A Love Rooted in Place

Like many people during the pandemic, I found myself, in my old Kentucky home, very still and alone. Looking back, I believe God shut down the outside so I would deal with my insides. Hopes, dreams, excuses, and fear were familiar companions, yet I sensed a call to put each in its proper place and resume the seminary journey I began fifteen years prior. I laughed like Sarah in Genesis 18—How is this happening? I had dropped out once due to limited resources, a growing family, and the demands of ministry. Nevertheless, like Sarah, God provided in ways only God can, and my family and I relocated to Chicago.

I’ve borne witness to the transformational power of love. Through my own story, I understand the internal and external barriers marginalized people must navigate to experience liberation. My Garrett journey began with a deep conviction to serve God’s beloved in the “hard spaces,” and my professors consistently challenged me to stand in the shoes of those I serve. Our trauma-informed training invited me to listen with both heart and awareness—attuned not only to others’ stories but also to what is unfolding within me. Romans 12:15 has become a pastoral rhythm: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.”

Going to school and serving in this region has stretched and deepened my learning in ways that, for me, an online experience couldn’t. Chicago is a city of beauty and burden, resilience and rupture. Ministry requires demands presence, humility, and a willingness to encounter people where they are in the complexity of their lived experiences. I am grateful for the vast, diverse opportunities I’ve been invited into through my work in prison and school chaplaincy.

In the prison, I encountered men shaped by layers of trauma—personal, familial, and systemic. Trauma-informed care taught me to listen beyond behavior and to recognize survival strategies rather than simply labeling dysfunction. I came to understand that faithful presence often matters more than polished answers. I’vehad hard conversations, celebrations, a good cry, and a lot of prayer in there. Those men are my brothers made in the image of our Father and loved just as ridiculously as I am.

In my school chaplaincy placement, I have witnessed how trauma surfaces in young people—through disruption, withdrawal, or silence. What I learned in the classroom about safety, attunement, and emotional regulation became essential tools. I learned to slow down, ask better questions, and create space where students feel seen and safe. I do my best to embody the words of Maya Angelou, and “Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.”

As I approach graduation, my sense of call is both the same and fortified. I feel equipped to live into a ministry of presence, not performance; showing up with compassion, courage, and love. Okay with not having all the answers, I am present with people in their most human moments. My call is rooted in accompaniment—walking with individuals and communities toward healing, wholeness, and a deeper awareness of God’s presence. As of now, I’m not sure where this call will send me. My responsibility is to say, “Yes,” and trust God sets the GPS. Wherever I land, seminary has not simply prepared me to lead; it formed me to love more faithfully.