Guest Post

 


My Ethiopian son is getting in the shower after his shift at the local MCC Thrift Store. He is 15 and wading his way through the weeds of teenage years and prefrontal cortex limitations. He has the gift of mercy, happily buying pizza for a hungry man and helping out a fatherless friend who doesn’t have much cash. He is also making some not so great decisions as he decides what is permissible for him, and what he will reject. 


A few days ago, a man was murdered...treated unjustly because his skin was brown...just like my son. I don’t share the same colour of skin as our kids, as they came to call me mama through the gift of adoption. A black woman looked at our picture and said yes even though our skin was many shades paler. She saw love and family as we held our mixed race baby girl, rather than the ways we didn’t match. She obviously thought we could handle raising him...some days I’m not sure.

Especially when I see an older version of my son killed in front of witnesses by a man who is supposed to serve and protect. I’ve often wondered if black people look at me and doubt my white ability to parent black children. Admittedly, there are things I’ll never understand, no matter how hard I try. And these last few days have made me look within. It’s so easy to say I’m not racist and condemn the ones who so openly are when something this blunt and horrific happens. Then, when the stories posted on social media after the crime tell us what a great guy the victim was, somehow, the racism increases...as if racism is measured by virtues beyond race. And trust me...I’m heartbroken, horrified, shaken...AND I’m also convicted. 


Under the umbrella of racism is prejudice, and I’ve been guilty. I’ve called the 1-800 numbers and been annoyed to realize the call was answered in the middle east. I’ve struggled with “their” accent when I, in fact, also have one! I’m embarrassed to admit this, but also so grateful. One definition of prejudice is, “preconceived opinion that is not based on reason or actual experience.” In the last 18 months, I’ve grown leaps and bounds in my reason and actual experience. A job in global partnerships has broken down walls I didn’t even know I had built. I have developed friendships with beautiful humans in the middle east and learned the richness of listening harder to the words spoken through that, now beautiful, accent. I have learned cultural practices that are now an honour to honour, like kneeling before an older woman to show her respect and in return, being blessed by her. To respect the physical modesty shown by married couples in public and to humbly ask to be taught more. I have watched the man from the middle of Africa buy battery banks as surprise gifts for his wife and children because they are without hydro for hours everyday. I have been winked at by the Central American and he isn’t flirting with me! Do you know what the best sound is in any language made by any tongue? It’s laughter! Nothing reduces pride and prejudice better! 


But amidst the laughter, prejudice and racism still exist and my guess is it’s far more prevalent than we realize. Don’t think so? During the teachers labour dispute, my guess is you chose a side and voiced some opinions about ECE’s, teachers, unions and government. You have thoughts on who deserves COVID-19 premium pay, what businesses are essential, death counts and economics and, truth bomb...most of your thoughts aren’t based on reason or actual experience. University vs college, professional vs the trades. Is a farmer less valuable than a teacher or a lawyer more respectable than a mechanic? We sling stones at Trudeau, Ford and Trump with really no clue what it’s like to be in their shoes. Safe injection sites seem bizarre to me, but my friend Pam...who has a clue...tells me otherwise and I am reminded once again that my lack of information in an area should be directly connected to the amount of words I speak about said area. 


But when it comes to people and the color of their skin, I know this. We should only have the human race. A couple years ago I took my son to the bank to open an account. The teller asked me if I was his guardian? Why didn’t she speak to him and ask him who I was? Truth be told we walk streets with no fear, but my kids both like larger cities and I wonder if it’s because they are more diverse? For a couple days, I’ve had the quote, “BLACK LIVES MATTER” on my facebook and a few people have commented, “All lives matter.” As I read that comment, I thought to myself, “well obviously.” And then it hit me...obviously, it’s not obvious. This is why we have to say it. African Americans and Latinos are treated with deadly force far more often than White people, and authorities held less accountable. Just ask my blonde, dutch friend whose husband is olive skinned and dark haired which one of them gets through security quicker EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. THEY. FLY. 


But please, let’s be careful. How easy it is to pick a side and lump everyone together because of the actions of one. Be honest...how has your opinion of police officers been affected this past week? What about American’s? I have met police officers who are the epitome of public servants and others who are arrogant jerks on a power trip. Police officers have been wrongly accused by people who “think they know what they saw.” I remember a story told by a police chaplain. One day the chaplain got a phone call. A police officer responded to a call...a woman speeding the wrong way down a major highway. When he finally got her pulled over, she attacked him physically and verbally. No one smelled the drugs and alcohol. No one heard the words or felt the fists. They just saw a man restraining a woman. We form prejudiced opinions about race, sexism, class, religion, politics...even age.

Now...to complicate the matter even further. I’m a Christ follower...and one verse especially in my Bible demands attention this week. Micah 6:8, asks, “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.” To live this out, I must stand up against injustice and oppression without standing on top of the oppressor. Practically it means I will stand and weep at George Floyd's grave and then go visit Derek Chauvin (the police officer who held Floyd down) in prison when he is lonely. I must name wrongdoing while offering to show a better way. Justice, mercy and humility are tricky to balance and so I must remain close to Jesus and seek His wisdom and His opinions rather than my own so as not to tip the scale too far and have one of these traits slip out of the proverbial boat of humanity. 


Think about how boring a rainbow would be with only one colour, or sunset skies and flowers. Mountain peaks and rivers, forests and fields catch our attention because of their varied colour canvases. It’s time to see all the beauty that surrounds us and look deeply into those eyes and souls until we are moved with compassion, equality and justice. 


My childrens' lives depend on it...so do yours.

Written by my sister--Charmaine Stulp

The Evolving Nature of Mother's Day

My spirit has housed countless thoughts and emotions over the years as the calendar page turns to May.  For so long...maybe too long, sadness would cover the days leading up to Mother's Day.  It was impossible not to miss the Hallmark advertisements which seemed to taunt me with the absence of my mother Violet.  Observing women shopping together, who were so clearly mother and daughter, only reinforced the empty space I felt. Throughout the seasons I have continued to be "surprised" at how her loss has forever impacted and shaped my life.  It's only through the eyes of others who relayed their thoughts to me that I even have a picture of who she was to me as my mother.   What stands out for me is that it has been her loss over 50 years rather than her presence over five years which is etched on my soul.  Or perhaps her loss is her presence.

At some point, I began to experience gratitude encircling that space.  Gratitude for the joy and privilege I have been given to be a mother to my son and daughter.  I have already lived in the rich expanse of motherhood 26 years longer than my mother was able.  I count this an incredible honor and blessing.  Motherhood has had its chapters of challenge and struggle but it's a story that has and continues to shape me and add wealth to my soul. 

 

 Many Mother's Days have passed in which I have watched friends lose their beloved mothers.  Other friends who are mothers have lost their tiny babes; a reality I can't begin to comprehend.  The cumulative river of tears and heartache makes one want to stamp "Canceled" on this day set aside for celebration.  But this does not happen and so we make room for sadness on Mother's Day.  There needs to be.

This particular Mother's Day is strong with emotion.  Joy and sadness, birth and death woven together.  I celebrate and I remember and grieve.

Adding a daughter-in-law to our family 7 1/2 years ago was and is a delightful gift.  Though I did not mother her, still I have the joy of loving her and watching she and my son write their own story.
On January 5 I watched with awe as she became a mother herself.   Oh how she loves her son!   Natasha Gregson Wagner captures the image of my daughter-in-law when she write, "I thought my mom's whole purpose was to be my mom.  That's how she made me feel."   I cannot get enough of seeing her interact with this precious, brand new life.  She is so deeply in tune with being a mother.  To be a part of their growing relationship makes my heart sing.

 

 On January 30 my stepmom went to be with Jesus.  She mothered me in sacrificial, loving ways for almost fifty years.  Throughout the years my understanding of what it meant for her to give herself to me has grown exponentially.   In turn I live in this spacious appreciation and gratitude for all the ways she mothered me.   I know I am only beginning to comprehend her absence.  I recently finished reading, "Motherless Daughters --A Legacy of Loss".  I have read bits and pieces over the years but only recently, in its entirety.  The thought I can't shake is, "Now I truly am a motherless daughter". 

The current restrictions keeping us safe are also preventing us from celebrating and grieving in the ways which are most meaningful. Even if it were possible I would run out of time and energy to lavish love and kindnesses on the vast array of mothers and motherless daughters who hold a special places in my heart.  In simpler ways...

I will remember friends and family who achingly miss their own Mama

My cross-the-country daughter will come to me on a Whatsapp screen.  

It's our "normal" and I will celebrate being her Mama

I will stand six feet apart from my son, daughter-in-law and grandson 

while I celebrate their full life and my own full heart

I will remember my mother, Violet with some sadness that she's not here, 

but gratitude because she was.  

And I will remember my stepmom Dorothy,

 with sadness that she had to leave us

yet grateful for the ways in which she remains.