Hope is for internal consistency and external observability of anti-racism. Fear is that systemic failures are programmed deep within—waiting for opportunity to activate. A whitewashed stronghold Bourne of outlawed segregation.
“I can’t be racist, my uncle is black” a sophomore Daniel uttered in defense. Laughter had signed approval of a friend’s colorful “joke”. A better friend called us boys on it, gently.
The first introspection of racial attitudes followed. The findings were disappointing. Devastating. Depressing. It was timely and helpful that I was being introduced to Jesus and invited to his way. I needed that gift of repentance. Now, even.
More recently inferred is the familial tension at the outset of Barb and Kenny’s union. South Carolina roots resisted intercropping. They planted anyway.
Barbie and Ken proved to be a model relationship. Barb’s enthusiastic encouragement paired with Kenny’s patient presence. Who would I be without their cup running over into my life?
I am unequivocally resolved to continue in that love, unwrapping the new mercies offered with every error that is brought into the light.
Black lives matter.