Precious Predilections

Category: Faith

  • on the other side

    on the other side

    Imagine what it’s like to be stuck in a reality that dismantles your family, presumes your guilt based on your God-given gear ( I’m talkin’ skin color), and leaves you with a thousand sleepless nights and I will tell you what it’s like to have a Black son, brother, husband, father or friend to undergo the unwieldy American unjust justice system. Key word here is REALITY. For some the account of When They See Us by Ava DuVernay is philosophical and conversations loom around poetic pros and pithy arguments, yet I am unable to escape the striking resemblance to my family’s reality of justice gone wrong.

    So many images from this series are seared into my psyche but none more piercing than that of a pride so deep that produces prejudicial action. This is the stuff of oppressive systems. My stomach turned in knots as I realized that when they (Whites) see us, they remember her (White investment banker brutally raped). How could they not? A judge, who like most, keeps a doting picture of his (White) wife on the bench; a young, White female prosecutor; fill in the _____________. A quick substitution of the rape victim with the face of the one they love and the five black boys on trial are no longer seen as such, but as a wolf pack to protect their loved ones from. This instinctive ability to re-imagine ourselves or a person we love/care about that has been victimized is all natural. Development of my empathetic muscles has come from a place of love through proximity. So, I’ll say it – love differently ya’ll. Love different people from different places of different races with different experiences and I am certain you will no longer see a wolf pack. You’ll see a student, a friend, someone’s brother, a child, a person.

    http://www.glamour.com Atsushi Nishijima/Netflix

    On the other side of incarceration there are parents, siblings, children, friends who experience loss from a system designed to keep so many bound.

    When They See Us not only exposes what happens when justice moves away from righting wrongs to jockeying for power, but also depicts the complex choices of those “on the other side.” It highlights how the pressures of our penal system forces parents to choose between provision and purported protection. Complicated.

    Antron’s dad lost his son trying to protect him. Raymond’s dad would forever regret sending him to the same park where he would be targeted by police. Kevin’s sister is crushed by her 14 year old brother’s tear-filled plea to simply return home and signs a coerced confession. Complicated. Somehow through deep loss and grief, those on the other side are able to beautifully uphold the dignity of those they love. While it is painfully obvious during each episode that whiteness affords many the privilege of a better trial than their Black counterparts, I found a few other lessons embedded within.

    Clinging to normalcy: the return home. The return home is anti-climactic. Fathers unprepared to receive the sons they’ve betrayed by choosing absence on court dates. Sons bravely clinging to normalcy found in the days of old. Holding tightly to the culmination of belongings in a brown paper bag. Dreaming nightly of the return home only to realize that the heart’s deep love must now sync with the awkward moments of freely being present with loved ones as the muscle memory of trauma reminds everyone to restrain affection and the expression of feelings. Trauma makes normal abnormal. We must be gentle with one another.

    We are not okay: lying to survive The penal system can produce a family of pretenders. We all pretend that everything is okay post incarceration. Because how do you even begin to process that all involved have less hope in a justice system that doesn’t value our Black lives or legacy? Korey’s mom would ask him, “What is it like for you in here? Are they treating you okay?” His response was always, “I’m surviving…” or “I’m holding it down…” Responses which are echoed all across America. We may never know the entire story of someone’s trauma. For those that choose vulnerability, let them do so in their own time and in their own way. We must be gentle with one another.

    “I’m just a shadow,” says Korey Wise, one of the exonerated five and victim of horrific beatings. “I’m very empty — 46 years old and empty. At the same time, I’m talking to the kid in me: ‘I got you, baby boy. Nobody can take your story from you.’”

    Real love…I’m searching for a real love…someone to really see me. (cue Mary J. Blige song) It is real love that slowly shifts our gaze beyond bias and towards humanity. Love is less about whimsy, more about choice. It is an outright intention to choose another over yourself. It is sacrificial at it’s core. Consider those on the other side of incarceration (or providing trauma support) and ask yourself, how have I loved them? These parents, children, siblings, loved ones are often left in the shadows. Those who’ve directly experienced trauma and those supporting them need that real love.

    “All I do all day long is LOVE YOU.” — Mother of Antron McCray, one of the exonerated five boys.

  • Chronic Singleness

    Chronic Singleness

    I’ve lived a lot of life as a single Black woman and I’ve resisted writing down these thoughts for a while, but usually in my writing I find solace sprinkled with liberty and saturated with courage. Courage to share that I am nearly FORTY (yep, the big 4 0) and I have spent almost half of those years navigating life as a single woman. This is at times a difficult truth because it is far from my desire or even what I had “planned,” but that’s NOT what this post is about. This post isn’t about the difficult aspects of singleness, it’s about the silent directives whispered to women by well-meaning friends and family to be someone other than their authentic selves to rid them of this thing called singleness.

    The title “chronic singleness” is hyperbolic in nature and intended to conjure up thoughts of potential cures. Why? Because women who are single into their mid-to-late thirties begin to be treated as if their singleness was brought on by their selfishness (clearly they must be chasing a career), insecurities, high standards, or strong personality. In essence, the problem MUST belong to the woman… And of course some might say that all of the aforementioned “symptoms” are curable.

    Here’s where well meaning peeps enter the scene. They begin asking the woman about things she could possibly change about herself to garner the attention of a man. Even recommending that she change her standards of desirable characteristics in a partner to simply look like… “man with a job.” It may sound funny to some, but this is only comical through your twenties. Once you reach your mid-to-late thirties it becomes exhausting. If this sounds personal, it is. I’ve received advise from people I love dearly that varies from trying an online dating app to revealing less of my educational background to appear less intimidating to men.

    I’m exhausted fam. I have been told over and over again that I must shrink back so that the man can shine. Veil portions of my full self so that his presence can supersede mine. Why can’t we both shine together? This exhausting narrative has become awkward as I approach forty. Like, what else can you ask me to do to “prepare” for this mystery man? And why aren’t men being asked the same types of questions?

    Precious moment with my friend’s little one.

    Truthfully, at this stage, people engage me with caution as they see my love for children and family and approach me with uncertainty to ask if it’s okay to pray for my future husband. Or the look on their face indicates that they are genuinely baffled as to the cause of my singleness and long for a day where I will share in the joy of a long term relationship and family of my own. I want to thank friends and family for their concern and care, but I must also request that you all stop treating me like singleness is something to be cured. The longing in my heart persists for marriage and a family of my own, but my life is full today. I am not lacking as a single person.

    I remember the shame centered around this conversation as a woman in my mid-thirties when people who know me unintentionally communicated that I was not enough. A Christian community that idolizes marriage and gives little value to the single person often did the same. I began to embrace the idea of searching for a cure for my singleness; my chronic condition of incompleteness until I realized that I am enough. God’s design of me is COMPLETE. A change in marital status should only add to the beauty of my life as most relationships do. No single person completes another person. Periodt.

    I, like, Ekemini Uwan of Truth’s Table, now hold this desire of marriage loosely. Her post titled, Singleness: My Only Companion, beautifully expressed many of the sentiments of my heart and communicated that I am not alone. Thank you sis. This past year God has shown me the beauty in daily gratitude for every met need. As I said every day last year and will continue to say, “I have what I need TODAY, therefore I will not complain.” This includes not complaining about being single. Each year God adds new relationships to my life when I need them and for this I am grateful.

    When you see a woman in her mid-to-late thirties who is single, don’t offer her your unsolicited advice. Don’t make her feel like a leper because of her marital status. Don’t presume she is lonely or unfulfilled. Don’t even assume that marriage is a desire of hers. Remember, Jesus was single. I never hear anyone speak of his life of singleness with disdain. The Apostle Paul was single and that is never the first thing people mention when speaking about him. Peep this. All I want you to do is LISTEN if singleness is the topic of conversation. It is often more complicated than swiping left or right on an app or “putting yourself out there.” If the woman is a friend, a daughter, or colleague, listen to her heart when she shares it. Pray for her to live fully and freely in her singleness. And lastly, if she does desire marriage, pray for contentment in the longing. I believe she will benefit from those prayers. I know that I have. Life is full of unmet desires and yet God faithfully meets every need.

    But godliness with contentment is great gain. – 1 Timothy 6:6

  • Keep the Change

    Keep the Change

    I see the depth of my humanity at the intersection of my darkest secrets and greatest hopes.  At times I am secretly afraid and yet deeply hopeful. Teaching has unearthed a myriad of emotions.  It has been a place where great joy and great need have collided.  I believe I’ve needed the presence of students much more than they have needed any lesson I have taught them.

    Living this dream has been nothing I expected and everything I’ve hoped for.  I didn’t expect exhaustion or gaps in communicating with those I love.  I didn’t expect to see the beauty in becoming a reflective practitioner. I didn’t expect to treasure sound feedback as much as I do.  I hoped for joy filled days.  I hoped that I would not be the only teacher in the room; that I might learn profound truths from the mouth of babes.  I hoped that my discomfort would point me to Christ.  I hoped that I would grow personally and professionally; both have occurred.  A memorable student-led lesson that impacted my personal growth occurred on the first day in the classroom.

    InkedMTR Class of 2019 Residents-Vision Prep-0020_LI

    “Are you nice?” – 5th Grader somewhere in Memphis

    On the first day of school I was full of nerves; all kinds of nerves and this student “had the nerve” to question my kindness?  I should be nervous, right?  It was my first day as a teacher.  However, the candor with which this student spoke during my initial encounter with him was refreshing and taught me a lesson in token vs. true relationship.  My first day attire was thoughtfully chosen. I “carefully” selected a colorful blazer and shirt which I thought wouldn’t cause me to appear too uptight that kids wouldn’t approach me or  too casual that I wouldn’t be taken seriously.  Clearly the student could not easily decipher the type of teacher I was and therefore decided to ask.  Truthfully, his sweet candor never left me.

    As adults, quick, unfounded, judgments are made upon initial encounters, and rather than finding out more about that person (as this student attempted to do), token relationships are established.  True friendships are established as we seek to know and be known by others.  Tokenism selfishly prompts us to hold on to a relationship based on what it can provide us and only access it when it has some direct value to us.  It says, “I’ll use this token when I need it.”  It has little care for the token itself, only what it can provide.  Tokens are cheap and so are token relationships.  The first day of school encounter has guided my interactions with students and adults in a new way.  This student has encouraged me to seek to know others and allow others to get to know me.  This knowledge doesn’t imply depth, but rather an earnest attempt to connect with others in an authentic way. This posture of connection with others has caused me seek to humanize others.  It is the start of every conversation and every prayer. Game changer.  This student taught me a lesson in empathy.   For 2019, ya’ll can keep the change.  I’m not in search of tokens.

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    As a self-proclaimed late dreamer, my professional growth as a teacher has revealed itself through expressions of love.  I thought my first day in the classroom would be love at “first day,” but it wasn’t. In short, it didn’t feel like love, but it felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.  And maybe this is love; not explicitly a feeling, but a knowing.  A deep knowing that you are safe and that the reciprocation of the love that you’ve given will be returned without judgement.  I have been loved well by a few in this season. These beautiful expressions of love have undoubtedly reminded this caterpillar that it was made to fly.

    There is a love that liberates and a love that feels like it’s always been free.  I choose freedom.  – Queen Sugar

    Teaching has been the realization of an unspoken dream.  Dreaming doesn’t actually feel “dreamy” and comfortable, but I do feel ALIVE!  Is it possible that in the dreaming I feel more human?  Does this awakening of my humanity define what it means to really live?    Living in the tension of hopes and heartache.

    Dreaming is defined on www.dictionary.com as an aspiration; goal; aim.

    To dream is to hope.  To hope is to live.

    I now dream of teaching students more than math.  I dream of teaching them of their inner and outer beauty.  I dream of teaching them how to navigate a world which doesn’t always affirm them.  I dream of teaching them to fly.  Fly, babies, fly.  When loved well, I believe flying is the only option.

    Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life. – Proverbs 13:12

  • Late Dreamer

    Late Dreamer

    I was a late bloomer.  Late to learn to drive.  Late to receive an invite to the party.  Ok, I was never invited to high school parties.  Late to dream.  Definitely late to dream.  In fact, in the very literal since of the word, dreaming has never been a constant reality in my life.  I rarely “recall” dreams.  I go to sleep.  I wake up.  Repeat.  Metaphorically, I’ve lived most of my life without a real consideration of the need for dreaming.  I figured.  I have shelter.  I’m employed.  I’m in good health.  I have healthy relationships.  A family that loves and supports me.  I spent the early part of my career ignoring the deeper ache to work in an industry where I would no longer be linked to the golden handcuffs of corporate.   That was eight years ago.  The second half of my career has been in the non-profit sector and has brought me great joy.  Yet, an ache persisted.  Three months ago I took another step of faith.  I decided that I would actively move in the direction of a dream I believe that God put in my  heart.   If you’ve been following my blogs, you know I moved to South Africa contingent upon landing a job.

    dreamsa

    What am I to now do when the dream doesn’t look like what I imagined?  I never imagined I would be back home and living with family at 38.  I never imagined that I would be without a vehicle at this phase of life.  When I decided to move to South Africa by faith, it was all or nothing.  Either I trust God or I don’t, right?  I gave my car away along with other things.  There was incredible freedom in being able to give generously without regret.  Let me be clear, there is still no regret in giving away any of the items that I did.  There was something scary and beautiful about trusting God in this new land.

    Now, I am back in my homeland.  Orlando, FL.  There’s something scary and beautiful about trusting God with my future.  This feels different because it is different.  Wouldn’t you know that God continues to write my incredible story without much of my input regarding timing, but always considering my heart’s cry?  God knows me.  He knows me well.  He knows me best.  I always take comfort in this truth.  Is this what dreaming feels like?  Because I’m a late dreamer…

    Our society has romanticized the idea of “going after one’s dream” just as it has racial reconciliation.  Or the idea of justice.  All take longer than 3 months to achieve.  Honestly speaking, I bought into the lie of this microwave production of my future.  Never before had I been so public in taking a risk.  Never before had so many people publicly provided support.  Never before have I felt like such a failure.  And never before have I wanted to conjure up a response to the question, “When are you going back?”  Is this what dreaming feels like?  Because, you know, I’m a late dreamer…

    To make this journey a little less romantic, I’ve spent my first 2 weeks back in America reminding myself that most of what I am currently experiencing are inconveniences.  Having a car was convenient because there’s public transportation in this city.  Having my own place is convenient, but I am thankful for shelter with family.  Having a plan work out perfectly is convenient, but most dreams take years to realize. Some days depression comes in like a wave and other days, I soar above my circumstance.  Is this what dreaming feels like?  You already know, I’m a late dreamer…

    Dreaming has been hard, but going after my dream has been even harder.

    I’m not chasing after this dream with debt and zero savings.  I don’t know that faith and wisdom have to compete with one another.  To prepare for this adventure, I have saved money because I expected some bumps along the way.  The 3 months I spent in South Africa were incredible, but also freeing because I did not have the stress that comes with debt.

    I’m not chasing after this dream to prove anything.  I’m chasing after this dream because I now know my worth.  I didn’t believe I was worthy of a dream.   Knowing differently changes everything.  Is this what dreaming feels like?  Because, you know, I’m a late dreamer…

    There are days that I hate that I spent three months in South Africa because of what I witnessed and yet I love South Africa because of what I witnessed.  It is impossible to un-see what I have seen.  This past Sunday I wept as I worshiped with other believers here in America I could only think of some of the conversations, connections, and complexities encountered during my time there.  I must return.

    South Africa provided a small taste of freedom.  It fuels the dream. 

    Although I was frustrated with the number of closed doors in South Africa during my time there, it could have been a much worse experience.  Such rich experiences there and beautiful memories found in the midst of rejection. Thank you to everyone that supported me in prayer, finances, and otherwise.  For the dreamers that have gone before me.  Thank you.  Enkosi.

    “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
    his mercies never come to an end;
    they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
    ‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul,
    ‘therefore I will hope in him.’”       – Lamentations 3:22-24

  • Bubble Trouble

    Bubble Trouble

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    The beginning of the new year is generally bubbly; literally and figuratively.  Bubbles can be deceptively dangerous, distorting our perspective, limiting our impact, and diminishing our hope.  Yes, cute, friendly bubbles.  Bubbles look stunning from the outside.  Their iridescent color captures the eye.  Their ability to beautifully reflect exactly what is in front of them is impressive.  This is the allure of the bubbly perspective; it mirrors back to others your view in its best light.   The view from the inside of a bubble creates a fishbowl effect, most closely resembling that of tunnel vision.  And this is where the trouble lies, most of us live our adult lives inside of a bubble.  And what we see is not the full picture.

    Bubbles are troublesome because we don’t often realize that we’re encased by them.  Facebook recently projected that I would marry a White man.  Facebook projections are often outlandish, but whatevs. No prob with me because I’m open to marrying a man who’s outside of my ethnicity.  When I shared this “projection” with a friend, she stated, “Why would you want to go through all of that trouble?”  Her statement was a reference to some of the natural conflict and misunderstandings that she and I have in our friendship because we differ in ethnicity.  I jovially replied, well, if that’s the case, I probably shouldn’t have any friends outside of my ethnicity at all, right?  We both laughed and realized how much our friendship has enriched each others lives and knew the “trouble” had been worth it.  I’m glad that we can speak honestly to one another, but that perspective was down right bubbly.

    As one who grew up in poverty, I used to presume that safety was only found in the burbs, but a faulty presumption it was.  The first and only time my home was broken into was when I was a resident in the suburbs.  As a former resident of the suburbs, I found that it became increasingly easy to live in my bubble of lattes and chic eateries.  That’s what the neighbors were doing.  No one really left the bubble unless they had to.  For me, living like this certainly narrowed my view on social justice issues and lessened my conviction to respond politically or otherwise.   I don’t have an aversion to the burbs, but I had to find new ways to remain proximate to issues I care about.  To those things that keep me up at night else I knew the bubble of passivity (cloaked in apathy) would lure me to sleep.

    I realized a truth that Bryan Stevenson learned from his grandmother and so eloquently expounds on in his book, “Just Mercy,” when he recounts her telling him often, “You can’t understand anything from a distance, Bryan.  You have to get close.”  How could I say that I care so deeply about the marginalized and have such little interaction with them?  I had been living in a bubble.

    There is nothing like the disruption of life in your thirties to aid in the bursting of bubbles.  Life quickly moves out of the space of black and white when family and friends die of cancer.  An 8 year old child commits suicide.  Job loss occurs.  Home foreclosures for some and short sale for others.  From abundance to poverty.  In earnest, I lived in a bubble for most of my twenties.  While there was some struggle in college and thereafter, my life during this time was mostly euphoric.  I had a rude awakening, but an awakening nonetheless in my early thirties.

    The perspective from inside of a bubble is incapable of presenting the full picture.

    Bubbles are superficial and protect no one.

    They provide a false sense of security.

    Bubbles are going to burst.

    ant-pushing-a-water-droplet
    Photography by: Rakesh Rocky  http://onebigphoto.com/ant-pushing-a-water-droplet/#

    My hope as 2017 draws to a close and a new year begins is that I don’t let fear drive me to create bubbles that keep others out, magnify my own worldview, and blur the experiences of others that are right in front of me.  It takes more effort to recognize a bubble than to burst it.

    In 2018, I want to broaden my perspective, increase my impact, and not lose hope as I think outside of the box and live outside of bubbles.

    Join me.  Let’s go.

  • Why South Africa?

    Why South Africa?

    If experience is our best teacher, then progress is a prison.  Our experiences can limit our ability to dream. – Dr. Myles Munroe

    Dr. Munroe said a mouthful! You hear me?  Most of our lives experience is our only teacher.  It reminds us of what we can and cannot do while slowly suffocating our dreams.  I just finished week 5 in South Africa and every single week, I have to remember that recounting my experience alone will keep me in the past and stifle my future here.   And this has been harder than I expected.

    The days are long and the nights are short.  With the 7 hour time difference, I have found it harder than normal to remain connected to those I love in the States.  It’s easy to look at my watch at 1 o’clock pm here and note, it’s only 6 o’clock am there. Long days.  I’m learning to be patient with the process of connecting.  I still often receive text messages at 2 am because people don’t realize the time difference.  I’m thankful people are trying to keep in touch.

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    Living in a new country has been a great way to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around America. While America continues to greatly influence culture outside of its sphere, there is such richness of culture independent of the States.  In order to fully embrace my time here, America remains a reference point, not my singular guide.  So my life has been full of tea time, outdoor recreation, and water conservation due to a recent drought here.  I am mindful that assimilation is seductive.  This is not assimilation.  This is me fully bringing all that I am (as a Black woman from the States) to every experience and in no way assuming that America’s way is the best or only way.

    I’m sure it’s not difficult to believe that the most common question I receive from locals in The States or those here in Western Cape is, “Why South Africa?” Although, I’m wearing less make-up and watching less TV, these positive changes don’t speak to why I decided to move here.    Truthfully, I only have a sketch, a brief outline of why I believe God gave me the desire to live here.  I am confident that God will shine a light on what He needs to when He needs to in order to reveal exactly why I’m here.  I don’t want to be in such a rush to “figure out God’s plan” that I miss experiencing His presence in daily encounters.

    Here’s what I can tell you today.

    1.  I don’t want fear to continue to rule.  Most of my life has been lived with an aversion to risk.  If it is too risky, I normally play it safe with fear being the dominate driver.  I’ve chosen courage over fear and put fear in the rear view mirror.
    2.  I’d like to live in freedom.  Even great opportunities can feel constricting when you know it’s time to move on.  I knew it was time to move on.
    3.  This is so much bigger than me. God’s vision is always bigger than one person.  This is His vision.
    4. Why Not South Africa? This question has been critical as God used it to dismantle what I had counted on to be sound, rational, logic for remaining in the States.  There goes experience again…

    I’ve applied for many jobs and I’ve only had 2 interviews – with the same non-profit.  I enter this next week believing for a final interview.  There were 500 applicants for this position.  Insane number, but this is so much bigger than me.  I ask you all to join your faith with mine as I trust God to provide the right opportunity for me here.  I also move with my friend and her family to Cape Town next week.  What a week ahead!

    There is one experience that I can always bank on and will do so again and again.  That is the experience of God’s remarkable faithfulness each time I choose to obey His leading and prompting.  Full details or not.  That’s like money in the bank.

    “The LORD’S loving kindnesses indeed never cease, For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.” – Lamentations 3:22-23

  • Their Eyes Don’t Lie

    Their Eyes Don’t Lie

    Current Location: Paarl, Western Cape  South Africa

    Eleven days.  It has been 11 days since I’ve said goodbye to what is familiar.  To the family and friends I love so deeply and taken a step in the direction of a dream.  A dream that I had long buried because I had counted up the number of excuses that would excuse me from believing that even this God can do.  That God can take this flickering dream of freedom and set it ablaze.  Giving me a new level of faith to trust Him in this new land.  I finally had the courage to dig up this decade old dream; South Africa I am glad to return.  The fifth time promises to be epic.  During my time here, I hope in you I find a home.  I can not yet call you that because everything is different.  Everything.  Truthfully, every day I rise with discomfort, but it is  also decreasing slowly.  This discomfort is present because I’m still searching for my voice here.  I spend a lot of time listening and observing and I believe this will be true for a long time.  I’ve learned the most from what people’s eyes have told me.  

    People stare and it’s often uncomfortable.  During my short time here, I have experienced a lot of stares.  Young children staring intently as I enter the school with my friend to pick up her children. Stares from the waitress as I have lunch at a winery with my friend and her extended family.  Stares as I enter church to worship with my friend.  Stares as I open my mouth to speak and there’s the realization that I am not a native isiXhosa speaking South African.  Stares as I have brunch with my friend to celebrate our birthdays.

    Eyes
    Artist, Shanequa Gay

    Every other visit to South Africa these stares seemed bearable because there was an end in site.  My experience of South Africa has been entirely through the lens of my friend of nearly 15 years.  She is the native South African.  White native South African.  Each visit, I have experienced so much of the beauty that the country has to offer because I am friends with her.  Her privilege has opened doors for me.  I am treated differently (even at the airport) when I am with her or her family.  I’ve often said to her that these experiences come with hidden pain because I see myself in the image of the Black South Africans.  From my observation, they are largely treated and viewed as subservient to Whites.  In those moments, I am often torn because I wonder at times how I can be treated so differently than my Black counterparts here.

    Adults may speak words, but their eyes reveal their truth.  When I peer into the eyes of some adults, although welcomed with a smile, they’ve said, “Why would you desire to live here, knowing our history?”   “Now that you are here, just assimilate [bury your blackness].”

    The eyes of adults and children are also trying to process this beautiful, yet complex, friendship I’ve been blessed to have for so many years with my White South African friend. Our differences are clear externally, in personality, and empirically.

    Behind those stares are questions.  I don’t think I am here only to answer a few questions.  I do believe as my friend and I continue to be kind, loving, and equitable towards one another, the questions will dissipate and I hope the stares begin to take on a new meaning.

    Apartheid officially ended here in South Africa in 1994.  I was a student in high school.  My 20 year high school reunion is next year.  The laws changed less than 30 years ago.  Deep seated bias, prejudice, and old mindsets don’t move easily.  What I have learned in my 11 days here is that I must be loving, patient, gracious, unapologetically Black, and fearless.  I know that this dream is not my own.  I am certain it was given by God.  Therefore, I will not fear.

     

    When people are uncomfortable with your presence, you see it in their eyes.  I am pretty sure others have seen discomfort in my eyes from time to time.  I’m thankful to be here; in this place of learning.  I’m thankful that the eyes can tell me a story when people may be unable to express what they really feel.  As I build relationships, I look forward to dialogue.  I am here to love, learn, and live.  In that order.  What a week.

    The adventure continues…

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    Photographer, Courtney Lary Walton

    “I like friends who have independent minds because they tend to make you see problems from all angles.” – Nelson Mandela