I don't know what it's like to be black

I called a friend to ask for prayer and catch up. When I asked her "how are you?" Her answer came slowly and cautiously, "It's been rough the past few weeks." 

Pause.

I waited and then urged her to tell me more. Throughout the rest of our call and the rest of the day I realized...

I don’t know what it’s like to be black. I don’t know what it feels like for race, discrimination and biases to be a huge part of my life. I don’t know what it’s like to experience hurtful comments and emotional injuries to my personhood in every aspect of my life—my neighborhood, my church, my job, my school, my ministry, my travel--because of the color of my skin. I don’t know what it is like to navigate this with my black children.

I know there are many injustices, but I don’t know what it feels like, as a black woman, when racial injustice gets lumped together with all the other sins and nothing changes, nothing is dealt with, and it is dismissed.

I don’t know what it feels like to live uncomfortable. To be on edge and afraid to travel--especially at night. I don’t know what it is like to ignore, to look past it, and fix my face when comments are made and looks are given because I am black. I don't know what it's like to tell one of my kids to "fix your face" when someone has just hurt them.

I don’t know what it’s like to be black.

My friend does. She shared these things. This is just one small glimpse into her world. This may not be every black person's story, but it is hers. And I am undone. She is my friend and I had no idea. I'm so sorry for that.

 

I look at the news and I know I cannot change the world and make all of these painful things go away. So I turn to my friend and ask her, how can I love you?

Reach out, check in, be normal, be a friend.

Talk and ask questions.

Be willing to be uncomfortable.

That’s a start.