Information Overload and the Cost of Caring

 

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Confession – as I read or listen to the news I am not feeling much of anything besides tiredness and incompetence. I am embarrasingly disconnected as I watch flooded streets and homes in Texas.

My husband and I were talking about this over the weekend, about our inability to care about everything we hear about; about our ability to self-select newstories and situations that we care about and dismiss the rest. As I filter through news stories I want to care about every tragedy, but it turns out I don’t have the emotional capacity to do that and remain sane.

In the 1950’s a new word made it into our lexicon of trauma related diagnoses. The word was “Compassion Fatigue” and was first seen in nurses. As a nurse, it makes sense to me that we were the people who first displayed a tendency towards these symptoms.  The symptoms included negativity, lessening of compassion, tiredness, and feelings of hopelessness, sadness, and inadequacy for the job at hand. It was the ‘cost of caring’.

The word has evolved over time and is often called ‘Disaster Fatigue’. Used by the media and donor organizations to describe the response to tragedies and world events over time, it gives an accurate picture without having to be explained.  Events that have such massive implications that our brains can’t quite take it in and our responses show a disconnect between what we see and hear and how our hearts and bank accounts respond.

If I list off the events that have happened even in the last month, I know immediately why I have compassion/disaster fatigue. News and events transport us from Syria to Charlottesville to Houston and back again. Every aspect of human need has been affected. The need for shelter, security, food, safety, and the list goes on so that self-actualization seems laughable. The pain and shock of people and nations are felt across oceans and continents creating a sort of secondary trauma zone. How much am I capable of caring about before I move into the disaster fatigue zone? Not very much, it turns out.

Added to this are the things that might not affect the world, but they affect me and my extended family. Family tragedies and crises that make me cry out to God in the night, begging for strength and help for those that I love.

We are overloaded and our minds can’t handle the overload. This in turn leads to apathy, despair, and callous hearts. To compensate, we often update our social media status, just to prove that we really do care, and we expect others to do the same. It’s like wearing a badge of honor; a status symbol of caring.

In the book Amusing Ourselves to Death, the author Neil Postman describes what he calls the “low information to action ration”. He links this concept back to the invention of the telegraph. Before the telegraph people received information that was relevant to their lives, information over which they had a measure of control. After the telegraph, people received information from miles away, information that they could do nothing about. News of wars and tragedies from across the world began to take central stage, while local news took a back page. “the local and the timeless … lost their central position in newspapers, eclipsed by the dazzle of distance and speed … Wars, crimes, crashes, fires, floods—much of it the social and political equivalent of Adelaide’s whooping coughs—became the content of what people called ‘the news of the day'” (pp. 66–67). So a “low information to action ratio” refers to the sense of helplessness we have when faced with information that we can do nothing about.

As Tish Warren says in an excellent article We are small people who, for the most part, live quiet lives, but we have access to endless stories of pain and brokenness.” 

I have been learning something about information overload and the cost of caring over these past years. I have found that I have to exit the noise. I cannot sustain the information overload. It renders me useless in every day life.

despite my huge limitations, a quiet place of contemplation and prayer are far more valuable than distraction and overload

When I give myself permission to exit the noise, when I allow myself to move to a place of quiet, I become healthier and more compassionate. In that quiet space I become far more able to see that despite my huge limitations, a quiet place of contemplation and prayer are far more valuable than distraction and overload.  “Think about it, Mom” says my son “prayer is the highest form of empathy, the greatest act of compassion.” He is wise beyond his years.

Prayer leads me to a reliance on a God who “will not grow tired or weary, and whose understanding no one can fathom” and in the comfort of those age-old words, I can lose the guilt and rely on a never-ending resource of compassion and strength, available to all in crisis.

Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. Isaiah 40:28

Earthquake Hits Genovia

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The top news story from all major news sources today is the earthquake  in the Kingdom of Genovia. The earthquake, measuring .2 on the Richter scale, was felt while plans for the New Year’s Eve Annual Gala, put on by the Royal Family, were underway. Multiple locations were affected, with the most destruction found in a parking lot full of Porsches and Mercedes near the Royal Palace. While no one was killed, many lost their precious vehicles  and the government is asking for aid for the many victims. “Our small  country is in shock. We just can’t believe that an earthquake would come so close to New Year’s Eve and hurt our celebration this way! It’s so terrible that this has happened! Genovia never did anything to deserve this” said the Foreign Minister of Genovia, tears streaming down his cheeks. He went on to say that he felt the people mocking the country for its response toward such a small quake did not realize that his fellow Genovians are like the “Princess in the princess and the pea – we are extremely sensitive and should not be mocked.” Indeed, social media like Facebook and Twitter were alive with the hashtag: #bigGenovianbabies and #SendadiapertoGenovia, adding insults to injury.

The United States, Russia and Iran have decided to press the pause button on their political differences and have pledged support to Genovia, calling for a joint meeting to discuss emergency aid. An unnamed source was heard saying “Of all the bad things that have happened this year, this is the baddest!”

It surprised no one when Agrabah said “Good Riddance! They got what they deserved.”

Internet sympathy for Genovia quickly spread with people spontaneously posting videos of themselves singing the Genovian National Anthem and displayed selfies with signs declaring “We LOVE Genovia and Princess Mia.” Republican and Democratic presidential hopefuls have been quick to express financial and emotional support for the Kingdom. One candidate spoke of the affection he felt for the wealth of the country while another declared that “This should teach the people what is really important! If mean-spirited people think they are babies then I’ll be a baby with them!” So there.

Princess Amelia [Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo] also known as “Mia” to her friends, is said to be safe and in a secure location. She is rumored to be asking after her cat – and no one in their right mind can blame her for that.

So we ask you to stop and remember those good people of Genovia already.

Meanwhile in real news, the war in Syria is now going on five years, outpouring of sympathy for refugees is rapidly fading, Iraqis from Mosul and Qaraqosh continue to pray that they can return to their homes, and people are rightly outraged and grieving about a young kid being killed.

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It happens to the best of us — We pass on things that we don’t really read; things that are false or completely ridiculous. We are quick to believe sound bites instead of waiting on more substance. We join the throngs of commenters and opinionators, immediately adding our thoughts on whatever the matter is – even when we don’t know anything about the issue at hand. We care deeply about the sound of our own voices and want to make sure that we are heard. And too often we end up caught in embarrassment and remorse.

And I can be the worst, so this coming year is my year to be more careful about all of this – more careful about what I read, what I share, what I write, and what I believe. If I let social media control what I think and what I don’t think I’m in a really scary place. Social media is amazing. I use it all the time. But it’s also a big, dangerous beast that needs taming and we are the only ones who can tame it.

So in this last post of the year, as I close out 2015, I have a wish. That is this: that we all be more careful  of what we read and what we share in 2016 and by doing so, tame the beast.

PS -If the country of Genovia sounds familiar here is why.

In the Face of Hate – Love Out Loud

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in the face of hate – Love Out Loud by Robynn & Marilyn

In Philadelphia, a severed pig’s head is thrown at the door of a mosque.

On the street in Boston a man tells a Muslim woman walking with her children that he hopes her children burn in hell.

A Somali restaurant in North Dakota is burned.

A Muslim shopkeeper is beaten.

Our Muslim friends say they are “laying low.”

And so we need to speak out. This is outrageous and offensive. This must stop. There is no “other side” to this debate. We speak as women who have lived in Muslim majority countries collectively for too many years to count and were treated with dignity and hospitality. But even if we did not have that background, as Christians we are compelled to speak out.

We are saddened and we are angry. How is the hateful behavior described above any different than that of ISIS? ISIS hates that which is different. They want conformity of thought and behavior. ISIS despises all those who disagree with them. But isn’t that what a mosque burned down and a beaten shopkeeper says? Doesn’t the threat of hell for small children and a massacred pigs head reveal the same heart? Don’t those vile actions declare that our culture too hates what is different, wants conformity and despising anyone who dares to disagree with us? Make no mistake, the roots of this behavior come from the same place as violent terrorism–hearts steeped in anger and hatred and fear.

One of the saddest parts of all of this is that Muslims have experienced both sides of these horrors. They’ve suffered the majority of the violence of terrorism and they’ve endured the terrible violent reactions to terrorism.

Muslims all over the country have spoken out against this barbarity, stating that this does not represent the majority of Muslims nor of Muslim cultures. The Islamic Society of Boston Cultural Center says this on their website:

“The ISBCC, an American-Muslim institution, deeply grieves the loss of life by extremists who use a twisted interpretation of our faith to justify heinous acts. This tiny handful of extremists does not reflect our values of peace and justice, and our commitment to the freedoms that make America great. We are also deeply troubled by bigots who would attempt to tie the entire American Muslim community in Boston to those who carry out acts that run counter to everything we, as Americans, stand for…”

But it’s not enough. They need others to speak up for them. They need sympathetic allies who bravely stand with them.

Marilyn and Robynn belong to a group of people who have lived life beside Muslim friends and neighbors. We have birthed babies, gone to funerals, celebrated at weddings, and cried at sick beds together with Muslims. We have recognized and respected each others truth claims, even as we choose to disagree, but we have remained friends. We have those who we would give our lives for, and we know they would give their lives for us.

And frankly, we are done. Enough is enough. These types of reactions have got to stop!  It seems to us that in the face of so much hatred it’s time to love out loud! Inspired by a letter by Sofia Ali-Khan, where she writes to Non-Muslim Allies asking us to stand up for and with Muslims (a letter gone viral now and one which we highly recommend tracking down!), we’ve compiled our own list of ways you might intentionally take action. (https://www.facebook.com/sofia.alikhan.7/posts/10153301068060893?fref=nf)

in the face of hate… Love Out Loud

Speak up against hate wherever it surfaces: in the lunch room at work, on the bus you ride, in the foyer at your church, in your living room, around your dining room table.

Host a discussion group at your local library. Invite a Muslim friend or two to share their story.

Host a book club. Read a book by a Muslim author. Check out goodreads for ideas (https://www.goodreads.com/shelf/show/muslim-author).

Talk to your kids. Teach them how to respond to hate speech. Instruct them how to love out loud. They are watching you react. Let them see a heart that cares and defends the oppressed and ill-treated.

Offer to talk to your kids youth group, or to a social studies class at school. Share your story of growing up with Muslims. Or share a story you’ve read of others who have grown up with Muslims.

Intentionally sit next to someone on the bus or train wearing a hijab.

Deliberately greet someone in a hijab. Be warm. Be welcoming.

Do you know Muslims that live in the US? Write them an email. Tell them how much you hate what’s going on. Tell them how much you appreciate them.

Cook Pakistani food…or Arab food…..or Afghani food for Christmas. Take pictures post them with recipes on Facebook.

Forgive ignorance when you hear it….but also bravely speak out. Tell a story. Educate gently.

Get together for coffee with Facebook friends who are different from you. Hear their stories. Listen to how they grew up. With relationship comes acceptance. With acceptance comes opportunity.

Invite a Muslim family over for a meal or for dessert. Reach out. Just your invitation alone says you reject the message the media is feeding you.

Write letters to public figures that insist on propagating falsity and calling it truth. Stop donating money to organizations that have spoken out with hatred. Distance yourself from people that refuse to engage the conversation with kindness.

Write a letter to the editor of your local newspaper welcoming Muslims to your town. Say something like, “I want you to know that in the face of so much hate speech in the media, I’m glad you’re here. Welcome!”

Stop by your local mosque. Apologize on behalf of the ignorance and fear in the recent media. State humbly and quietly that you appreciate the diversity a mosque brings to your community. Declare that there are people in your community who love and respect Muslims. Feel free to admit confusion over recent events but also say that you know that all Muslims are not terrorists. Say it out loud.

in the face of hateLove Out Loud

Related Arcticle: What Growing up in a Muslim Country taught us about Christianity.

Here is an excellent article we highly recommend that is refreshingly honest and free of politically correct speech.

A word about fear: “Fear looks to others to justify itself. Fear sees conspiracies in every corner. Fear gets caught up in group-think which, in our saner moments, we would scratch our heads at and wonder how we sold our thoughts in the slave market of sheep herders.” We are selling our thoughts in the slave market. Here are some other thoughts about fear:

Paris is White, Lebanon is Brown, Mizzou is Black

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[Poem is attributed to KARUNA EZARA PARIKH @karunaparikh http://www.dailyo.in/politics/pray-for-paris-isis-paris-attacks-prayer4paris-islamic-terror/story/1/7368.html%5D

I was off-line most of yesterday and so it wasn’t until late in the day that I saw the news about Paris.

Horrific news of multiple attacks throughout the city — a rock concert, a stadium, gun attacks at the center of the city in a heavily populated area. In all, 128 people dead and over 180 injured. France has closed its borders and ISIS has proudly taken responsibility.

The world has poured out its support and love for France, much like it did during the Boston Marathon attacks. My newsfeed fills up with people expressing sadness, outrage, and shock. Rightly so – it’s an evil, terrible attack and our minds try to make sense of the terror. I think the statement so many will not voice is this:  “If it happens in Paris, it can happen anywhere.” If it can happen anywhere, than no where is safe.

*****

On Thursday twin suicide bombers attacked the city of Beirut. 44 people are dead and over 200 people are wounded. ISIS claims responsibility and Beirut grieves once again. It has been over a year since they have experienced this kind of violence. One person writes about it on her newsfeed – a friend who lives in Lebanon and loves the city. Otherwise I am struck by how unimportant it is to the Western world.

*****

In Baghdad, a suicide bomber targets a funeral while two roadside bombs go off in Sadr City. At the funeral 18 people are killed while over 40 men lay wounded, unable to do anything but wait for help. I don’t see this news on anyone’s newsfeed. It’s unimportant to the world. Because it happens all the time.

*****

In Missouri, a university continues to reel in chaos and anger. It’s been months, years even and black students have not felt safe. They have called out for help for a long time and no one has listened. A swastika is scrawled in feces across a residence hall wall, but there is no newsfeed outrage. This is a symbol known across the world as a symbol of violence and hatred of people groups. But still no news. Over and over again black students say they don’t feel safe, but they are largely ignored by both their administration and the rest of the nation. “White silence is violence, no justice, no peace” the protesters cry out for someone to listen. Why is it ignored until a president resigns? Racism is too hard, so much easier to ignore than address, both systemically and individually.

*****

I have a conversation with my daughter. She went to a Christian college, and her friends from college are outraged by Paris. They send off messages of prayer and hope and light for the City of Lights. But not one of them seems to know about Lebanon, or Baghdad, or Mizzou. Her high school friends are not Christian, yet they have stood in solidarity with Mizzou and tried to bring awareness to those issues. They care about Lebanon and Baghdad as well as Paris.

And I wake up troubled. The world feels so broken, so beyond repair.

And I too weep for Paris, for the grief and loss that cannot be quantified. But I can’t help thinking about how little the other events matter to our world. I can’t help thinking that somehow we have been deceived into believing that the white, Western world is more worthy of empathy and concern, not only in our sight, but in the sight of God. I can’t help thinking that the reason for the difference in interest is because Paris is white, Lebanon is brown, and Mizzou is black. I know in theory it may be more complicated – but it doesn’t feel complicated right now, because I watch this over and over again. I know my words when written will be subject to critique, but I write them all the same, because it’s the only thing I know to do.

I pray yet again the only prayer I know to pray during these times of sadness and frustration – Lord Have Mercy. Lord have mercy on our broken, hurting world – and on all of us who are just as broken.  And I thank God that he does care, that he is not influenced by newsfeeds, that he weeps for the black, the brown, and the white, offering love and comfort to all.

For my Friend and the Kids he’s Raising

I sit in a row of cubicles toward the front of a large building in downtown Boston. One of my cubicle mates is a man from Malawi that I’ll call Paul. He is a handsome, intelligent man and we have become good friends in the past few years.

Today he asked me if I had seen what happened in McKinney, Texas. McKinney, a suburb of Dallas, is described as a “fast-growing, mostly middle-class suburb with deep racial and economic divisions.”*  The setting was a suburban neighborhood on the west side of the city that is described as racially diverse. It is considered a place where there are good relationships between a diverse group of people.

The details slowly emerge. A pool party in a subdivision. A lot of teenagers. A white woman making a racial slur, telling the kid whose mom was hosting the party to “Go back to Section 8 housing; a physical fight; police called; and then an escalation of violence. It had all the ingredients of a tragedy. There was none, except for in the life of a 14-year old girl. 

McKinney now joins the infamous ranks of places that have highlighted the racism present in the United States. Boston, Ferguson, Tamir Rice, “I can’t breathe”, Black Lives Matter, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin – these are the household words of the past couple of years.

And so I had seen what happened in McKinney. I had watched the video feeling sick to my stomach. I wanted to throw up as I saw a man who should know better escalating a situation. I thought of my black friends and colleagues, and realized yet again that the world they live in is different from the world I live in.

But back to my colleague — Paul has two children: a beautiful daughter who just finished her freshman year of college, and a son who is in middle school. And when he saw the video of the 14-year old girl in a bikini, a towel wrapped around her, he saw his daughter. He saw his daughter thrown on the ground, her face in the grass. He saw his daughter, crying out for her mama. He saw an officer, knee on the back of a little girl, his little girl. Because he is black, and his daughter is black.

I have two daughters, and they are strong young women. One of them has been known to yell at a police officer, to shake her finger in his face. I am not proud of that, but I never worried that she would be thrown to the ground — because she lives in a different universe than Paul and his kids.

I’m not arguing the full case of McKinney here. I was not there. I know some of the story, but I don’t know all the story. I am arguing that you don’t throw a 14-year old girl to the ground. It’s not okay.

My heart is breaking for the Pauls and those they are raising – their girls and boys. My heart breaks for that little girl. I don’t care what she was yelling, that she was thrown on the ground, face to the grass, is not okay. She calls for her mama at least three times, and each time my heart breaks.

The United States is grossly arrogant when it comes to the world stage. We claim the moral high ground on every issue. We claim freedom, justice, liberty for all.

For all but Paul and the kids he’s raising. 

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I highly recommend this article from Austin Channing – This is What it’s Like. Here is an excerpt:

But for a moment. Before this becomes about you and your actions and your reactions and your thoughts and your assessment and your judgements, i need you to know two things. 

1. I need you to know that she is fully human. I need you to know that she is a full person who exists outside this one moment and also felt every yank, tug, pull, press of what you watch. I need you to know that this is not “just another” anything. This is a moment in this girls life forever. She slept in her bed this weekend, and ate breakfast prepared by her momma, and received phone calls from her girlfriends, and is right now trying to make sense of how her body, mind, emotions and spirit will carry on in the world. She is human. 

2. I need you to know that whatever feelings I had as I watched this unfold, whatever pain I felt, whatever reaction I had, God had tenfold. God felt every yank and pull. God felt every shooting pain and press of the body. God felt her sobs. For God knows the violence of this world, is intimately aware of state-sanctioned brutality. God needs not imagine. God knows. God knows this little girl’s pain, a pain she didnt choose and should not have endured. – Austin Channing

*Jarring Image of Police’s Use of Force at Texas Pool Party – NY Times

Remember Their Names

They have a name

I look at the picture and read through the names. 21 in all. They feel familiar, though rusty, on my tongue. Reading these names, praying as I read them feels like the best thing I can do to honor these men.

There is something important about remembering their names. There is something defiant in the act of saying the names, of saying them aloud, of making sure people know they are not nobodies.

The men were laborers in Libya for economic reasons. ISIS captured them because they were “people of the cross.” They are brothers and sons, employees and friends, husbands and confidantes. Each of the 21 men who died is known by name. And when we remember their names, we honor them.

The president of Egypt announced seven days of mourning for the nation and Christians and Muslims are coming together to grieve with the families of the victims.

Friends from Egypt sent out a message yesterday. They will be slowly visiting the families of the men who were murdered. They will sit and grieve with them; mourn the loss of these young men. And they will remember their names. 

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Last week in the city of Chapel Hill, three people were murdered. They were murdered in their home, their safe haven. Pictures show Chapel Hill to be a charming city, indeed those I know who have lived there love it. It is a university city, home to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

But three Muslims, one man and two women, were murdered by an atheist motivated by hate.

I read through their names slowly. Deah Barakat, his wife – Yusor Mohammad Abu-Salha, her sister – Razan Mohammad Abu-Salha. They are 23, 21, and 19 respectively. Deah was a University of North Carolina dental student. Reports say they were newly married, scheduled to receive their wedding photographs on the week they were killed.

They loved the diversity of America and were active members of their community. Yusor was quoted as saying this last summer: “Growing up in America has been such a blessing. It doesn’t matter where you come from. There’s so many different people from so many different places, of different backgrounds and religions — but here, we’re all one.” 

The enemy would have us forget, the enemy would have us remember the name ISIS, the name of the one who murdered Deah, Yusor, and Razan. Instead, we remember the names of those who died.

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 Will you remember these names with me today? 

For Love of Little K

For Love of Little K by Robynn

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I just spent a couple of hours catching up with my friend Kimmery. Because of the nature of the summers we’ve both had we haven’t seen each other in forever. It was fabulous to visit her in her new place, see boxes mostly unpacked, pictures already hung on the walls. She is settling in.

Kimmery is my friend. I love her deeply. She’s actually famous in our town for wearing the #4 K-State Wildcats basketball jersey when the Lady Cats were in their prime (2000-2004). Recruited from a high school in Nashville, she left her mama, her younger siblings, her community to move all the way to Kansas to play basketball.

A year ago she earned her PhD from Kansas State University in Family Studies. She’s one of the most determined, hard working women I know.  And she has heart. Dr. Newsom cares deeply: for her clients, her family and her friends. She’s loyal and long-lasting.

More importantly, Kimmery, is the mother of nearly 2 Little K. If she’s determined as a professional, she’s also devoted as a mother. She loves well, sacrificially, completely. Little K is disciplined and bright. He knows right from wrong. He can count to ten forwards and backwards. The little stinker already knows many of his ABCs.

Kimmery made coffee and gave me a tour of her place before it brewed. She offered me breakfast. She hadn’t slept well the night before and she was exhausted. It was a slow going morning for her. She was late getting to eat. I chatted away as she fixed herself an omelet and washed a bowl of grapes for Little K. I told her about our move, how the kids were settling, what I was working through in my attitude. After she sat down she shared some of the struggles she was facing with finding child care. Her daycare provider was suspended. It’s a tough story with complications and human complexities. We spoke of her mom, who’s been working hard to get her GED, but who recently found a job.

And then I asked Kimmery what she thought about what’s going on in Ferguson. She bristled some, sat up straighter, and asked me if I really wanted to know. I told her I did. I thought I did.

What followed was nearly forty-five minutes of her sharing her responses to what happened in the past ten days in Ferguson, Missouri. She nearly cried when she described what upset her the most. After Michael Brown was shot six times, two of those times in the head, he lay there in the street, uncovered, on display. His own mother a mere yard away was prevented from coming near the body of her dead baby for “investigative purposes”. Kimmery passionately pleaded with me, “Where was the ambulance? Why wasn’t he covered? Why didn’t someone call 911?” She said all she could see was pictures of dead black men and women hanging from trees, lynched and left on display, while white people stood around and watched. She told me story after story of similar things where black men and women were immediately assumed to be guilty and were mistreated simply because they were black.

Connor and I were chatting yesterday evening. He wants to go to Ferguson to join the protesters. He wants to skip school and go. In his mind this is history in the making. One person can make a difference he told me with the passion of youth. It’s an issue of civil rights. It’s not right what’s happened there.

With tears in his eyes he prophetically spoke a powerful truth, “Racism is still an issue mom. If anything it’s worse now than it’s ever been because people say it’s not an issue.”

At one point in the conversation she pointed over to Little K, who at the time was flinging his head back and forth on the couch. He was babbling jibberish and squealing at the educational program on the tv. Kimmery, pointing at Little K, said, “How am I supposed to raise him? Knowing he has a target on his back from the moment he’s born.” That’s when I could hardly contain my sobs. I’ve known that Little K man since he was born. When he was barely two months old I watched him once a week while his mom taught class. He’s been in and out of our home ever since. At church he reaches for me. I snuggle my head into his neck and he giggles. Tears ran down my face. How can Little K be the black man shot down? But that’s Kimmery’s greatest fear. Michael Brown’s mother in an early encounter with a television camera after her son was shot, railed at the reporter, “Do you people not know how hard it was to raise him? To keep him off the streets? To get him to graduate from high school? To get him enrolled in college”. Kimmery honestly can relate to that heart breaking mother’s lament. She gets it. She faces it. She fears it.

I drove away from Kimmery’s house with my heart stuck in grief. My spirit was in convulsions as I agonized with my friend. I didn’t know how to process Kimmery’s anguish. I didn’t know how to respond, what to do, where to take it. I cried so hard I should have put the windshield wipers on. I could barely see.

And I took my heart to Jesus. I took Kimmery there too. I scooped up Little K on to my shoulder and I marched him over to Jesus too. I had no place else to go. Deep inside, where there was a very small quiet spot, I heard the whisper of a tiny verse from the ancient old letter St Paul penned to the pockets of the faithful in the community of Galatia. “There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus…” There is great gospel truth in that tiny line of scripture. This is what life is supposed to be like. This is why Jesus came: to eliminate the lines, to erase the boundaries. This motivates me to work toward those equalities. I take on civil justice issues. I take on the freedoms of women, I take on the immigrant’s story because these are the things Jesus took on.  He intended that his message and his love would communicate across boundaries and slowly, slowly eliminate them.

I could drive away from Kimmery’s house. Kimmery cannot. She is beautifully black and she’s raising a black son to manhood. Somehow, and I have no idea how she’ll even begin, she has to learn to live above her fears. Somehow, and again this seems impossible to me, she has to find the space to shake off suspicion and truly live. But I don’t know how she possibly can but for the remarkable peace that comes from Jesus who delights in her colour. I commend her to his care.

For the love of my Little K we have to keep talking about this stuff. It may make us flinch inside. It may stir up anger or resentment or confusion. Those of us who are white need to own that there is privilege in that. We need to see what’s happening around us. No more denial. No more overstepping or abusing our freedoms. Let’s be honest. Let’s communicate across these boundaries as well. Please, for the love of Little K.

For further reading please see this excellent article Dear White Mom

What is your response as you think of inequalities and race? 

Picture Credit: http://pixabay.com/en/shake-hand-handshake-agreement-369025/