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Love of a Preacher Man
Written from a journal entry about Shawn.
Here I am at 27, a single mother, an addict unable to care for my child. I've been labeled a whore by many. But still, he cares for me. I stumbled upon an unexpected beacon of hope in the form of a man whose heart is as big as downtown Dallas.
He is a preacher, his voice ringing through the halls of his storefront church, offering salvation to those like me, cast aside by society. With boundless kindness, he spends his days serving the homeless, preparing meals with the same love a mother might put into a family dinner.
His hands, which have served the needy, are also hands that reached out to me, helping me stand, wash away the despair, and find purpose through work. He is a bridge between worlds—the filth of the streets and the luxury of the Dallas elite. The rich open their wallets at his request, perhaps to lessen their feelings of guilt, and their donations fund the shelter and church that are his life's work.
As a black man raised in a neglected part of Dallas, he carried the torch of civil rights, his deeds echoing as loudly as his sermons. His life has been complicated. He’s divorced with three kids. He has loved many women but now channels his desires into the service of his mission.
I have my doubts about the divine, so he’s an unlikely ally. He never pushes me to accept his faith, and I sometimes wonder if his own beliefs are more unformed than he lets on. To me, it seems that the church is less about dogma and more about the community it allows him to serve.
Our love has been quiet and discrete, two souls finding peace in one another. I was amazed at how he seemed to delight in my defiant nature, treating me not as a project to be corrected but as a queen to be adored. In his eyes, I was the embodiment of beauty, a truth that was evident in every tender touch and loving look he gave me.
Here I am at 27, a single mother, an addict unable to care for my child. I've been labeled a whore by many. But still, he cares for me. I stumbled upon an unexpected beacon of hope in the form of a man whose heart is as big as downtown Dallas.
He is a preacher, his voice ringing through the halls of his storefront church, offering salvation to those like me, cast aside by society. With boundless kindness, he spends his days serving the homeless, preparing meals with the same love a mother might put into a family dinner.
His hands, which have served the needy, are also hands that reached out to me, helping me stand, wash away the despair, and find purpose through work. He is a bridge between worlds—the filth of the streets and the luxury of the Dallas elite. The rich open their wallets at his request, perhaps to lessen their feelings of guilt, and their donations fund the shelter and church that are his life's work.
As a black man raised in a neglected part of Dallas, he carried the torch of civil rights, his deeds echoing as loudly as his sermons. His life has been complicated. He’s divorced with three kids. He has loved many women but now channels his desires into the service of his mission.
I have my doubts about the divine, so he’s an unlikely ally. He never pushes me to accept his faith, and I sometimes wonder if his own beliefs are more unformed than he lets on. To me, it seems that the church is less about dogma and more about the community it allows him to serve.
Our love has been quiet and discrete, two souls finding peace in one another. I was amazed at how he seemed to delight in my defiant nature, treating me not as a project to be corrected but as a queen to be adored. In his eyes, I was the embodiment of beauty, a truth that was evident in every tender touch and loving look he gave me.
Published 15th Feb 2025
Author's Note
I've recently fallen in love with Shawn, an inner city preacher. Here's a reflection about him after two weeks together. I edited the photo from a pic of him introducing me to his church. The lower frame is what I was thinking about right then. I suppose a form of prayer.
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15th Feb 2025 3:14pm
hello lovely Nizana this is beautiful I'm glad you have found a positive person in your life who really cares for people...I enjoyed reading of your unfolding friendship 💕
I echo Crimsin.
I wonder how old he must be, seeing you describe him as a man who "carried the torch of civil rights". (I am old enough to have grown up during the 60s when ML King was active. An uncle of mine then in Canada joined in at least one of King's rallies in Chicago at weekends.)
Favourite sentence of your piece:
In his eyes, I was the embodiment of beauty, a truth that was evident in every tender touch and loving look he gave me.
I wonder how old he must be, seeing you describe him as a man who "carried the torch of civil rights". (I am old enough to have grown up during the 60s when ML King was active. An uncle of mine then in Canada joined in at least one of King's rallies in Chicago at weekends.)
Favourite sentence of your piece:
In his eyes, I was the embodiment of beauty, a truth that was evident in every tender touch and loving look he gave me.
17th Feb 2025 2:07pm
For Shawn growing up in the poor side of Dallas, his whole life was an extension of the Civil Rights movement. The struggles never ended where he was.
17th Feb 2025 2:14pm
