No More Standing in Silence

What you are going to read about is a topic that is way bigger than me. There is so much to say, and I barely scratched the surface. But at the end of the day, this is my story, my experience, and my thoughts. I have a blog platform that I’ve been blessed to speak from, and I don’t take that lightly. I’m not asking for sympathy, and certainly not arguments. If you don’t like what I said, you can move on from this post. May God bless you!

We’ve been saving for something for a while now, and dreaming about it even longer. A mountain house. A little cabin to make cozy and call our own. A weekend escape from city life and the hustle and bustle of the daily grind.

That dream finally became a reality recently. With much fear, and a little trembling, we started the process of looking for a mountain getaway. I say fear and trembling, because this is a big deal, and a big investment, and times are uncertain for all of us. But mountain houses are for sale, and good deals are to be made. However, what started out as a fun and exciting adventure last Saturday, took somewhat of a cautionary turn.

We pulled into “Mountain Town, Arizona” to check out a listing. The scent of pine trees wafted through the air as the treelined road turned and curved. We came up on a cute general store, Ma’s Diner, and a cluttered antique store. I could totally get used to this on the weekend, I thought. There were quaint cabins, and custom homes, nice yards, and sprawling porches. This is exactly what I had pictured. Then we pulled up to the listing, and started to look around, like really look. Was that a confederate flag in the window next door?

Matt looked at me, and I at him. He said, “I don’t like the vibes here. Let’s go.”

We drove in silence for a while. We whizzed by the general store that had caught my eye ten minutes before. Tears started to well in my eyes. The stupid vibe. Why did there have to be a vibe?

Before I go any further, if you don’t already, you need to know this, Matt and I are a mixed-race couple. Matt is Jamaican. We met in college when he came to the States to play soccer. We married shortly after. It’s been 22 years of a wonderful life together, but like any marriage, there can be bumps in the road.

There was that time in another “Small Town, USA” where we were refused service at a restaurant for the color of his skin. Or maybe it was mine? Or maybe just us together was the issue?  Then that warning a few years later from one of his customers in the South who said he should not bring his white wife with him on his upcoming business trip, because there would be trouble. There were the looks we received living in the mostly white communities we’ve lived in over the years too.

It’s not the looks that bother me so much. It’s the words people say. A few years ago, our youngest daughter wanted to go to a smaller high school in the area. We enrolled her, and on the first day at her new school, a teacher looked at her and said, “Oh, we have brown girl coming here now.” Yes, that happened. Still shaking my head.

Then there’s these words. For the love, I ask you to please not say them.

“Wait, really? Your husband is black? I didn’t even notice.”

“I was raised to be color blind. I don’t even see it.”

Lord have mercy. Get your eyes checked.

God created color, and he created you to see it.

I remember the first time I brought Matt around to meet my friends and family, shortly after we were engaged. I grew up in a mostly white town, with my dad as a pastor at a white church. I know I turned some heads bringing him home that Christmas break. No one ever said anything to us, but I can just about guarantee you there were parents having conversations with their single, white, daughters about how that would not fly in their families if they were to bring home someone of color.

I’m normally not this fired up when I write a post. I typically pour over each word, and make certain, to the best of my ability, that I won’t offend anyone. But, on this topic, I’m done being polite. I’m done being candid. Racism is a problem in this country; in every state, county, town and neighborhood. It may not rear its ugly head where you live, like it did in Minneapolis, but I’m certain it’s there, just beneath the surface. The vibe. Some are welcome here, but not all. 

When our now 17-year-old was growing up she used to say that her daddy was dark and her mommy was bright. That’s how she saw us, and it’s precious. Today I watched that same girl cry tears and pound her fists at the injustices she’s seen unfold lately. It’s not so simple as when she was four-year’s-old. My heart ached for her. I didn’t know what to say to comfort her. What broke my heart even more is that she doesn’t think there’s any hope for resolving this problem.

Black. Lives. Matter.

Those three words ring in my head. Up until a few days ago I would have said, “No, no, all lives matter. All of them.” But think about it, if all lives truly matter then why would a few of the all need to even say that?

In my dark moments, I agree with my daughter. I don’t know what to do. This isn’t something legislation can fix, and it’s much bigger than any of our elected leaders. What do we do? How do we become united instead of divided?

Over the weekend I heard soundbites and video clips from several of my favorite church leaders across the nation. Some of them said that this change, this major change that needs to take place in our country, must start in churches. I couldn’t agree more, but here’s the sad thing, it will happen at a handful of churches, but not all. It’s easier to be sympathetic from a distance, and quiet from the platform.

One of my favorite local pastors in the Phoenix area, who is white, attended one of the protests over the weekend. He peacefully prayed over the crowd as they gathered around him. He started his prayer by asking forgiveness ‘for those of us who have been a part of the problem rather than the solution.’

Did you catch that? Forgiveness. A pastor asking forgiveness from his black brothers and sisters. Oh Lord, may we all have the heart to start the conversation with forgiveness.

Sometimes to take a stand, we need to take a seat and have a conversation with those who are hurting around us. But before we have the conversations, we need to take care of some personal business. I’ve seen a statement floating around the last few days. “Racism is not a SKIN issue; it’s a SIN issue.”

For me, that means on my knees with arms lifted. I’m asking forgiveness for all the times I’ve stood sympathetically at a distance and been silent. I’m confessing that I have pride and privilege beliefs that need surrendering. I’m asking God to turn my stony, stubborn heart to one that’s tender and responsive; that seeks justice, loves mercy and walks in humility. I can tell you for certain I cannot do any of this on my own. I need the help of Jesus.

Oh people, the Lord has told you what is good, and this is what he requires of you: to do what is right, to love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.” Micah 6:8 NLT

This has been a tough year. I mean really tough. Sometimes I can’t wrap my head around all that’s happening on the planet. (Bob and Doug had a good idea blasting off from here.) I have to wonder, what is God up to? I’ve read plenty of posts on social media that the end is near, and the rapture is imminent, which always makes me giggle because it’s been the ‘last days’ for two thousand years. Honestly, as bad as it seems, I’m not ready to leave this Earth. There’s too much that needs to be done. Too many lives that are lost and hurting and need to be pointed to Jesus. So I ask you: How are we going to make Heaven more crowded by standing idly by in silence?

“God blesses those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they will be satisfied.” Matthew 5:6 NLT