​Driving down I-240 with Top 40 radio set to a dull roar has never been my ideal time for reflection or an experience ripe with opportunities to learn how to better show love to others. I usually keep the windows rolled down, the radio up high, and my thoughts on mute—using the highway only as a necessary means to a more purposeful end. But this summer I have found myself sitting in a lot of 240 traffic—on the way to and from the office or leading groups to and from worksites—consequently with loads of time to think.

My few weeks in Asheville have opened my eyes to how different my hometown is to other places. I was born in Clinton, South Carolina. I grew up in Clinton, and I go to Presbyterian College, which is also in Clinton. I have never really had the chance to experience the world outside of my little bubble, AYM has given me that chance. There is no way that I would see someone walking down the streets of Clinton with a blue mohawk, or witness a scheduled drum circle in the middle of the city where people of all backgrounds are given the chance to be united through music. I needed to see and experience these things, to get a taste of the world outside of my bubble. I have been a member of the same church since birth; I have only been a part of other congregations a handful of times.  Since I have been molded in such a deliberate way for so long, it becomes difficult to imagine anything different. I have become trained to believe that the way the things are done in my church is the right way to do things. Which is not always the case.

I don’t like to wear shoes; they’ve never been my thing. As a child I got in trouble regularly for running around without shoes then bringing dirt into the house. If I can go barefoot, I do– parks, beaches, school, work, you name it I’m barefoot… but I never took off my shoes because I thought those places were holy.