Marathon

 

About 25 years ago I ran a marathon. It was on my bucket list and after we moved to Houston with our new baby girl in 1999, I decided it was time to check it off my list. I trained for about 5 months and my only goal was to finish and run the whole time.

During the marathon, there were cheerleaders along the way – strangers and family met me at different mile points and gave me lots of encouragement. Hydration and refueling stations were strategically placed on the course and even a beer station at mile 21.

There were also small stretches that felt really long when I ran alone. I couldn’t see anyone in front of me nor behind me. I finished in just over 5 hours and when I crossed the finish line I felt relief, pride, joy and weakness. I was dehydrated and hungry but I couldn’t eat with feeling so sick.

I’ve been a parent for almost 26 years now. It has felt much like that marathon…lots of cheerleaders, hydrating and refueling stations, and even some beer stops along the way. There have been times I felt very alone and times when I didn’t feel like I had enough…enough love, energy, resources, care, hope.

There’s no finish line in sight. But I am still moving forward and I am not alone. Where are you in this race?

Lessons from my East African Sister

I found this draft that I had started in April 2018 on my blog. I don't know why I never posted it--probably just got interrupted by the daily busyness and never got back to it. This was written when we shared our home with a family of 7 for 11 months...

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.