God's Dream

Yesterday, I held my son on my lap. I looked at his beautiful eyes- blue, with yellow around the pupils- and stroked his yellow hair. I kissed his pink cheeks. And never once did I worry about his falling victim to a crime like the murder of George Floyd. Such is the privilege of having a blue-eyed, pink-skinned son.

Last night, I saw a friend's post on Facebook. It said "I am the mother of an African American male. My son matters." My heart is breaking for the mothers in our country who hold their sons on their laps, look at their beautiful eyes, stroke their dark hair and kiss their soft cheeks and do worry that their boy will become a victim of the injustice that wickedly lies in wait- even after so many generations of hard-working, self-sacrificing civil rights warriors. My chest literally aches that she needs to write that on Facebook- and she does need to write it on Facebook. Her son matters.

So, last night, I read my yellow-haired boy a book called God's Dream. Because, I don't have to fear him becoming a victim. But I do have to try to make sure he doesn't become a villain. So, into his little boy mind, I am painting pictures with all the beautiful colors God intended for humankind. And I will, with God's help, do everything in my power to erase this curse called racism.

Black lives matter. Brown lives matter. And the Gospel is for everyone.

Reading Rachel

In 2019, I read two books by two different Rachels. In the fall, I read Girl, Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis with our women's group at church. I was the one who suggested the book. I hadn't read it but it was all over social media that fall and I was curious to see if the book lived up to its hype.

For me, that book hyped me up, but not in the way that was intended. As a person who seriously struggles with finding my identity in productivity, that book was not much other than a burden. The main message, in my opinion, is to tell women to "dream big dreams, and then keep hustling until you get them." Rachel Hollis offers many examples of her big dreams and big achievements, just in case you're too dull or afraid to have your own. She does share, openly, from some of her own difficult life experiences that have helped shape who she's become, and I respect her for that, but, in the end, I threw that book in the trash.

Weeks after realizing that washing my face wasn't going to address any of my deep and unidentified spiritual needs, I was standing in the church hallway with a friend, while we waited for our children to go out into the sanctuary for some sort of children's choir event. All of us mommas leaned against the walls of the hallway, shushing and pulling on skirts and smoothing hair. It was early May. I turned to my friend, who I didn't know very well at the time, and mentioned something I'd read in the news. "I saw that Rachel Held Evans died this week," I said, with as much compassion as I could gather. I hadn't read this Rachel. But I knew my friend had, and I knew she liked her books. I had been "meaning to" read this other Rachel, but, to be honest, I was scared.

Rachel Hollis had felt safe. People I knew in my Christian community had read her book and liked it. It didn't feel risky to suggest that book for our women's group, although, in hindsight, I wish I hadn't. There are so many better books out there that actually say something about the Gospel. Rachel Held Evans did not feel safe. I'd only read articles about her books. They're the kind of books that make very conservative Christian people uneasy. Even though I haven't ever really identified as a "very conservative Christian" person, I certainly like being liked by them. And I didn't want to risk disapproval. More than that, I didn't want to read something that would put a burden of doubt on a faith that was already practically thread-bare. What if the strands connecting me to my Christianity snapped if I read this Rachel? What if she asked the questions I was too scared to ask, and the answers disconnected me from all that I had left?

In the hallway, my friend's face changed. Her eyes filled with tears, and she began to cry. And, in that moment, I knew- it was time for me to read this Rachel. And if my faith unraveled? Well, then, she and I would have something in common.

I started by reading Inspired, which I liked and helped me get the gist of who Rachel was as a writer, but what really connected me to Rachel was Faith Unraveled. This book is her personal story about her own evolving faith in Jesus.

Rachel died unexpectedly on May 4, 2019. This May her husband, and many of her friends and followers have written beautiful tributes to Rachel. Last May I could understand the common compassion you ought to feel for a young family torn unexpectedly apart, but when my friend started to cry in the hallway, she cried alone.

Then I read Rachel. And I was introduced to a new kind of freedom. Freedom to question, and listen and join with others. So I joined my friend from the hallway- in her honesty, her doubt, her journey. My life and faith blossomed in a new way after reading Rachel, a way I can't describe in this post.

A lot of beautiful things have been written about Rachel Held Evans, true woman of valor. And a lot of not beautiful things have been written about her too. But, for me, reading Rachel changed my life.

I don't have much time for writing these days. And when I do have time, I don't quite know what to say. I've processed a lot over the past two years, and I'm changing. Maybe one day I'll get to the point where I can talk about that journey. But not yet.

I still love God, and I love Jesus. I love Rachel Held Evans, and my friend from the church hallway.  I love them all more now... better this May than last May. And because I read Rachel, now my friend isn't crying alone.