Faith

Occasionally, I will say something, and Katy or Amelia will tell me that I'm racist.  I will vehemently deny it. I'M, not a racist. My grandmother was a racist. She used the "N" word; she would clutch her purse tightly when she saw a person of color. Paul has darker skin. Therefore my grandmother thought he was Hispanic, and while he was in the house, she never let go of her purse and would tell my mom to check the silver after he left because he might have stolen something. THAT is racism. I don't do that, I'M certainly no racist.

Recently I've had reason to rethink the concept of racism. Maybe racism is seeing a black man shopping dressed in a hoodie and sagging pants and thinking he's probably going to steal something. Maybe racism is driving down a road near Chinatown and referring to it as "running the gauntlet" because most of the drivers are Asian and they can't drive. Maybe racism is locking your door when you see a person of color walking near your car. Maybe racism is watching the movie Hidden Figures and wondering how women of color could be so intelligent growing up in the 60's because their schools were so bad. Maybe it's looking at a woman of color that I idolize (Condoleezza Rice) and wondering how she accomplished so much growing up in Alabama during a time of racial tension and segregation. Maybe racism is asking the only person of color in the room what bougie means because you're watching a video where people of color are saying it, and you assume they will know what it means.

I've thought and done all of those things and more. I was arrogant. I believed I was better than my grandmother because I didn't use racial slurs.  I'm heartbroken and ashamed to admit it. I am a racist.

This year, our church participated in a program called XPLOR which is similar to missionaries in other denominations. On August 27, 2016, I met our resident. We met in the house that she would reside in for the next ten months. It was her birthday and mine and Paul's 28th wedding anniversary. I didn't get much one on one time with her because we were in a group setting.

Look at that smile.

In Swahili Imani means faith. Her parents couldn't have picked a better name for their daughter. She is bold and beautiful (sounds like a good name for a soap opera.) She knew when she entered the XPLOR program that she could land in any number of different states and she was brave enough to tackle the challenge. In fact, she welcomed the challenge wholeheartedly!

I was nervous about meeting Imani. We all know that my filters have disappeared and that I'm as surprised as everyone else with the word vomit that I spew. Incidentally, Imani, the young lady that would attend our church is a woman of color. What if I said something to offend her? How would she react? How would I find common ground with her since we are so "different?"

 Her college graduation cap.

We clicked immediately. We both like grits and don't want our food to run together. We love Michael Strahan and don't even get us started about those fools the Kardashians.  We're both incredibly sarcastic. She puts up with my white girl questions. We have so much in common. She's my third daughter; we joke that she's my favorite daughter. She's family and I love this girl more than I can ever say.  With her, I see the world through a different lens. When we're together, I try to see the world she sees as a woman of color. It's difficult to do. I'll never be black. I'm a 55-year-old white woman, I'm not watched while shopping, nor asked to see my receipt as I'm leaving a store. I've never been a victim of discrimination and doubt that I ever will be singled out because of the color of my skin. I've never been considered "less than." I'm currently reading a book by Jodi Picoult titled "Small Great Things" which is an excerpt from a speech by Dr. King.  The book is about racial discrimination and as I'm reading it, I picture Imani as the main character and I get angrier every page.  That's how much my perspective has changed. I'm on the right path.

Reverand Teresa Hord Owens and Imani

Our denomination selected Reverand Teresa Hord Owens as the first African American to lead ANY mainline denomination. I'm proud to be a Disciple! Looking at this with my "new" lens I'm exceedingly glad not only for our denomination but for Imani. After the election, her Facebook post with Reverend Owens said, "because of her, I have hope. Nothing is impossible!" #she persisted

Imani was there to witness this historic election, and because of Imani and my new lens, I'm even prouder of the Disciples of Christ. I see the hope in her eyes and know without question that she can do ANYTHING she dreams.

Imani has more confidence than any person I know, and she's only 22! Her mother is a minister at one of the largest Disciples of Christ congregations in the country, and her father is a professor of chemistry. She's fortunate to have strong role models in her parents, and in the ministers of her church, for example, her minister, Reverend Dr. Cynthia Hale gave the benediction at the opening of the Democratic National Convention.

They persisted. These are the women that have shaped Imani into the amazing young lady that she is. Okay, her daddy and other members of her family helped too, but I'm focusing on the women here!

Reverend Dr. Hale and Imani 

I have indirectly made racist comments around Imani. She knows my heart, and she knows I would never intentionally hurt her. We talk about these incidents (and laugh about them), and she forgives me. The world would be a better place if all of us had the opportunity to have a meaningful conversation with people "different" from us.

Imani and her beautiful (other Mom) Vincine

I'm still grieving the loss of my mom and my mother-in-law. Losing Mom has left me without a foundation, and I realize that I've changed considerably since this loss. Things that once brought me joy, like watching baseball games don't work anymore. I can't generate any interest in them. I've spent days in the house completely immobile staring at the TV. Imani has witnessed this transformation as my mother was dying and after her death. Imani honored my mom and me by reading scripture at her funeral, (Lord help us if my grandmother was watching!) Imani never complained that I was spending less time with her. Actually, none of my family or friends complained about that. With her help, my other family and friends, and medication, I'm slowly becoming ME again. However, I'm facing another loss in my life. In August, Imani is leaving for her next great adventure. It's like sending a kid off to college, but this time they won't return. Yes, she will visit again, and if I can figure it out we can video chat, but it won't be the same. I will mourn this loss, in fact, I can't see what I'm typing through my tears. I hope I have influenced her in a positive way, and not merely by my extensive vocabulary of cuss words. I can't be the role model that women of color can be, but maybe she's learned something from me that will benefit her in her journey through life. I hope so.

Imani, I will love you for ever and for always, because you are my dear one.