If you feel inspired and lead to send Blessings~ Zelle
I just moved into my new place in Brush Park this past Saturday, and that’s why I’ve been quiet on the writing front. Now that everything’s put away and my space feels like home, I’m back to doing what I love—writing.
What I adore most about living here is how alive the area feels. Little Caesars Arena is right on the corner. Ford Field and Comerica Park are just down the street. I’m a huge fan of concerts, the Detroit Lions, and anything that brings people together. From my patio, I can hear the roar of Tigers games at Comerica—it’s like having front-row seats to the heartbeat of the city.
Soon, I’ll be working out in our fitness room and writing in the community room, which has a full kitchen and a cozy vibe that’s perfect for creativity. The apartments here are five stories tall—a big change from the 22-floor building I came from—but it feels more personal and grounded.
One of my favorite things? Watching people walk their dogs. As a dog lover, it warms my heart and makes me smile every time. The energy here fits my personality—friendly, vibrant, and peaceful. People greet each other with hellos and plenty of smiles. I feel like I’ve found my place, and I plan to stay a while.
Inside the mind of cree 