Crafted by Grace

These are our boys. In the summer one gets so dark, the other stays fair, freckled and light.  Nevertheless, I am told we are supposed to call ourselves "white" and label others "people of color."   Is this helpful or accurate in any way? I chose this picture because their skin is like day and night.  While these brothers share the exact same parentage, one is dark, and the other is fair.  They are a unique blend of several nationalities, as are ALL of us in 2020.  We throw out words like, "the black culture" and what do we really even mean?  Does our skin tone define just  one cultural background, one identity?  It simply cannot.  If it did, how "black" does someone have to be to be included?  What shade of light skin enters another into "privilege?"  Is there a chart somewhere, like paint chip palettes, to properly divide us into which are privileged and which are oppressed? If one has dark skin and is the descendant of slaves, b...

An open letter to our students,  especially the Class of 2020

It had been a few months since my young husband had passed away.   I certainly never imagined I would be a cancer widow at 25 years old, but I was doing as well as could be expected, I guess. Most areas of life I felt independent enough to handle. I was incredibly lonely - but able to continue on with life.   One life task deeply bothered me to do alone, however, and that was anything to do with vehicle repair.  It's a vulnerable feeling to now be alone in dealing with a male mechanics in a state and country not my own.  For whatever reason that was when I felt the stigma of singleness the most.  Hating a task doesn't make it go away, however.  The plain fact was my tires were in a horrible state. Living in rural central Virginia, the long drives on deserted roads alone were clearly unsafe for me at this point.  I needed tires, like yesterday.  I took a deep breath, picked up the phone and resolved to deal with this unsettling task....

I have lived a few decades now. In this decade, I know family, friends, and stability.  But it was not always that way. I know what it is to live in want. To have no idea if the love of your life was going to make it through the night.  To wonder how you'd make $10 of groceries last the week.   I've been there.  It was hard.  But ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS God provided.  He was there to give grace in the lean weeks, and provision when we couldn't handle it anymore.  He was there prompting others to pay our rent six months at a time while my husband went through chemo and could only work part time.  He was there in rides, in the grace to live in Detroit ALONE and make the long trips back and forth to Ann Arbor, even if I had to stop and take a huge breath to quell the fears. He was there holding my hand when I was in shock for the diagnosis.  He was there comforting me, washing over me with peace, healing traumatic memories.  The ...