It is about honoring men and women who sacrificed their lives in military service so that others could live in freedom. It is about remembering people who left home wearing a uniform and never returned the same way—or never returned at all. It is about recognizing that many of the freedoms we casually enjoy every day came with a cost paid by somebody else.

In 1926, a historian looked at the American narrative and realized something sobering: Black people were present in every chapter of this nation’s development, yet largely absent from the textbooks. So he decided to do something about it. This 26th day of Black History Month, we are not simply celebrating a tradition. We are marking one hundred years of narrative correction. One hundred years of saying: We will not be edited out.

Today marks 11 years since my father passed. Yesterday, I stood in Memphis and attended the funeral of my cousin. Life continued. Faith remained. But the weight was present. There are moments when grief doesn’t scream—it sits. It doesn’t demand attention—it simply exists. And faith doesn’t erase those moments. Faith walks through them. This message isn’t about loss taking over. It’s about faith that carries us through loss—steady, grounded, and unbroken.