Originally posted on Facebook on Thursday, March 5, 2026.

In Week 10 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks to God for a proud moment.

I got to hang out with our dad this past weekend for his birthday. Anyone who knows him knows it’s hard to pin him down. He’s always on the move. But one sure place to find him is in church on Sunday morning… or somewhere eating afterward 🤣

So that’s where I met him—at a small Methodist church on the outskirts of town.

What he was doing there was remarkable.

Our dad stepped down from the pastorate a couple of years ago after 50 years of pastoring. He could have gone anywhere. Instead, he chose to support a young Black pastor who is just getting his start at a church with maybe 10–12 people in attendance.

Being there with Dad was nostalgic.

I remember back when our family was assigned to a new parish. There were months when it was just our family and one or two others on Sunday morning. But Dad stayed the course, and that church grew into a community of friends I’m still connected with to this day.

I once asked him about retirement some time ago, and without hesitation he responded:

“This is not a job, son. It’s a calling.”

And here I find him, tirelessly doing what he was called to do—being who he is.

He is consistent to a fault.

It’s something I admire and aspire to.

During the service, the pastor asked if anyone had any news to share. Dad sat up a little bit straighter, pointed to me, and said,

“I’m here with my son, Paul Christopher Luckett.”

It was clear he was proud.

I was too.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you.

I’m grateful.

#52WoG #HappyBirthdayDad

Originally posted on Facebook on Friday, February 27, 2026.

In Week 9 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks to God for my Black history.

I grew up in an all-Black neighborhood in Jackson, Mississippi that, at the time, was just a neighborhood to me.

I remember the sound of lawn mowers early on Saturday mornings.

I remember tree houses.

I remember the joyous squeals and laughs of kids playing in the street, and me rushing to finish my homework so I could join them.

I remember walking home from G.N. Smith Elementary School.

I remember the candy lady.

I remember my Dad working at DeSoto Furniture right down the street.
I remember him putting me in his lap as he drove a forklift (you didn't hear that, OSHA).

I remember staying at my neighbor's house when my mom was sick and my dad was at work.

I remember my first internship at a clinic owned by a Black doctor that, at the time, was just a doctor to me.

I remember summer camps at Jackson State University taught by Black professors that, at the time, were just instructors to me.

I remember going to Bailey Magnet High School where I was surrounded by bright, ambitious, Black kids that, at the time, were just other kids to me.

I remember the debate team.

I remember my best friend in high school scoring a perfect 36 on the ACT.

Growing up where Black people were together, hard-working, accomplished, and contributing to the vitality of our community, at the time, were just people living to me.

That was my norm.

The beauty and brilliance that were so ordinary to my Black experience indeed grew naturally from the seed of our common humanity. But the space and conditions for it to bloom were blood bought.

Looking back, I realize what was normal to me was anything but. My reality was a dream my ancestors fought for against those who would kill it.

It is a dream I too am committed to protect and a reality I'm determined to build, especially for those whom it is unjustly denied.

That's the legacy of my black history which I aim to pass on. It is a gift not only to Blacks but to us all. We are all richer and not poorer for it.

The legacy of my Black history is the enduring devotion to building places where flourishing is the norm for everyone in it.

I'm grateful.

In honor of James Donald, a man who taught Black kids that excellence is in us and that it was our responsibility to bring it out. He is being laid to rest today.

#52WoG #BlackHistory

Originally posted on Facebook on Thursday, January 29, 2026.

In Week 5 of 52 Weeks of Gratefulness, I give thanks to God for Mary's daughters.

What you see in this picture is who I'm married to—a woman who is fearless, independent, and able to do anything.

When we were in college, even before we were dating, I remember Melissa asking me if I would help her with a blown taillight. I had never been so excited to do manual labor in all my life!

Because I knew that she didn't *need* me to do it, but she wanted me to. It was a privilege.

She could have definitely done it on her own. She can do anything.

And, she's largely that way because of her mother, Mary Harris, who wouldn't let anything get between her and getting it done. I see that in all of the Harris women—a quiet fierceness, a strength and beauty that evokes awe and respect.

I count myself privileged to be married to one of Mary's daughters.

I'm grateful.

In loving memory of Mrs. Harris whose birthday is this Sunday, February 1st.

#52WoG #ThankfulThursday