We thought long and hard before taking in black children into our family.
We live in a small, rural, white community and our kids go to a well-intentioned, ethnically challenged school. I have sat through the school spring concerts in a cold sweat as I looked out at all those blondies wondering if my kids can find a place here, too. Our sweet little Ethiopians bring smiles now because they're cute and little. I wonder, no...I know that some of those smiles will change if one of my kids shows up to date a daughter or son. I worry about them fitting in, finding friends, marrying spouses, being teased, facing heartache, resenting me because I am not the mom they should have had. I dread the day when they look at themselves and feel shame because they are different. I want to protect their hearts, their souls, their beings from nonacceptance and rejection and THAT DAY when they realize that their gorgeous little chocolate skin might not work in their favor.
We are a trans-racial family. I never dreamed this for myself. I guess God shaped my heart in a way that could be filled by this bunch that looks so different from me. And I would NEVER have thought my hubs would get on board at the idea of traveling to Africa to fill our quiver. God shaped his heart, too. And apparently God has prepared him for a dozen or so.
We are a trans-racial family. When I head out, I am noticed. People look. They remember us. They smile. They stare. They glare. They ask. I don't leave the house without someone making a judgement about me...my kids...my family. Sometimes that feels kind of weighty when all you want to do is run in for a gallon of milk. Some days it feels like a platform to speak words for the kids like my kids who need families. Some days, I'm so proud of them. My girl who still thinks her hair is pretty and whose smile lights up a room. She doesn't walk. She bounces and skips and sings her way through life and is so carefree. She and her beautiful, bright smile and her endless energy. And my boy who grins at me every time I look at him with his little curls and that skin. It is just delicious.
I remember going to the store and a random woman coming up to me and saying, "I remember you. You were here last Thursday." I could not say the same. And once a gentleman came up to me to talk hair routines. And another black man actually elbow- bumped me over a Crisco conversation. And when I go to the doctor's office, they know our names and not because of repeated illnesses. I have been stared at by a black family with arms crossed and scowls on their faces. I have been told that "these" children are so precious. Children at school have literally stopped in their tracks when we walked down the hallways. Random strangers have come up and asked to touch her hair. People have pointed and others have broke into tears.
And last week, on one of our first Sundays out to a church as a family of six, I left the service to walk the chatty, squirmy baby around out back. The pastor read Dr. King's speech during his sermon.
I have a dream where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
I've heard this speech before. I was educated, reminded, and even empathetic in the past. Now, I am emotionally invested. I started boo-hooing right there as I was holding my black baby in my white hands and thinking that in another time not so long ago, THIS WOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED. We are the literal incarnation of this man's dream.
I slipped back into our row as the final song played. We walked out together and a man came up next to me and in front of my babes, leaned in and asked, "Are you working through Child Protective Services?"
I guess we have a ways to go and if we could speed the process up, that would be great. Because my babies are growing up and I want them to be loved and I just want skin color to be a NON-ISSUE. I want their hearts to shine through. Their value to be acknowledged because they are CHILDREN OF THEIR HEAVENLY FATHER MADE IN HIS IMAGE.
My dear Eden, my dreams for you are grand. I pray that you are surrounded by friends and opportunities and every good thing that you deserve. I hope that you find a godly man who sees your beauty, inside and out. I want for you all that life has to offer with nothing to hold you back. May you look in the mirror and still keep smiling and singing and bouncing your way through life. You are complete and enough just as you are.
And little Judah...my man. When I look into your big, brown eyes, I don't know how anyone could not fall in love with you. I hope that others will see your sweet temperament and calm, contented ways. May you find your place in life through struggles and joy and an assurance of who you are in Christ. May you be respected as a lover of people and a lover of God.
And Dr. King. Thanks for thinking big. Big enough to start movements that bring about change. Because if you didn't have a dream, I wouldn't be living it.
We live in a small, rural, white community and our kids go to a well-intentioned, ethnically challenged school. I have sat through the school spring concerts in a cold sweat as I looked out at all those blondies wondering if my kids can find a place here, too. Our sweet little Ethiopians bring smiles now because they're cute and little. I wonder, no...I know that some of those smiles will change if one of my kids shows up to date a daughter or son. I worry about them fitting in, finding friends, marrying spouses, being teased, facing heartache, resenting me because I am not the mom they should have had. I dread the day when they look at themselves and feel shame because they are different. I want to protect their hearts, their souls, their beings from nonacceptance and rejection and THAT DAY when they realize that their gorgeous little chocolate skin might not work in their favor.
We are a trans-racial family. I never dreamed this for myself. I guess God shaped my heart in a way that could be filled by this bunch that looks so different from me. And I would NEVER have thought my hubs would get on board at the idea of traveling to Africa to fill our quiver. God shaped his heart, too. And apparently God has prepared him for a dozen or so.
We are a trans-racial family. When I head out, I am noticed. People look. They remember us. They smile. They stare. They glare. They ask. I don't leave the house without someone making a judgement about me...my kids...my family. Sometimes that feels kind of weighty when all you want to do is run in for a gallon of milk. Some days it feels like a platform to speak words for the kids like my kids who need families. Some days, I'm so proud of them. My girl who still thinks her hair is pretty and whose smile lights up a room. She doesn't walk. She bounces and skips and sings her way through life and is so carefree. She and her beautiful, bright smile and her endless energy. And my boy who grins at me every time I look at him with his little curls and that skin. It is just delicious.
I remember going to the store and a random woman coming up to me and saying, "I remember you. You were here last Thursday." I could not say the same. And once a gentleman came up to me to talk hair routines. And another black man actually elbow- bumped me over a Crisco conversation. And when I go to the doctor's office, they know our names and not because of repeated illnesses. I have been stared at by a black family with arms crossed and scowls on their faces. I have been told that "these" children are so precious. Children at school have literally stopped in their tracks when we walked down the hallways. Random strangers have come up and asked to touch her hair. People have pointed and others have broke into tears.
And last week, on one of our first Sundays out to a church as a family of six, I left the service to walk the chatty, squirmy baby around out back. The pastor read Dr. King's speech during his sermon.
I have a dream where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
I've heard this speech before. I was educated, reminded, and even empathetic in the past. Now, I am emotionally invested. I started boo-hooing right there as I was holding my black baby in my white hands and thinking that in another time not so long ago, THIS WOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED. We are the literal incarnation of this man's dream.
I slipped back into our row as the final song played. We walked out together and a man came up next to me and in front of my babes, leaned in and asked, "Are you working through Child Protective Services?"
I guess we have a ways to go and if we could speed the process up, that would be great. Because my babies are growing up and I want them to be loved and I just want skin color to be a NON-ISSUE. I want their hearts to shine through. Their value to be acknowledged because they are CHILDREN OF THEIR HEAVENLY FATHER MADE IN HIS IMAGE.
My dear Eden, my dreams for you are grand. I pray that you are surrounded by friends and opportunities and every good thing that you deserve. I hope that you find a godly man who sees your beauty, inside and out. I want for you all that life has to offer with nothing to hold you back. May you look in the mirror and still keep smiling and singing and bouncing your way through life. You are complete and enough just as you are.
And little Judah...my man. When I look into your big, brown eyes, I don't know how anyone could not fall in love with you. I hope that others will see your sweet temperament and calm, contented ways. May you find your place in life through struggles and joy and an assurance of who you are in Christ. May you be respected as a lover of people and a lover of God.
And Dr. King. Thanks for thinking big. Big enough to start movements that bring about change. Because if you didn't have a dream, I wouldn't be living it.
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