I don’t do small prayers or quiet destinies. I light candles, call my lineage by name, and make room for miracles that arrive dressed like me. The Preacher and the Witch was born on an altar—one part scripture, one part smoke, all heart.

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This isn’t perfection; it’s power with the wrapper off. Some nights it’s honey and healing. Some nights it’s thunder and truth. Either way, I bring all of me to the page—faith, fire, softness, and teeth.

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If you’ve felt the tap on your shoulder—the ancestors humming your name, the tug toward a bigger life—welcome. Pull up a velvet chair. May these pages hand you your crown and your peace at the same time.

My work is a refusal to shrink—spiritually, creatively, or as a woman. Revelation belongs in real life: at the sink, on the subway, in the inbox, at the altar. Boundaries are love. Ancestors are memory with a heartbeat. God is not fragile, and your voice is not a liability.

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The Preacher and the Witch is a field guide for that kind of living. Expect prayers with dirt under their nails, pages that don’t flinch, and tenderness strong enough to lift a house. If you need permission, take it. If you need proof you’re not alone, these chapters will testify.

I’m not here to impress the room. I’m here to free it—starting with myself. If you’re ready, come with me. Let’s be whole on purpose.