Black Lives Matter
for Jordan Davis

I was in the kitchen when I heard the news. I wanted to throw the eggs I was cracking against the wall but instead, lowered tear-filled eyes. My 13-year-old son walked in wanting to know what was wrong and I just didn’t  have the words. Jesus, not again.

My husband was nearby and we’d begun discussing it. But I was heated and hurt and must admit there was a little bass in my voice. Bass with a whole lot of blues. So I lowered my eyes, went over to the stove and my husband did interference. I cannot talk to my preteen son about this. Again.

The house is quiet now. I stayed up late to make zucchini bread for the early morning ride to the rink. I went to the kitchen and stopped. The sweet smell of baking bread and the warmth of the kitchen made me feel good. Safe even. But my heart. My heart is broken and the sensation that crept through my veins traveling to the tips of my toes and back…. left me feeling empty. I sank to the floor and wept. Because I don’t want to talk about this again.

Feelings are funny. The process had been interrupted earlier and my feelings, stuffed down deep – in that place parents put things when they don’t have time. We unconsciously and automatically tuck and stow emotions away…until later. We delay the process. But they always resurface – the comfortable, late night quiet of my kitchen, a perfect place to deal with my emotions.  A good vent is redemptive. I share my words to release a bit of the combustible fuel of my feelings, especially when I hurt. Then, let God deal with my fears …my heart in prayer.

The ongoing message sent around the world is that a life, a black life, is free for the taking. White men are entitled to stand their ground and kill innocent, unarmed boys. Let’s be clear I live in and know the ‘hood. I see boys all the time that are up to no good. I see boys who would cuss me and steal my purse without a thought. Yes, I see them. But I also see…in the ‘hood, boys like my son.  They’re intelligent, witty and funny. They love science and Legos and Minecraft. They read books voraciously. They’re respectful and kind. They love Jesus. They have girlfriends and respect women and elders. They show love to the littles in their lives. They attend college and have career aspirations. Boys, who certainly get into mischief, but shouldn’t have their lives threatened for simply being and living – in their black skin.

So how to explain this and how to make sense of the senseless.

Come thou fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace
Streams of mercy never-ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise

I’ve got another twenty minutes on the timer before the bread is done. I still have to wash my hair. I didn’t do my plank. I’m leaving the dishes in the sink. I hope the alternates get to skate the opening block. I’m thirsty.

Y’all gon’ make me lose my mind up in here, up in here
Y’all gon’ make me go all out up in here, up in here
Y’all gon’ make me act a fool up in here, up in here
Y’all gon’ make me lose my cool up in here, up in here – DMX

Sigh. Random thoughts and wanderings of one woman, processing the collective pain of a community. I feel both of these songs. My praise is filled with fire. My heart torn and troubled. This hurts.

I can’t tell him about this. It isn’t supposed to be this way. And it’s just too soon. We’ve barely healed from Trayvon’s murder, a nation wide wound and giant two steps back in the struggle for equality.  The gash is deep. I can’t tell him about this. I don’t want him to grow up believing the lie.  In the land of opportunity and big dreams…this is the fairy tale gone wrong.

I’ve got questions.

What about “freedom and justice FOR ALL? What about fear that grips and grows from tragedies like this? What about apathy and insensitivity as a response? And then…What about Christ in and through all…coming and dying for love. What about love?

My pastor spoke last week on how our initial reactions to a thing can determine the outcome. How we should always respond in faith. It was an earlier taping that we were streaming. In it, he said we’d be tested and we’d remember this teaching.

So this is my faith-filled love response to an unjust world. A world that repeatedly tells me and people who look like me, specifically my sons, we can’t do the same things other people do, we can’t go places other people go, or experience value for our lives as human beings…like other people do. In Christ…we can do better. We have to. Any stab at unity between races is an attack on us all and I’m on my knees in prayer raging war.

This, my God… offered as holy, heavenly tongue – as redemptive song and loving affirmation …sing it with me – Black lives matter! Black lives matter! Black lives matter!

for and with my friends Deidra and Michelle. Let love rule!

in memorium… Jordan Davis…rest well little soldier