A White Mom's Confession to Her Black Daughter

I have never told you that you are black. I have told you, you have brown skin and that you are beautiful. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to make race an issue in our family. That was stupid. It is. You are black. I am white.

You doing what you love best. Playing in the water.

 I have no idea what it is like to be black in this country. In the south.  I have told myself that is ok, because we live in such an educated area. People are wiser here than the rural south. That was stupid. I must find black women that can come along side you and teach you about being black.

I once stole a pair of shorts from a department store in high school. Not because I needed them. Not because my parents didn’t provide everything I needed and more. Just because. I don’t’ even know why. I only wore those shorts once. I didn’t wear them because  I was afraid. Afraid to get in trouble. But I was never afraid of being shot for stealing. Because I am white.

You are so beautiful and I love your brown skin, your curly hair and your bright brown eyes. But when I am walking alone and an unknown man with the same brown skin is walking towards me, my heart quickens a bit. And I hate that about myself.

A prize from the soda dive at the pool July 4th.

I am thankful you are a girl. I think it is harder for the boys. But I still worry. Will you have a parent that won’t allow you to date their son only because the color of your skin? Will you be turned down for that job you really want? Will all of our family and friends honor your role as our beloved daughter?

I do not claim to know what happened last weekend with Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri.  But I know that race issues in this country are still very hard. I know that we are not treating each other with love. 

I sit staring at this blinking cursor because I am not sure what else to write. What are my next steps? I’m not sure here. I think the first step for me is to start being real with all of this. Acknowledge my own role in fighting these racial divides. Stand up to say, “Daughter, I love you. I will not accept that you and all the other black people in this country should live in fear. “   AND  “White people- we have to do better. Love better. Stand together better.” 

The Best Day: Thoughts from Camp

I wrote a piece to share with the folks at my church about camp and thought I would share it here also:

“This was the best day,” said June.  June was sitting at a picnic table finishing up a craft she had made with her counselor.  She had spent the day singing, swimming and horseback riding.

June is 8 years old. The same age as my daughter. She has brown hair and bright blue eyes. The same as my daughter.  She loves to dance, shoot basketball and swim. The same as my daughter.

But June and Sarah Bess live very different lives. Sarah Bess lives with two parents who provide all she needs. June does not. Sarah Bess was born in Apex and has lived in one house all eight of her years. June has lived in 6 different homes this year. Sarah Bess is able to go to sleep at night knowing she will be in her house with her family tomorrow. June cannot.

June is one of the almost 400,000 children living in foster care in the US. There are over 600 children in foster care in Wake County alone.

This past week I had the amazing opportunity to be a counselor at Royal Family Kids Camp. Apex United Methodist Church and our Family of Faith Communities supported this effort through sponsoring a child to attend camp and donating sheets and other supplies for campers ($500 from our pastoral discretionary fund, and over $400 for supplies).

Royal Family Kids Camp began as the dream of Wayne and Diane Tesch 23 years ago to provide a life changing camp experience to children in foster care who have experienced abuse, neglect or abandonment. In 2012, Royal Family Kids Camp served over 6,000 children in 160 camps in 35 states and 11 countries. This summer a total of 200 camps will occur.

I could share stories of 36 children that attended camp this past week. I could tell you of my two twelve year old campers. One who missed almost 50 days of school this past year. Her mother needed to keep moving them because she couldn't pay her bills. This made for an unsuitable home environment landing my camper in foster care. She was one of 10 sibling sets that attended camp, the oldest of four girls all separated into different foster homes.  Or I could share about my 12 year old camper who cried when she learned that this will be both her first and last year at camp as a 12 year old. Girls who remain in foster care until they are 18 have life stacked against them according to statistics.

Children aging out of foster care often become homeless, incarcerated, trafficked or experience post-traumatic stress and other mental disorders.  Royal Family Kids Camp aims to change this one child at a time.  And while I can’t give you their real names or show you their faces, I can ask you to pray for them. And to pray for the children that will be coming to camp next year.

Before heading out to camp, I asked people to pray for me. In response, several very kind friends told me it was a wonderful thing I was doing. With respect to those friends, I would rather not put this on me. Because then it is about me and not about God. When it is about me and not about God, it makes it not about you. And it is about you.

“God calls us to do  thanks. To give thanks away. That thanks-giving literally be called thanks-living. That our lives become the very blessings we have received. I am Blessed. I CAN bless.” Ann Voskamp.

Next year I hope to come back for a week at Royal Family Kids Camp and I hope to bring some of you with me. There are many needs at camp…counselors, activity assistants, photographers and cooks. There are even opportunities for those that can’t come for an entire week to pray for those attending, help with registration or the Wednesday night carnival. I desire for us to be a community that creates ‘best days’ for many children.

At 519 we say, “Love Well. Live Differently”. To live this requires Action. To Do Love. To Be Love.

According to Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest, the essential religious experience is when we come to know that God is a process more than a conclusion and that God is more a verb than a noun.

God is a verb. We are vessels filled with his spirit to carry him into the world.

The Broken Picture

The little girl hoped desperately to please them. She knew they were still angry with her for what she did last week and that their trust was gone.

There were many family and friends coming over to celebrate. It was Christmas Eve and her mother was no longer sick. The house was decorated with lights and fresh green wreaths. She loved the smell of those wreaths. Everyone was hurriedly making last minute preparations in the kitchen. She thought it best if she stay out of the way.

She sat quietly in the living room staring at the tall tree when her eyes were drawn to the picture. The one of her grandmother she had never met. The one everyone said she looked so much alike. She slightly hesitated, but knew she would be careful and wanted a closer look. Nothing could go wrong when she was trying so hard to be good. Right? She was five now after all.

But she slipped and she dropped the picture. The glass shattered. Her first reaction was to look around. Did anyone see it? Did anyone hear it? But they were all too busy. She gathered up all the pieces and ran down the hall to her room.

If she could only fix it. Put it back exactly as it was before. Then they wouldn't be angry. Disappointed in her. They would still love her. She desperately looked around the room for something...oh yes, tape! She ran to the kitchen and grabbed the tape unnoticed. She ran back to her room and oh so carefully began to put the picture back in the frame, placing the clear tape on top of the glass.

"Perfect.", she thought and held it up to inspect her work. But when she held it up a piece fell out and it didn't look like before.

There was a slight knock at the door. "Are you ready for the party?" It was her father. The man whose mother's picture she had broken. The one she had lied to last week about another broken item. The one she wanted so much to please.

She began to cry. As her father opened the door, she ran to him and held up the broken picture. And she began to cry harder.

Her father took the broken offering in one arm and in the other he scooped her up. "It's OK little one. I can fix this. Together we can make it better."

He went to his room and came back with another picture frame. The one with a place for two pictures. One space held her picture and the other was empty. Her mother had bought it with such excitement and hope for another child before she got sick. The one that had been tucked away in a drawer once it began to bring tears instead of joy.

"Let's put it in here", he said. "We'll use your tape."