I was blessed that my mother was able to home school me in kindergarten and first grade and thats where I fell in love with my history, my culture. It didn’t start when I went away for 4 years and fell in love with my Historically Black College, that passion was sparked at 6-years-old. My mom bought Black History posters of all the greats that paved the way. Charles Drew, Martin Luther King, Frederick Douglas, Madam C.J. Walker (wasn’t she the flyest?),and the list goes on. I went to my grandma’s house and discovered that my aunt had left behind a huge book full of African-American history in her childhood room. I gleefully took it home and read it for fun. I was obsessed with learning about slavery, and the fight for civil rights. I would grab historical fiction books and dream of what my ancestors did to survive so that I could be born. Its the only ancestry that I could cling to, and I think that’s what drew me in.

I have wrestled with writing a post on race for about a year now. I couldn’t write last summer, I was too angry and unbalanced…traumatized by watching people being killed on social media week after week.  It does something to you.

Then I started to wonder what people would think. What if I come off too radical, or what if people think I’m racist? What if this is not the ‘Christian’ thing to do, what if I sound like I’m ranting?  I had to sit and pray on it for awhile.

When you see this, I’ll have read over this a lot and combed my words for hints of disrespect or anger; please know that is not the purpose of this post.  I realized I was ready to write about race during a conversation that I had at the National Museum of African American History & Culture with a white woman.  On the bottom floor of the museum, a long line of people wrapped around an exhibit of one of the buses used during the civil rights era. The NMAAHC obtained the original casket of Emmett Till and naturally, many people wanted to see the casket and the memorial set up around it that told Emmett’s story. It was a sacred and sobering moment, remembering and honoring Till. I wasn’t alive when the incident occurred, but it gave many of us a chance to honor him in that moment. (If you are not familiar with his story, click here, and here).  Its a story that sparked the ever rising flames of the civil rights movement. As me and my friend got in line, a white woman came up and asked us why we were all in line. “We’re in line to see Emmett Till’s original casket.” I said.

“Who’s that?” She asked innocently. I could literally feel the people in line with me tense up, it was one of those questions that left a hint of awkwardness in the air around us. To be honest, it was jarring that this woman didn’t know this heartbreaking, but pivotal story in civil rights history. I learned of Emmett Till’s story at a very young age, how could one not have heard about this? What was I going to say? How do you tell this story without making people feel uncomfortable? Sometimes truth makes us feel uncomfortable. That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be said. I felt put on the spot, but I told the story to this woman as  gracefully as I could. When she walked away the women in front of us in line exploded in indignation.‘That woman (who accused Emmett Till) didn’t exaggerate the truth, SHE LIED!’ They said in response to my choice of wording. True.  Perhaps I was  sugar coated the story? Maybe they thought I should have been angry while telling this lady what happened?

People of other races were at the museum, taking extra time to read, watch, and take it all in. I loved it. There are so many stories in there that you won’t find in a textbook, or taught in a classroom. The fact that they came to learn about another race warmed my heart. At least they wanted to know.

Last summer was hard for me. I felt like I had to choose between being a Christian and being a black person. I couldn’t be both. I couldn’t want unity AND want justice. I’m not saying that anyone meant to make me feel that way; it was just my perception of things.  During that time, I so wanted to be understood. I wanted people to understand why saying #BLACKLIVESMATTERS was not meant to exclude anyone, I wanted empathy, and I wanted the peace to say my piece.  To be honest, I wanted to be angry, I did not want to show grace or explain anything. We should just be understood, right? After answering that woman’s questions I realized what was missing. There is a divide. It lies in the fact that one side isn’t willing to answer questions, and the other side isn’t willing to ask them. There goes the cycle of assumptions that each side makes because we won’t ask or answer questions. We won’t talk. 

I believe there is so much grace for racial reconciliation. Grace. That unmerited mercy that God shows us. There’s grace for the fact that maybe you don’t know my history because of the way you were brought up. There’s grace that maybe you can’t be me, and I can’t be you, but we can try on each others shoes for just a little while.  There’s grace for different world views and perspectives, and there is grace to sit and listen to each other; REALLY listen. Ask me questions about my hair, my skin, Black culture, etc. Ask me, I’ll be the one to explain. Ask me why I think a certain way. Ask the hard questions and maybe I can do the same. It can never happen if we don’t talk about it. I’m not even sure how to go about it, but its been on my heart. I don’t want to shy away from tough conversations with people of different races anymore; its like I’m the elephant I’m avoiding when I do that. Its like tiptoeing around myself. I’ll be the one. It first starts with us individually; and I am finally willing. I am willing to dare to engage in conversations that might make me feel awkward, I am willing to publish this post and hope that it resonates with us as a family and as the Body of Christ. I challenge us. Lets be the ones.

Hopefully this doesn’t come off as a ranting post or an angry post. I pray its an olive branch of some sort. Permission to be brave in our relationships (I’m giving myself permission in this post as well.) , and permission to go about this differently than we have before. If you have a question, want to know more, have some ideas  or just want to talk, I’m here.

I LOVE what Latasha Morrison is doing with racial reconciliation. She is apart of an organization called Be the Bridge, equipping people around the nation on how to have these conversations with each other, their churches and their families.

Watch the video below and check her and her ministry out here  (She went to high school in Fayetteville, how cool is that?)