At Some Point, You Gotta Pass the Torch

Houston politics has been extra these past two years. And I don’t mean fun extra — I mean the kind of extra where you’re tired, confused, grieving, checking Google every five minutes, and wondering when the adults in the room are going to get it together.

And look: I say all this with deep respect. I’m not attacking anybody’s age, ability, or health. I’m not telling elders to sit down. I’m saying something simple:

Nobody is here forever. And if you truly love the people you serve, you should be training the person who comes after you.

That’s where my head is. And that’s why I think Congressman Al Green — who has done so much for Houston — might want to consider ending his service on a high note and helping build what comes next.

Let me explain.

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Houston Took Two Major Losses Back-to-Back

In less than two years, we lost Sheila Jackson Lee and Sylvester Turner — two people who didn’t just hold office; they were Houston politics.

Sheila Jackson Lee was everywhere — every parade, every community event, every crisis, every microphone. That woman served with fire. And her death from pancreatic cancer left a huge hole in the 18th District.

Then Sylvester Turner — our former mayor, someone with literal decades of leadership — stepped up to replace her. And before he could even settle in, he passed away, too.

Two giants, gone.

Two seats empty.

And a whole community left trying to hold itself together without clarity or direction.

And again — let me be super clear — I am not saying they were too old. Life happens. Illness happens. None of us are immortal.

But that’s the point.

When leaders don’t build a bench, communities suffer when something unexpected happens.

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And Then Greg Abbott Stepped In and Made Everything Worse

You would think the Governor would quickly call a special election so Houston wouldn’t be left without representation, right?

Wrong.

Greg Abbott delayed and dragged his feet like he was allergic to giving a majority-Black district a voice in Congress. And the whole time this was happening, Texas Republicans were also pushing through mid-decade redistricting, which is:

• Unnecessary

• Disruptive

• Confusing

• And honestly? In bad taste

Because why are we redrawing maps like we’re rearranging living room furniture during a hurricane?

Redistricting should NOT be something you pull out in the middle of a decade just because it benefits you politically. And doing it while Houston is already grieving and unrepresented? That’s not governance. That’s games.

And because of those delays, instead of having a representative months ago, we now have to wait until January for a runoff between Christian Menefee and Amanda Edwards.

Houston did not deserve this chaos.

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This Is Why Succession Planning Matters

This whole situation made me sit back and go:

“Why don’t our longtime representatives have someone ready to go?”

Corporations plan succession.

Churches plan succession.

Family businesses definitely plan succession.

But politics?

It’s like everybody wants to hold the seat until the wheels fall off and then let the community figure out the mess on their own.

That’s not fair.

That’s not leadership.

And honestly? That’s how districts end up vulnerable to exactly what just happened to us.

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So Where Does Al Green Fit Into This?

Al Green has served with dignity, consistency, and heart for decades. He has earned his flowers. Nobody can take that away from him.

But with these new Texas maps and the opening of a brand-new congressional district, this is a moment for him to choose legacy over longevity.

He could absolutely run and win.

But he also has the chance to become the elder statesman who says:

“I’ve done my part. Now let me help prepare the next leader.”

And honestly? That would be powerful. That would be leadership. That would be the opposite of what we just lived through with the 18th District.

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Here’s What Makes Sense to Me

Christian Menefee and Amanda Edwards are the two candidates headed to the January runoff. Both are talented. Both are respected. Both would serve Houston well.

So instead of letting one “lose” and disappear, here’s what I think should happen:

• Whoever wins becomes the representative for the 18th District.

• Whoever doesn’t win should be earmarked for the new congressional district that’s about to open up with a March runoff.

Why start from zero when we already have strong candidates right in front of us?

This is how you build stability.

This is how you build a political future.

This is how you stop the chaos.

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Legacy Isn’t Just What You Did — It’s Who You Prepare

Al Green has done the work. Nobody can argue that. But the next chapter of leadership in Houston doesn’t have to be chaotic or traumatic. It can be intentional.

We’ve already seen what happens when we don’t prepare.

We’ve already seen how quickly we can be left unrepresented.

We’ve already seen how political games — like mid-decade redistricting — can hurt communities that have been resilient for generations.

Now is the time for wisdom.

Now is the time for mentorship.

Now is the time to build the next generation of leaders before we need them.

And if anybody can set that example with grace and dignity, it’s Al Green.

Freedom of Religion: Faith Thrives Through Choice and Respect

In the United States, faith grows in hearts, not under government control. True devotion comes from love, choice, and personal conviction. Our Constitution protects freedom of religion, allowing Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs, Baha’is, Jains, Indigenous spiritual practitioners, and people of all beliefs—including atheists and agnostics—to worship, celebrate traditions, or live by conscience.

Religious freedom strengthens both society and faith. Christians celebrate Christmas, pray at home, lead church services, and share their faith openly. Muslims pray, fast during Ramadan, and gather in mosques. Jews observe Shabbat and celebrate Hanukkah. Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, and Jains hold festivals, perform rituals, and teach their children their beliefs. Even people without religion live according to conscience, free from imposed faith.

Misunderstandings arise when people claim one religion threatens another. The Arabic word “Allah” means simply “God,” and Arabic-speaking Christians have used it for centuries. A call to prayer, a hijab, or a Hindu festival in public spaces does not diminish anyone else’s faith. These practices reflect devotion, not competition.

Faith flourishes when chosen freely. Christianity, like every religion, thrives when it inspires love, service, and moral guidance—not dominance or suppression. Jesus taught peacemaking, humility, and love for neighbors, including people of different faiths. Other traditions emphasize compassion and respect as well: Judaism calls for tikkun olam—repairing the world; Islam emphasizes mercy and justice; Buddhism focuses on compassion and reducing suffering; Hinduism values dharma—righteous living; Jainism emphasizes nonviolence and truth; Indigenous traditions honor balance and respect for all creation. Even atheists contribute moral guidance and civic virtue through reason, empathy, and shared human values.

Protecting religious freedom does not weaken Christianity or any faith. It strengthens society, creating an environment where moral values, spiritual growth, and service flow from choice, not law. When every faith thrives, people practice principles they believe in, and communities flourish in respect, freedom, and love.

Faith lives fully when freedom reigns. Christians follow Jesus, Muslims follow Muhammad, Hindus honor their deities, Jews study Torah, Buddhists practice mindfulness, Jains uphold nonviolence, and people of all beliefs—including atheists—contribute to a society built on respect and compassion. Freedom of religion allows every person, every faith, and every heart to flourish.

When They Claim They’re “Protecting Women,” I Don’t Buy It

Every time I hear lawmakers say they’re protecting women, something in me pushes back. Protecting women’s sports. Protecting women’s privacy. Protecting women’s spaces. The words sound familiar, but the actions don’t match. It feels less like protection and more like performance.

Across red states—and now at the federal level—lawmakers keep pushing bills that ban transgender women from sports teams and public bathrooms. They sell these laws as care for women and girls, but all I see is a fixation on controlling a small group of people while ignoring the problems most women face every day.

Women have asked for equal pay for decades. We’ve asked for affordable childcare, paid family leave, better maternal healthcare, and real accountability for sexual assault. We’ve asked for rape kits to get tested instead of collecting dust for years. We’ve asked for protection from harassment and violence in our workplaces, schools, and homes. Yet lawmakers keep choosing a different fight—one that costs them very little politically and fixes nothing materially.

Texas now enforces laws that block trans students from using restrooms that align with their gender identity and threatens universities with massive fines if they don’t comply. Other states follow suit, redefining sex so narrowly that trans women disappear from public life altogether. On the federal stage, politicians try to rewrite civil rights protections under the banner of “fairness in women’s sports,” even though those efforts target a tiny population.

That’s what makes this feel dishonest. Trans women make up a very small percentage of the population, yet politicians center them again and again, not because they pose some widespread threat, but because they serve as a convenient symbol. Fear mobilizes voters faster than compassion ever will.

What bothers me most comes down to enforcement. Every time someone argues for bathroom bans, I ask the same question: who enforces this? Who checks? Who decides whether someone looks “female enough” to walk into a bathroom without getting questioned, stares, or worse? These laws drag all women into surveillance. They turn restrooms into spaces of suspicion. They invite strangers to police bodies—and that should disturb every single one of us.

Women didn’t ask for this. I don’t know a woman who said, “This solves my problems.” I know women who feel exhausted. Who feel unheard. Who juggle work and family without support. Who navigate healthcare systems that dismiss their pain. Who worry about safety far more often than about who stands next to them in a bathroom.

When lawmakers claim they’re helping women while ignoring everything women actually demand, it feels insulting. It feels like being used as cover. Like our lives function as talking points instead of realities that deserve serious solutions.

These laws don’t protect women. They divide us. They cast trans women as threats and treat cis women like props. They deflect attention away from broken systems and redirect it toward a group with the least power to push back.

Real support for women would look different. It would center economic security, healthcare, autonomy, and safety. It would expand opportunity instead of shrinking who belongs. It wouldn’t rely on humiliation, surveillance, or fear.

When politicians talk about protecting women, I pay attention to what they choose to protect us from—and what they choose to ignore. Right now, they ignore pay gaps, healthcare disparities, childcare crises, and violence against women. Instead, they police bathrooms.

The fact that we now have to ask who belongs in a bathroom tells me everything I need to know about how far off track we’ve gone.

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Support Systems Don’t Destroy Families

Every so often, someone appears to warn us that if women rely too much on government support, we will collectively forget how marriage works. As though the presence of public assistance causes rings to slide dramatically off fingers. As if Medicaid is standing in a doorway whispering, “You don’t need him anymore.” This argument assumes one extremely important thing: that women must choose between love and infrastructure. Apparently, we cannot have both.

The framing usually goes like this: if the government supports you, you won’t need a husband. And if you don’t need a husband, you won’t want one. And if you don’t want one, the collapse of society is imminent. This suggests marriage and government assistance are competing romantic prospects. Like the government is nervously twirling its hair while a husband clears his throat across the room. But here’s the thing: marriage has never once paved a road, funded a public school, provided unemployment insurance, approved family medical leave, or shown up during a hurricane. My husband is wonderful, but he cannot process a FEMA claim.

Historically, women relied on men not because it was ideal but because it was legally required. Marriage wasn’t just love—it was survival paperwork. For a long time, women couldn’t own property, couldn’t open bank accounts, couldn’t leave marriages easily or safely, and definitely couldn’t say, “I need time to find myself” without serious consequences. If your choices are marry a man or enter poverty immediately, that’s not romance. That’s economic coercion with a lace veil. So when people say, “Women should rely on husbands instead of the government,” what they’re really asking is for women to re-enter a system where dependence was compulsory, not chosen. Pass.

Somewhere along the way, we started talking about public support like it’s a substitute for intimacy. As if a woman wakes up one day and says, “I was hoping for companionship, emotional connection, and mutual respect… but then I received affordable healthcare, and the desire for love completely evaporated.” Government programs do not listen to your feelings, split the mental load, argue about dishes, make you laugh when you’re tired, or hold your hand when you’re scared. A safety net doesn’t replace relationships. It replaces desperation.

People choose better relationships when they aren’t choosing under threat. When you don’t need marriage in order to eat, stay housed, or receive medical care, you can wait, you can choose well, and you can leave if you need to. “You’re with me because you want to be” is a lot more romantic than “You’re with me because my job has health insurance.” A society that supports people doesn’t weaken families—it allows them to form voluntarily instead of under pressure.

And it’s always interesting how this argument singles out women, as if men don’t collect Social Security, don’t use Medicare, don’t rely on veterans benefits, don’t file for unemployment, and don’t enjoy roads, bridges, and electricity. If using public infrastructure makes marriage unnecessary, then we need to have a very serious conversation with every married man who drives on a publicly funded street.

You can want marriage, value partnership, and believe in family, and at the same time support public healthcare, believe in childcare assistance, want labor protections, and support people regardless of marital status. This is not moral confusion. This is understanding that personal relationships and social systems serve different purposes. Your partner is there to love you. Your government is there to make sure no one falls through the cracks. No one is asking one to replace the other.

Wanting government support doesn’t mean you don’t value marriage. Wanting marriage doesn’t mean you want dependence. The government is not my husband. My husband is not my government. One shares life with me. The other makes sure bridges don’t collapse. It’s okay to want both.

Sticks and Stones

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how people talk—and how fiercely they defend the way they talk. I keep circling back to the same conclusion: it’s not the word. It’s the people using the word.

Most words don’t start as insults. They begin descriptive, practical, even clinical. Over time, though, words collect tone, context, and power. They carry history. Eventually the meaning shifts—not because dictionaries change, but because people use the words in ways that hurt.

Take retarded, for example. It began as a medical descriptor. But over the years, mockery and cruelty wrapped themselves around it. Now, if someone tells me that word hurts them—or hurts someone they love—the only reasonable response comes without argument: stop. Continuing after that point doesn’t show ignorance; it shows a choice.

Then there’s African American. Some people debate endlessly about when to use it versus Black. Which honors heritage better? Which respects identity more? None of that matters if the person in front of you tells you their preference. Their experience dictates the choice, not your opinion.

Other words carry histories we often overlook. Oriental once simply meant “from Asia,” but decades of stereotyping and exoticization turned it into a loaded insult. And words like gyp or gypped, which many use casually, carry anti-Romani prejudice baked into everyday speech. These aren’t abstract examples—they exist in daily life, often hiding in plain sight.

I don’t consider myself the most empathetic person. Sometimes I don’t understand why something stings the way it does. But I’ve learned that understanding isn’t required to change behavior. Respect doesn’t demand comprehension; it demands effort.

If someone tells me a word hurts them, I stop. No debate. No explanation of what I meant. No insistence on how the word used to be used. If I step on someone’s foot, I don’t argue intent—I move.

People love to say, “I didn’t mean it like that,” and sometimes that’s true. Intent matters, but impact exists independently. Harm doesn’t vanish just because it arrives uninvited. Both realities coexist, whether we like it or not.

Then comes the familiar defense: “It’s just a word.” But words rarely exist in a vacuum. Money counts as “just paper,” yet we fight over it. Flags rank as “just fabric,” yet people cry, rage, and die over them. Words shape reality. They carry weight because humans give them weight.

Language changes constantly. That doesn’t mean the world became fragile. It means people started speaking up. For years, silence carried the burden of harm. Now honesty does—and honesty tends to make people uncomfortable.

Even terms meant to honor identity shift over time. “Colored” once passed as acceptable, then “Negro,” then “Black,” then “African American,” and now often “Black” again, depending on the speaker and the listener. None of these shifts happened for the sake of rules. They happened because people said, “This no longer feels right. Please stop.”

Here’s the thing that frustrates some people most: you don’t have to understand why a word hurts to stop using it. You don’t need a dissertation. You don’t need a personal connection. You just need to believe people when they tell you their experience.

At some point, continuing to use a word after knowing it causes harm stops being about free speech, intent, or semantics. It becomes about refusing to adjust when adjustment costs nothing.

Choosing a different word doesn’t erase intelligence. It doesn’t weaken principles. It doesn’t hand over control. It simply acknowledges that language lives, breathes, and changes—just like people do.

This isn’t about perfection. It’s about decisions. Once you know better, what you do next matters.

It’s not the word.

It’s what people choose to do when they know the word hurts.

Caring for the Least of These: Faith, Compassion, and the Law

Scrolling through social media, you might see a reel about welcoming migrants and a comment claiming, “The Bible says obey the law, so helping people who enter the country illegally is wrong. You should be ashamed.” Such a response misses both Scripture and reality.

In the hills outside Jerusalem, Jesus spoke to crowds worried about survival, not policy. In Matthew 25:31–46, He described the final judgment, separating people like sheep and goats based on their treatment of “the least of these.” Feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, welcoming strangers, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and imprisoned—Jesus tied every act of mercy to Himself. Scholars note that in His time, welcoming strangers often meant offering refuge to people fleeing violence or oppression, risking social disapproval or resources. Hospitality represented life or death, and the failure to care constituted moral failure.

Even His own birth carried a refugee story. Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem with no room at the inn. Their flight to Egypt followed Herod’s threat. Jesus identified from the start with the displaced, the vulnerable, and the hunted.

Critics often assume helping migrants conflicts with the law. However, U.S. statutes and international agreements protect vulnerable people. The Refugee Act of 1980 created legal pathways for asylum seekers. The Immigration and Nationality Act (INA) allows individuals to request asylum, even without passing through an official port of entry. U.S. law also prohibits returning people to countries where authorities would threaten their lives or freedoms. Internationally, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the 1951 Refugee Convention, and the Convention on Migrant Workers establish protections for migrants’ dignity, safety, and family unity. Showing hospitality to vulnerable migrants aligns with these legal frameworks.

Stories bring these principles to life. A Texas church once hosted a family fleeing violence in Central America. Church members provided food, clothing, and guidance, helping the family navigate asylum procedures. Later, when authorities granted them legal protection, the pastor realized: their compassion had operated fully within the law. History echoes the same truth. During the Holocaust, European churches hid Jews, protecting lives even under harsh legal restrictions, demonstrating that moral law and human decency sometimes operate in tandem with—or even beyond—civil law.

This brings up an important reality: legality does not always reflect morality. Laws have historically permitted grave injustice. Slavery remained legal in the United States for centuries while violating human dignity and God’s command to love one another. Segregation enforced racial oppression under the law. The Holocaust executed genocide under a legal framework, showing how laws can sanction evil. Other examples include apartheid in South Africa, the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II, and forced labor in the early 20th century. In each case, people suffered under legal systems that contradicted the moral imperative to protect the vulnerable.

Romans 13 instructs respect for governing authorities, while Matthew 25 calls for mercy and care. When laws protect migrants, compassion aligns with both Scripture and civil obedience. Even when laws fall short, God’s call to care for the vulnerable does not waver. Feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, and advocating for the oppressed fulfill both divine and moral law.

Every act of mercy toward someone in need, every warm meal or safe shelter, reflects God’s concern for the vulnerable. Obeying the law and caring for the least of these does not conflict; it flows naturally from a heart shaped by Scripture and informed by justice. From ancient Israel to modern refugee crises, hospitality remains a sacred duty. Ignoring the vulnerable carries consequences. Welcoming them opens doors not just to temporary safety, but to the living presence of God.

Scripture References: 

• Matthew 25:31–46
• Romans 13:1–7
• Hebrews 13:2
• Exodus 22:21
• Leviticus 19:34

Legal References:

• Refugee Act of 1980 (U.S.)
• Immigration and Nationality Act (INA)
• 1951 Refugee Convention & 1967 Protocol
• Universal Declaration of Human Rights
• Convention on Migrant Workers

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Modernizing Foster Care: Promise, Pitfalls, and the Path Forward

The White House has issued a new executive order aimed at improving the nation’s foster care system and providing greater support to young people who age out of it. The order focuses on modernizing child welfare practices, creating more opportunities for foster youth, and expanding partnerships with private and faith-based organizations.

Under the order, states are encouraged to update their technology and data systems to better track children in foster care, match them with appropriate families, and measure outcomes. For a child who moves between multiple foster homes, improved data collection could mean caseworkers always have accurate information about their school, health, and personal needs, reducing delays and mistakes that can make an already difficult situation even harder.

The order also establishes an initiative called “Fostering the Future,” designed to help young adults who have been in foster care access scholarships, job training, housing, healthcare, and mentoring services. A 20-year-old who has just aged out of the system could use this platform to find a short-term vocational program, apply for financial aid, and connect with a mentor in their city—all in one place. The aim is to give youth the tools to become self-sufficient and successful as they transition to adulthood.

Another key element encourages partnerships with faith-based organizations. Supporters argue that allowing these organizations to participate in foster care programs could increase the number of families available to children in need, particularly in communities where foster homes are scarce. Critics, however, warn that religious exemptions could allow some families to refuse placements based on religion, gender identity, or family background, potentially limiting options for children who need homes the most.

While the order has the potential to make foster care more efficient, supportive, and responsive to the needs of youth, its success will depend on careful implementation. Overreliance on predictive analytics and artificial intelligence carries the risk of bias or privacy concerns, and much of the plan requires cooperation from state governments and adequate funding. For children and families already navigating the challenges of foster care, this order could bring welcome improvements—but it also raises questions about equity, inclusivity, and how federal initiatives intersect with state policies.