Why I (as a white mom) Celebrate Juneteenth
On Wednesday morning, my little girl curled up next to me for our morning snuggle. I asked her, “Do you know what today is?”
“Cookie Friday!”
“Well no it’s actually, Wednesday. But do you know what Holiday it is?”
She asked, “Christmas?”
“No, it’s Juneteenth. Today we celebrate the end of slavery.”
Her little three-year-old eyes were so confused. “What is slavery?”
Lament
I love praise — it fits my culture. As a Southern woman, I’ve been told not to “air my dirty laundry on the line,” and I am asked to be “nice” and to avoid making things messy. Because of that pull to create a happy community, I’ve leaned into praise. I love the order and simplicity of singing praise to the Lord.
But coming from a culture that (over)values praise, I get stuck when I hit pain and injustice. In college and the years after, I was able to push aside the pain, but with the murder of Trayvon Martin and the shootings of the unarmed black men that came after, my world broke and I did not know how to engage the Lord. My prayers of praise felt empty and disingenuous.
Don't Judge the Reaction, Listen to the Pain
For 10 years, I've listened to donors say they couldn't support me. For 10 years, I've listened to the Christian community say I couldn't preach. For 10 years, I have listened to micro-aggressive comments. And all, solely because I am a woman. When a colleague said he didn't believe in women in leadership to a younger woman, I broke. I felt like I was being told my voice was unimportant. I was ashamed that I had not paved the way for women to follow me into leadership. In that moment, I wasn't thinking about editing my response. I wasn't concerned with how people would perceive my actions, I just needed to deal with the pain and my outburst was unprofessional.