When I try to wrap my mind around the state of race relations in our country, this soon-to-be thirteen year old is at the front of my mind. He’s just standing there embarrassed because his “auntie” wants to take “just one more” photo of his handsome, wasn’t-he-just-ten-years-old, face.
But I look at this picture and wonder, “What kind of man will he be one day? What men and women will be there along the way to affirm him, to challenge him, to invest in him…to trust him? What might happen that could radically change the course of his life? What can I do to protect him? What hard conversations must his mom have with him to try and prepare him for this life? What role can I play in that? What do I even have to offer? What kinds of decisions will he make to determine what kind of person he will be? What kinds of decisions will other people make about him that could determine who he will become? Can he rise above the academic, behavioral, societal and socioeconomic obstacles he faces? Is there hope?”
There is hope. With each new day, there is hope of mercies new and grace abounding…to step into the questions. To engage in weighty dialogue. To develop an empathy beyond my own reality or capability. To cling to the supernatural promise that today things are being made new…and that some day, through it all, all things will be made new.
