Erica Williams Simon - You Deserve the Truth: Change the Stories that Shaped Your World and Build a World-Changing Life

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To the One who creates something out of nothing.

I dedicate these words and everything that I am to You.

I t was a cold Sunday morning in January, barely thirty degrees outside of our church. Snow was expected to hit the Washington, DC, area soon, and although none was falling yet, the air outside was bitter. I was inside, standing in the front of the sanctuary singing with the worship team, like I did every Sunday. At sixteen years old, I was the only teenager in the adult group. And no, it wasnt just because my father was the pastor. It was because this church, this ministry, this gift of music and worship and service was my life. From the time that my parents founded our church in our home when I was nine months old, there was no place that felt more like home to me. On this day, thanks to my thick tights and enough rocking, clapping, and arm-waving to rival a low-impact aerobics class, I had worked up a light sweat. I loved singing in church. Id have rather been right there, holding a microphone and singing songs to God with the people I loved, than anywhere else in the world. I felt free. I felt alive.

If youve never experienced worship in a black church, the only way I can possibly describe what it feels like is to call it a high. It takes you away from where you are and floats you somewhere in the clouds. Suddenly you are before the Throne of God. Or in the Holy of Holies. Or on holy ground. Or whatever euphemism you choose to describe the overwhelming presence of the Divine. You are miles away from your worldly troubles and concerns, pouring out everything that is inside of you. And somehow you feel as if the most intimate parts of yourself are being received as the most precious gift.

Im explaining all of this because on that day, the worship was pretty intense. The Spirit was having his way, which is what we say whenever we disregard the schedule and just go with the flow. And me? I was higher than usual. We all were. And so was Daddy. He had walked up in front of the pulpit, singing along with us. He was wearing his forest-green suit, standing six-foot-three, a small glittering gold cross around his neck. Without any effort, he and I suddenly found ourselves engaged in a musical call-and-response, back-and-forth. I wish I could remember what we were singing. All I know is that I was following his leadhe would sing something and I would repeatand that it sounded beautiful.

As the shouts and tears quieted down and the music slowed, we went back to our seats and Daddy began to preach. He instructed us to open to Matthew Chapter 9 and began to read the story of the new wine. In it, Jesus compares the new life that the gospel offers everyone to new wine. Daddy started to expound on the opportunity of an abundant, new life being available to all who seek it. He was on fire that morning, walking back and forth, out from behind the pulpit, close to us in the congregation. As the church was erupting with amens and claps, he walked back behind the pulpit and paused like he did when he was about to say something good. New life! he said, as we hung on to his every word. New li

Before he could finish saying it a second time, he slumped. He leaned and grabbed the side of the pulpit to catch himself, but within seconds, he fell to the ground. When I see the scene in my mind, this is when the ground shakes. I feel a physical tremble, like what you imagine would happen if the tallest, oldest, widest tree in the forest suddenly tipped over, the thud shaking the firmament for miles around. I am certain that didnt happen, but I also wonder: How could anything in the world not have felt the impact of this, an actual earthquake?

The moments after are a blur. Daddy on the ground. Me running, almost reflexively, to the bathroom and slamming the door, trying to shut out the scary scene taking place around me. Yells to call 911. Me doubled over the sink, dry heaving, crying, Its not okay. Its not okay. Please let it be okay. Then the stretcher rushing past me, my mother running beside it. Me in the front seat of my aunts car as she drove me and my nine-year-old, cherub-faced sister home to wait for news.

Hours later, I remember opening the front door when I saw my mother and my fathers best friend, his co-pastor, pull into the driveway. Her face shattered when she saw me, like a piece of glass hit with a bullet. I dont remember her saying the words Daddy died. But I do remember running.

When we all went back to the hospital that evening to do whatever it is that people do when their people die, they told me that I could go into a room to be with him for a moment. I walked in to where he was lying and held his hand, now cool, his gold wedding band cutting tightly into his finger. I placed my head on his chest, and cried and cried. I cried to try to stop the ache inside of me, but it only got stronger. Silent tears fell, my throat and eyes burning. I said, I love you, Daddy over and over again, until the words lost meaning and I wasnt sure if I was actually still saying them or not.

I knew that others were waiting to come into the room and have their moment, so I gathered myself, kissed him on the cheek, and for no particular reason other than that the refrain was fresh in my head and I had no other words, I whispered, New life.

And that was that. Those were the last words my daddy said. And they were the last words I said to him. New life.

Those words and that story would guide much of the next decade of my life. Life A.D. After Daddy. My faith, my personality, even my politics, were all grounded in a belief that new life was possible. That a better life should be accessible to anyone. That rebirth, re-creation, a hard reset was our birthright. I felt a pull toward anything that could create a new reality for me, for the people I loved, and for people who needed and deserved more. I have tried with all of my might to bend those words to breakingto mean more than the makeovers presented on reality television or the come-ups that we see on Instagram. I believe that it is something more. New life is why, after college, I chose a career that focused on helping people transform their communities and the country through activism and advocacy. I believe that everyone deserves to have a life free from the shackles of oppression and the systems of injustice and inequality that have held them captive.

And I guess in some ways, that story and its meaning are what led to this book. The words were ringing in my ears as I walked away, at twenty-seven, from an outwardly successful but secretly unhappy life on a professional hamster wheel. I didnt know what I was walking toward, nor was I fully clear on how Id ended up in the life I was walking away from, but I was determined to discover what was holding me back from the life I cravedone free from anxiety and fear, from comparison and discontent, from instability and insecurity, from endless longing and lack, from confusion and disappointment.