Tonight I thought of you As I drive through rain filled streets Street lights blink on and off Their colors stretching out their fingers Of blues and reds and whites I prayed for your mama For courage and strength To endure these last weeks Before making the biggest decision of her life I long to know who you are And to know the lines of your face The smile that will light your face I love you. *written week before meeting my eldest
Can You Hear Them Now
Strength in Holding. Strength in Loving. Strength in Growing. Strength on Knees. Strength in Grasping. the Hands surrounding the anguished and tired Voices of families Reaching throughout echoing off deaf walls ears stuffed with cotton. the blood of our brothers our sons our daughters continues to drip drip drip no more comfort can warm them now Say Their Names. Can you see yet? the pain in their eyes the hurt and twisted reminders the empty spaces in pictures hanging sedately on walls. remembering. the summer heat no longer warming smiling faces— the Strength the Pride in roots in a beautiful Color so Deep so Warm a story. a history of Survival. Our brothers Our sons— Our daughters whose blood continues to drip drip drip Can you hear them now? Say Their Names. I dream of a tomorrow. when my heart won't clench at the thought of my son driving. walking. being stopped pride subdued to a curb head lowered in submission. strength helpless with hands shackled. a tomorrow where my daughters’ bodies are not seen as a commodity where their strength will be praised-- not diminished. their voices strong, steady-- not questioned because of their sex and color of their beautiful skin. i pray their identity will cling only to Him-- who made their bodies to jump and dance. who created their minds to constantly querying about their world. who created my son's passionate heart. who lovingly knitted his strength and size. who sees his masterful beauty where others will see a a deadly misnomer: thug lazy violent ultimately: a Life not worth fighting for. stereotypes-they hang about Necks nearly lowered to grounds soaked with a history of discrimination. drip drip drip Can you hear them now? Say Their Names. Enough.
A White Mother’s Plea For Her Black Son
To the Women of color in my life who’ve lead and guided me in this walk. To the God of faithfulness and everlasting grace. To my beautiful black son, James–you are an amazing light.
.
.
Brown hands hold
Contrasting against the paleness of mine.
My grip holding
So tight—
Closing my eyes to the ever unfolding
Stories and wrongs that
Transcend belief.
Lord, how long have you heard
The cries of black mothers?
.
.
Lord, forgive my pride
Seeped in self-worth.
My strength—
Derived in privilege.
My rosy glasses
Glossing over 400 years of abuse.
Thinking that I know enough
That change will happen
While I sit with hands folded.
.
.
Lord, mend us.
Let them hear:
I cannot BREATHE.
Enough is enough.
Let them see my son
When he is grown
As beautiful.
As created in your image.
As worthy.
.
.
Lord, help me to let go.
Trust—that you love my black son
More than this heart pumping inside my breast
That bleeds with our lost sons
Tamir
Michael
Ahmed
Names I cannot name—
Their mothers who also weep.
Hear our cries, O Lord.
.
.
Lord, guide my heart.
Break down my anger for those
Who Choose not to see the inequality.
Who Say they don’t see color.
Don’t See the injustice.
The Layers of dark cruel history
Defining the unconscious designs
That my son stands upon
And defines his future and lifespan.
.
.
Lord, help me to see my son grown.
Preserve his beautiful joy
His sensitive spirit
His fulfilling promise as a son of the King.
Let not his head be bowed to anyone but You.
Protect his head, his heart
From the impending weight
That shackles his brothers.
.
.
Mercy, rain down on all of us.
our advent
this period has been different. not necessarily bad, just new.
this period of anticipation feels more tangible. some days scary.
i folded some of our first baby clothes into a dresser in our spare room.
there has been a crib there for two years. waiting.
i haven’t wanted to expand. but we were told to be prepared.
for the adoption call.
my heart has begun to become a little excited. still unsure of the safety outside my net.
but nothing will ever be “safe” or “sure”…
but hope still whispers.
hope that this is the right thing. this is God’s plan. despite the brokenness of the situation. an unplanned pregnancy. the inability to care for a new life. God is providing another way.
there have been new feelings of guilt. who am i to say i can raise your child? who am i to say, pick me? trust me with your unborn child. my mom changed her mind. i can’t imagine not knowing the woman who bore me. but there was another family. i don’t know how that life would have been different.
recently, we attended an event at a crisis pregnancy center. moms came with their children. children they chose to keep. my emotions swam before me. i heard their stories: thinking abortion was the answer, before arriving at the clinic. choosing to keep the child versus adoption. because what would i tell that kid if i had more? i gave you away, but kept the rest. i did’t want my kids getting lost in the system… it was a dip into reality. acknowledging up close the other “choice” our potential birth mom could choose.
and i totally respect her right to make that decision.
i am having to remember, that we are not trying to replace this child’s parents, we are coming alongside them. really, we are all adopted. by God. adoption is not a bad thing. it is a beautiful thing that has been created to restore.
lady b 