My mother named me Pamela from the stories she used to watch. I don't know maybe she was dreaming about
my story.
 
As complex as it may be, I still only want to be me. I'm a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend. I'm a preacher, teacher, leader -- too many titles, too many names.
My mother called me Pamela before she knew
my story.
 
I've been right and I've been wrong. I've been hurt and I've caused pain. Been counted out and rose up again. I've been so lost, but thank God now
I'm found.
 
My mother calls me Pal, maybe because we became friends. I may think it's complex but so simple still. I'm God's child the one I answer to when I'm still. He calls me by my name. I can hear Him so clear. The preacher Pam. That's the title I'll
answer to.
 
Too many defining terms, but I know who I am still. I'm Pamela, a spirit filled creative intellectual
being.
 
I've been battered, worn, broken, chipped and bruised. I'm loved and I love. I feel both joy and pain. I'm me, unapologetically human, unapologetically