The Hero In the Manger
As my daughter and I read about Aung San Suu Kyi — the State Counsellor Of Myanmar — my daughter said, “She doesn’t sound like a hero, but she was a protestor, so she must be a hero!”
When children ask you to explain things, you realize how little you actually know. Like so many people, Aung San Suu Kyi is neither a hero nor a villain. She fought for peace in her country and lead Myanmar from a military state to a partial democracy. But her silence — and potentially her collaboration — with the genocide of the Ryangho people is villainous.
But how do you explain that people cannot be reduced to fairytale notions to a four-year-old when most adults cannot comprehend the nuances of narratives themselves?
Grace In the Time of Pandemic
As a parent and a teacher—college classes, private music lessons, homeschooling—this pandemic has brought me to the end of myself many times.
The end of my patience, the end of my endurance, the end of my tolerance for twitchy tweens, and the new routine of a husband working from home, the end of my brainpower and the ability to manage all of my tasks. The end of my ability to help when I see my students struggling, losing family members to COVID, nearing homelessness because they or their family have lost work, doing homework while quarantined in their parents’ basement, battling loneliness. I can’t sit in a room with them, hug them, or hand them a tissue for their tears.
Choose Joy
As I was scrolling through Facebook, I saw another post that dripped with racism. I immediately began typing out a reply. My reply was well reasoned and without love.
My response, which luckily I did not send, was fueled by rage.
Professor Kenneth V. Hardy, writes, "Rage builds over time as a result of cumulative suppressed emotions precipitated by voicelessness.” I don't think I can claim that I am voiceless, but my rage has been building as the continual onslaught of evil rubs against my raw emotions.
Blessed Are the Peace Makers
As I clutched my phone, watching twitter give me the latest updates of the election, I got a text, “Check out this post!”
I abandoned my Twitter feed to switch over to Facebook. A Christian leader, wrote an incendiary comment, equating counting votes with destructive evil.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I made the mistake of scrolling through the comments. Christians were agreeing with his statements. Comments about how the election was being stolen and that mail-in-ballots are illegal followed his comment.
Get Out of the Boat and Fail
I felt the heat rushing up my neck. She yelled at me for crying. She said that my tears had derailed the conversation.
Her words smacked into my chest, leaving me gasping for air. A few years ago, as a senior in college, I had begun learning about systematic racism. My journey led me to study my responsibility as someone who both benefits and is complicit in the systematic racism.
In my mind, I had become an alley — even teaching others about White supremacy and racism. I boasted about an award I had won earlier that year for my efforts.
Deeply Divided
As protestors ask for justice, Christians are lobbing accusations at their fellow believers, deepening the divide between how we as Church view our role.
How do we begin to engage in dialogue about our role in addressing systematic racism? Is there a way that the body of Christ, can truly find where we fit into the conversation?
20 Life-Changing Books
I'm so thankful that many of my white friends have been asking me questions about my journey in learning about justice and loving all God's people. God has used books written by men and women of color to propel me on my journey. At the request of some friends, I've written down some of the books God has used to mold me. These books are not in a particular order, just books that have helped me on my journey.
It’s Time to Look In the Mirror
One Saturday night in college, I drove my friends to a club in Atlanta. I don’t remember exactly why, but, I walked back to my car without my friends. I noticed some black men standing in the parking lot. Scared, I jumped into my car and moved to another parking lot.
The men had done nothing wrong. My fear was irrational. I had been taught my whole life, through society, media, and non-verbal cues that black men are dangerous. No one had ever said, “When you see a black man, run away.” However, I internalized the unspoken message and acted.
Racial Reconciliation is NOT a Cause
I had just walked into Chipotle when one of my Asian American colleagues pulled me aside. “What you said this morning hurt my feelings, and it felt really insensitive and a bit microaggressive toward Asians,” she said. I apologized with my lips, but my heart was furious. I knew this woman when she was a student and had been fighting for racial reconciliation since before she was in college. How dare she accuse me of being racist!
Magnificent Sanctuary in an Old Gym
Every Friday morning, my mom would dress my sisters and me in coordinating smocked dresses. We would drive about thirty minutes to a guarded gate of a compound. My little sister, who had cute blond hair, would lie to the guards, saying, “They are taking me home.”
Sometimes the guards would wave us through, other times they would ask my parents to call the fictitious house, where we dropping her off. We always managed to make it into the compound, where the only Anglican Church in our city met.
I grew up in Saudi Arabia. Beautiful mosques that sang the Adhan -- the call to worship -- created the skyline. Signs of religion were everywhere, but the signs of our faith were kept hidden from the outside world.