Precious Predilections

Category: Racial Reconciliation

  • Perspectives on Privilege & Racial Reconciliation: A Collaborative Blog Series

    Perspectives on Privilege & Racial Reconciliation: A Collaborative Blog Series

    Mika's Blog Post Pic

    My friend Shamika KariKari, affectionately known as Mika, has gathered myself and two other women to collaborate on perspectives in privilege and racial reconciliation over the next four weeks. I’m stoked to collaborate with these women!  Mika starts us off  this week with her heart and perspective.  

    Heather and Holly were the first friends I made in school. It was back in 1990 when I was 5 years old and in kindergarten. They were also twins which made our friendship extra special for my twin sister and me. And they were white. I could not have anticipated that our afternoon kindergarten class at Becker Elementary would be the beginning of my ability to build genuine friendships across race.

     

    From a young age I noticed segregated spaces around me. I vividly remember my twin sister and I often being the only Black faces in a sea of white spaces. We had a way of making white people feel comfortable. Some of this rubbed off from our parents who were always open to white people, even when the gesture was not returned. We dated white boys, had white friends over for dinner and sleepovers and my parents were unfazed. Looking back, I see how my upbringing forced me to navigate white spaces with ease and confidence, but also at a cost. The cost of giving up some of me in order to be more palatable to white people was high. I didn’t have the language to articulate this then, but now I understand more deeply that tension.

     

    As an adult, I see the racial divide continues. Although I haven’t been called a nigger, I have experienced other racial slurs and microaggressions.  In recent years I have witnessed countless Black women & men killed by police officers for being Black. People like Sandra Bland, Rekia Boyd, Sam DuBose, Mike Brown, and the list goes on and on. Our Black skin continues to be reason enough to be feared.

     

    I’ve organized spaces to grieve these unjust deaths.
    I’ve participated in discussions to process these unjust deaths.
    I’ve protested these unjust deaths.
    And yet, I still have a desire to do more. I’ve felt God lay on my heart the role I should play in regards to racial reconciliation in the Christian community.

     

    I go to a church whose values are devotion, discipleship, and diversity.
    I have Christian friends of many races.
    And yet, the divide still feels great.
    Sometimes the weight of racial division in the U.S. feels so great I’m left paralyzed to do anything.
    And I think a lot of us can agree with that feeling.
    We think the problem is too big, so we do nothing.
    And although this is an easy place to land, I know God has called me to do more.
    To trust him to bring racial reconciliation to our community and for me to do my part in that.

     

    So I asked myself, what could I do in my sphere of influence? What could my contribution be? I love writing and love people; why not start there? And this is how this blog collaboration was born. Since I write in my blog, albeit infrequently, I know I have a diverse readership, which isn’t something I see often. Typically I see blogs that either speak to white women or women of color. I rarely find writing that intentionally has both in mind. I wanted to change that, so I decided to bring 3 of my friends along for the journey. Precious, Amy, & Joy are all insightful and engaging writers who love Jesus. They are women I admire, women I trust, and women whose lights shine brightly. These are the type of women everyone deserves to hear from. We each committed to write an essay focused around themes of racial reconciliation and privilege from our unique lived experiences. We also committed to share the other 3 posts on our respective blogs so our readers are exposed to multiple perspectives.

     

    A four week blog series isn’t going to end systemic racism or racial division; however, I know God has called me to do something, and I will obey. As well, I know God can and does use us to advance his kingdom even if I have no clue what the outcome of this collaboration will be.  God has only asked me to have a willing heart and trust him to do the rest. And that’s what I’m going to do – follow God’s prompting and trust that he will use 4 women to begin conversations around racial reconciliation because God’s heart is to see his people unified and reconciled.

     

    So as you journey with us, I pray your heart will be open to what God wants to reveal to you.
    I pray you would open your heart to each of our perspectives that were uniquely designed by God.
    I pray you are empowered to do something based on your role in racial reconciliation.
    I pray you would be quick to listen and slow to speak.

     

    How gracious of God to use someone as broken as me for his glory. How will he use you?

     

    About the Author

    O34816 Shamika KarikariMika Karikari is a proud Black woman who loves Jesus, baking, sports, and writing. She currently spends most of her time reading and writing for her PhD program in higher education administration. She lives in her beloved hometown, Cincinnati, Ohio, with her handsome husband. Mika’s writing can be found on her blog, I am Enough. It currently focuses on grief, social justice, poetry, and faith.

    Precious Jones is the proud daughter of parents who’ve known struggle.  The familial impact of poverty and struggle shape her writing.  She works in youth & education advocacy for those marginalized.  She’s a former Electrical Engineer who delights in creating through writing.  She is a proud southerner turned foodie who loves people more than she loves good food and a good read. She resides in Cincinnati, OH and candidly shares her predilections [bias, leaning, weakness & predisposition] on her blog, Precious Predilections.

     

    Joy Becker is a wife and mama living in Cincinnati, Ohio. She recently resigned from a twelve-year career as a literacy coach and first grade teacher to become a full time stay-at-home-mom with her two young darlings. She is a lover of new notebooks, October, and goat cheese, and a hater of traffic, scary movies, and overcooked asparagus. You can peek even further into her love for Jesus, food, motherhood, and friendship over at 44 & Oxford.

     

    Amy Seiffert is a wife of 17 years and mom of 3, who never thought she would love raising her family in a small college town. She works at Brookside Church as the Director of Outward movement and has the privilege of occasionally preaching. Amy loves tennis, ice cream, and making beautiful things . In between diapers changes, laundry, and soccer practices, she writes, blogs, speaks, and is working on her book on motherhood.  She has been in a monthly book club for 17 years and cannot believe Oprah has not brought them on her show. Amy inspires, teaches and humbly relates to the mystery and messiness of life. She tells all at www.amyseiffert.com

  • Fresh out of Explanations

    Fresh out of Explanations

    “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”  – James Baldwin

    What an emotionally exhausting few weeks.  A time to lament the grave injustice of our “just-us” system in America.  It seems that justice is illusive for some and not others.

    Since hearing that officer Jeronimo Yanez was found not guilty and officer Ray Tensing’s trial resulted in another hung jury, my mind has not stopped racing with the myriad of thoughts about what’s continually communicated to people of color, in particular, Black men in America.

    Before I lament, I want to outline a few interesting facts about Philando Castile should give us pause as to whether or not he was being racially profiled.  #JustFacts. #Receipts.

    • Philando had been stopped by the police more time than the number of years he was alive.  He was pulled over 46 times prior to the last stop of his life at the age of 32.
    • Of the 47 times Philando was pulled over by police, only 6 of those stops were things that were observable from a police car – broken muffler or speeding.

    Here’s a little history of how much Philando had experienced being pulled over by the police prior to July 6, 2016: The Driving Life and Death of Philando Castile on NPR.

    The following excerpt from the NPR article gives an account of officer Yanez’s exchange with dispatch…

    Castile’s girlfriend, who was in the car, said it was because of a broken taillight. But in scanner traffic audio obtained this week by Minnesota Public Radio, a nonchalant officer, yet to be confirmed as Jeronimo Yanez, told dispatchers a different story.

    “Two occupants just look like people who were involved in a robbery,” he said. “The driver looks more like one of our suspects, just because of the wide-set nose.”

    Gloria Hatchett, an attorney for the Castile family, said that’s racial profiling.

    “How do you say, ‘There’s a robbery suspect with a broad nose, African-American?’ ” she said. “That’s equivalent to saying there’s a white woman with blond hair.”

    What happened next is unclear. Was Castile just reaching for his ID, or was he reaching for his gun?

    What we know is that Yanez fired his weapon.

    What we know is that throughout his life, Castile was stopped by police at least 46 times before that moment.

    If there was anyone familiar with the routine and perils of a traffic stop, it was Philando Castile.

    The July 6 stop was his last.

    Most know how this story ends; it’s practically predictable.  Police Officer shoots un-armed black male.  Police Officer is acquitted.  I needed space to lament and articulate the emotional distress I am feeling.  To name the ache in my heart.

    I lament that the life of a black male in America still hinges upon a white male’s determination of value.

    I lament that the humanity of black men is repeatedly stripped away when the “cause for shooting them” is because they are seen as violent, aggressive threats by default.

    I lament that I have friends who don’t see the err of today’s criminal justice system.

    I lament that black men can comply with police officers and still die.

    I lament that the trauma both Diamond and her daughter faced is deeply etched into their memories.  No 4 year old should have to console her mother for fear that she too will be shot by police.

    I lament that I am often asked to explain why an officer’s perceived fear does not make a black male worthy of death.

    explanation

    We use a subjective law (Stand Your Ground) to determine substantive matters (life and death).

    If you desire more explanations to ascribe value to the life of black men who are as much an image bearer of God as the men who shot them; miss me with that conversation.  I’m not having that convo today.  Probably not tomorrow. Probably not for a minute.  We have to change the starting line of this conversation.  Here me clearly.  I am fresh out of explanations if imago dei is not your starting point.

    In fact, it may be time for someone to explain to me why police officers are using body cameras if they seem to be of little benefit for the citizens?  Maybe, someone should explain to me why no one’s discussing the correlation of implicit bias and police shootings.   It’s a thing.  A very real thing.

    Isn’t it time to stop demanding an explanation and start acknowledging that the undercurrent of implicit bias has turned into a tidal wave?  This slow and silent killer is destroying families, disrupting communities, and traumatizing people of color daily.

    Isaiah 58

  • The Blessings and Burdens of being Black

    The Blessings and Burdens of being Black

    These burdens remain. One of the first blogs I published when I began this journey.  Originally shared February 2015.

    Precious's avatarPrecious Predilections

    burdenA burden by definition is a load that is especially heavy for one to carry. A blessing, on the contrary, is a beneficial thing for which one is grateful.  Is it feasible for someone to be grateful for a load that is especially heavy for them to carry?  I submit to you that it depends on the load.  There is not a day that I rise that I am not grateful that God made me a Black woman.  This is true.  I am honored and proud to be Black.  But there is another truth; and it is that I’ve had some negative experiences as a direct result of being Black.

    Today I would like for readers to reflect upon a burden that is carried and rarely spoken of.  It is the burden of being Black.  In the same vein, I ask readers to identify blessings of being Black.  I have…

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  • The Suffering Saint

    The Suffering Saint

    Recently, I have spent a lot of time thinking about suffering and my desire to avoid it at all costs.  It sucks to suffer. End of story.  January was laden with suffering and loss for a few of my friends; 3 funerals in 3 weeks to remember the lives of 2 fathers and 1 son.  Grief and sorrow have a way of lingering.    Jesus agreed with this sentiment as reflected in Matthew 26:38, where he stated, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death…”  Again, suffering sucks.  The unsettling truth is that as a follower of Jesus, I should not only come to expect the blessings of God, but with great certainty I should be mindful that suffering is also on the path of sanctification. Difficult truth.  And it sucks.

    suf·fer
    ˈsəfər/
    verb
         1. experience or be subjected to (something bad or unpleasant).
    This fixation on the avoidance of suffering came about after spending time visiting a friend in South Africa, where there is a chasm of classism left from the wreckage of apartheid.  During this visit more than any other, there was an acute awareness of the role that race has played in providing privilege to some and not to others.  As our conversations grew in depth, we both surmised that without even knowing it, we had developed an unhealthy expectation of “entitlement” to blessings as a believer and follower of Jesus Christ.
     en·ti·tled
    inˈtīdld,enˈtīdld/
    adjective
    1. believing oneself to be inherently deserving of privileges or special treatment
    It was almost as if we had said to God, suffering is for someone else, definitely not me. This unspoken paradigm of entitlement can wreak havoc on our faith when suffering arrives.  I then began to ask this friend how she maintained her faith during her most difficult moment when she suffered the loss of someone she loves.  She stated very simply and profoundly to “loosen my grip.”  Loosen my grip on the possessions I have.  Loosen my grip on the relationships that I hold dear.  Loosen my grip on my definition of what my life should be at this exact moment.  The “loosening of the grip” is an expression to hold those things and relationships dearly loved loosely in your hands, with gratitude and knowledge that all those things belong to God.  All of them.

    “Following Jesus wholeheartedly means facing the “most brutal facts of our current reality, whatever they might be” while holding on to our absolute certainty that we “prevail in the end” through his love and grace.” – Rick Lawrence, Jesus-Centered Life

    Perhaps a small part of what makes suffering bearable is our ability to savor what is good in that moment.  Another nugget of truth is that we can’t always see the things that are good in the moment of suffering.  What I learned during my time with my friend is that it is NOT in the overt acknowledgement of “all that is good” that gratitude arises.  It actually arises as we choose to be present with those who are suffering.  Present during the smiles. Present during the sorrow.  Present during the silence.

    I observed a lot of natural beauty during my time in South Africa, but there was nothing more beautiful than the comfort of a friendship that has lasted 13 years.  There was no pretense.  I liken it to the comfort of a good pair of old jeans.  They have holes, they aren’t perfect, but they fit in all the right places.

    I thought my time in South Africa would leave me only longing to ease the suffering of strangers.  That occurred.  I didn’t know that my time in South Africa would teach me in part, how to lament with the suffering saint and also teach me that suffering/sorrow/grief has no zip code.

     

    I want Jesus; fully and completely.  However, I still don’t want to suffer, but if I must, may I do so by leaning into Jesus and loosening my grip on all the things I’ve deemed too precious to lose.

  • Brothers Forgive Me

    Brothers Forgive Me

    This unsolicited request for forgiveness is long overdue.

    This cry for forgiveness is birthed out of a new revelation of the deep and damaging impact of mass incarceration on men of color; men of color like my brothers.  The brothers that I grew apart from long before we grew up because in their youth they experienced the dehumanization and desensitizing that happens upon incarceration.  I have been writhing with grief after watching “13TH” on Netflix.  This sense of sadness and shame that has come at the realization, that, I, your sister, have not advocated for you, my brothers.  My blood.  I’m sorry bros.  I love you bros.  I just didn’t know bros.

    This documentary on Netflix speaks of the loop hole in the 13th amendment which essentially provides a clause for criminals to continue to be subject to slavery or involuntary servitude.  The mythology of black criminology is pervasive in media and culture today, but it began long ago.  It is startling and disheartening how the narrative of slavery lives on in present policies and systems, cloaked under the guise of “criminal justice.”

    “We now have more African Americans currently under criminal supervision than all the slaves back in the 1850’s.”  – Senator Cory Booker

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    In the past, I shied away from watching TV series such as “Lockup” because these shows brought me incredibly close to some of the realities of those I love.  The brutality.  The identification by number not name.  The memories of visitations as a college student and beyond.  Remembering how unsettling it was to be frisked and undergo stringent visitation requirements.  Remembering the joy on your face and your warm embrace when I arrived for a visit.  Remembering the fear that came over me prior to every visit.  Fearing that I would be denied the opportunity to visit you.  Fearing that you were no longer allowed to see me.  Fearing something would always sabotage our brief connection.  And brief it always was.

    As we fast forward to the present, I am ashamed to state that I’ve had the same expectation of many who have no real context of what it means to be incarcerated and that expectation is to simply “move on after release.”  I remember the joy I had upon your release and I also felt quite lost because I didn’t know what to say or do.  At times that feeling remains.  You are an adult now.  And so am I.  You’ve experienced trauma for which I have no context, and sadly, I’ve expected you to simply bear that weight alone.  I’ve also expected you to easily navigate broken systems in our culture that express that although free, you are still not deemed a citizen.  Systems which prevent you from voting, exacerbate the cost of health care, increase barriers to employment, and multiply the cost of higher education.

    Forgive me for not acknowledging your pain.

    Forgive me for not acknowledging your victories.

    Forgive me for not using my voice and influence to not only advocate for proactive efforts that work to prevent young people from experiencing this trauma, but also advocate for young people who have been left to recover on their own after this trauma.

    Forgive me for not asking you how you were doing after release.

    Forgive me for moving on with life and expecting you to do the same.

    I am DEEPLY sorry.

    The physical chains remain in the transport of men and women into incarceration, but the mental chains are just as significant.

    On the eve of my 37th birthday, I am so grateful for lessons that my thirties continue to teach me.  The current lesson is to “keep learning.”  I am learning that my story, our family story is even more beautiful as I see the impression of your collective strength throughout it.   Your journeys have been incredibly difficult.  You guys have all continued to fight to be better men and good fathers.  Perfection is an illusion made for TV; I’ve yet to meet a perfect person.  You all could have thrown in the towel after each rejection post interview.  You didn’t.  You could have complained repeatedly.  You haven’t.  I know that your sons and daughters see you as heroes and so do I.  Thank you for displaying what it means to persevere.

    I am one who advocates for the marginalized; the outsiders, but I have been unknowingly callous to the implications of mass incarceration on our black men (brothers), our communities, our families.  I am still uncertain of how to advocate well.  I don’t know what I don’t know.  I am hoping that you all will become my new instructors.   I have so much more to learn.   So much more to learn from you.

    I love you guys.  Thank you for being gentle and patient with me in my ignorance.  It has taught me to do the same with others.

    Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Ephesians 4:2 [NIV]

  • Silence Doesn’t Feel Like Solidarity

    Silence Doesn’t Feel Like Solidarity

    sumo-wrestlers
    http://s.hswstatic.com

     

    Those that know me well know that I love truth more than I love comfort.  This past week, the ugly truths of police brutality, implicit racial bias, and systemic oppression of black and brown people made many uncomfortable.  In fact, many are still uncomfortable; particularly in the christian community.  This past week has pushed the christian community to take a serious look in the mirror and introspectively determine if diversity is something that is only espoused in word or actually lived.  And when I say actually lived, I ask… Are we brave enough to listen, empathize, and act courageously when it is counter cultural to do so?  When we might be afraid to do so?  When it is uncomfortable to do so.

    I have pondered why the #AltonSterling and #PhilandoCastile killings (by police officers) have caused me to grieve so deeply; more deeply than previous incidents of police abusing power.  More than #FreddieGray.  More than #SandraBland.  More than #MikeBrown.  More than #TamirRice.  More than #SamDubose.  More than…

    And then it hit me – this list does not seem to end.  Data from http://mappingpoliceviolence.org/ shows us that this brutality by police officers upon black lives is a systemic problem.  And…many of my non-minority christian friends have become mute.  I liken it to an ethnically mixed group of high school kids who are friends discovering that one of the black guys has chosen to go to the teacher after class and speak up for another black student who is repeatedly being poorly treated by someone in authority.  Most in this ethnically diverse group vow to show up  to help defend this black friend because they all believe this student is worthy of defense.  You may be able to finish this hypothetical story for me.  The friend arrives at the class room and sees that primarily his black friends kept their word to stand with him.

    Welcome to the #BlackLivesMatter movement. The silence of a segment of the christian community has been deafening because it feels like fear has rewritten the justice narrative and it has been more comfortable to remain silent, just give money or hide behind the cloak of one’s ethnic identity.  None of these positions equate to solidarity.  And none of them will bring reconciliation.

    Don’t be silent – your silence speaks loudly.  All week this “silence” has been ringing in my ears to the tune of “How can we say that we are the church when there doesn’t appear to be a willingness to bear one another’s burden?”  I’ve said it before and I will say it again; lament with us first. No solutions, just solidarity for justice.  A few days ago, a White, Christian friend of mine found courage to speak  even among fear. As I read her account, I could see how she beautifully wrestled with the fear of speaking publicly regarding Black Lives Matter and how the comfort of this fear was no longer greater than the cost of her silence.  Truthfully, her voice on this issue will speak more loudly than mine and this is why silence and/or apathy is not an option for the white christian.  Your silence may be communicating the wrong message. PLEASE READ HER PERSPECTIVE.

    Don’t JUST give your money – because settlements don’t settle it.   Now is the time to leave our paternalism at home.  This god-complex which causes us to want to “fix” the problems in the lives of those they are serving through money is crippling.  When we take a look at 11 recent high profile cases of men and women who had died at the hands of police, several of them received settlements between $5 million and $6.5 million dollars.  Settlement after settlement injustice remains. Giving money is a necessary part of the solution, but it is not the solution.  It takes courage to speak.  To attach YOUR NAME to cause in which you advocate for equitable treatment.  There is such anonymity in “only giving money,” but, when there’s person associated with a cause,  there is a different cost.

    Don’t forsake your eternal identity for your ethnic identity – I am a follower of Christ first and then I am a black woman.  #Realtalk – I am unapologetically black, but our eternal identity as Christians is what unites us. This means that as sisters and brothers in Christ, the higher call for all of us is to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly (Micah 6:8).  When I rise each day, I have to remember not to lead with my #blackness and that it is not the primary narrative that shapes my life.  The banner over my life is one of redemption from sin.  We have seen what sin can produce individually and on a larger scale systemically.  To my White brothers and sisters, I encourage you as well to lead with your identity as a follower of Jesus.  To seek justice for the marginalized.  To see the #imagodei (image of God) in others.  The practical steps to make this occur may be scary, but this is what I want to do.  I want to talk with you.  To share in and learn of your fears.  To seek God together for our nation.  To serve God together in our nation.

    I have decided to follow Jesus.  No turning back.  No turning back.  Jesus didn’t simply advocate for the marginalized when it was easy and comfortable.  He lived in the difficult places; had difficult, yet honest conversation to reveal and then reconcile hearts.  I too will live in that place if that is the first step towards reconciliation.

    Here is a sermon preached a few days ago on #Justice by Pastor Léonce Crump Jr. of Renovation Church. This sermon will make many uncomfortable before it encourages.  He is speaking the truth in love, so I’m comfortable with that.

    Learn to do good; Seek justice, Reprove the ruthless, Defend the orphan, Plead for the widow. – Isaiah 1:17

     

  • Am I Black?

    Am I Black?

    20150611_123830“Am I Black?”  This question has echoed in my mind since it was so loudly projected from the mouth of a little boy (approximately 5 years old) to his parents as he sat with them and watched a portion of a video about the middle passage at The Griot Museum of Black Historyin St. Louis, MO.  The innocence and complexity of his question is what wrenches my heart.  In this beautiful world, it would be great if slavery never existed and if African American parents and those of other ethnicities never had to share with their kids the atrocity of their nation’s past.  In particular, their decision to treat certain people inhumanely.  This little boy could not understand why, in his own words, “only black people were treated this way…”  He actually asked his parents, “where are the white people?”  His mind could not process the reasoning behind the variation in treatment.  They spoke honestly and with lots of grace; not with malice or slander, but with love for their son and his tender, impressionable mind.  I am not a parent, but I commend these parents for walking gingerly with their son to help him understand his history and the importance of valuing all human life.  This indeed was one of the most precious moments I’ve experienced recently in our racially charged society that wants to dismiss the impact of years of oppression on people groups.

    For the past few days I have juxtaposed this little boy’s simple question with the recent events in Orlando, from the #PulseShooting to the shooting of #ChristinaGrimmie.  I love the city of #Orlando and I’ve been grieving with those in my hometown.  My community and people that I love and know are hurting deeply. We cannot understand the senseless act of these shootings.

     The beauty I beheld as this little boy asked this question was profound. You see, he didn’t “know” he was black because his experience as a little black boy was just as it should be.  He has not yet known what it is to be treated differently because of his skin color.  I am not sure that I want to wake him up from this dream.

    As a follower of Christ, I believe the church is called to make this child’s “ideal perspective” more of a reality, but we have to first deal with the sin in our own heart.  The reality that we just may be treating people differently because of their skin color.  Sunday is still a very segregated day in our nation.  The reality that we, the church, may be choosing not to get to know people because their lifestyle(s) don’t align with our beliefs.

    People are more than their ethnicity.  They are more than their sexual identity.  Oh that we would learn to live and love one another as people.  Not as pretentious, external, superficial, descriptors such as race, gender, and economic status.  This week in the wake of the Orlando tragedies I believe I was granted a gift from God to spend time in Colorado with a couple who co-founded a non-profit, which is making a difference in the lives of children who are aging out of foster care.  The gift for me was that although I “knew I was Black” in Colorado, I didn’t “feel” Black when spending time with their family.  I held tightly to this feeling because it was refreshing.  Typically, “feeling Black” when I am the minority means that I am treated as inferior and presumed weak.  To be in a community where I am clearly an ethnic minority (Colorado isn’t particularly racially diverse) and to be welcomed and loved as a person first, is a gift I treasure.  There might have been second glances from others as I sat around the table with this couple, their daughters, and a friend, at a local eatery, but at that table we laughed together and enjoyed each other’s company in earnest.  And although I am not their daughter, I felt protected by this couple in an incredibly beautiful way.  This was a dose of authentic love.

    If there was a gift that I could give to those who’ve experienced marginalization, it would be the gift of authentic love. To authentically love allows us to accept people as a part of God’s beautiful creation.  There is no doubt today that I am proud to be black.  But if I am honest, I have had to fight for this freedom of pride in my ethnicity, namely the darkness of my skin and kinkiness of my hair and all that I’ve been told that this represents in our western society.  What I have recognized recently is that fighting for freedom of an insecurity can be costly.  It can mean rejection from those that love you.  It can mean career assassination.   It can mean depression and sleepless nights.  I do not presume to understand the fight of those who are in the LGBTQ community.  What I do know is that I would like for #America and at times, those in the church, to stop making presumptions about their character and worth because of their sexual identity alone.  This is nonsensical.  Seriously.  We are people first.  Let’s treat each other as such.

    I grieve with all of the families whose loved ones lost their life during this tragedy.  I grieve with those in the LGBTQ community who feel the palatable weight of being targeted because of their sexuality.  I grieve with the family members of the shooter who may now be treated differently because of what he did.  I grieve for the christian church who has yet to learn that we all share a mutual brokenness as people; we are all in need of a Savior (Jesus Christ). Those who are black are in need. Those who are white.  Those who are heterosexual.  Those who are homosexual.  Those who are wealthy.  Those who are poor.  Those who are human are in need.  As we have a greater understanding of this need, we will lower our personal pedestals and stand together as people.

    “Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep.”  Romans 12:15