Today is my birthday. 🎉 And with my arrival into this world, I was given a name. But as we live and grow, new names often find us—shaping us as much as we shape ourselves.
In the community I serve, I am called by many names: Pastor (Coach). Sister. Common Ground. Holy Roller. Rev. Kim (iykyk). Sunshine. Just about every possible variation of Shereetha.
But the one name that always made me pause is Lady Samson.
Christopher gave me that name. I took this photo in June 2022–it’s my favorite photo of him. He has this signature, beautiful, booming voice, so whenever he called out to me, I always felt so official—like my entrance was being announced to open an event.
Samson’s strength, scripture tells us, was bound up in his hair. Present day, my hair may not show it, but it was stripped away by chemo. Everything felt undone. Cancer treatments took my hair all the way down. When it came back, it wasn’t the same—a new texture, along with a physical body that felt unrecognizable, riddled with pain disguised as a cure.
A New Beginning:
It took a few years, but on my birthday in 2019, I decided to begin my loc journey. It was an act of intention—of reclaiming my crown, of shaping strength out of fragility. And much like life, my loc journey has had its own design: a different pattern. Uneven. Unpredictable. Unapologetic.
That’s how building community with friends and neighbors who live outside has been for me, too. In 2020, I entered this work with ideas about how it might grow. But the people I’ve met—caring for their crowns the best they can, some holding on to their locs as the last thing they could control when housing slipped away—reshaped me. Their crowns, like mine, carry their story. Their texture, like mine, changed under pressure but still grew.
My locs are an identifying trait in community. And it’s not just the hair. It’s the character. It’s how I show up and how I am present. And in being present, I also observe. That practice of seeing and being seen is what allows me to connect with people authentically—people like Trayvon.
Trayvon is one of the individuals I observed from afar before we met. To be honest, our initial encounter wasn’t the greatest—he was having a particularly tough time, and I wasn’t sure how things would unfold. But somehow, I gained his trust and was able to hold space with him.
Over time—through one-on-ones and consistently passing each other in community—I began to see him more clearly: a frustrated young man, yes, but also passionate, with a kind heart. And he began to see me as I am. Slowly, what started as a rough introduction grew into genuine connection.
Three things uniquely tie us together:
1️⃣ We both carry a whistle and use it without hesitation to command attention.
2️⃣ His mother and I share the same name—he literally pulled out his birth certificate to prove it.
3️⃣ We are both deep into our individual loc journeys.
That last one matters most. My locs are my testimony. No matter one’s cultural background, on a fundamental level most understand the miracle in this. There’s a certain wisdom in witnessing cancer nearly take everything, while enduring the return and growth of my hair. For a person experiencing homelessness or a season of deep struggle, my hair is the currency that allows me to cash in on establishing the unlikeliest relationships. It says: I’ve been through something. I carry patience, wisdom, and strength.
Trayvon’s locs, like mine, tell a story of becoming. For both of us, every twist and coil carries survival, identity, and choice.
In this community, crowns connect us. They are not just about hair—they are about presence, resilience, and how we show up. My locs mark me, and so do his. And when we recognize each other through them, we remember: our crowns may be reshaped, but they are never erased.
So today—on my birthday, on my loc-versary—I tip my crown. To survival. To presence. To connection. To being crowned in community, again and again.
Samson’s story ends with his strength gone when his hair was cut.
My story is different.
Chemo took my hair, but not my true power. My crown came back. My strength came back. Different in texture. Defiant. Determined. Deeper in meaning.
And that is why…in this community, I am called by many names, but today I pause to honor Lady Samson.
Won’t you celebrate with me? >> Buy Me A Coffee. ❤️
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Dear Reader:
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Believe these voices matter? Support the work here.Thank you for reading, remembering, and being part of what’s possible.
This is my offering,
Shereetha J. ☕️🌱
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