Elm Grove Baptist Church

June is here, and at Elm Grove we are celebrating it with intention. Black Music Month honors the legacy of artists, composers, songwriters, and worshipers whose voices shaped not just music but culture, faith, and freedom. All month long, we are taking you on a journey through the sounds that built us, from the fields to the pulpit, from the protest march to the praise break. Stay with us. This is more than music. This is our story.

This one is for the elder. The one who held the family together for decades. The one who went to work when they were sick, raised children when they were grieving, showed up to church when they were falling apart, and never once said "I need help" because nobody in their generation did.

You carried everything. And most of the time, nobody asked how you were doing because you made it look easy. It was not easy. It was endurance. And it costs you something that nobody talks about.

Mental health was not a phrase your generation used. But the weight was always there. The grief you swallowed. The anxiety you call nerves. The depression you call being tired. It had names all along.

You are allowed to talk about it. You are allowed to see a counselor at 65, at 75, at 85. You are allowed to tell your children the truth about what you carried, so they do not carry it the same way.

Psalm 71:18 says even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare Your power to the next generation. Part of declaring that power is being honest about what it took. Your story is not finished. The truest version of it might be the one someone else needs to hear.

Thank you for walking with us this month. The conversation does not end here. Carry each other. Every day. Every season.

You probably already know who the safe people in your life are. The ones you can call at 11 PM without feeling like a burden. The ones who listen all the way through before they say anything. The ones who never bring up what you told them in a weak moment.

James 1:19 says be quick to listen, slow to speak. Being a safe person means knowing you are not a therapist. It means saying "I hear you, and I think you need someone trained to help with this" is not a failure. It is the most caring thing you can do.

Most of us have been on both sides. Someone held space for us when we needed it. And sometimes we tried to fix something that was not ours to fix. Both teach us.