Praise Dance Brought Them Together. Motherhood Kept Them Engaged. Faith Keeps Them Grounded.

A Mother’s Day Story of Seven Women, Thirty Years, and an Unbreakable Circle.

By Milton Kirby | Atlanta, GA | May 10, 2026

For nearly three decades, seven women along with others who have been part of their journey have been moving in harmony, not just across the sanctuary floor but through the unpredictable choreography of life. What began as a praise dance ministry in their youth has become something far deeper: a sisterhood stitched together by motherhood, faith, and the kind of love that shows up when life hits hard.

When we sat down with them recently – Tracey, Shelly, Aundrea, Geraldine, Tonya, Cassandra, and Robyn the laughter came first. The kind that fills a room before anyone speaks. The kind that tells you these women have lived a lot of life together.

“It was a sisterhood from the beginning,” Tracey said, her voice warm with memory.

Shelly nodded. “We watched each other’s kids grow from infants to young adults graduating from college.”

Three decades of birthdays, recitals, heartbreaks, promotions, and prayers – all witnessed in real time.

Aundrea added that they had danced with many people over the years, but the seven women in the room had danced with each other the longest. Their bond wasn’t accidental. It was chosen, nurtured, and protected.

And then there was Geraldine, whose first introduction to Tracey was a playful smack on the butt.

Tracey didn’t think it was real. “Oh, it was real,” Geraldine said, and the room erupted.

The Storm That Tested Them

Their sisterhood has been tested, too – none more than in 2019, when Tonya’s life changed in an instant.

She remembers the moment vividly: “It felt like a sledgehammer hit me in the back of the head.”

It was an aneurysm.
For three days, she went untreated. Her mother noticed she was lethargic. By the time she reached the hospital, she was close to death.

The women around her grew quiet as she spoke even after all these years, the memory still trembles.

Tonya gets chills thinking about how they rallied:
They brought food.
They brought money.
They brought love.
They brought themselves.

The consensus was that Cassandra was the most animated – the one who sprang into action, the one who refused to let fear win.

Shelly grew emotional recalling those days. Tonya’s sister acted as gatekeeper, limiting visitors. Shelly coped the only way she knew how:
“I prayed. And I talked to her like she was right there in the house with me.”

It took Tonya two years to recover.

Tracey calls her “my Miracle Friend.”
And the room agreed.

The Complex Choreography of Mothering

The women’s lives outside the sanctuary are as diverse as their personalities. Aundrea, who joined the ministry at just 17, is now 48 and navigating the beautiful, often chaotic waters of raising two daughters, Summer and Winter. She sees her own strength reflected in them one shy, one outgoing, both formidable.

Robyn, one of the youngest in the group, carries her own deep well of experience. She lost her father and husband three years ago, and her mother a few years before that. She is no stranger to grief, but she is also no stranger to testimony.

“I share my bad,” she said. Not for attention, but for healing.
Then she quoted Revelation 12:11 because for her, scripture is not just comfort; it is instruction.

Yet, the path to motherhood wasn’t a straight line for everyone. Aundrea, now a successful corporate executive, speaks with raw honesty about the “private storms” she weathered, including five miscarriages. She recalls the harrowing experience of being at work, mentoring a subordinate, while physically enduring the loss of a pregnancy in real-time.

Her first instinct was to look inward, not upward.

Robyn gently added, “When you’re a believer, you trust God – and you question your own actions.”

It was a moment of shared understanding – the kind only Black women can articulate to each other without explanation.

What Mother’s Day Means to Them

Their answers were as varied as their personalities.

For Geraldine, motherhood is an extension of the sanctuary – it is a ministry. She views her children as a “stewardship,” a holy responsibility placed in her hands by God.

Shelly, the day is “just another day,” a reflection of her own mother’s humble approach to the holiday.

Cassandra sees it as a day of relaxation and reflection.

Robyn finds joy in in the simple observation of her children becoming the people they were destined to be.

When asked what she wishes someone had told her before she became a mother, Tracey smiled:
“That I might experience some of the things I put my own mom through.”

And when the question of “Who’s the troublemaker?” came up, the answer was unanimous:
Geraldine. No debate. No hesitation. Just laughter.

A Circle That Holds

Even when they aren’t in the same room, even for Aundrea, who admits she sometimes relies on social media to keep tabs on the group the thread remains taut. They have survived aneurysms, miscarriages, grief, and the exhausting beauty of raising children. They have lived their testimonies out loud, sometimes quoting scripture, sometimes letting the reference alone speak for itself — trusting that anyone who needs to look it up will find something meant just for them.

What began as a simple praise dance ministry has evolved into a sacred lifeline. On this Mother’s Day, Tracey, Shelly, Aundrea, Geraldine, Tonya, Cassandra, and Robyn remind us that motherhood isn’t just a biological destiny. It is a communal act. It is the story of the women who raise us, the women who raise our children with us, and the women who refuse to let go of our hands when the music stops. They are still in harmony. They are still in step. And they are still dancing.