The new I hadn’t perceived

When tragic life moments like what happened to #georgefloyd pass through our world, I could choose to shelter my ten-year-old white male child from the reality of the news blazing through my phone and on my computer screen. But I think he’s old enough, and he is curious. I chose to let him see the photo, watch the video (though I’m grateful the version he saw was not the heart-wrenching, kick-to-the-gut close-up eyewitness account I viewed), and witness the outrage. We have been talking about it off and on all day. I’m sharing my thoughts; he is asking thoughtful questions about the world and about our human nature.

I’m grateful that my family demographics have made it easier for me to drive home the message of respect and value for people of every color. To my children, a black man is someone whose spot-on Elmo voice impression makes you laugh every time. A black man is someone who brings the video games and makes the Steak-n-Shake run while his wife attempts to babysit you. A black woman is someone who teaches you how to journal when you are mad at your mother and aren’t sure how to process your feelings in a positive way. She is someone who comes to your big game and cheers you on. And one day my children will more fully realize that she is an advocate for children in her city because she was once a vulnerable child in an abusive situation and could have used an advocate herself. But for now, she is just big sister. He is big brother. She is Nicole. She is Natalie. He is Brandon. They are the ones who sit around the dinner table with them, along with their parents to eat or to play games or to have deep conversations. They are family.

I didn’t get involved in their life because they were black or because they needed my help. Nicole and Natalie were human beings with whom I saw worth and potential. A potential that they could no doubt and did flesh out on their own two feet and with their very powerful God at their side. It was a potential, however, that was at risk of being squashed by the reality of a lack of positive resources, relationships and influence in their lives. Therefore, their access to opportunity was diminished. But when they were exposed to opportunities and resources and relationships, they made the most of them. To be honest, I didn’t know what I was signing up for. As a teen youth worker at the time, I simply made myself available to another youth in my sphere of influence. And by that, I made myself available to be impacted by someone to whom I looked different. I didn’t know they would become family. I just showed up. They just showed up. It was mutual.

But none of us are exempt: as a human in the flesh, I am broken to the core. As my heart stirred within me at the most recent death in the literal hands of injustice, something else was stirring too that I needed to acknowledge: Sometimes, I hesitate to speak up against oppression because I know there is something fundamentally flawed within me as well. Who am I that I might judge? Condemn? I’m not perfect. On the other hand, who am I that I might remain silent while someone or a group of people suffer mercilessly at the hand of racism and injustice?

So, I’ll say my piece at risk of being wrong, and I’ll look for opportunities to learn, to grow and to be challenged. I commit that to my black family and friends. It’s not easy to be vulnerable (I often feel this way about sharing my faith as well)…In the case of racism specifically, what if I say the wrong thing? What if in trying to support, what I actually say exposes a bias in me that I didn’t know I had or a perspective of privilege that I didn’t even realize in my life? As the saying goes, I may need to get it wrong a few times before getting it right.

We must all bring what small we have to the table. A voice to break the silence. I appreciate the chalk message that my neighbor created tonight because it’s a small step toward dealing with the problem in the real world. In a small sense, she took her Facebook post “to the streets:” to the end of her driveway where she wrote her message in sidewalk chalk. To where her real-life neighbors can see, not hidden behind the facade of a username, but in the realm of where people exist in real life.

Who knows, maybe that small step will lead her to have a very real conversation with a very real neighbor. That conversation could spark new passions, could open her mind to more of what is really at stake. Perhaps it will cause her to take the next step past the confines of her own driveway, maybe even outside her own comfortable neighborhood. She’ll soon be stepping into roles in organizations that are driving change or marching her way to Capitol Hill with something important to say that she has learned along the way. But it all started with one small act. We all have to start somewhere and take the first step. So here is me leaving my comfort zone. I refuse to wait until it’s my own loved one. #justiceforgeorgefloyd

–END POST– (PREVIOUSLY POSTED ON MY PERSONAL FACEBOOK FEED)

Hey readers! Let’s not end the conversation here. If you aren’t currently subscribed to receive Something Like Scales email updates, just scroll to the bottom of this page where you can find an opportunity to click SUBSCRIBE. There will be no clogging of your inbox (ain’t nobody got time for that!), but I will send you a list of things I am currently doing to take my one small voice to the next level. One day at a time, I’m taking my commitment seriously to fight racial injustice alongside my brothers and sisters of all colors. I hope you’ll join in. #nojusticenopeace affects us all. #blacklivesmatter always.

POSTED BY

Jenna

Jenna Kruse is a teacher but not in a classroom. She loves to think outside the box and inside the Word and is daily in need of an attitude adjustment. She is a wife to Justin, a mother to three children ages 10, 8 and 5 and a mentor to teenagers and young adults. You can learn more about the heart behind her blog HERE.

See author's posts