Let Her Flo EP. 2 The Session

*"Some healings come slow like Sunday morning, Sacred as scripture, sweet as prayer, Breaking through concrete walls I built Thinking safety meant silence.

My therapist speaks in psalms and poetry, Wrapping wisdom in written Word, While my art speaks in colors and confession, And somewhere between these languages I'm finding my way back to faith.

They say His timing perfect— So what time is it now, When screens hold future promises And past comfortable silence Falls away like scales from eyes?

Lord, give me strength to trust this flow, This current carrying me toward truth, Toward light, Toward love that feels like coming home To myself."* —SoulSpeak_Flora (Posted at 1:15 AM)

The Session

Dr. Rivers' office held warmth in its simplicity - a worn leather chair, well-loved Bible on the side table, and a peace that spoke of years of prayer within these walls.

"You're holding something," Dr. Rivers observed, her voice gentle but firm. "Been watching you fidget since you walked in."

Flora stilled her hands, caught. "Just... feeling exposed lately. My art's getting attention. People seeing me."

"And you don't feel worthy of being seen." Dr. Rivers opened her Bible. "Let's talk about that. What's the Word say about hiding your light?"

"Matthew 5:15," Flora recited softly. "'Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl.'"

"Yet here you are, trying to dim yourself. Making yourself small." Dr. Rivers' eyes held loving challenge. "The same God who gave you this gift, gave you this season to use it. You think He made a mistake with your timing? Your body? Your voice?"

Flora felt tears threaten. "When you put it like that..."

"Baby girl, this ain't about putting anything any way. This is about walking in the truth of who He created you to be. Period."

"Let me tell you something," Dr. Rivers set her Bible aside. "When God called David, He didn't wait for David to feel ready. When He chose Mary, He didn't ask for her resume."

"But they were chosen. Special."

"And you think you're not?" Dr. Rivers' voice carried authority born of years walking with the Lord. "Your art's reaching people. Speaking truth. That's no accident."

Flora touched her dress unconsciously. "Sometimes I look in the mirror and don't recognize myself. Not just physically. Everything's changing - my marriage ending, this new attention, this connection with..."

"With Joseph?"

"Yes." Flora's voice softened. "The way he sees my work, gets the spirit behind it. But I'm scared of opening up. Of being vulnerable."

"Vulnerability is where God does His best work." Dr. Rivers leaned back. "But tell me this - when you're creating, when you're in that flow, do you feel shame? Fear? Or do you feel His presence?"

"His presence," Flora whispered. "Like every color is praise."

"Then maybe it's time to trust the gift more than the fear. The calling more than the comfort." She paused. "Tell me about this piece you're working on for the museum."

"I'm afraid of putting my heart in this piece," Flora admitted. "It's about motherhood, about changes, about God reshaping my whole life."

"Walk me through it."

"It's a series of digital paintings. Each one shows transformation - from caterpillar to butterfly, but using my journey. My body taking up space proudly. Selah's unique way of seeing. Cassie growing into her power at Howard."

Dr. Rivers nodded slowly. "And what's holding you back from completing it?"

"What if people don't understand? What if—"

"Stop right there." Dr. Rivers' tone brooked no argument. "You're not responsible for how people receive what God tells you to create. Your job is obedience to the gift."

Flora wiped away a tear. "The piece also shows marriage ending. New love beginning. It feels so personal."

"As personal as David's psalms? As intimate as Song of Solomon?" Dr. Rivers smiled gently. "God uses our testimony, Flora. Every broken piece, every new blessing."

"Even this thing with Joseph? This connection that feels like..."

"Like divine timing?" Dr. Rivers picked up her Bible again. "Let's talk about Ruth for a minute. About how God brought beauty from her season of loss."

"Ruth's story teaches us that loss can be the doorway to purpose," Dr. Rivers said. "But what I want you to notice is this - she didn't rush. She moved with dignity, with purpose."

"I'm trying to be careful," Flora said. "With my heart. With Selah's needs."

"God honors that. But careful ain't the same as fearful." Dr. Rivers studied her face. "Tell me about the museum piece again. What's the real story you're trying to tell?"

Flora straightened. "It's about a woman remembering who she is in Christ. About motherhood being holy but not our only calling. About..." she paused, gathering courage, "about God being big enough to hold both endings and beginnings."

"Now that's the voice I've been waiting to hear. Strong. Clear. No apology." Dr. Rivers smiled. "You feel the difference? When you speak from purpose instead of fear?"

"Yes ma'am."

"The Lord's been preparing you for this season, Flora. The art, the platform, even this connection with Joseph - none of it's random."

Flora felt something settle in her spirit. "So what do I do next?"

"First," Dr. Rivers leaned forward, "you stop questioning God's timing. What did Paul say about being confident of this very thing?"

"That He who began a good work will carry it to completion," Flora finished.

"Second, you need to get honest about these feelings for Joseph. Not to act on them yet, but to acknowledge them before the Lord. No hiding."

"It feels intense. The way we connect intellectually, spiritually..."

"The Lord ain't scared of intensity, child. He invented it." Dr. Rivers' eyes held gentle humor. "But He's also a God of order. You got a marriage to end with grace. A daughter to stabilize. A platform to build."

Flora nodded, understanding.

"And most importantly," Dr. Rivers continued, "you got some healing to do. Some old lies to unlearn about your worth, your voice, your purpose."

"How do I even start?"

"You already have. That art series you're working on? That's worship. That's testimony. Start there."

"The Lord's showing me something," Dr. Rivers said after a quiet moment. "You're not just making art - you're creating legacy. For your daughters, for other women who need permission to take up space in their calling."

Flora felt something shift in her spirit. "Last night, I started a new piece. About claiming spiritual authority. About walking in purpose."

"Tell me what you see when you create it."

"I see... women rising. Not just physically, but spiritually. Breaking chains of unworthiness. Finding their voice in Christ." Flora's voice grew stronger. "I see my journey, but it's bigger than me."

"That's the Holy Spirit speaking through your gift." Dr. Rivers straightened. "Now, about this museum feature. When you present your work, what voice will you use? The old, apologetic one? Or the one I'm hearing right now?"

"The voice God gave me. Strong. Clear."

"And Joseph?"

"I'll let that unfold in God's timing. After other things are settled."

Dr. Rivers nodded with approval. "You're learning. Last thing - what's that scripture about being fearfully and wonderfully made?"

"Psalm 139:14."

"I want you to create from that truth. Not from fear. Not from old wounds. From the truth of who God says you are."

Flora sat straighter, her voice finding new strength. "I know what I need to do with the museum piece. Instead of just showing transformation, I need to speak to it. Give testimony."

"There it is," Dr. Rivers smiled. "That's your authority in Christ speaking."

"And the FaceTime meeting with Joseph tonight about the feature..."

"Keep it professional. Keep it purpose-focused." Dr. Rivers' eyes held wisdom. "The Lord ain't against connection, but He's all about timing. Let Him order your steps."

As their session ended, Flora felt lighter, clearer. Her phone showed one missed message - the museum confirming tonight's virtual meeting.

Evening Light

Later that evening, Flora sat at her desk, artwork ready to share. When Joseph's face appeared on screen, she felt different - more grounded in purpose than nervous with attraction.

"Before we discuss the feature," his deep voice carried through her speakers, "I need to tell you something about your work..."

"Your latest piece about transformation - it's prophetic," Joseph said. "The way you layered scripture with modern struggle. That's exactly what the museum needs."

Flora felt the Holy Spirit's confirmation of her session with Dr. Rivers. "God's been dealing with me about speaking truth through my art. No more hiding."

"I feel that. Been studying Bezalel lately - how God filled him with skill for the tabernacle. Your digital art reminds me of that - sacred purpose through modern means."

His understanding of scripture matched her own revelations. Dangerous territory.

"The feature needs to focus on the work," Flora said firmly, remembering Dr. Rivers' counsel. "On the message."

"Agreed." Joseph's expression shifted to professional respect. "Show me what you're thinking for the exhibition."

Flora shared her screen, revealing her new series: "Queens Rising in Grace."

Through the screen, Flora watched Joseph lean closer to study her work. Professional distance couldn't mask their natural rhythm.

"These transitions between panels," he said, voice deep with appreciation, "how you blend the spiritual awakening with artistic emergence..."

"Like moving from glory to glory," Flora finished quietly.

Their eyes met through the screen. A moment of profound understanding.

"The second piece though," Joseph redirected, but his voice held warmth, "about motherhood as ministry..."

"That's Selah's influence. The way she sees truth before anyone else."

"She gets that from her mama."

Flora felt the weight of his words, remembered Dr. Rivers' counsel about divine timing. "The museum needs these pieces by Friday?"

"Yeah." He adjusted his locs, a gesture she was learning meant contained emotion. "I'll be in town next week to help set up the exhibition."

Space crackled between them. It was as if every breath and racing thought could be heard.

"You know," Joseph paused thoughtfully, "watching your journey reminds me of my grandmother. After my mom passed, she raised me by herself in Bedford-Stuyvesant."

Flora felt the shift in his energy. "Tell me about her."

"Miss Esther Carter. Ran the church's art ministry for thirty years. Used to tell me, 'Baby, creativity is just another way to pray.'" His voice softened with memory. "She was plus-size, proud, and the most powerful presence in any room. Never apologized for her gift."

The parallel hung unspoken between them.

"She raised me on art and scripture, taught me to see God in color and composition. Watching you step into your power..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "It's like seeing her legacy continue."

"Is she still...?"

"Went home to glory last year. But not before making me promise I'd use my platform to uplift other artists. Especially those society tries to silence."

Flora felt the weight of this sharing, this careful intimacy. "Thank you for telling me that."

Their eyes held through the screen, understanding flowing deeper than attraction.

"My father..." Joseph paused, choosing his words carefully. "He couldn't handle losing mama. Shut down completely. One day he just... left."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve. Mom was trying to stop a robbery at the corner store by our apartment. Wrong place, wrong time." His voice carried old pain. "After that, Pop disappeared into his grief. Gran raised me."

Flora noticed how he straightened, like sharing this made him vulnerable. "That's why you question faith?"

"Part of it. Watching faith break a strong man... made me start questioning everything. Started reading philosophy, different religions, trying to make sense of it all."

The unspoken understanding flowed between them - his journey of questioning, her journey of conviction. Creating a tension that felt both dangerous and necessary.

"Your art though," he said softly, "way you hold both struggle and faith... it's real. Makes me want to believe again."

"Your conviction though," Joseph's voice softened, "it challenges me. Not just about faith, but about healing old wounds."

"That works both ways," Flora admitted. "Your questions make me think deeper about why I believe what I believe."

Through the screen, the Brooklyn night framed him in his studio. Books lined the walls - philosophy texts beside biblical commentaries, art books next to physics journals.

"You know what Gran used to say?" A small smile touched his lips. "She'd tell me, 'Your questions ain't running from God, they're running to understanding.'"

"Sounds like a wise woman."

"She was. Still checks on me sometimes, tried to get me back to church last Easter." He paused. "What would she think of this connection? This... whatever this is between us?"

The question hung in the digital space between them, heavy with possibility.

"Dr. Rivers - my therapist - she says God's not afraid of intensity," Flora offered carefully.

"But we should be?" His eyes held both challenge and respect.

"We should be... mindful. Purposeful." Flora felt Dr. Rivers' wisdom guiding her words. "There's timing for everything."

"Speaking of timing," Joseph's voice carried a new depth, "tell me something real. That piece you're working on - about transformation. I see pain in those colors, beneath the praise."

Flora felt her breath catch. No one else had noticed that layer.

"Lost eight years playing small," she admitted. "Thinking submission meant silence."

"And now?"

"Now I'm learning that power and purpose can coexist with grace." She touched one of her twists, a gesture of self-grounding. "What about you? All this success, but you still searching..."

"For what's real," he finished. "Beyond academic degrees, beyond art world acclaim. Something..." he paused, searching for words, "something authentic as your work. As this conversation."

Their eyes held through the screen. Dangerous territory.

"We should focus on the exhibition," Flora said softly, though her heart raced.

"We should," he agreed, but his eyes said more. "Your piece about mothers and daughters - show me that one again?"

"This section here," Flora shared her screen, focusing on the art instead of their growing tension. "It shows generational healing. Breaking cycles."

"Like you're doing with Selah," he observed. "Teaching her to own her voice from the start."

"While I'm still learning to own mine." The admission slipped out before she could catch it.

Joseph leaned closer to his camera, his presence filling her screen. "That's what draws me to your work. The honesty. No pretense. Even with your faith - you don't use it as a shield, you use it as a lens."

"And you?" She found courage to ask. "All this knowledge, all these beliefs you've studied... what lens do you see through?"

He was quiet for a moment, considering. "Truth is? I see through questions. Always searching. But your art..." he paused, "your art makes me want to find answers again."

"Joseph—"

"I know," he said softly. "I hear it too. This conversation crossing lines we drew."

"Professional lines," Flora reminded them both.

"Right." But his eyes held something deeper. "The museum needs your final pieces by Friday."

"About those final pieces," Flora redirected, pulling up her artwork. But a notification popped up - her laptop battery dying.

"Hold on," she shifted, reaching for her charger. Her screen tilted, catching her in natural evening light.

"Wait—" Joseph's voice held something new. "That light... can you recreate that angle in your next piece? The way it's hitting you right now..."

She stilled, caught in his artist's eye, in the way he saw beauty in unplanned moments.

"Sorry," he caught himself. "That was..."

"No, I see it too." Flora opened her digital canvas. "Like divine light breaking through ordinary moments."

"Exactly." His voice carried relief at her understanding. "That's what I mean about your work. You catch these sacred seconds, make them universal."

They worked in comfortable silence for a moment, her creating, him watching. The professional boundary blurred by shared creative energy.

"You know," he finally spoke, voice thoughtful, "Gran would've called this a divine appointment."

"And what do you call it?"

"I call it..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "something I ain't got enough degrees to explain."

"You ever wonder," Joseph's voice dropped lower, more personal, "if all that searching, all those different paths, just lead you right where you supposed to be?"

"Sounds like someone's faith might be stronger than he admits," Flora responded softly, still working on her canvas.

"Maybe. Or maybe some connections just..." he stopped, watching her create through the screen. "Your technique there, with the light. That's different."

Flora's hands stilled over her iPad. He was right - she was painting differently. Freer. Like their conversation was flowing straight into her art.

"It's getting late," she said, though neither moved to end the call.

"One more thing," he shifted, reaching for something off-screen. When he returned, he held up a worn book - Maya Angelou's 'And Still I Rise.' "Found my grandmother's copy today. Her notes in the margins... reminded me of your latest piece."

"Joseph..."

"I know. We drawing lines. Keeping things professional." His eyes held hers through the screen. "But some art... some connections..."

"Transcend boundaries?" She finished quietly.

"Something like that."

"Tell me about the last time you saw your father," Flora surprised herself by asking, sensing there was more to his spiritual journey.

Joseph went quiet for a moment, his expression shifting. "Two years ago. Found him at a jazz club in Harlem. Playing piano like mama never died, like he never left."

The raw honesty in his voice made Flora's heart tighten.

"He looked right through me," Joseph continued. "Called me by my uncle's name. That's when I realized - he ain't been running from me. He been running from himself."

"And that's when you started questioning everything?"

"Nah, that started earlier. But that night?" He picked up his grandmother's book again, thumbing the worn pages. "That's when I realized faith ain't what I'm questioning. It's forgiveness."

Flora felt the Holy Spirit nudge her heart. "Sometimes the hardest prayers..."

"Are the ones that cost us most," he finished. "Yeah. Gran used to say that too."

Their eyes met through the screen - his carrying years of unresolved pain, hers holding space for his truth.

"You know what's wild though?" His voice softened. "Watching you walk in such clear purpose... makes me want to heal these old wounds. Find my way back to something real."

"Speaking of real," Joseph's tone shifted, lightening the heavy moment, "that music element in your latest piece - giving me straight D'Angelo 'Brown Sugar' vibes."

Flora laughed, grateful for the shift. "Please. More like Jill Scott 'Golden' energy."

"Oh, so we got jokes?" His gap-toothed smile emerged. "The queen got music opinions?"

"The queen got music facts," Flora shot back, feeling playful. "Don't get me started on my vinyl collection."

"Bet you don't have what I got." He moved his laptop, revealing a wall of records. "Original pressing of The Low End Theory."

"Amateur." Flora turned her camera to her shelf. "First edition Nina Simone 'Baltimore.' Still in plastic."

"Now you just showing off." His eyes danced with appreciation. "See, this is what I'm talking about though - your art carries that same soul. That rhythm."

"You ain't the only one raised on good music." She found herself swaying slightly to an imagined beat. "My daddy had me learning Minnie Riperton's high notes before ABC's."

"Look at you, dropping credentials." His smile widened. "Might have to test that knowledge sometime."

"Test my knowledge?" Flora arched an eyebrow. "You sure you ready for that?"

"The way you just hit me with that Nina Simone flex? Nah, I'm intrigued now." His smile held challenge. "Let's make it interesting - you name a song, I'll break down its composition. I name one, you show me how it influences your art."

"That's dangerous territory, Mr. Carter." But Flora was already pulling up her digital canvas.

"More dangerous than the way you just said my name?" His voice dropped lower, playful but charged.

Before Flora could respond, her screen flashed with an incoming call from Vicky - her sister's name lighting up just as Joseph started humming the opening notes to "Cruisin'" by Smokey Robinson.

But it wasn't Vicky calling that made Flora's breath catch.

It was what she saw in the split second before her sister's call:

A notification about Joseph's upcoming feature in the museum.

A headline that would change everything:

"BrooklynSage Reveals Groundbreaking Project: The Truth About His Father's Legacy"

And there, in the preview image - a face Flora recognized from twenty years ago.

A face that connected dots she wasn't ready to connect.

"Flora?" Joseph's voice carried concern. "You okay?"

But the truth was already unfolding like a song she couldn't unhear...

Episode 3: Sister Circle :During a late-night virtual gathering, Flora opens up to her three closest friends about her growing connection with Joseph and her fears about stepping into this new season. Jasmine, Lisa, and Cassie each bring their unique wisdom, helping Flora navigate the delicate balance between protecting her peace and opening her heart. But just as Flora finds courage through their support, Joseph sends a message hinting at a painful past that could change everything...