Hello, my name is “Jinnah” and this is my story—how one black woman made it from death to glory. You’re probably thinking, “Does this bitch mean literally or figuratively?” Well, both. Now, I know that Jesus Christ is supposed to be the only resurrected body and soul (being a preacher’s daughter and all), but I honestly believe I died three times (that I know of) and came back to life.
Let’s get one thing straight—I’m no saint, nor do I profess to be holier than thou. But I do love Jesus, and I believe in divine purpose. The reason is not so much that the Bible told me so; I had to challenge the Word to believe in divine purpose for myself. Before I began this book, I thought my life was my own—for the keeping or the taking—but divine purpose stepped in and showed me differently. It took literally falling on my face, losing everything material that I owned, and practically ending my life. The wonderful result is that in the falling, I found life in the arms of death.
Oftentimes in life, God calls us to do something. We hear the call, but we allow circumstances and situations to challenge the very essence of our beings. As women, we often compromise and accommodate for the sake of others. (I can’t and won’t speak for men, because I’m not a man.) We do this, because we don’t trust the small spirits’ whispers within, nor do we trust the spirits of the ones we choose to mix with and believe in.
By now you probably wonder, “Who is this bitch?” Don’t worry. I get to that part soon enough. What I can tell you is that my current address is 9000 Cottonwood Lane, Santee, California— the women’s detention facility. (By the time I complete this manuscript, I will be at home—wherever that may be.) I got here when my life in spirit began to rule, rest, and abide in the living spirit of being created woman. Now, your next question: “What the hell is she talking about?” Okay. What I mean is that when I went to jail, God literally came through my mind, body, and spirit and showed me myself through the likes of another. And yes folks, she was a woman.
This is not your typical story or autobiography; it’s also not about some fly-by-night bisexual experience. First, it’s my story, and second, it’s about how I made it over to my side of glory.
And yes, when she left, I cried. I cried, because I didn’t know if I had the strength to become who God wanted me to be. I didn’t know, as I told her, if I was ready for the call. And what call was it? The call to grow up and be God’s woman—perfect and complete— and to will to live that others may follow.
God told me—years ago—to put pen to paper and write. Sometimes I tried; sometimes I didn’t. This afternoon, I sit, listening to the gospel music playing in the background. No one can turn it off, and I realize that life truly is a gift, a trust, and indeed, a temporary assignment. We have so little control. Yet, we can choose to live in spirit.
Now about me: I was born Kimberly Dominique Holmes in the Motor City—Detroit, Michigan—at the great Metropolitan Hospital (which no longer exists). This feat alone should have been enough to tell me how special I was—ya think? We don’t hear the sounding brass, let alone the quiet whispers of life, telling us how much we’re loved.
Kimberly means honorable woman of God, and I’ve done as many honorable, as dishonorable, things to my vessel. The important thing now is that I appreciate all my actions—from my deepest secret moments to my loudest cry for help. You see, I attempted to write this book before, but it was too soon; it was all wrong. I mean, the content—I couldn’t keep it consistent. I was everywhere and nowhere, because I was stuck on things that didn’t matter anymore in my life.
Today as I write, I don’t know where the words are coming from, but I know that they are finally right. It’s what he wants you to hear from me, and not what I want you to hear. And yes, God curses, laughs, and cries in my world. So here, I offer it all to you; take what you can and leave the rest for someone who just might trust and believe.
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