Growing up, I knew about Juneteenth. I knew it was a celebration of freedom. I knew it was about Black history. But I never made the connection to its deep relevance in the present day.
Now, I know better.
When I reflect on Juneteenth as an adult, I think about how the fight for true freedom is still present. I think about how oppression, violence, and disrespect still plague my community. I think about how, in many ways, we are still waiting—waiting for that full promise of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness that we, as Black Americans, deserve.
A freedom where:
- Our lives matter.
- Our history is honored.
- Our contributions to this country are credited—not just observed.
Because without our pioneers, our game changers, and our community advocates, America would not be what it is today. We bring style, grace, identity, and culture to everything we do. And this country is better for it.
Juneteenth Tea with Black Women 4 Healthy Living
This year, I had the chance to attend two Juneteenth events. On Thursday afternoon, I joined the 5th Annual Juneteenth Tea, hosted by Black Women 4 Healthy Living at Grand View University.
It was my first time attending, and I brought my mom and her best friend. We had a beautiful time together. The atmosphere was welcoming and joyful, and it was powerful to see Black women gathering in celebration, reflection, and wellness.
My best friend Brittani—who is on the organization’s board—was doing her thing in her event planning bag, and it was so inspiring to see her in that space. I was proud to contribute to the event by donating journaling bundles and a guided journaling booklet to help Black women start their own journaling journey. Every attendee received a copy, and the full journaling kits were given out as door prizes.
The moment that stayed with me most came from Minister LaTice Bragg, who reminded us of this truth:
“I am a designed original. God made ME as an original. There is NO ONE else like me. And there will NEVER be another person like me.”
That hit me deeply—especially as I work to redefine and reestablish what my faith and relationship with God looks like moving forward. That affirmation was a reminder that I’m here on purpose, with purpose.
An Evening of Faith and Freedom with Dr. Ian Roberts
That evening, I attended the Juneteenth Celebration at Hope+Elim Lutheran Church, a space filled with reverence, remembrance, and joy. I went with my cousin, my mom, and her best friend, and I’m so glad we made the time to be there. The sanctuary was full—people of all ages and backgrounds gathered to reflect on Juneteenth and to witness the keynote by Dr. Ian Roberts, superintendent of Des Moines Public Schools.
I’ve met Dr. Roberts before, but I wasn’t fully familiar with his story. What I witnessed that night was more than a speech—it was a testimony. A sacred, soul-stirring testimony rooted in faith, legacy, and the enduring power of service.
He opened with a prayer drawn from Psalm 19:14—”Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord.” From that moment on, I knew we were in for something deeper than just a talk.
Dr. Roberts walked us through his journey: from his mother’s defiant faith when doctors told her he might never walk, to his unexpected path to Iowa, to the spiritual and professional impact of the late Terry Caldwell-Johnson. He spoke about how faith guided his every step, how Black women shaped and sustained him, and how Iowa—yes, Iowa—became the place where he felt truly set free to serve.
He reminded us of the origin of Juneteenth, painting a vivid picture of that hot June day in 1865 when enslaved people in Galveston, Texas were finally told they were free—two and a half years after the Emancipation Proclamation. He shared how it was the women who stood at the front, ready to receive and deliver that message, because they knew how to carry something heavy with elegance and conviction.
“Even though they were underestimated and not emancipated, they had the intellectual horsepower to be perceptive and strategic… If we have the women receive this message first, we are guaranteed it will be delivered with eloquence, sophistication, and inspiration.”
That line gave me chills.
But the quote that settled into my spirit and refused to let go was this:
“Be not weary in well-doing. Our ancestors were tired, and they kept going.”
He said it with such clarity and care, as if he were speaking directly to each of us who’ve been feeling the weight of the world lately. In that moment, I felt seen. I felt held. I felt reminded that we don’t do this work alone—and we don’t do it in vain.
Dr. Roberts closed with a story about his final visit with Terry Caldwell-Johnson, who, even in her final days, continued to pour into him. Her strength, her love for community, and her legacy became a beacon he now carries forward.
He ended with a tender, emotional rendition of “Precious Lord, Take My Hand,” the same hymn Dr. King asked to be sung the night before he was assassinated.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the sanctuary.
What Juneteenth Means for Me Now
For me, Juneteenth has transformed from a date on the calendar into a deeply personal reminder—a reminder of how far we’ve come and how far we still have to go. It’s no longer just about the history books. It’s about the lived reality of being Black in America today. About carrying forward the dreams of our ancestors while navigating the unfinished business of freedom.
This year, I found myself more reflective than ever. Sitting in sacred spaces surrounded by Black joy, Black excellence, and Black resilience, I realized how important it is to protect and preserve our stories. I thought about the many ways we are still fighting for liberation—not just in policy or protest, but in the everyday moments where we show up, speak up, and hold space for one another.
Juneteenth, to me, is about truth-telling. It’s about making room for the whole story—not just the pain, but also the perseverance. Not just the struggle, but also the celebration. It’s about acknowledging that we are still healing, still building, still dreaming—and doing so in honor of those who never got the chance to see the freedoms we now have.
It reminded me why I started the Black. Girl. Iowa. podcast in the first place. Yes—it’s a love letter to myself. A space where I can explore my identity, my creativity, and my healing. But it’s also a microphone for others. A platform for Black women across Iowa to share their truths, tell their stories, and speak their names into history.
Juneteenth reignited that mission for me. It reminded me that storytelling is resistance. That our voices matter. That when we speak, we affirm our place in the past, present, and future of this country.
So no—Juneteenth isn’t just about looking back anymore. For me, it’s about moving forward, boldly and unapologetically. It’s about planting seeds, building community, and creating the world we want our children to inherit.
This Juneteenth, I recommit to that work.
Black. Girl. Iowa. 