Story & Soul
Our writing group has been meeting for the past ten months, and we now have a name: Story & Soul. We gather twice a month, and our time usually includes some initial reflection on & inspiration for writing, followed by Mae Beth, our wonderful facilitator, offering optional writing prompts. More recently, we have begun sharing what we’ve written.
Our time together has fueled more than just writing. It has encouraged vulnerability & sharing, fostered soulful connection, and cultivated conversation about how we can show up amid the good, the hard & the upheaval happening in the world.
A few weeks ago, Patti shared this soul-stirring piece she had written during that day’s 30-minute writing session, and I wanted to share it here. It reminded us that writing can be a powerful form of resistance and a force for retelling the stories of liberation that some want to silence. I am thankful for this group, for how we are growing together, and for how we continue to welcome new friends into this soulful space.
Harriet Tubman
Born under the bootheels of white men
who owned her body,
but never her soul.
She was born Araminta Ross
of Maryland, a black slave, one of many
She broke those chains in 1849,
and didn’t just run—
SHE ROSE.
Wore resistance like a second skin.
Didn’t just escape—
she returned
with fire in her belly
and maps in her memory.
Built a pipeline of freedom,
a whisper network of worth,
where mothers and sons
could taste a name that wasn’t a slur.
Harriet Tubman.
Not just a woman, a name—
a codeword for hope.
The Underground Railroad wasn’t myth,
wasn’t metaphor or wish—
IT WAS GRIT
It was guts. And faith
carried on a quilt of symbols
that meant “clear” and “safe.”
She didn’t just guide.
SHE COMMANDED.
Dozens found freedom in her footsteps—
Because she told them,
“You are not a curse.”
“Your Blackness is not a stain.”
“YOU ARE WHOLE. YOU ARE HOLY. YOU ARE HOME-BOUND.”
She was a rebel, but on the other side—
She took that same fire
and offered it to this country
that had whipped her,
sold her,
dismissed and devalued her.
Yet still, she wore a Union badge
as cook, nurse, scout, and even a spy.
And when war quieted—
SHE STILL WASN'T DONE.
Harriet looked at what else our country needed
She built a home
for the old ones,
the tired ones,
the forgotten ones.
No one was un-remembered by Granny Tubman
Not the limping, the lost, or the left-behind.
If the white man didn’t care—
SHE DID.
And so did a quiet army of allies
with eyes on justice
and hands on the line.
It was clandestine,
coded,
carved out in courage.
A gospel of freedom
passed mouth to mouth,
safehouse to safehouse,
rooted in fields of cotton and defiance.
From Mississippi mud
to the Mason-Dixon line—
From Virginia’s shadows
to Canada’s open sky.
Some kept running,
past borders,
past laws,
toward something deeper than the lines that enclosed their freedom.
They were chasing:
Hope.
Sanctuary.
A place where their skin wasn’t a sentence.
A place where their Blackness
could finally
be
LIGHT.
-Patti Peeples, March 2025
If you are interested in joining an upcoming Story & Soul gathering, check out our upcoming events for details.