How does one put words to this weight, this reality that has arrested my heart and admittedly escaped my prioritization for far too long?
How could mere words ever be enough?
Yet, in the absence of words, oppression maintains center stage.
This weight of evil, of life’s worth snuffed out beneath a knee. Generational pain and familiar apathy and the luxury of being born a hue not inherently oppressed therein.
Atrocities heinous. Arrogance blatant. It’s all so utterly wrong; its acceptance as quid pro quo is honestly absurd.
And all I have is an ample lack of adequate words.
What can one Irish, divorced, nearly midlife, single mom, American citizen do against the endless tsunami of racism smashing beloved souls again and again and again, relentless as the ocean tide?
What else is there to do but offer my confession.
I have been the eye that turned away to maintain an inner narrative within my comfort zone.
I have taken offense in times past at the notions of privilege. (Honestly – is there anything more privileged than the ability to deny itself true? Pathetic.)
I have allowed insecurities to perceive the weight of woes bore by others with more melanin than my inhereted freckles as threats to the griefs life has required I carry.
I have not listened and I have chosen only to listen to voices that did not call my arrogance into question.
I have claimed Christ’s Name and yet not wept with those who weep nor sacrificially stood in the gap for those surrounded by assailant’s stones.
I have been wrong.
What will fix this seemingly insurmountable foe, this hatred thick as molasses that clings to our nation’s soul? It seems a task impossible at times as its roots run deep as oaks into our veins.
And make no mistake – it touches every human vein, every single one.
Perhaps the stage for slaying generational giants gets set by personal repentance and humility on the part of those who’ve never lived an oppressed reality.
Where I cannot personally relate, I can absolutely listen and elevate another’s cries for truths self-evident to actually be applied to all mankind.
Perhaps knowing what to do begins by confessing what has already been done with personal humility and corporate grief that sees sin as sin without qualifiers.
I have personally contributed to the problem by actively disengaging and refraining from leaning in when it would have cost me personal comfort.
Where I cannot fathom an adequate solution for the pandemic of hate saturating our nation, I can there offer my confession and elevate woes different than my own.
After all, they come from souls created in the image of the divine.
Every. Single. One.