I was born and raised in Atlanta, in the Bankhead community, in the Grove Park neighborhood.
As a kid in the early 1980s, I remember getting off the Bankhead Highway exit. Turn right, and we were headed inside the city of Atlanta toward my home. Turn left, and we would have been headed toward Cobb County.
Back then, in my young mind, the distinction was simple.
Cobb County was where white people lived.
Bankhead was where Black people lived.
Life eventually took me in both directions.
My wife, Kelli, and I raised our family in Cobb County. Not because we were trying to escape Atlanta, but because we found a great place to live. It was diverse. We knew our neighbors. We built relationships and community there. We still own our home there and remain grateful for it.
Then, in February 2026, we moved back to Bankhead.
On April 10, I woke up on my 50th birthday living in the same community that helped raise me.
That did something to my spirit.
It felt like God had given me another 50 years. I had returned to the place that raised me with an opportunity to help raise it.
And now, one of the things teaching me the most about that responsibility is a hydrangea.
Kelli and I love hydrangeas.
We had some planted at our home, but Atlanta’s summer heat scorched them. I asked our landscaper what was wrong. He told me some of them were diseased, so we replaced them.
I thought new plants and professional care would solve the problem.
They didn’t.
The new hydrangeas are struggling too.
I water them. I watch them. I worry about them. We have people who know landscaping helping us.
And still, they struggle to grow.
Then there is the house next door.
It is abandoned and in terrible condition. The roof is failing. Vegetation has taken over parts of the property. The house will likely be demolished soon.
At some point, though, somebody lived there.
Somebody cared about that house.
Grove Park itself has a complicated history. This community was once known as Fortified Hills and was once a white community. Then came segregation, white flight, disinvestment and the concentration of poverty that reshaped neighborhoods across Atlanta.
Today, the abandoned house next door bears some evidence of what happens when communities and properties experience years of neglect.
But growing beside that neglected house is one of the most beautiful hydrangeas I have seen.
Blue. Vibrant. Strong.
Nobody is watering it.
Nobody is treating it.
Nobody is paying a landscaping company to care for it.
The neighbor on the other side cuts the grass, but nobody appears to be tending to this hydrangea.
Yet it grows.
Meanwhile, a few feet away, at my house, the hydrangea receiving attention is dying.
That will preach.
I have been blessed. God has been good to my family. Less than 300 yards from our home is a mural that Kelli and I are featured on, sponsored by the Grove Park Foundation in collaboration with Georgia Power. We have experienced success, but more importantly, we are committed to significance.
We believe we are blessed to be a blessing.
Yet I cannot get this hydrangea to grow.
It has made me think deeply about development.
Care without competence does not guarantee growth.
You can love something and still not know what it needs.
You can give something more water when it needs more shade.
You can replace what is struggling without understanding why the first one struggled.
You can have resources, good intentions and professional help and still produce the wrong conditions.
And sometimes, something growing in what looks like neglect has roots we cannot see.
Maybe that hydrangea next door is positioned perfectly for sunlight and shade. Maybe its roots have reached a source of water. Maybe the soil provides exactly what it needs.
I don’t know yet.
And that’s the point.
Before assuming we know why something is growing or dying, we should become curious about the conditions.
The same is true for people.
The same is true for children.
The same is true for families.
The same is true for communities.
Some people survive conditions that should have destroyed them. Others struggle despite being surrounded by people who care deeply about them.
Survival does not mean neglect is good.
Care does not automatically mean development is happening.
Development requires care, competence and the right conditions.
I came back to Bankhead because I care about this community.
But caring about Bankhead is not enough.
If I truly want to help raise the community that raised me, I have to understand its soil. Its history. Its people. Its strengths. Its wounds. Its assets. Its roots.
I cannot assume that because I have experienced success, I automatically know what this community needs.
Sometimes development is intentional.
Sometimes growth seems accidental.
But there is always a reason something grows.
My responsibility is to remain curious enough to discover why.
So now, every time I look at the beautiful hydrangea growing beside that abandoned house and then look at the struggling hydrangea in my own yard, I am reminded:
Don’t just ask, “Do I care?”
Ask, “Do I understand what this needs in order to grow?”
Because whether we are developing plants, people or communities, good intentions are not enough.
We have to create the conditions for growth.