Going a little ahead, he fell on his face, praying, “My Father, if there is any way, get me out of this. But please, not what I want. You, what do you want?” Matthew 26:39
Being the mom of a little black boy is in equal parts joyous and terrifying. Holding my son in my arms I cried both tears of joy because he was here and safe and terrified because I knew that as a little black boy in America I couldn't always keep him that way.
That is the dichotomy of being Black in America. Equal parts joy and pain. Finding the balance of existing and surviving. Holding ones breathe every time your loved one is out of your sight and hoping they will make it home safe.
Often, I wonder, "Lord can you take this cup from me?" Feeling the weight of holding your world together without being able to control the factors that seek to destroy it. Seek to destroy my husband who is big and tall. My son when is smart and growing like a weed. My daughter who is sassy and independent. All because of our color.
When Jesus was in the Garden He asked God the same thing, Father, is there anyway to get me out of this?
When Jesus came to earth the Jews were in a similar situation as we find ourselves now, oppressed. Existing under rule that didn't value them. They saw Jesus as their immediate Savoir, although his purpose was much greater.
So Jesus sitting in the Garden at this point in His journey resonates deeply with me. Just being tired. Wanting to know if there is another way because this burden just feels so crushing. Wanting to know why they hate me? Why they see us as a threat? Why they seek to destroy us when we just want to live?
George Floyd was killed by police last week and his name is added to the roll of Black people killed in this country for the last 400 years. And as a person who already is scared when her husband leaves the house or who is scared for her son because of how they criminalize black boys its a mix of fear and anxiety that rushes to the surface every time these things happen. A trauma that has been simmering below the surface that rears its ugly head and causes tears of anguish.
If I could cry tears of blood, like Jesus did in the Garden, l think I would.
It is just so heavy.
But when I think about it, as did Jesus, we must keep pressing on.
Jesus took His time to grieve the moment. To let it out. To deal with and express the emotions He was feeling and then He got up and pressed forward.
Not my will, but thine will be done
If it was up to me I would gather my loved ones in a bubble and shut us off from the world. But I can't do that. There is much work to be done. Although my destiny isn't to die to save the world I believe that I am poised to be an agent of change. In my home. When I vote. In my children's lives and in the lives of others though the work I do. God's will is that I continue to fight to live, to demand justice, to step out boldly in the freedom He died in order for me to have, and to be an example for the generations after me.
I love been Black. I love my culture, my people and I love who God has made me to be though this journey is hard and fraught with danger. Thus is life.
While I am sad, angry and hurting I find comfort in knowing my Savior has been in a similar moment and that He is in this moment with me now. I cannot pass the cup but with Jesus I will keep on pressing forward.
That is the dichotomy of being Black in America. Equal parts joy and pain. Finding the balance of existing and surviving. Holding ones breathe every time your loved one is out of your sight and hoping they will make it home safe.
Often, I wonder, "Lord can you take this cup from me?" Feeling the weight of holding your world together without being able to control the factors that seek to destroy it. Seek to destroy my husband who is big and tall. My son when is smart and growing like a weed. My daughter who is sassy and independent. All because of our color.
When Jesus was in the Garden He asked God the same thing, Father, is there anyway to get me out of this?
When Jesus came to earth the Jews were in a similar situation as we find ourselves now, oppressed. Existing under rule that didn't value them. They saw Jesus as their immediate Savoir, although his purpose was much greater.
So Jesus sitting in the Garden at this point in His journey resonates deeply with me. Just being tired. Wanting to know if there is another way because this burden just feels so crushing. Wanting to know why they hate me? Why they see us as a threat? Why they seek to destroy us when we just want to live?
George Floyd was killed by police last week and his name is added to the roll of Black people killed in this country for the last 400 years. And as a person who already is scared when her husband leaves the house or who is scared for her son because of how they criminalize black boys its a mix of fear and anxiety that rushes to the surface every time these things happen. A trauma that has been simmering below the surface that rears its ugly head and causes tears of anguish.
If I could cry tears of blood, like Jesus did in the Garden, l think I would.
It is just so heavy.
But when I think about it, as did Jesus, we must keep pressing on.
Jesus took His time to grieve the moment. To let it out. To deal with and express the emotions He was feeling and then He got up and pressed forward.
Not my will, but thine will be done
If it was up to me I would gather my loved ones in a bubble and shut us off from the world. But I can't do that. There is much work to be done. Although my destiny isn't to die to save the world I believe that I am poised to be an agent of change. In my home. When I vote. In my children's lives and in the lives of others though the work I do. God's will is that I continue to fight to live, to demand justice, to step out boldly in the freedom He died in order for me to have, and to be an example for the generations after me.
I love been Black. I love my culture, my people and I love who God has made me to be though this journey is hard and fraught with danger. Thus is life.
While I am sad, angry and hurting I find comfort in knowing my Savior has been in a similar moment and that He is in this moment with me now. I cannot pass the cup but with Jesus I will keep on pressing forward.
The Unlikely Missionary
DHW
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