BLACK LIVES STILL MATTER

 I haven't blogged much this year, because I've mostly been surviving.  It's been a disappointing year on so many fronts, but nearing the top of the list for me has to be watching evangelical Christians become politically zealous in ways that seem not to honor the Lord.  This was distressing to me in the run up to the 2016 election as well, and it has continued in fervor and depth.  Social media in particular has felt like a dumpster fire of opinions, and I've watched in sadness as I've seen believers place a political leaning over grace, kindness, love, truth, empathy, compassion, and the list goes on.  Not only that, but many believers have done this using the Bible as a justification and a weapon.

I grew up as a conservative Evangelical Christian.  I understand the talking points and culture.  I used to believe that all Christians should have the same political beliefs, because of conservative values and pro-life and small government and so on.  The older I've gotten and the more of life that I've seen, the more I see that there are other perspectives that can ring true even inside of my faith.  My faith has continued to deepen, because my need for Christ remains constant.  I am more convinced than ever of my own depravity and shortcomings and blind spots and the ways that all of those play out as I seek to apply faith to politics.

A large part of this journey has come through our personal interactions with social justice issues, particularly racial justice.  (Here's a blog post I wrote about this in June)  As I've mentioned, this whole season has been difficult, and watching Americans disagree vociferously on the history of our country and the bearing that history has on our present has felt like we are living in some kind of twilight zone.  We, as Americans, oppressed and enslaved people for centuries, almost exclusively on the basis of race.  The idea of that leaving no legacy in the present is truly baffling.  Our current laws were passed within the lifetime of many people who are still very much alive.  

Even more disappointingly is the more recent learnings that I've had regarding the Church and the ways it has upheld these systems of oppression over time.  I read The Color of Compromise this summer which was an eye opening look at the way southern Christians used the Bible to justify slavery and kept using it to bolster segregation.  It feels that we are now witnessing the next phase where Christians are using it to denounce racial justice initiatives as anti-Biblical or Marxist.  Or to simply say that it is unAmerican and disrespectful for people to be upset in a country where they have so much.  There seems to be no protest that can please white Americans, and that is sort of the point.  It is a protest.

Listen, I love America and am so thankful to live here.  Truly.  However, I'm not going to put our country or flag above my allegiance to Christ and his kingdom.  I am called to love God and love my neighbors first and foremost.  And my Black neighbors are crying out and lamenting injustice.  I love America enough to want to make it actually a place that is good for all people that live here.  I believe that means fully recognizing and embracing our incredibly racist roots and working to upend the places where those seeds still grow and flourish.  As a side note, I am not a Socialist/Marxist/Communist.  We own a family business and appreciate Capitalism.  However, none of the good things we have here are without flaws.

I understand that many Christians are afraid.  Because they keep saying they are scared or they keep encouraging others to be afraid if such and such doesn't happen or so and so doesn't get elected.  So much has happened in the past year, and so much of it is confusing.  There is hypocrisy on all sides, and it is difficult to know where to find "unbiased" reporting in our country, because most major news outlets have very specific slants.  Even when they claim otherwise.  Anytime I find myself dwelling on fear, I try to center myself on Christ and the fact that this world is ultimately not my home.  I am found in him, and even if all else falls apart completely, I am not lost.

Our family does happen to be transracial, and so it is personal to us.  When we say Black Lives Matter, we are saying that our black kids matter just as much as our white kids, even though that has consistently been up for debate in society.  I will say it today and tomorrow and years from now if necessary to work to right the wrongs that have taken place here.  We can embrace a movement while also knowing it is flawed, because we are all broken people working within broken systems.  It is easier to debate theories than to engage in the work of dismantling systems or do the work it takes to recognize how racism has undergirded our society.

I'm not saying this is easy or straightforward.  It is exhausting.  But I believe it is holy work, and I am thankful that the Lord continues to show up as we walk this journey.  It has forced me to really examine policies and issues in different ways.  For example, I have always and will continue to identify as Pro-Life.  I believe that advocating for increased racial awareness for me comes out of that sentiment.  I heard someone say "Womb to Tomb" and thought that a helpful way to sum it up.  That said, I believe that reducing abortions can come about with several different kinds of policies and that there should be more conversations about birth control access and healthcare reform, both of which have been proven to decrease unwanted pregnancies and abortion.  I wish that we could have discussions that take a more holistic look at what is happening rather than demonizing anyone who doesn't agree exactly with us or do exactly as we would prescribe.

I write all of this humbly, knowing that I have blindspots that I haven't even discovered yet.  I am in process and working to submit myself before the Lord as I wrestle through these issues.  I know this post will hit people in a lot of different ways, and I ask for grace on all sides, because I know that so many of us are working to find our way through this.  We all come to situations with a unique blend of conviction, personality, and personal experience, and this is where I am currently landing based on those things in my life.  I do hope as Christians that we can find ways to respect one another and disagree graciously, because the world is watching.  And if we don't have love, then we don't have anything.

BLACK LIVES MATTER

I've been radio silent on the internet for about a month and even longer on the blog.  To say that 2020 has walloped me upside the head and deep into my heart would be an understatement.  There have been hard diagnoses in our family.  There has been the pandemic and subsequent quarantine that took away our support system and routines and left us isolated and a bit undone.  I've been battling situational depression and trying to find a way through our days.  It's been a lot and then some.

But here we are in June, and the race conversation has reached a fever pitch and groundswell that cannot and SHOULD NOT be ignored.  George Floyd's death and Breonna Taylor's and Ahmaud Arbery's have brought Black Lives Matter back to the forefront of everyone's attention.  There are protests and round the clock news coverage that switched from the ongoing depressing cycle of Coronavirus to conversations centered on race and talking heads debating why black men and women are still getting killed at the hands of police.  Or at the hands of vigilantes who are then not prosecuted by our justice system.  I know I am recapping the obvious, and unless you are living in a hole (which sounds pretty great right now), none of this is new info.  

When we stepped into being a transracial family over 7 years ago, we quickly realized that we had a lot of educating we needed to do for ourselves.  We became more intentional to ask questions of the people of color in our life and to seek out more voices of people who come from different backgrounds.  We got to know the family we had adopted into, and we have learned so much from the twins' grandmother who attended Central High and knows members of the Little Rock Nine personally, because she closely followed their footsteps.  I've diversified my social media feeds, though this is something I am still actively working on.  We've read books and listened to podcasts and watched documentaries.

We acknowledged our white privilege years ago.  (Here are posts I wrote back in 2014 and 2016) I am not trying to make us sound more "woke" than we are.  We are still working to dismantle the racism and prejudices and biases that live within us.  It's hard work to humbly understand the role our whiteness has played in our success, and it is devastating to realize that we have two children who will not be protected under our privilege umbrella throughout their lives because their skin is beautifully darker than our's.  I do not feel guilty about being white, but I understand that whiteness in our country can and has been weaponized.  I'm saddened to say that I was not shocked by these deaths occurring in our country.  I am angrier than ever before, and I'm grieving, but I moved past shock years ago.

I realize that so far, I've made this post about our family's journey.  I wanted to show that learning about race and privilege is a journey.  A marathon.  A lifestyle.  It's not something to do only while it's trending.  It's more than posting a black box on social media to make sure everyone knows that you do care about black people dying.  And if you are tired of hearing about racism, imagine how tired people must be of experiencing it? (paraphrased off an instagram quote I saw)

What I have so appreciated through this round of national racial conversations is the way so many white people have begun to understand that we need to listen.  We need to reflect.  Is slavery our fault?  No, but it informs our current reality, so to discount those centuries of oppression is to ignore our real history and context that adds depth and breadth to the anger we're seeing and experiencing.  

So now what?  This is the question I hear friends asking, and it's a good one.  Now that we are awake to the systemic racism, now what?  We are having conversations with those in our circle about this issue, and as of this weekend, we have attended our first protest as a family.  I must say this was an experience that resonated with me on several levels.  I realized that I've not had many reasons to protest in my life, which means that mostly, systems work for me, an upper-middle class white lady.  There is also something very intentional about attending a protest - we took time to write out signs, which meant really trying to figure out what we wanted to say and taking the time to say it.  We explained to our kids what we were doing and why.  (We also loaded up a backpack full of snacks, treats and drinks, because it was over 90 degrees and at dinner time.)  It felt a little weird to pull up and unload, and because of the racial makeup of our family, it always feels like we draw a few more looks.  But, people smiled, and there was so much solidarity in the togetherness (while most of us were wearing masks, because what a delight that all of this is happening during a global pandemic).  

It was also a reminder of the nuance and listening that is still required.  Honestly, I didn't necessarily "agree" with all of the signs that I saw.  And as certain people were talking, I realized that I wasn't "comfortable" with everything being communicated.  However, it has pushed me to do more research - to learn what it might mean to rethink the role of police in our society and how funds could be shifted around to address the real needs of our communities and to listen to the people this is affecting negatively.  Again, the system has worked for me, but that does NOT mean that it is working.

We will continue to broaden our circle and have hard conversations that require humility and being uncomfortable.  We attend a predominantly Black church once a quarter to give ourselves and our bio kids the opportunity to experience being the minority every once in a while and to have a greater understanding of Black Christian culture in our city.  We work with an incredibly diverse population that feels keenly and strongly about everything going on.  John has spent a lot of time listening and dialoguing with members of our team, which has continued to open our eyes.  We are still learning so much.  It's super messy, but I am hopeful that real change is possible.  I can't speak to all that should look like, but I am hopeful that examining the systems and mechanics of what got us here will allow us to bring more accountability and change.  

I've seen lots of people scared to post anything for fear of getting it wrong.  I know that I will get it wrong, but I would rather say something than nothing.  I would rather share about things that matter to our family deeply than to ignore what is happening.  I realized that even though I feel a bit redundant, that is because of the social feeds that I have curated over the last seven years.  I can use my voice in my own circles.  

And lastly, to any brothers and sisters in Christ that may be reading this, please know that this issue needs more than prayer.  Racism is a sin/heart problem, yes, but the ways that it has spilled into our society require real cultural and policy change.  To simply say that you are praying it gets better is an incomplete response.

And because I am by NO MEANS an expert, I would love to point you to just a few books authored by Black people that are enlightening.  If you need more resources, just check the New York Times Bestseller list this week - most of them are centered on racial issues.

Under Our Skin by Benjamin Watson

Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson

I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness by Austin Channing

Be The Bridge by Latasha Morrison

Here are some of the Black people I follow on Instagram that I am continually learning from.

{ Latasha Morrison } { Austin Channing Brown } { Emmanuel Acho } { Osheta Moore }

{ Morgan Harper Nichols } { Danielle Coke } { Angela Tucker } { Jo Saxton }

MLK DAY

Our family and our story has been written in ways that I never dreamed of or imagined.



I never dreamed of it, but Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. did, well before I was born.  He dreamed that "little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers," and because of God's grace, Dr. King's dream and so many other miraculous movings, my children reflect this hope.  It is astounding and makes me smile and breaks my heart.

Because, even as larger pieces of Dr. King's dreams have come to fruition than he ever got to witness, we still have so far to go.  If you believe that racism is no longer something that America struggles with, then you are almost certainly white.  No person of color buys into that idea.

And while our society has made strides to correct injustices, the fact remains that so many injustices are ongoing and continue to be raw, gaping wounds.  The pain is real.  The fear is still there, and rightly so.  This is NOT ancient history that we are dealing with.  The Little Rock Nine are mostly still alive.  The twins' grandmother personally knows them, because she followed closely in their footsteps and attended Central HS a few years later and is still haunted by those memories.  The stories are brutal and being carried around by a generation that is still alive and very much apart of our community.

For me to learn this, it has taken a lot of listening.  I have to hear the stories and pay attention and not discount experiences that I can't imagine.  Truly, I cannot imagine, because I have been born into such privilege just by the color of my skin.  But little by little, I am learning.  John and I read Under Our Skin last year, which I highly recommend, because it sheds even more light onto what it is like to be black in today's America.

Also, since this day is honoring Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, here's an except from what he wrote from a jail cell in Birmingham.  (To read it in its entirety, click here)

"First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection."

Honestly, it is hard to know how to speak to all of this as a white woman.  I know that I do not have all the answers - nor can I see it all clearly.  I don't get to adopt black children and suddenly understand everything.  I am scared of saying the wrong thing and causing offense on either side of this issue, because I cannot grasp things perfectly.  It would be easier to stay quiet and be privately saddened by the current climate in our country.

But I am coming to understand that my silence can be part of the problem.  I will not get everything right, but I want to align myself with who I believe Jesus would align himself with: those who are oppressed, downtrodden and outcast.  When I look around, those people often have skin darker than mine, and I do not think that is a coincidence - it's a byproduct of a society that continues to work against people of color.  A society that pays lip service to equality while perpetuating segregation.  If you have to say that you are not a racist, it probably means that you are a racist, because actions speak louder than words.

So, on this Monday where we honor Dr. King, I want to honor him with my small voice.  I want to cry out for justice and open hearts and listening ears.  Obviously, this issue is now deeply personal to me, because two of my children have the most beautiful brown skin in the world.  As it stands right now, their future appears to be harder than my children with beautiful less pigmented skin.  This is not undue pessimism - this is reality.  My white privilege can only shelter them so long.

I can only hope and pray that we are all joining together to make their journey brighter and more hope-filled.  I can lift my voice to stand with my brothers and sisters and son and daughter of color.  I would love for you to join us.

WE NEED NEW WAYS TO MOVE FORWARD

This week, I've wanted to absolutely bury my head in the sand.  I don't want to see it.  I don't want to feel it.  In the past, because of my white privilege, I haven't had to look directly at it.  I could let it be a story in my newsfeed without engaging it, because while it was sad, it didn't impact my little world.  (I wrote about this two years ago after Ferguson.)

All of that changed three years ago when we brought home two African American children as our own.  We went through adoption training about being a transracial family, but nothing fully prepared me for what that reality really meant here in America.  I didn't understand the horrific history of police brutality against African American males in particular or the ways that the American justice system has failed that population.

In all honesty, I would have done a little victim blaming myself.  I mean - he shouldn't have been dressed like that.  He should have complied.  He shouldn't have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  And while bits and pieces of those things might be true, it does not excuse the end results - the beatings, the deaths.  Same song, millionth verse.

John and I have been watching OJ Simpson: Made in America which includes a fascinating deep dive into the racial tensions in LA leading up to the murders.  It opened my eyes all over again to the fact that though African Americans have had equal civil rights in our country for decades, things are far from equal for them.  White privilege is a thing, and I've been a beneficiary my whole life, and now I can finally see it.  It's certainly not something to be ashamed of, but I can now acknowledge that here in America, the scales are weighted in my white favor simply because I am white.

So - what do I do?  The truth is, I don't feel qualified to really speak on this, and I'm linking to several well-written articles by people whose voices I want to magnify.  But, I have realized that one of the things to do with my white privilege is to use it.  I haven't spent much time reading comment threads, but it took me just a few clicks to see that the same old debates were raging.  The victim blaming.  The propping up of a system that has been weighted in favor of white people who don't want to see it that way.  I felt nauseous and angry all over again.

I don't spend a lot of time writing about opinions here on the blog for a lot of reasons, but I realized that this is too important to keep to myself.  And, if my children ever do read this blog, I want them to know where we stand and that we choose to take a stand.  I've prayed at length over whether or not to hit publish on this, but I do feel God prompting me to use my tiny little corner of the internet.

#Alllivesmatter can't be a real thing until #blacklivesmatter.
(This is a great summation of why.)

As the majority group, we white people don't get to write the story of how African American people should feel.  We don't get to put constraints onto their grief.  We don't get to spin their experiences into the story that we want to tell.  It's our job to listen.  Open our eyes.  Open our hearts. Put down our offenses that are so easy to take up and realize that this pain is not being magicked out of the sky to make white people feel guilty.  It is pain, because the systemic injustices that have been suffered in our country are fresh and current and ongoing.

I do also feel like I need to note that this pain does not excuse the horrific and unimaginable assassination of police officers in Dallas this week.  Nothing excuses that sort of violence.  (I love this post by another adoptive mother "How We Won't Choose Sides.") It hurts the overall cause and creates more grief and pain and anger.  I believe with all my heart that most police officers want to serve and protect all people, and their job is incredibly difficult with life and death situations that I cannot imagine trying to handle in an instant.  I'm so thankful for the job that they do, and I know this issue cannot simply be boiled down to problems in the police force.  It's a problem with our entire society.  I'm praying for the loved ones of those fallen officers.  I'm praying for those families who currently fear for their loved ones who are courageously serving and protecting the American public.

The problem is in our hearts - all of our hearts.  We live in a fallen world, and each one of us struggles with thoughts and attitudes that often don't honor people around us.  We need more of God's love in every move that we make.  We need to open our arms in compassion to those who are suffering around us and listen and be with them.  We need to be reminded that this world is not our home and that true freedom only comes with Christ.  We need to listen and mourn with those who mourn and align ourself with true justice for all people.  (Here's a great post about that.)

I'm so thankful that God is doing this work in my heart and moving me more towards people who are oppressed.  I so easily could have missed it, but because it is now in my home - my heart and mind are tuned in.  I'm repenting of the ways that I've contributed to the issues at hand and praying that God lights the next steps in our journey of awareness and action.  It breaks my heart, but I would rather be heart broken than blind.

I hope and pray that we can walk forward in a new way that makes the world better for all of our children, but especially children that look like this.

Other resources worth reading:

When I Can't Breathe, I Will Listen by Osheta Moore

Repenting of Colorblindness by Rachel Held Evans
Dear White Christian Women by Jess on Shannan Martin's blog

OUT OF THE COMFORT ZONE

Life keeps ticking by, and while I am thrilled to say that most areas of our life have a lot of positive movement and growth, there are hard things that also happen.  I'm not at liberty to talk about some of the hard things, because it isn't always (or usually) appropriate to share things that happen with other people.  I try really hard to keep this blog transparently about our story, but the places where our story brushes up against other people often have to be kept to ourselves.

Which is perfectly okay, but I must say, I usually learn the most in the hard places.  Recently, I feel as if I keep getting hit over the head with the same lesson:  true humility does not come naturally.  I want life on my terms, and I want to be comfortable.  While it is easy for me to say that I want to serve and love others, at the end of the day, I find that I value my own comfort and ideas over other people.

To combat this latent and sometimes outright attitude, I've been reading Philippians 2 over and over again most mornings, hoping and praying that the words would sink through my spirit.



It's so easy to look at a situation and feel "right" and "misunderstood" and "offended."  And even if any of those words ring true, it does not change what God is asking of me.  He asks me to lower myself and imitate Christ's humility which included going to death on the cross, even though he had all the power of heaven and earth and perfection on his side.  But in my flesh, I want someone to come to me and for myself not to  have to do anything differently.  At the beginning of the year, one of the phrases that I wanted to follow in 2016 was "Live Lower."  Reading Philippians 2 and being reminded of what real love and humility looks like is the only hope I have of being able to actually live lower and essentially love better.

Another situation where this is playing out in our lives is in trying to really understand race in the context of our own city.  Yesterday, we took our family to a predominately African American church near our restaurant.  We have relationships there because of CFA and because our church has partnered with them, and we knew it would be a good opportunity to start to engage more people of color in the life of our family.

Yet, as we got ready for church yesterday morning - I've got to be honest here - we were nervous.  We knew we would have some of the only white faces there, and we felt uncomfortable thinking about how different things might feel from what we are used to.

And right then, it hit me: I'm perfectly happy for my own environment to diversify, but it is much harder to go into someone else's environment entirely.  I've almost never been a minority in my own city or country, but I need that experience.  We explained to the girls that William and Violet are often in the race minority in our lives and that we want to create opportunities for them to be in the majority.  We have so much to learn, and instead of just bringing people into our world, we realized that we need to broaden our world so we can better understand the African American culture in Little Rock.

Attending church there was a great experience, and we were graciously welcomed.  We are hoping to be able to attend there every so often and build some relationships and learn more.  But, it is going outside of our comfort zone, and I hope and pray that God give us the grace to do it well.  Sometimes things like this sound good in theory, but the actual reality of them is much harder.

I don't have a nifty little bow to wrap up this blog post, but I do know that I am a continual work in progress and that I often get it wrong.  I want more of Christ and less of me, and I have a long way to go.

MLK DAY

I read these words and get really teary eyed.

"I have a dream that one day ... little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers."

Martin Luther King Jr.

That dream came true in my family.  They are black and white and sisters and brother, and the beauty of it in light of history is truly overwhelming.  We are tasting a small bit of the freedom that Martin Luther King Jr. advocated and fought for and eventually died for.  Today I went back and read the entirety of his famous I Have a Dream speech, which I'm sure I've read before, but I can't remember when.  He was an astounding and gifted writer, and the power of his words gave me chills while tears poured down my face.

We've come so far.  And we have so far still to go.

My children are free to go wherever they want, but they are not free from judgement and prejudice.  They currently live under the relative safety of our white privilege, but I dread the moments ahead when we will not be able to shield them from the racism that still plagues our society.  It is more subtle than it used to be and in many ways more dangerous for it.  It's harder to root out and kill, because it no longer lives in the law books of our country.  It takes refuge in human hearts, poisoning their minds and allowing prejudice and hatred to march on.

I'm guilty of it, and you probably are to, no matter what color you are.  Each of us has experiences that mark us for good and evil, and I'm praying that God continues to reveal the places in our hearts that need to reflect more of his love and heart for justice.  We are hoping to show our children that we can live in hope, knowing that we are all God's children, and he makes the way for our ultimate freedom.  Until that time, we will advocate and fight on behalf of our children and family and friends and brothers and sisters of color.  I'm so thankful for the privilege to see the world differently.

And today, I'm so thankful for men like Martin Luther King Jr. who paved the way to make my life and family possible.  

---------------

I was looking around the internet for good ways to expose my kiddos (especially the older ones) to what this day is about.  This is a fantastic resource, and I'm hoping to watch a couple of these clips with the girls tonight.  And, if you haven't yet seen the movie Selma, it would be another great way to see what Martin Luther King Jr. was able to accomplish.

Happy, MLK Day!

GIVING UP OUR RIGHTS & HOPING FOR BETTER

As a parent, I have many opportunities to witness miniature people not getting along.  This takes many forms at our house, and sometimes I am amazed at the ways my children look for ways to irk one another.

Here's one scenario:  While driving, one girl will be singing boisterously to her heart's content.  She will be making a joyful, sort of melodic noise, and she will be quite happy about it.
Now, instead of joining her, the other girl will decide that she needs complete and utter silence.  "NO SINGING.  STOP THE SINGING.  IT'S GIVING ME A HEADACHE!"
The singing child protests, "BUT I LOVE SINGING!  I NEED TO SING!"
Silence wanter yells, "MY HEAD HURTS!"
Singer yells, "THIS MUSIC MAKES ME HAPPY!"

Now, I want to scream that my head actually does hurt, but I *usually* refrain.  We've reached an impasse.  There is no way possible that a compromise can happen when they stand on the opposite sides of the singing cliff.  One cannot sing without annoying the other.  The other cannot have silence without costing her sister the song.  No one is happy, least of all me.  I plea for kindness and middle ground, and I get grumps and whines in return.

Why is it so in our nature to fight for our own rights?  We are so often so focused on ourselves and things we think we need.  As I was reflecting on living in America and all of the rights and freedoms we have, I was thankful.  I'm so glad to live in a place where I can worship my God freely and can live a life in pursuit of what I believe he has for us.  We live incredibly comfortably.  We can say what we want to say.  We can think what we want to think.  It's a free country.  It's not perfect, but in comparison to so many places around the globe, our basic rights are in tact and so much more.

And then I think about the freedom that I have in Christ.  I find my identity in him, and I want my life to be a reflection of what he has for me.  I want it to point to him.  Christ calls us to some upside down thinking, like the "last shall be first" and "deny yourself and follow me."  It says nothing about defending my own rights and standing up for myself.

As the culture wars have raged around me in the last several weeks and months, I've been disappointed with some of my fellow believers.  I feel like they have been screaming, "MY HEAD HURTS!" in the face of someone singing, when at the end of the day, we are called to love one another and lay down our lives for each other.  I don't have to take offense.  I am free in Christ.

John and I had a long talk about this is regards to some of my comments about Harrison from my last post on race.  He felt like I went too far in saying that I never wanted to stop there and was blaming an entire community for an outspoken minority's billboard.  We spent most of lunch a while back spinning this around while also making sure everyone had enough white cheese dip, because our children take chip dipping very seriously.

It feels like we will always be walking a fine line.  I feel a strong need to defend my children and use our brains when it comes to what situations we allow them to be in.  I also want to model loving sacrificially to them, because I do believe that is what God has called us to.  We are to love those who persecute us.  I don't think this means that we need to put our children in harm's way intentionally, but I want to be careful not to further stereotypes of large populations of people.  I simultaneously want to teach my children to look for the good in those around them and to not judge a person by what they look like or where they live AND ALSO teach them that there are certain things that often come in certain cultures and to stay attentive.

And at the end of the day, I need more of the Lord's guidance.  I am still working through the details of what this looks like.  I'm thinking that I don't need to fight for my rights - I have all I need in Christ, and I live in a country that guarantees me so much in the way of civil rights.  But - I need to speak up more for those who do not have a voice or whose voices go unheard or discarded in the loud discourse.  That's where I need to spend my energy.

I can certainly let someone sing, even if it is not what I like.  I can only hope we are working towards a place where they also might be willing to stop singing and enjoy a little quiet.  I want to carry some optimism with me, because I think defaulting to cynical sarcasm and painting a gloomy picture is far easier than hoping and praying that anything could ever get better.  And though I obviously can't and don't influence the whole world, I can certainly do my best to influence my own little portion of it, starting with my children.

CONTINUING TO PROCESS RACE IN THE FACE OF CHARLESTON SHOOTINGS & CHURCH BURNINGS

Charleston was 11 days ago.  Eleven more ugly days of reading articles that come from all sides and wondering what to make of it all.  I desperately want to "get it" for my kids and myself, and I wish that "it" did not seem like such a moving target.  I've realized that it is not my job to tell other people how to think, though I often want to.  I can tell you some of the things that are growing in my own heart as our country continues to be divided in the wake of tragedy after tragedy that involves skin color.

Yesterday I saw the news that black churches have been burning throughout the South in the past week.  It's sickening, really.  What is becoming clearer than ever to me is the racism that continues to live within the hearts of people.  We can legislate rights all day long, but until hearts are truly changed, racism will be alive and well.  Taking down the Confederate flag will not fix what flies inside the minds of individuals.

Last March, we went to Branson and drove through Harrison, AR where I actually laid my own eyes on this billboard.

There are places that encourage this sort of thinking.  This place is unfortunately not very far from where I live, and you can be sure that we will not be stopping in Harrison if we can ever help it.  I was so offended as we drove past, and I hate that they used the blatant lie on the bottom as some sort of sick tag line.  Love cannot go hand in hand with something that so obviously wants to be exclusive.  It just doesn't.

I feel like I will be walking a really fine line as an adoptive parent.  I'm white, and I've grown up in privilege and with my own baggage that comes with living in a racially divided city.  I have black children who will grow up with much privilege, but that won't protect them from the color of their skin.  Their beautiful chocolate skin and their precious tight curls are things I adore about them, and these things can and will be viewed so differently by those who do not know them.  This is just reality, and if I choose to ignore it - I do us no favors.

Because we are an US now.  Why did it take me adopting outside of my race to get it?  I hate that I didn't really listen before.  I hate what I thought I knew based on my limited life experience.  So I am repenting and listening.  It's the best I've got.  I'm hoping and praying that we can move towards a world that actually has more love.  I think it will take a lot of heart work from each of us, and I hope and pray that you will consider being on this journey of repentance and openness with our family.  It matters very deeply to us.

FAMILY TRIP FALL OUT & FATHER'S DAY: MONDAY'S DEEP THOUGHTS

Just a few thoughts on this summer Monday. . .

As we were driving home from our latest trip to Dallas, John commented that he wasn't sure he ever wanted to take another family trip.  We had so much fun - truly, we did.  We love our friends dearly and getting a chance to have our families together is such a privilege - one that we do not take for granted.

But, we came home exhausted, and the truth is that our regular life still has an edge of every day exhausting that cannot be denied.  Granted, we did two separate trips within two weeks, which was probably a bit on the "too much" side of things.  Sleeping anywhere that is not home is a challenge with two year old twins.  They basically need their own room with no light at all, and since we can't exactly have that set up everywhere we go, things tend to get a bit sticky in the wee hours.  Especially when one is teething.  And sweet V tends to cry about 1/3 to 1/2 of any time we are in the car.  This is true around town as well, and not much seems to be able to mitigate it.  She has a wild heart that cannot be broken by the constraints of mundane things like car seats or strollers.  She wants to be free.

That said, we definitely have to "count the cost" on any trip that we take right now.  It's so fun and so much work all at the same time.  I just never want anyone with young children to read this blog and think that we make things look easy when they are not.

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Father's Day is always a little tricky for me.  I had the best dad, and now he's gone.  I have the best step-father imaginable.  I have a very dear father-in-law.  I have a truly fantastic husband who is a wonderful daddy to our children, and I am so very thankful.  My life has been indelibly marked by each of these fathers, and I certainly understand what a blessing and a privilege that is.  They all love the Lord and love their children so very well.

I guess, at the end of the day, I end up feeling towards Father's Day many of the same feelings I feel towards Mother's Day.  Since it was to be a day honoring John in our house, I decided to not ask him for a picture of him with the kids.  He doesn't always love picture sessions (read: he rarely loves taking pictures and does it graciously because he loves me), so I figured that sparing him one was a greater gift for the day.  I also managed to get us a sitter so we could go see a movie sans children, because - let's be honest, it is often easier to celebrate these occasions without the kids.  At least that is the case at our house right now.

We saw Jurassic World in IMAX 3D which means that we forked over about half of our childrens' college fund.  But, it was a big, fun experience, and I felt like I was walking among the dinosaurs.  I actually vividly remember seeing Jurassic Park in the theater with my dad and brother when it came out.  I was a big wimp about scary movies - still am, for that matter, but my dad said that I would like it and that I could always close my eyes.

So, as we seemed to soar over the new Jurassic World last night with the old Jurassic Park music playing, my eyes filled with tears.  I do miss my daddy, but I know he would have loved the new movie and had the same kind of fun that John did making me jump extra in the suspenseful moments for his own enjoyment.

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My mind has been spinning on Charleston and the pervasive racism in our country that has been revealed time and again in the past months.  I've read countless articles and blog posts and comments and opinions, and my faith in humanity is a bit on the shaky side.  I'm thankful that I do have faith in a good God in the midst of the heartache.  I may process more in the coming days, but it feels difficult to choose words carefully - not because I am particularly afraid of offending anyone, but because I cannot seem to capture my own emotions and thoughts on it all.  We shall see.

Those are my "deep" thoughts this Monday.  I hope your week is off to a good start.

JOHN'S CHANNEL: MEETING THE WOMAN AT THE WELL (AGAIN, FOR THE FIRST TIME)

This is the John and Carol Show, but we rarely get to hear from John.  However, today is one of those special days!  Here's an insight into some of the things that God has been teaching him lately.

Note from John: Carol has prepped you all for a post from me about my wrestlings with race as a part of the series.  What follows has very little, yet everything, to do with my battle to understand my own depravity, including, but not limited to how it relates to race.  Simply put, the root of EVERY prejudice which exists within me stems from my inability to see others as Jesus does.  No single story has rocked this part of my world more than Jesus meeting the woman at the well.  So here we go...

After a lifetime of attempting to read the entire Bible in a predetermined number of months or years, I’ve quit. No longer do I engage in the “quota approach” to Bible reading. I’ve made the decision to slow-read the Bible—starting with the Gospels. I’ve been at it for a year. I started with Matthew. I haven’t left the Gospels. You can do the math.

Pro: I’ve engaged passages which in the past I had only read. Con: my less structured approach to Scripture reading has fed my natural lack of discipline and has served as an excuse to go significant periods of time without reading.

What does taking it slow, crock pot Bible reading have to do with the woman at the well? Unfortunately, my hurried and productivity-driven approach to the Bible is indicative of my approach to life. Historically, I’ve brushed past her, pleased to check her off my "spiritual obligation" list. The few times I’ve paused to acknowledge her, I think how grateful I am for a lack of modern-day wells.  I assume this releases me from any responsibility this story may imply. Let’s call it like it is, the last time I went to a well, it was a novelty item in the lobby of a Mexican restaurant.

My most recent, more intentional, encounter with the woman at the well was different. This time, I spent days with her, not just moments. I read her story again and again. I began to wonder what her contemporary might look like. What communities might I “have” to go through, but might make for an uncomfortable passage by someone that looks like me? Where is a place I may go “fill-up” in said community? I imagined myself at an urban gas station.

Now he had to go through Samaria. So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph.  Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon. When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)   John 4:4-8 (NIV)

So please forgive me if I squirm a little as I introduce you to her in my mind's eye.

She is an African-American woman who has come to get snacks for her children. I say to her, “Will you give me a bottle of water?” (My family is at a fast food restaurant next door buying lunch.)

The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.)

John 4:9 (NIV)

She said to me, “You are a middle-class suburbanite and I live in the inner city. Why are you asking me for a drink?"

As we begin to talk, I learn the four young children following close behind are from 3 different fathers, and currently she is living with her mother and a friend. As a cultural Conservative now wandering the forest of political ambiguity, my automated response is to see this as the fruit of a welfare state—the very reason social programs don’t work and should immediately be stopped. What would happen if I injected those same ideals into this story?

If Jesus was operating on hard-nosed, socially-cold principles, when he identified the fact that she had 5 husbands and was currently cohabiting with Mr. Six, he would have thrown his hands up and said, “this is the fruit of a community that fails to stone an adulteress—the very reason we must lead with law and not grace.” Would he have been justified in his response? Yes. Her sins (along with mine) were the reason he would be tortured and then killed on the cross. But, he was willing to set aside his divine right to judge and instead showed her grace to open her heart, reveal truth to change her mind, and demonstrate love to draw her close to Him.

I now realize I see her every day.  I don’t believe God is calling me to spend 2 days with her every time we cross paths as Jesus did with the Samaritan woman--have you ever caught that? (John 4:40). I am convinced God wants me to know how much better she can and often does understand His grace. Looking through this biblical lens unfettered by self-righteousness, it seems to me that suburbanites are more likely to be crying out to those less “polished” for something to drink on the other side of eternity (Luke 16:19-31).

All too often, I have found myself shifting uncomfortably away from her to give me the space necessary to judge her in my mind. If my perfect Savior led with grace, who am I to lead with judgement?  If he leaned in, who am I to walk around?

Final thought - I’ve always wanted to believe that after the Samaritan woman met Jesus, she was instantaneously emotionally neat and clean—she would bear none of the emotional and spiritual scars of the life she had lived up to that point. I find no evidence in psychology textbooks or the Bible to support this case. She was messy when Jesus met her, and likely only somewhat less messy as he left. When we truly engage her, we commit to unconditional love. Jesus took upon himself all the sins of the world, what right do I have to deny love because the recipient of my love comes complete with baggage?

The more time I spend with her the more beautiful she becomes and the uglier I feel.

Woman At the Well, YouTube Video, http://youtu.be/5y2GlmTxpkM

REAL LOVE

By now you have probably heard about the OU SAE Fraternity scandal involving members chanting horrific racial slurs on the way to an event.  It was to the tune of "If You're Happy and You Know It," which only made it more disturbing.  The whole thing honestly made me nauseous to watch and realize that people actually thought it was funny in that moment or ever.  There is still so much hatred and ignorance in the world related to so many things and clearly towards race in our country specifically.

As John and I have wrestled through this, we've been encouraged by the overall sense of outrage.  It is nice to know that at an institutional level this particular incident has been dealt with and the university is making strides to change the issues they face on campus.  That said, it is depressing all over again to be reminded of the darkness hiding in the hearts of people - because though those students were not planning to actually lynch someone (I don't think) - the idea that they could make light of it on any level is sickening.

Another piece of this puzzle that is becoming more frustrating is seeing people that keep saying that this entire racism narrative is overblown and/or a political agenda.  Obviously there are political agendas and most major news sources have one bias or another.  We all have biases.  We come pre-programmed from our life's experiences and carry that baggage into the world.  Often it is hard to even realize how entrenched we are in certain viewpoints unless there is a lot of examination and introspection.

I've been amazed by the prejudices that I hold.  Amazed and at times ashamed.  It is easy to paint large groups of people with large brush strokes - especially if you are not interacting with them very often.

When I look at all of this, I wonder what in the world I could possibly do to make a difference not only in the race conversation, but also in the great socio-economic divide.  Both feel big, overwhelming and out of my influence - and on a grand scale, they are.  However, I can do my part by loving people in my corner of the world and encouraging them to do the same.

What does this actually mean?

For now, I'm going to listen.  I'm going to read - even things I think I may not agree with.  Because at the end of the day - who am I to counter actual experiences?  I want to love people and meet them where they are.  Which means that I need to move towards them.  I do not want to have expectations that people will meet some magical standard in my head of what they should do or be.  That is not real love.

Yesterday I came across this Samsung ad that left me in tears.  I am a giant softie and easily moved by advertising, and crying during commercials is not uncommon for me.  But - the more I thought about this, the more I loved the concept.  This community learned some basic sign language to be able to give a hearing-impaired man a great day.  Random people were signing to him, and his amazement grows throughout the experiment.



Obviously I know this is all for an ad and designed to help generate revenue for Samsung.  However, there is a message here that can be inspiring.  What if we really did meet people where they were?  I'm not just talking race - I'm talking anyone that is different than we are.  What if we tried to really understand where they were coming from and made an effort to communicate in a way that would truly speak to them?

After all - it is what Jesus did for us.  He didn't expect us to understand who he was without putting on our skin and living on our earth.  Real love listens.  Real love moves.  It lays down its own rights, biases and experiences and looks only at others.  It is counter-cultural and not at all intuitive.  BUT - I think it is what we are called to.

(All of that said - I don't think its easy.  I'm a work in progress at best.  And not even trying at worst.  I need more Jesus, always.)

NEW SERIES ON RACE

Last summer, I blogged a bit about how I didn't know what to say about Ferguson.  I still can't sum up anything concise, but the conversation about race has been a rather constant one in our home since that time.  On Friday night, we went to see Selma, which was really, really good.  Afterwards, instead of heading home, we went out to debrief the film over a beer and Pizookie (cookie "pizza" with ice cream).  I think most conversations would be better if had while consuming those things - don't you think?

In case you haven't seen Selma, I want to highly recommend it to you.  It is the true story of a protest march from Selma, Alabama to Montgomery, Alabama with the goal of helping to gain black voting rights.  I had never heard the story - or if I had, I did not recall it at all.  It is amazing.  Both John and I felt like it did a really fair job of depicting the fact that though Martin Luther King, Jr. was not a perfect man - he was a hero.  It managed to paint a gripping picture of the complex issues of that day and gave the stories of the brave people who stood up to do something about it.  Parts of it are very hard to watch, and they should be.  It is difficult to realize that all of this happened during my parents' lifetime.  It is really recent history.

As I said in the post about Ferguson last summer, this issue has become very personal.  When we started our adoption process, we knew we would be adopting black children.  We thought they would be African, and instead, God gave us African-American children.  Those are actually pretty different things, in all reality.

We were prepared to visit Africa and embrace the culture of Ethiopia, and we looked forward to it.  We thought we would have only a small part of their personal history and that connecting the dots for them would be a challenge.  Instead, God brought us children with a birth family nearby and now in our lives.  We know a lot of their history, and because they are African-American, we are now working to embrace that culture.  

To be really honest, I think this is harder.  It comes with personal bias.  We all have our own narrative with racial issues, and especially here in the South, it is usually complex.  But - it is critical that we do this and do it well.  I recently read this article about 3 black adoptees who were raised in white families who all felt like their families tried to raise them with "colorblindness," basically ignoring their race.  They all craved to understand their roots, and I can see that if we as parents don't do a good job of really understanding what is means to be African-American in our day and time, then we would do our children a massive disservice.

I've also realized that it takes a lot of humility to do this work.  I have to lay down things that I've always assumed.  I have to be willing to listen with an open heart and mind to really hear.

I'm going to do a series of posts as we continue through this journey.  John has already agreed to write several, and I'm hoping to solicit a few guest posts as well.  It is a vulnerable place to write from, and I'm sure that I will get many things wrong along the way.  But - I feel like it is worth the time, effort and emotional energy.  Thanks for reading along.

THE POST WHERE I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY ABOUT FERGUSON

To be honest, I feel a bit like I've been hit by a truck this week.  The start of school is just exhausting for everyone involved, and last night I also hosted community group at our house.  So, today I want to lay on the couch while the babies sleep and Bella plays with Legos in her room.  Instead, I'm reading through various blog posts and news articles about all that has happened in Ferguson, MO in the past couple of weeks.

I don't feel qualified to write one single word about what is going on.  I dread inserting myself into something controversial and complex.  It would be easier to read in silence and only talk with John about the tragedy.  To be honest, I want to close my eyes and heart to it all, and I think that three years ago, I probably could have.

Now, I have a black son.  My precious boy who sometimes wears braces to help him stand correctly.



He's got the biggest smile, and he loves to play peek-a-boo by covering one eye and peering at you through the other to see if you've noticed.  And though he will grow up in a white family - he will not experience the white privilege that his father, mother and two older sisters almost unknowingly possess.  His skin is shades darker than ours, and it is amazing to me to realize how much this matters in our world.

When I look at our twins and see my son and daughter, I honestly don't often think about them being African-American.  I think of them as William and Violet - children I have loved since before they were born.  Children who I would do anything for.

It is heart-wrenching to know that the statistics are stacked against my son.  That because of the color of his skin, he is more likely to be stopped, more likely to be arrested, more likely to be convicted of a crime, than his lighter skinned counterparts.  John and I have already talked about some of the preparation that we will need to do with him, and we hope to lean on our African-American friends and family to help us to understand things we have never had to think about.

I know the situation in Ferguson is complex, and I certainly do not pretend to fully understand all that has happened there.  Nor do I feel able to pass judgement.  But, I can see a pattern of unarmed black men being shot just like anyone else can, and it points to problems that run deep and wide with no simple solutions.

Because of my son, I can no longer live in ignorance or easy dismissal of "their problems."  The problem is mine now, and because I can identify with both "sides" - I feel the problem pressing in, and I hate living in a fallen, sin-stained world.  My heart is broken, and I am looking for Jesus in it all.  And since he aligns with the sick who need a doctor - not the well, I know to look for him with the downtrodden and oppressed.  That's where I want to be, even if I don't know how to be there.


Here are a few blog posts that have really resonated with me in the last week:

Is It "Goodbye Evangelicalism" or "We Join You in Your Suffering"? by Thabiti Anyabwile
I Know a Boy by Shannon White
More on Ferguson and White Privilege by Matt Chandler
A White Cop, A Black Kid and a Crime by Jamie Wright
Color Blind is a Lie by Stacey Valley