The blessing that landed like a warning

When I shared that I was solo driving to Minnesota, twelve plus hours each way, many people responded with the same phrase: Be safe. It is a common send off. It can be loving. It can be sincere.

But the frequency of it struck me. It did not feel like "Have fun!" or "Take pictures!" It felt like a reminder that, for some of us, a vacation announcement can sound like a risk report. (In fact, I'd probably say the same thing to my children if they ever decided to solo drive any long distances.)

As a Black woman in the United States, I have learned that "be safe" is not always a simple option. Sometimes it is a prayer. Sometimes it is a warning. Sometimes it is a burden. Yet, I traveled and tested my resolve to make it a good trip no matter what.

How I traveled and what that reveals

On this trip, I drove through areas where I expected to be the only Black person around. That shaped my choices.

I avoided certain stops. I eliminated the need to stop by planning ahead and being attentive to a full take of gas before unknown stretches of road. I stuck to rest stops rather than restaurants for the vast majority of the trip. I even made a point of getting groceries before driving so stopping for food was wholely unnecessary on the way up and a single intentional stop for some amazing pancakes I discovered on social media on the trip back. (Seriously, check out Judy's Family Cafe. It was absolutely lovely.)

I want to be clear. I never felt unsafe or afraid across the entire trip.

I not only mades tops and chose gas stations with me in mind, but I was mentally and spiritually prepared. That is part of what it means to be a Black woman moving through the world. I embraced the mystery that comes with traveling alone on roads I had never traveled before, while also making decisions that increased my fortitude as one who aims to live and enjoy the journey.

What people mean and what Black bodies hear

I do not believe most people intended harm and even if someone did, I left little room for opportunity to do so. I also think many were reaching for care in the "be safe" offerings on social media. Yet I could not help but wonder what images rose first in their minds when they heard "Minnesota."

For many of us, Minnesota is not only lakes and long summer evenings. It is also the shadow of George Floyd. It is also the ache of names and stories that travel faster than any road trip.

And in this season, that ache is not limited to one place.

We have all watched national news stories about increased tensions around immigration, racial profiling, and the ways fear gets weaponized in public life. But what makes it heavy is that it is not only "out there" on the news. It is happening in everyday places, in ordinary interactions, all over.

So when people say "be safe," it can sound like: Remember where you live. Remember what can happen. Do not forget your vulnerability.

Renee, Alex, and the stories that shape our instincts

I also could not ignore the way recent stories have trained our bodies to brace.

When I think about Renee Good, I think about a woman whose story became a public reminder of how quickly ordinary life can turn, and how easily a person can be treated as suspicious or disposable.

When I think about Alex Pretty, I think about the kind of story that exposes how fast assumptions can escalate, and how vulnerable Black people can be when someone else decides we do not belong.

And when I think about George Floyd, I think about the way one moment can become a national wound that never fully closes.

These stories do not stay on the screen. They shape what people imagine is possible for people, particularly Black people, in public spaces. They shape what Black people prepare for, even when we are simply trying to rest.

Scripture is honest about danger

Christian faith does not require us to pretend the world is safer than it is. The Bible is not a scrapbook of protected people. It is a witness to God’s presence with people who are often at risk.

• Hagar is a woman in hopeless cercumstances, sent into the wilderness, exposed and unseen, until God sees her.

• The Hebrew people live under empire power and state violence.

• The prophets speak truth knowing it can cost them.

• Jesus is born under threat, becomes a refugee, and is executed by the state.

Scripture does not romanticize danger, but it refuses to let danger have the final word.

Esther and the courage to live anyway

One of the most honest lines in Scripture is Esther’s: "If I perish, I perish." (Esther 4:16)

Esther is not reckless. She is discerning. She understands the stakes. She counts the cost. She also refuses to let fear be the only voice in the room.

There are moments when Black people, especially Black women, live with a similar tension. We make decisions with an awareness others do not have to carry. We consider exits. We share our location. We watch our tone. We plan our routes.

And still, we choose to live.

Esther’s courage is not a command to embrace danger. It is a testimony that sometimes faith looks like stepping forward even when safety is uncertain.

"Be safe" is not a strategy, community is

Here is what I want to say gently but clearly: "be safe" can be a blessing, but it is not a plan.

For Black travelers, safety is often shaped by systems, not just choices. You can do everything "right" and still be vulnerable to someone else’s fear, prejudice, or power.

So what can we do as people of faith?

• We can tell the truth about the world we live in.

• We can refuse to blame Black people for the danger aimed at us.

• We can practice communal care that goes beyond a phrase.

If you want to love a Black friend who is traveling, consider:

• "Text me when you arrive. I will stay up."

• "Do you want me to check in halfway?"

• "If anything feels off, call me. No questions."

• "I am praying for protection, yes, and also for joy."

Safety is not only personal vigilance. In the Christian imagination, safety is also shared responsibility.

Christian teaching: dignity, neighbor love, and truth telling

Christian faith insists that every person bears God’s image. That includes Black women on the road, in rest stops, in small towns, in hotel lobbies, in places where we may be watched too closely or treated too casually.

Neighbor love is not sentimental. It is concrete. It is protective. It is willing to confront what threatens the beloved.

And truth telling is holy work. If we cannot name the reality that makes "be safe" feel loaded, we cannot repent, repair, or change.

Freedom and joy are also spiritual practices

I also want to say this plainly: I am not interested in letting fear steal my life.

There is a kind of captivity that happens when you shrink your world to avoid risk. Some people do that without ever noticing. Many Black people are pressured into it consciously.

But joy is not naive. Joy is resistance.

Taking a trip. Visiting a friend. Singing loudly in the car. Stopping for coffee. Laughing at a roadside sign. Watching the sky change across state lines.

These are not small things. They are reminders that my life is not only a survival story. It is a beloved story.

A prayer for the road

God of Hagar, who sees the unseen, see Black women who travel.

God of Esther, who strengthens the brave, steady our hearts.

Jesus, companion on dangerous roads, walk with us.

Spirit of wisdom, teach us when to pause, when to proceed, when to ask for help, and when to rest.

And for those who say "be safe," give us more than words. Give us courage to build a world where safety is not a special request, but a shared reality.

More than survival

If you told me "be safe," I receive the love underneath it, just as I would offer to those I love.

And I also want us to grow beyond it.

Because Black people deserve vacations without fear. We deserve ordinary joy. We deserve roads that do not feel like tests.

And until that world is fully here, I will keep learning from Scripture’s honest stories, people who lived under threat and still chose faithfulness.

Like Esther, I will not pretend the risk is not real.

And like Esther, I will keep stepping into life anyway.