Salvation for a Racist

On Wednesday, December 23, 1998, I was in a state of emergency. For all intents and purposes, it was a 1-1-9 which meant it was worse than a 9-1-1. The emergency? I was out of weed. I’d recently lost my job which meant I would soon lose my townhome and not have a place to stay. My way to cope or figure out my next move would be to get high. So I scoured through ashtrays in search of doobies so that I could roll a joint and figure out what or who I could do. Literally. You see, not only was I addicted to weed, but I was addicted to sex and wrong men. Please excuse my crudeness, but the plan was to get lit and come up. Unbeknownst to me, God had another plan in mind.