Precious Predilections

Tag: love

  • Answerless Hope

    Answerless Hope

    The more complex my life circumstance, the less complex my prayers. More of Him. God with me. Less of me. Words fail. Presence succeeds every time. Keep me near thee, oh God. Those few lines sum up last year. Simple prayers. Deep lament. I’ve found depth in brevity; the closeness of God in times of deep sorrow. Gratitude has been an anchor for my grief preventing me from drowning in the trauma that was the year 2020.

    I have so many unanswered questions for an omniscient God. Why did my father die due to addiction? I was only 15. His addiction caused him to separate from our family when I was 2. Why did I grow up in poverty? Why did you give me THE BEST mom? A mom who lost both parents by the age of 35, yet parented and loved me so well. Why wasn’t she afforded the joy of experiencing the parent/child relationship with her mom? Why have I been a single woman for so many years? These questions may never be answered, but I am not without hope. How can I have hope without answers? I have spent the past 7 months pondering the power of hope when answers are few and why love is an even greater power than that.

    Hope doesn’t demand answers, yet longs for them. Hope requires possibility. If it is to sustain ones soul, it demands truth, something substantive to hold on to. I learned this summer that hope without truth is denial. I repeat. It does not demand answers. Possibility may prove more powerful than the answer itself. Hope’s power resides in the belief of possibility.

    The power of this principle was magnified last August when my mom became suddenly ill and subsequently tested positive for covid-19. This news sent rage, anger, and fear quickly through my body. With her pre-existing condition and age, I prepared for the worst and flew home to be present. Every news article and report I’d seen became much more than a story. Unable to see her – no hospital visits allowed. Unable to hear her – she could barely breathe let alone speak. Unable to comfort her through proximity. Unable to pray pithy prayers, I became deeply acquainted with simplicity. God, I need you. My mom needs you. During the day I busied myself caring for and supporting my mom and family anyway that I could, but at night I cried and cried and cried. It is no exaggeration to say that tears became my food day and night. Each day brought uncertainty; never before had I stared despair in the face and fought like ___ for hope. Go ahead and fill in the blank; yep, that’s how hard I fought for hope.

    In my humanity, I often wanted God to just tell me if my mom would live or die. I wanted finality, but God offered none of that, yet each day, I had enough hope to sustain me. And just like manna, hope fell daily and provided just what I needed. Hope holds us in our suffering and even soothes our souls – providing divine levels of comfort and perspective to fuel our persistence in prayer, justice, or relationships. Without hope the long haul is just long suffering. Hope leaves us longing, but love answers. Love says yes or no and the answer is always for our good. And this may be why love is more powerful. “Hope deferred makes the heart weak,” is a proverb I’ve held on to for years. To be in anguish for days, months, or even years with concern for the well being a loved one has a way of weakening the heart. When love answers, we may celebrate, grieve, or find ourselves somewhere in between. Love’s response allows us to eventually establish new hope.

    In December 2020, a dear friend of mine lost her father due to complications from covid-19. My nightmare became her own. While my mom survived the brutal effects of covid-19, her dad did not. The very thing I feared became her reality. I am still reeling from this loss. Truthfully it’s because I had such great hope in God. I know he is capable of healing. My hope was not misplaced, but my heart wasn’t ready for Love’s answer. This was one of the hardest no’s from God this year. I live with the loss of my father daily; the vacancy in my heart that longs for his physical presence is irreplaceable. I am well acquainted with this pain and I wish no child experienced it.

    2020 was the hardest year of my life and it is not lost on me that the multiple valleys brought exceptional clarity about what’s most important. I didn’t expect corrective vision to come in this fashion. Some things remain blurry and unanswered. I can long for answers and remain hopeful. Such is a paradox of life. “On Christ the Solid Rock” is a hymn reminding me of this longing. A portion of that hymn is below.

    “My hope is built on nothing less
    Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness
    I dare not trust the sweetest frame
    But wholly lean on Jesus’ name

    On Christ the solid rock I stand
    All other ground is sinking sand
    All other ground is sinking sand

    When darkness veils his lovely face
    I rest on His unchanging grace
    In every high and stormy gale
    My anchor holds within the veil

    His oath, his covenant, his blood
    Supports me in the ‘whelming flood
    When all around my soul gives way
    He then is all my hope and stay”

    John Onwuchekwa of Four in the Morning podcast said, ” Life is lived at the intersection not the freeway. Life will stop you at some point. Processing grief is a skill. It is not about time. Grief is not a pest to be exterminated.” Life certainly stopped me in 2020 and forced me to acknowledge loss. I am hopeful to live 2021 at the intersection of grief and gratitude. Both are powerful. Both allow me to reckon with loss and revel in victory. Resilience is born in this place. None of us are without loss and all of us have something for which to be grateful. The inextricable connection between hope and love has helped me to move through last year and will provide foundation for the new year.

    Last year’s personal trauma introduced so many new questions for God, but I am not without hope. I will bring those questions to Him in the quietness of the night. I will inquire of him when doubt is amiss. My soul will ask him to answer me especially when grief overwhelms me and words fail. I will remain vulnerable in angst and joy. I know he will answer. God is love and love always answers.

    “So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.” – 1 Corinthians 13:13, ESV

  • 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

  • My Messy Beginning

    My Messy Beginning

    Friend, Joy Becker, finishes this blog series sheer bravery.  Her willingness to express where she is on this messy journey of privilege and racial reconciliation is authentic.  I’ve been honored to collaborate and share the perspectives of Mika, Amy and Joy during the past four weeks.  Perspectives unlike my own.  I’ve grown.  I pray that you read this last post with great expectation. Expecting God to speak to you.  I believe He will. With courage, obey whatever He speaks.

    I prefer when my writing culminates into a complete thought, when stories and anecdotes sit with me long enough to reach a finish line. I tend not to hit that Publish button until I’ve drawn a conclusion, tidied things up, and feel a sense of a closure.

    Today is different.

    There is no sense of closure because I’m just beginning this journey. I have so many conclusions spinning in my head I hardly know what to do next. I’m in the midst of so much learning and thinking and questioning; it is terrifying and thrilling. There are days I’d like to rewind the clock to before I wrestled with privilege and injustice. I’d like to unread and unlearn information that has left me wondering how me – this affluent, white, stay-at-home mom in the suburbs of Cincinnati – can possibly be part of reconciliation. Other days I want to shake myself because I spent so many years missing it, looking right past it.

    In the spring of 2016, I began reading the book Seven. Oh, to this day, there are times I wish I could unread it. God knocked the wind out of me within the pages of that book, awakening me to the intensity and responsibility of the privilege I was born into.

    Up until that day, I had thought very little of privilege and what it looked like in my life. I suppose when privilege is your norm, it is easy to miss.  

    But soon I saw it everywhere.

    I saw privilege when I opened my fridge, stared at shelves full of food, and ordered pizza because I didn’t feel like eating anything we had.

    I saw privilege when I put my contacts in each morning because I’ve had resources to correct my failing eyes for nearly 30 years.

    I saw privilege when I handed in my letter of resignation, voluntarily leaving my job to stay home with my children.

    I saw privilege when I was pulled over for a missing headlight and never considered a police officer might treat me unfairly.

    I saw privilege when I freely disagreed with colleagues and never thought twice that my race would be the backdrop for how others interpreted my words.

    I saw privilege when our president was elected because as much as I hate how he speaks of the oppressed, I knew my day to day life would not be much different.

    God put a fire in my gut the week I read that book, a restless stirring I haven’t been able to shake. I can’t stop reading and talking and asking questions. I can’t unlearn that I am in the top 1% of wealthiest people in the world, practically drowning in resources. I can’t pretend educational opportunities are the same for all children. I can’t ignore the hundreds of thousands of refugees who are desperately trying to come to America, and yet live such isolated lives once they are here. I can’t unsee the hate-filled eyes in those videos of Charlottesville.

    This is my messy beginning, my shuffling along, fighting my way through the weeds, with my hands outstretched, asking God, “What now? What can you do with the hesitant offering of a woman prone to wander, resist, and cling to privilege? Can you dig it out by its ugly roots? Can you keep forgiving me? Can you make reconciliation my heart’s cry rather than an item on my to-do list?”

    *****

    During the past year, I have looped through a cycle of emotions regarding the abundant advantages in my life.

    I am ignorant.

    I am overwhelmed.

    I am disgusted.

    I am paralyzed.

    I am afraid.

    I am humbled, forgiven, and obedient.

    Repeat.

    Those first five stages are fruitless at best; sinful if I’m honest, and I need to deal with them as such. I need to call out the sin in my life.

    I am ignorant. That is sin. Ignorance is choosing foolishness. It is looking away from truth and ignoring the mind God gave me for learning and questioning and engaging. Ignorance is choosing oblivion to global and national crises, excusing myself because it’s too sad, it’s too hard.

    I am overwhelmed. That is sin. I am looking to my own ability to solve injustice rather than following the lead of Him who came to change the world through servanthood. I am sinking into defeat, rather than clinging to a God of victory. Nothing is impossible for Him, and to be overwhelmed is to disregard the power of the Holy Spirit who is alive and active in me.

    I am disgusted. That is sin. The Lord needed to bring me to a place of disgust, a harsh realization of my abundant privilege. But to stay in that place of guilt, apologizing for all I have, is to forget the One who gave it to me. He did not accidentally place me in this life at this time in history, and He is not interested in my apologies for living in America, for being white, for being educated, or for succeeding in a career.

    I am paralyzed. That is sin. The reality of injustice is so thick and so heavy, I get lost in it. And then I do nothing. I stay in my neighborhood and in my home, with my conveniences and luxuries. I hang out with people who look like me and think like me. We talk about how thankful we are Jesus came to do all that messy work, but disengage ourselves from real action. Pretty soon, doing nothing in my norm.

    I am afraid. This is sin. Fear will lie to me every time, coaxing me to believe injustice is too much for my God. Fear tells me I will fail if I seek reconciliation. Fear tells me I will say the wrong thing and do the wrong thing. Fear tells me I will put myself in danger and be in over my head. Fear tells me I will upset people and annoy my friends. But God did not give me a spirit of fear, and to believe otherwise is sin.

    I am humbled, forgiven, and obedient. Confronting my own selfishness is miserable, but once each of those daggers have been humbly laid down, I can claim Christ’s forgiveness and move on to obedience.  

    The Bible tells me to feel the pain of others. Be wrecked by injustice. Be burdened. The Bible tells me to pray, and not just on the days after horrific events like Charlottesville, but to get on my knees every day, crying out for the broken and forgotten, repenting from my sins and the sins of this nation. The Bible says to be faithful in prayer, be persistent, keep bugging God to shake my soul and not look away from oppressive systems that have handed me a life of advantage.

    This doesn’t have to be an either/or approach. I can carry on with my daily life and remember the marginalized around me. I can write on my blog about eating dessert in the bathroom, and I can write about racial reconciliation. I can take my children to our community pool where they see dozens of children who look just like them, and I can take them to a church where they are the racial minority. My husband and I can celebrate special occasions at overpriced restaurants, and we can volunteer with the Cincinnati Refugee Resettle Program. I can go to the gym to teach Zumba classes, and I can learn to correctly pronounce the names of the colored women in my class, not just the white students. I can talk with my girlfriends about curtains and crockpot dinners and playdates, and we can talk about teaching our children to stand up for others. I can read Real Simple magazine and I can read about how to love my friends of color well. I can pray with my children for God to heal their owies, and I can pray with my children for God to awaken their eyes and hearts to those who need love.

    This isn’t a checklist. It isn’t more to add to my plate. It isn’t one or the other. It is awareness. It is courage. It is a transformation of my heart to move past the years I spent desiring peace and wishing well to those on the sidelines.

    Jesus spent His life on the bottom rung of the ladder. He surrounded himself with the powerless, the outcasts, the bottom dwellers, the marginalized. By his own choosing, He never made it up past that bottom rung. But I was born on the top rung; I was born into a life so far from Jesus. White. American. Middle class. Educated. Excess everything. It is a life so many long for, but it is a life that has proven to be my greatest hindrance in knowing the true Jesus. It is so far from the Savior who said He was “close to the brokenhearted” (Psalm 34:18) and that “the highborn are but a lie” (Psalm 62:9). There is such a distance from me and the man who constantly cared for the widows, the orphans, the poor, and the needy. It is so much harder to “seek justice and encouraged the oppressed” (Isaiah 1:17) from up on this top rung.

    It’s ironic how you can read something a dozen times and always hope someone else is taking it to heart. How did I miss it?

    In every corner of the Bible, God is screaming, begging, pleading, urging me to love mercy and justice, to care for the last and least. If I’m going to believe the Bible is the Word of God, then it seems God is obsessed with social justice, and He asking me to stay engaged and join Him.

    This is my messy beginning.

    *****

    A note from Mika, Amy, Precious, and Joy:

    It has been a joy to share our hearts with you over the past month. The four of us have each been challenged, convicted, and inspired. We have each prayed earnestly for our readers, and for ourselves asking God to shake some souls and spur on conversations that would bring Him glory. We would love to end this series by praying for our nation, together pleading with God to heal and restore.

    Oh Jesus,

    We come before You with our mess. We acknowledge our sin and repent from it. We need You to do your thing. We need your power to bring change because we know we are powerless without You.

    I pray, God, that You would heal our nation and bring us to racial reconciliation. I pray that our hearts and minds would be changed and that change would lead to action. May our hearts break for the damage white supremacy has caused in our nation – that we would see it for the sin it is, and commit to not being complicit in it. I pray we would move outside our comfort zones, invite people into our homes that don’t look like us, and build relationships in an effort to reconcile.

    I pray America would become comfortable with being uncomfortable and no longer shy away from our horrid past. I pray we would know that racial reconciliation is not simply a good option; it’s important to You. May our hearts remain pliable for You to mold and change; performing open heart surgery if necessary to make us into a people that not only embodies the ethos of reconciliation, but the life style. May our days be less comfortable and more courageous.  May our love for You, Jesus, cause us to actively love our neighbors well.

    I pray we would lay down our privilege to serve and to see. I pray we would open our hands and our eyes. We are in need of Your grace and Your grit to do and hear hard things. Lead us, Jesus. Please do exceedingly above what we ask.

    Amen.

    Chains fall

    Fear bow

    Here, now

    Jesus, you change everything

    Lives healed

    Hope found

    Here, now

    Jesus, you change everything

    Lyrics from Holy Ground

    About the Author

    Joy

    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.

  • Miseducation of Privilege

    Miseducation of Privilege

    As a Black Christian woman I have more anxiety on the Sunday or Monday following tragic events such as the #Charlottesville attack because the work of racial reconciliation is exhausting.  The Sunday following Charlottesville (which happened to be less than 24 hours later), I remember being hopeful as I entered church that I would regain some of my sanity.  At least a little bit.  Thinking to myself,  this Sunday at least one non-person of color would come up to me and legitimize the concern I privately expressed to many.  I recounted the personal conversations held following the election of our President regarding his rhetoric and lack of empathy for non-whites.  At the time, I shared that I thought his views would give credence to those who held extremist and racist views to become hyper-visible and less concerned with “hiding” their views or their faces.  We witnessed that in #Charlottesville.

     

    This was not a moment of wanting to be right.  This was a moment of wanting to be validated.  I wanted to feel sane, if only for a moment.  The context here is that I have spent countless hours listening, sharing, and praying with congregants and colleagues as we earnestly look to live reconciled.   Yet, I exited my phenotypically diverse church that day without a single conversation or acknowledgement from a white person.  I exited with increased ache in my heart.  I exited wondering how many more Sundays will I sit in this pew and wrestle with the passivity of privilege and the tone policing of my voice. I then hoped for a face to face conversation, text, phone call on Tuesday, Wednesday, or any day.  It did not occur.  Exhaustion enters stage right.

    After reflecting on Amy’s blog, How Do I Handle My Privilege, and her compelling question at the end which asked ‘What privilege do you have, and how can you use it to serve the underprivileged?’  I stumbled upon a revelation.  

     

    In the United States of America, privilege has been a silent teacher for hundreds of years.  Privilege, white privilege, for those who possess it, has taught that good things will come to them simply because of who they are – even if that good thing is racial reconciliation.   

    Many would argue that hatred is a learned behavior.  I’d contend that just as hatred is taught, so is the passivity of privilege.  It is mostly taught without using words.  Privilege by its very nature is passive.  It demands absolutely nothing of its possessor. It teaches its possessor to protect it at all cost.  Privilege indirectly teaches that if one desires racial reconciliation, then it will be achieved by simply waiting for the “perfect, comfortable, opportunity” to have a difficult conversation, ask an awkward question, or get to know a person outside of your ethnicity.  Privilege has written thousands of history books and passed hundreds of laws. And with events like #Charlottesville, it waits patiently to reconcile.  We’ve been miseducated, and the western church has been an active pupil.  

    Miseducation definition: a wrong or deficient education

    Racial reconciliation is costly.  It takes work.  

    Many desire racial reconciliation through a five-step process or a “quick read.”  I’ve had countless people ask me to give them a resource to navigate this difficult and messy space. For instance, there’s a local church in our city that offers a fantastic six week workshop on race which creates a safe space for people in the community to listen to one another, grow in empathy, and dialogue.  However, I’ve encountered many who’ve been content with attending this six week session and reference this as their “work” in racial reconciliation.  I commend people for attending; however, when this session ends, the work of racial reconciliation doesn’t.  If the only desire is a resource, racial reconciliation may not be realized.  It happens over time through empathy, honesty, contrition, and proximity.  Get close. Get uncomfortable. Get honest.  

    If the American church desires to really model racial reconciliation, the Church must re-educate itself.   Learn from Black folks.  Listen to Black folks.  Lament with Black folks.  Let Black folks lead.

    I don’t want a racial reconciliation that demands more of one follower of Christ than the other.  I pray that my encounter on the Sundays following tragic events are less anxious and more intentional.  As Amy stated in the previous blog, may we be known by what we lay down, rather than by any privilege we hold high.  

    As a follower of Christ, I remain hopeful that racial reconciliation will occur in earnest as I continue to engage in uncomfortable conversations, love others where they are, and speak truth to power.   I’m encouraged that others are doing the same.  I have not thrown in the towel on racial reconciliation.  Each day I hold tightly to the hope I have in Christ, anchored by the reality of my desperate need for Jesus as I do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God.  

    Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. – John 15:13

    Maybe the first act of laying down one’s life is to lay down the passivity of privilege.

    As we lay down our respective privilege, I pray that we build authentic relationships across multiple ethnic groups, help restore broken communities, and recognize systems that perpetuate marginalization for disadvantaged groups. May we use our power, resources, and influence to tear these oppressive systems down; decision by decision. Racial Reconciliation, like sanctification (process of becoming more like Christ), is worked out daily.  It is not a one time act.  It is a lifestyle.  

    The church has been “waiting” for racial reconciliation for too long.  Let’s intentionally give differently, life differently, and love differently.  Not just in words, but in lifestyle.

    May privilege be ousted as primary instructor in the work of racial reconciliation and be replaced by empathy that leads to action.

    “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”  – Micah 6:8 ESV

  • How Do I Handle My White Privilege?

    How Do I Handle My White Privilege?

    In this blog, Amy Seiffert shares her authentic perspective on privilege in a vulnerable way.  Amy and I are participating in a collaborative blog series  with other women where we will share our perspective on privilege and racial reconciliation.  Our collective prayer is that as you journey with us your heart will be open to what God wants to reveal to you.

    “Life’s most persistent and urgent question is: ‘What are you doing for others?  — Martin Luther King Jr.

    My name is Amy and I have white privilege. I was born into a white, middle class, educated family. I got a college degree and married a white male who also has his degree and is now a small business owner. We have three kids and reside in a predominately white neighborhood in a college town.

    I deeply miss the diverse relationships I had in high school; we had various cultures, religions, and race in my friend circle. Korean, Black, Indian, Arabic, Mexican, White, Jewish, Hindu, Christian. I miss recognizing and celebrating diverse friendships, having the weeds of prejudice pulled from my white privilege perspective, and raising my children with a colorful and beautiful view of the world.

    I miss the daily academic environment where the table is set to have hard conversations. We had many respectful and robust discussions about our distinct heritages. We not only talked, we were in each others’ homes. I loved the food, the practices, the clothing, and the family life of my friends who were very different from me.  My family now continues to cultivate relationships with other races that are around us, but we would love to – we need to –  cultivate more. The richness of other races in our lives grows such beauty, humility, understanding, joy, and hope. Our soul-soil is in a great deficit when we close it off to any kind of vital diversity.

    Privilege, according to the oxford dictionary, is: “a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group of people.” Privilege can feel as obvious as our skin color and as subtle as our literacy. Even right now, if you are reading this blog, your literacy gives you advantage. I absolutely amen “education is a right, not a privilege” – but we can agree, for those who can read, there is an absolute upper hand.

    And today, as I come together with four different kinds of women, writing four diverse kinds of blog posts about privilege, race, ethnicity, reconciliation, fears, hopes and dreams – we also have one common denominator:

    Jesus.

    I sit humbled and thankful that King Jesus is King of a colorful Kingdom. His rule and reign is one where every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that He is Lord when it’s all said and done. “Every” being the game-changer. We will not be segmented under His rule, we will come under one allegiance, and we will all bow down on the same, level ground next to the cross.

    “After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands,  and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God… — Revelation 7:9-11

    King Jesus had stunning leadership regarding privilege. He was enthroned in glory, fully God, crowned in all comfort. And He laid it all down. He put down His rights, His throne, His everything. Nothing was taken with Him when He took up human skin and moved into the neighborhood. Paul explains this beautifully:

    “Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion. — Philippians 2:5-8 MSG

    It is tempting to forget that this is GOD who lived this way. Setting the pace for the good life, He set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave. He took up a towel, got down on His knees, and washed grimy feet. He served his heart out, to the point of death.

    And so when it circles back to us, to me, I have a big question to answer: What do I specifically do with my white privilege? I often freeze just thinking about my advantages, I feel guilty about them, or I hide them because I don’t know how to handle them well. I want to weed out the prejudices in the garden of my heart and sow seeds of racial reconciliation; I feel sad and embarrassed when I find incongruities in my soul. Who can help us in handling our white privilege?

    Praise be to God! If we take our cues from the King, we will find the answer. We don’t have to struggle or hide or be perfect with our privilege. Like Jesus, we simply lay them down to serve.

    After some soul-searching, just one of the ways my entire family (kids included) can lay down our white privilege and serve the underprivileged is being a Licensed Foster Care Family. Before you object in your heart and think “that’s for saints” – please reconsider. Those who foster are not saints, they simply have a safe home. The requirement to foster is very basic: a safe environment.

    At different times this past year, we have laid down our routines, our comforts, our possessions, and had children in our home for short periods of time (we have done short-term Respite Care), giving a sweet child (we’ve housed hispanic, black and white children) a safe place to be in the middle of insanity. In the middle of abuse. In the middle of drugs.

    Do we lay aside our white privilege perfectly? Absolutely not. Do we try to by faith? Yes. Even if it’s the size of a peppercorn. This is the way King Jesus lived, always by faith. He came down by faith, He laid aside everything by faith, He died by faith – faith in the resurrection to come.

    I often have the famous phrase “With great privilege comes great responsibility,” running through my mind. And I can freeze. But, friend, if you also freeze – let’s unthaw together and simply serve. Let’s serve in as many ways as we can. Serve in little ways and great ways. Serve with our voices when we see injustice and serve with our actions when we see helplessness. Serve using our strength for the weak and leveraging our power for the vulnerable.

    What privilege do you have, and how can you use it to serve the underprivileged?

    May we be known by what we lay down, rather than by any privilege we hold high. 

     

    About the Author

    Amy

    Amy 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

  • Unveiling Hidden Figures

    Unveiling Hidden Figures

    The movie “Hidden Figures” took me on a roller coaster of emotions that I am not sure I’ve come down from.  Many [many] years ago, I was a budding engineer interning at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, FL who later turned down an offer to work as a long term engineer there.   At that time I had no idea of the premise of being a “hidden figure” in my career.  I was naive. Hopeful.  Trusting and hanging on to every word of those in authority; predominantly  the older, white men who were my managers.

    This derivation of mixed emotions comes from the simple, yet complex idea that things which are hidden are searched for intentionally, or remain hidden for a long time; only discovered by happenstance.  I honestly celebrate the healthy exposure that this movie has brought African American women in the science fields, yet my heart and life experience wrestle with the reality that any leader who chooses to unveil hidden figures in any industry must pay some cost.  It may cost some a bruised ego.   Others some of their influence.  Still others the very position that they may have aspired to or felt entitled to for years.  Truthfully, this is a cost that some are unwilling to pay.

    ***SPOILER ALERT***

    Choosing to Unveil

    When I re-imagine the bathroom scene where her manager tears down the “Colored Only” bathroom sign with every exertion of strength in his body, I am deeply moved.  Viscerally moved to tears.  I am moved because he had a choice.  He had a choice to leave things the way they were (which was perfectly legal) or to ensure equity for all on his staff at the expense of his social capital and the dissenting opinions of others. I won’t divulge details, but as a women of color who has experienced working on teams and with management who choose to unveil and those who don’t, I will say that I believe this act was far more courageous than depicted.  Now, before we toot too many horns, the most glaring paradox in this movie to me was that these women WERE ONLY unveiled because there was a DIRECT BENEFIT to those who had allowed them to remain hidden for so long.  In fact, the cost became too great for them not to be unveiled.  I mean, we’ve got to get John Glenn to space, right?  By the end of the movie, I joined everyone in celebrating the greater victory for America, but I could only think, the managers cowered because they had to; because they wanted victory so badly.  They DID NOT do the right thing simply because it was the right thing to do.

    I want to honor Martin Luther King, Jr. as we near the end of another #BlackHistoryMonth and highlight the response of Dorothy Vaughan, Octavia Spencer’s character,  who in fact did the right thing because it was the right thing to do. 

    martinlutherkingjrthetimeisalwaysright

    Leaders who Do the Right Thing (as reflected in Octavia’s charachter) are marked by:

    1. Recognition (of others) – She actively worked to recognize the gifts and talents of those on her team even if it warranted a promotion for them and practical obscurity for her.
    2. Innovation – She  developed a new way for those on her team to experience growth so that they were prepared to be unveiled when the time was right.  She risked the very promotion she had longed for so that the entire team rose to another level when she rose to another level.  Great innovation is often accompanied by great risk.
    3. Golden Rule Gratitude – With outward expressions of gratitude, she never delineated from treating others the way that she wanted to be treated.
    4. Hopefulness – She hung on to hope.  Her hopeful vision for the future propelled her and others forward.
    5. Tenacity – She displayed a dogged tenacity to lead and develop others with the influence given.

    There are hidden figures in classrooms, colleges, and places of employment everywhere.  Many systems in society have given visibility to some and not others.

    Today, I am less of a hidden figure.  Still being unveiled and grateful for it.

    One day, I hope it is said of me that I “did the right thing” as a leader; a person of influence.  I understand that I have a beautiful choice.  I will choose to unveil hidden figures when presented with the opportunity. Who will you help unveil today?

    “He must become greater; I must become less.” – John 3: 30, NIV