I’m tired of mourning the same narrative. The same tired, tried and true narrative. Same charterers, different name; same setting, different backdrop; same result, same response.
I’m tired of having to explain why I’m tired
I’m tired of being the only one who has to de-escalate in these kinds of situations. I’m tired of trying to look non-threatening, speak safely, live extra-cautiously; I’m tired of not knowing when I get pulled over if I’m the only one who cares if I get home safely.
I’m tired of having to care about the “white gaze”; that look from some of your white friends when you vent about race; that look you try to avoid so you don’t write that status that might offend them, as if in the midst of my mourning I have to be equally to concerned with the fragility that conversations of race seem to bring. That look that almost didn’t get this paragraph written for fear of the response
I’m tired of not feeling safe enough to talk about why I’m mad; I’m tired of being able to talk about my moral failures, my theological doubts, my ensnaring sin with my brothers of non-color but feel the need to bite my tongue when it comes to race for fear of being met with defensive walls that trump empathy, understanding and compassion
I’m tired of drowning and having to tell the people who aren’t drowning that I’m drowning; I’m tired of having to prove that consistent drownings can’t be called isolated events when CNN posts them once a month now; I’m tired of having to tread water, while keeping a smile, hoping that you would see that my legs are getting tired but knowing it’s too much to ask you to look down from where you stand…
I’m tired of having to remind those who’ve never had to prove their human dignity to the world that although there is an improper and wrong response to adversity, that most times that improper response was begotten from an improper parent called silence;
I’m tired of having to remind people that black lives matter doesn’t mean that other lives don’t; it just means we feel ours isn’t safely tucked under that cheap all lives matter umbrella you should have left at home.
I’m tired of not hearing responses from the church as if it can only speak on certain injustices; You don’t ask unborn fetuses to wait till all the facts come out or suggest that sex slaves must have done something to provoke this; I’m tired of the church acting like losing religious freedom is its greatest opponent when in reality not speaking the full gospel to the least of these is one of the greatest crime it can commit. Like our Father Adam, we are silent and passive as chaos slithers around our communities.
I know the Lord reigns; I know my God is active; I know He is sovereign and does only what is good and perfect; I know the church can and will do better; I know I have brothers and sisters who deeply care and are willing to confused and hurt with me as we dive into the mess; I know freedom won’t come holistically in this life but is assuredly promised in the next for those who trust in Jesus’ work. I know my sin against God far outweighs any sin done to me and therefore grace beckons me to be gracious. And although I know those who wait on the Lord will have their strength renewed and shall mount on wings like eagles. But as I wait, just let it be known, I’m tired…..