It was several years ago \u2014 a hot summer evening in July \u2014 when the receptionist buzzed my office phone for the umpteenth time that day. \u201cWhy me?\u201d I thought to myself. I was on a deadline. I had to prepare my sermon for the evening service.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYes?\u201d I inquired after the third ring.<\/p>\n \u201cThere is a young woman here to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t have any appointments scheduled this evening.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo \u2014 she really needs to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n She could not have been older than 17. She came down the hallway disheveled, with tears in her eyes, pushing her baby in a stroller. Before I could ask her name, she collapsed on the floor of my office door and said, \u201cI just can\u2019t do it anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n When I finally got her into a chair she admitted, quite evenly, that she was going to throw her baby off the roof of her building. In fact, she was on her way home when she passed the church. The doors were open so she decided to come in.<\/p>\n She cried, and cried, and cried some more. The young woman told me the particulars of her story \u2014 young, black, poor and alone with a child \u2014 that echo the social realities of so many young black women. Notwithstanding the realities of postpartum depression and other forms of mental illness that are aggravated by social inequity, she had no job, no money, no permanent place to live, no food, no diapers, no formula, no support system to help her care for her infant \u2014 nothing.<\/p>\n \u201cI just can\u2019t do it anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n