A.K. Treadwell
Bio
Grateful. Recovering. Alcoholic. Preacher's Daughter. I am a juxtaposition. I am the Tale of Two Cities. I sojourn in this foreign land, passing through, declaring the way of the Lord. Follow me, as I follow Christ.
Stories (16)
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Grown Folks Faith: When Belonging Gives Way to Becoming
Author's Note: Grown Folks Faith explores a quiet misalignment inside a long-standing social and religious system: Christianity as it is often practiced versus what it claims to embody. Rather than critiquing belief itself, this essay examines how systems meant to cultivate humility, love and transformation can drift into elitism through habit, identity and unexamined contrast. The misalignment rarely announces itself as failure; it appears as friction—spiritual one-upmanship, exclusion masked as certainty and belonging that replaces becoming. By tracing the developmental arc of Israel in the Hebrew Scriptures and reflecting on lived Christian experience, this piece looks at how systems shape people over time, how power and identity subtly reorganize meaning, and how maturity is often resisted by the very structures designed to nurture it. This is not a proposal for reform. It is an act of attention—toward a system many inherit, few question and almost all are shaped by.
By A.K. Treadwell 22 days ago in Humans
Salt of the Earth, Heat of the Hearth
Ralph was out back cutting firewood when the sky turned that certain winter gray, the kind that tasted like metal and felt like waiting. He had found his rhythm with the axe, wood splitting under his swing in clean, sharp sounds that echoed off the Appalachian hills. Sweat beaded along his brow despite the freezing cold. One drop gathered at the tip of his nose, hung there a second, then fell onto the blade. A tiny offering. He noticed it, snorted once, and kept chopping. The work felt good. Solid. He was a man who, above all, provided heat and shelter for his household when the world turned hard and cold.
By A.K. Treadwell 3 months ago in Humans
The Forgotten Room of the Divine Feminine
There is a room in the Great Temple that no one speaks of. It sits at the farthest end of the Hall of Libraries, beyond the galleries of kings and prophets, past the marble altars memorializing battles and miracles. Patrons walk past it without noticing. Priests avert their eyes when they approach. Scholars cough and scurry along.
By A.K. Treadwell 3 months ago in Fiction
