I think it's time to state the obvious:
- I am white.
- Ben is Indian (for those from a previous generation, that would be dots not feathers).
- That would make Sy and Taly a beautiful mix.
- Babies from Rwanda are black.
I have been one half of a (quite amazing, I might add) inter-racial marriage for over 7 years, and I have been the white mom to Indian children for over three years, and yet, I think it is also obvious that I'm not very qualified to lead the race discussion. (As evidenced by the dots/feathers description)
Now that all obvious statements are out there and all disclaimers are made, let's talk about race.
I am proud that I am part of this generation - that I can walk through the mall with my family and not be stared at. I know there was a time where that wouldn't be possible. I also recognize that there is a lot of ugliness out there - some I've yet to experience, and some I've experienced but been to naive to realize.
Simon has yet to notice that people come in different colors. He still describes people as "black" or "blue" or "pink" based on what color shirt they have on. But he has learned that horrible song, "Jesus loves the little children."
You know, the one that describes Jesus' precious kids as "Red & Yellow, Black & White?" In our house the lyrics have been changed to "Brown & Tan & Black & White," so that one day Simon doesn't question Jesus' love for him based on the fact that he is neither red, yellow, black or white.
I recently read some great posts by anymommy, and her thoughts, along with my own secret musings have reminded me it's good to talk about this stuff. To admit that I haven't got a clue. That I love imperfectly. That my brain is the house to sinful thoughts. That my heart fears the judgments of others. That things aren't ever as clear-cut or as easy as they could be.
I have recently realized that though I am adopting an African baby, I will be raising an African-American boy, who will some day be a black man living in a racially-charged world.
And I am all too aware that I am underqualified.
But I believe. I know. I have faith.
That love isn't for the easy times. That it's rarely convenient. That it always reaches across walls.
That babies need mommies. That big brothers need little ones.
That there's more I can do, more I trust God with, more I can hope for.
I'm sure I said lots of things wrong here. But as a white woman navigating multi-racial motherhood, I'm betting that's going to happen again. And if we can't talk about it, we'll never get anywhere.
So thanks for putting up with my thoughts. I'm sure there will be more to come.