REFLECTION

I have felt from a very young age the weight of racism.  I felt the pain of exclusion and the constant reminder that I did not belong because I wasn’t equal in the eyes of others.  I attended private school K-12th grade. I can remember begging my parents to let me go to the local public school where I could see some more folk that looked like me or at the very least so I could interact with some kids that are in a similar economic class.  The dichotomy of the worlds in which I existed in as a young person was staggering.  I would  leave the comfort of a loving and supportive home and community only to wake up the next morning and be back in an oppressed space.  Without my support system there, my back was exposed and I felt every blow.

“You’re not black black. I mean you’re black but not like a nigger”.  This was said to me on several occasions.  I am 51 years old and I still remember it like it was yesterday because the sentiment of that statement has been expressed to me over the years in various iterations, even as recently as 6 months ago on my job.  By making this statement you are putting forth the thesis that blackness is undesirable and and that acting in a way that is valuable and acceptable to you is somehow antithetical to blackness.  I am only siting one, but there are a myriad of examples revealing evidence of both overt and covert racism that I encountered in my formative years.  I was traumatized in this space.  Traumatized.  So much so that I have not been to a single annual reunion.  This is no one’s fault and I hold no grudges I released all of that long ago, but the fear of reliving that trauma by being in that space has kept me at a distance.  It even kept me from a memorial service for a classmate I loved dearly, who showed me love, all of the time.  I believe she was an angel that God sent to help me survive. 

As much as my mother instilled in me the importance of my voice, I felt powerless to use it as a young person in that space.  I felt powerless because I was merely trying to survive the moment, the day.  I made myself intentionally smaller to fit in.  But in the end, the truth, beauty, boldness and pride of my Blackness and Christianity that my parents poured into me, won.  “Unapologetically Black. Unashamedly Christian” became my rallying cry.  I allowed my voice to be muted for far too long as a young person and as I entered adulthood I made a promise to myself that I would never again silence my own voice because of the fear of being in a space where I was not welcome.

I watched my mother march, sit in, lock in and navigate white spaces like none other.  I believe she wanted me to have the ability to do the same which is why she wouldn’t let me leave those private schools.  Sigh...The list is too long to site all of her activism but I remember one particular fight - diversifying the faculty and staff at the local college.  My mother was a professor but ultimately found her professional life’s work as a college counselor.  My mother was a Christian.  She was not as diplomatic as my father - not by a long shot.  She turned over tables like Jesus did when the money changers were disrespecting and desecrating the temple.

My father was career military and served his county with distinction and honor.  We laid him to rest in a military cemetery with full honors.  As they folded the flag and handed it to my mother, I thought about all the conversations we had.  I would ask him why he would want to fight for and serve a country who despised him so.  I will sum up and paraphrase his answers which he gave over the years this way - Marsha Joi, God created me for a purpose. I am His child.  I am keenly aware that I am hated for the skin I live in.  (He would say this looking over the top of his glasses with that chin lowered as if to say fall back youngin’ ). Sorry, I digress - had a moment.  He said God fights for me and protects me.  I believe what HE says about me and not what white folk say about me.  I serve a limitless God and reject the limits others try and place over my life. When God gives me an assignment there is not a devil in hell nor a here on earth that can derail His plan - try as they might.  I love people, even when it is evident that they do not love me.  It is not always easy, but it is God’s mandate. I served in the military because I believe in the ideals they wrote down and sold to us.  Seemed like a con job because Slavery and Jim Crow, but the words struck me., never the less.  We the people got my attention. Forming a more perfect union I could get behind.  Promote the general welfare of the people - all for it. I served and fought in the US Army so to defend the hope of living in a society that meets these standards.  My daddy was a patriot, no doubt.  What he was NOT was a Nationalist.

I think about the conversations I had with my daddy all the time.  They never leave me.  When Kaep started taking a knee I thought man,  I wish my daddy was alive to see this. Holding the ideals, of what the flag should represent into account is an integral part of forming a more perfect union.  Judging the actions of this country and the treatment of its citizens is patriotism at its core.  

There was a time where I honestly had hatred in my heart.  The wounds were too deep, my anger unchecked, my heart broken, my soul too isolated.  Then one day I made the conscious decision to allow Jesus into my heart . The weight of the anger and hurt  I was carrying was too heavy.  My dear childhood pastor, Rev. Richard Nance was preaching from 1 Peter 5:7.  “Cast all your cares on Him, because He cares for you”.  I was so broken that I decided to fully trust God in that moment and do just what He said. Over the next few months I began transferring that weight on to God.  I just couldn’t carry it anymore.  The process of that transformation changed me forever.   This is why I do my best (failing on occasion) to temper my words with love because no matter how angry I get, I am a Christian and the banner over me must be love.   All the law and the prophets hang on these two things:  loving God and loving my neighbor.  I must do it.

It is painful to watch your people have to demand and struggle for the justice that is so freely given to others.  It is painful when the ideal is equal justice under the law.  The atmosphere shifted when George Floyd took his last breath.  I feel as if the collective patience of my people left when George Floyd took his last breath.  Demanding as opposed to asking for justice and equality became the prevailing narrative when George Floyd took his last breath.  Racism is woven into the very fabric of this country and it is holding on for dear life.  We all have varying levels of trauma resulting from racism. We all fight it in different ways.  I come up against it in the name of Jesus.  I come up against every evil plan against my people, in the name of Jesus.  As we fight may we use the example of Jesus the Christ.  Not the force fed characterization of the person of Christ but the one that actually exists in the Bible.

I am praying for transformed hearts and healing for the land.

Live in power and in peace…..