Quinnee Zimmerman, BFA, MPA

Faith was always around me growing up, even if I wasn’t what you’d call a “church girl.” My great aunt and great grandmother took me to church. I went to Vacation Bible School every summer. My mother kept her highlighted Bible on her nightstand, and gospel music played in our house on Sunday mornings. These experiences gave me a Baptist identity, but I didn’t yet understand what it meant spiritually.

I learned that a foundation needs care to hold up under life’s weight. Without discipleship, community, and deeper understanding, faith becomes something you inherit instead of something you live. When faith is just ritual without relationship, it loses its power. That’s where I was—moving through adulthood with a faith based on familiarity, not real formation. I believed in God, but I hadn’t built a genuine relationship with Him.

My early faith was cultural. It lived in red hymnals, communion Sundays, Vacation Bible School crafts, butter cookies, and bologna sandwiches after service. These experiences were beautiful and tied to Black church tradition, but they didn’t lead to spiritual maturity. They were memories, not practices. Culture—no matter how meaningful—can’t replace a real relationship with God.

I explored different spiritual paths—Islam, general spirituality, Ifá, esoteric traditions, even agnosticism. But through it all, I never denied God’s existence. He was constant, patient, present, waiting. What I was missing wasn’t belief. It was formation. I’d been close to church my whole life, but I hadn’t developed the practices that sustain real faith.

I felt spiritually homeless for a while. Isolation has a way of making you forget what was planted in you years ago. Then something unexpected happened. I attended my younger line sister’s baptism and gave her a journaling Bible, pens, and stationery to encourage her journey. Watching her excitement reminded me of my own baptism on September 27, 1998—a moment of innocence and sincerity I’d distanced myself from. That memory brought me full circle. It stirred something in me: a desire to choose Christ again, not out of culture, but out of conviction.

I reached out to another line sister in church leadership and asked the most honest question I could: “Where do I start?” I didn’t want titles or recognition. I wanted authenticity. I wanted to rebuild my faith from the inside out—not through performance, but through practice. Not by copying others, but by connecting with God.

This return to faith became both my personal transformation and the foundation of my call to seminary. I now see a deep desire—not just to rebuild my own spiritual life, but to understand how others make similar journeys. How do people wander, return, rebuild, and rediscover God after seasons of doubt or spiritual distance? My academic interests focus on spiritual formation, the lived experience of Black Christianity, theological identity, and the lifelong process of discipleship.

Through an M.Div., I want to explore the questions that have shaped my journey:

• How is faith formed, lost, and renewed across different seasons of life?

• What does real discipleship look like for people raised in cultural Christianity?

• How can Black church traditions help believers move from ritual to relationship?

• What role does wandering play in deepening faith?

• How do we create spaces where spiritually displaced people can return, rebuild, and belong?

I come to seminary not as someone who has it all figured out, but as someone who has surrendered. I want to be shaped, guided, challenged, and formed. My journey has taught me that restoration doesn’t begin with having all the answers. It begins with honesty and a willingness to start again.

Today, I’m committed to my faith and to the God who waited patiently for my return. I want to honor that grace through study, ministry, and a life that helps others bridge the gap between faith and formation—especially those standing on the edge, unsure where to begin.