Experiences

*Mental Health Advocate

*Special Education Teacher, MSPED

*Pastor & Elder, Christ Church, Apple Valley

*Athletic Training, Business Owner

*Prison Ministry, MN-Dept. of Corrections

*Police Champlain, AVPD

*Education Minnesota:

‍ ‍ -ESI Advisory Board
-Part Time Field Staff
-DCUE Board Member: Elementary SpEd Rep.

*Basketball Coaching: Youth, HS, College

*Volunteer Spokesperson, United Way Foundation

Education

*MSPED: Special Education; Bemidji State University

*Bachelor of Science: Sport Studies- Coaching, Sports Psychology; UMN-Twin Cities

*Associate of Arts: Emphasis- Speech Communication, Journalism; Inver Hills CC

I’m Lumumba—just a man doing my best to live candidly.

I’ve navigated trauma and mental health since early adolescence, often while trying to mask it, manage it, and survive it quietly. I learned early how to self-soothe, how to perform “fine,” and how to meet my own needs in imperfect ways. I was raised in a single-parent home with three forgiving sisters and an absent father—no relationship, no closure; just life, unfolding without instructions. As a young black man, I didn’t yet have the tools to handle all of what I was carrying. I turned to adverse company, illegal activity, and substances as ways to cope.

I know what it feels like to feel unseen and unworthy because I’ve lived there. As a student, I struggled quietly and carried shame I couldn’t name. As an educator, I try to be the person I needed—patient, present, and unwilling to reduce kids to data points, behavior charts, or bad days. I teach with the belief that every student walks in carrying something, and dignity should never be standard-optional.

Walking in faith, I see people as people—not labels, not failures, not circumstances; but as individuals who are worthy of absolute love. I understand the hesitancy of those who question faith doctrine. I’ve been wounded by faith spaces that made me feel ‘less than,’ and I carry that honestly. It is why I’m committed to making sure others know that they are, in fact, ‘more than.’

I’m not polished. I’m not perfect. I come with flaws, disruptions, questions, and trauma that still echoes, but recovery is reshaping those sounds. I believe healing isn’t linear, faith isn’t performative, and strength often looks like showing up tired but willing.

I love deeply. I listen carefully. I laugh easily—sometimes at the wrong moment, but we’re calling that character development (Lol).

At my core, I share because I know what isolation feels like; and I refuse to let others believe they’re alone.

Still learning.
Still healing.
Still human.