It is unusual for me to be at a loss for words, but today I am. This is the third time I have tried to write this week’s blog. Oh, there were words in the previous iterations, but somehow they did not seem worth reading.
So here I sit looking out the window. Today, the mountains look dusty, the sky is a bleached pale blue, and the very air seems heavy with heat. It is a weary vista, just as I am weary.
Through the past several months, we have walked together through unthinkable times. You held my hand as I grieved the unexpected loss of my grandson James. We stumbled through the restrictions placed on our personal freedom as we battled an unseen microbial enemy—and we adapted together.
Just when it seemed we were walking out of the “valley of the shadow of death,” a new and malignant horror threatened to send us back into the abyss. Under the boot of an outlaw policeman, George Floyd’s life was snuffed out, and my heart breaks at the cruelty, the injustice, and the egregious misuse of power.
So I sit here with my arthritic Mac, and I can tell you I am uncomfortable in my own white skin. While my life is not extravagant, I know I am privileged. I know if I fell ill to COVID-19, I would have excellent medical treatment. I have access to wholesome food and services. I can walk in my neighborhood anytime of the day or evening. I have no fear of law enforcement.
I wish I had answers or solutions.
Today, I looked at the faces of peaceful demonstrators and noticed a rainbow of skin colors. There are policemen who have taken a knee and locked arms with demonstrators. There are those who are bravely speaking out when truth is manipulated. In these voices are the stirrings of hope. Maybe if we treat everyone we meet with dignity and respect—or, to paraphrase, maybe if we love our neighbors as ourselves—we can walk out of this pit together into the fresh dawn of a new day.
Psalm 30:5 — Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.