When He Called My Friend the N-word

Pam and I have been friends for 13 years.  We’ve taken at least a dozen sermon-writing retreats together until Pam had the nerve to retire and move to the beach (where—by the way—she and her lovely husband have hosted my entire family for 2 vacations).  I miss those sermon retreats.  We laughed, cried, and sought the Lord together.

Pam is a gift-giver.  If she’s your friend, you know this.  She MacGyvers her way into your personal info and regularly surprises you. This is TMI, but this post is vulnerability-city for me so here goes:  One time we were talking undergarments and how the best, supportive, and most lovely brands are so expensive—my favorite brand in particular. Pam took note and for years picked up my favorite brand for me…just because she delights in giving people extravagant gifts.  The extravagance is an expression of her love. 

Years ago on my birthday Pam wanted to treat me for lunch so we agreed to meet halfway.  I selected a small restaurant—it seemed to have local flair—and was excited to see Pam.  We arrived near the same time and walked in together, and I kid you not people stared at us uninterrupted for 30 seconds.  Eventually I waved at the people to break their gaze.  I shrugged it off and we sat down at a booth.  The waitress brought our menus and I excused myself to the bathroom.  As I was returning to our table, a man looked at me and said it:  

The n-word.

He said it loud and clear for all to hear.

I stopped, gritted my teeth, and felt anger course through my body. I don’t know if I’ve ever been that angry.  I stood and stared at him—returning the gaze we'd been given as we entered the restaurant.  And then—I’m ashamed to say—I grew afraid of him.  He was a big man with a posse of people at his table, so I looked away and returned to our booth having said nothing.  I am still ashamed.  

And then the craziest thing happened. 

A woman seated at the man's table came over to our booth.  She sat down with Pam and me.  She said nothing to Pam, but apologized—to me—for the man having said the word.  “He wasn’t talking about you,” she said, as if this somehow absolved him, as if it was okay to use the n-word as long as it didn’t apply to present company.  

Later I told Pam what the man said and her response gutted me.

“That’s normal,” she said. 

I didn’t know this.  I should have, but I didn’t.

I grieved the rest of the day.  I cried, felt shame, and obsessed over what I should or could have done differently. 

That day opened my eyes.  I didn’t want to believe people could be so cruel, but that’s just naïve and likely a result of my privilege as a white person. 

I’m sorry. 

Since then I’ve learned more about blatant racism, and also the myriad of micro-aggressions coddled by our culture. I’m still learning.

Why do I tell you this now? I cannot stop thinking about Ahmaud Arbery.

Did you know black families are afraid to let their sons and daughters jog in the street for fear someone might think they’re a burglar AND SHOOT THEM?

This is their normal.

That should break our hearts and lead us to action.  What is your action?  What is mine? I’m praying God will show me the way.  Will you join me in that prayer?

Preach it, Preacher.

Scottsville Baptist was blessed to welcome Shannon Rutherford as preacher on June 30.  Not only did her sermon include Elijah and Elisha (go ahead and try not to confuse them), it was also thoughtful, practical and full of God's Spirit.

I couldn't help but be nostalgic.  It is a special kind of blessing to listen to a dear friend proclaim God's truth so beautifully.  Nearly ten years ago Shannon and I were assigned to the same covenant group at Truett Seminary.  We later led a small group at Calvary Baptist and subsequently moved into the neighborhood of our church.  I lived in the big blue house/BBH.  Shannon lived in a cheerful pink house.  It makes me smile to think of those days.

I think we both grew in God's grace during those years. (I hope anyway.)  Looking back neither Shannon or myself could've imagined the journeys on which God would call each of us--the good, the difficult, the great, the redeemed and the now.

Thanks Scottsville Baptist for welcoming Shannon so warmly (well done!).  Thanks Shannon for preparing and delivering a wonderful sermon.  Come back any time.

We need more Instapartying.

Soon and very soon Ashley Gill will tie the knot with a rather excellent man, a one Mr. Brian Harrington.  I am privileged to be a bridesmaid in the wedding.  I can't wait to celebrate two wonderful people being wonderful together until death do them part.

Ashley and I have been friends for a long time.  The best word to describe our pal-ship is fun.  We have had 14 years (egad!) of fun: BSU, education and espanol classes, Kenya, BBH, Sigma Kappa, drive-by-caking:  you name the place or group, Ashley Gill and I had fun there with those people.

One of my favorite memories with Ashley is the discipline of Instaparty.  Instaparty is not a real word BUT IT IS A REAL THING.  I don't know whether or not my seminary pals and I invented instapartying, but we were at least pioneers.  When Merriam-Webster asks me to define instaparty for official inclusion, I'll say "An instaparty is an instant singing and dancing party that happens to other people when they least expect it.  Sometimes they like it; other times not so much."

Sometimes Instaparty recipients are amused.  Other times disdain is expressed (see Raintree Apartments, fall 2006.  I'm looking in the direction of Georgia, River).  Part of the fun is knocking on a door and asking yourself:  Amusement or disdain?  Who knows?

The impetus for our first Instaparty was exhaustion from exam preparation.  One night Ashley, Christy and I were stick-a-fork-in-us-done with studying.  We were worse than charred steak done.  Do you understand our done-ness? We were done.

I can't recall who, but one of us said "We should dress up in prom wear and surprise classmates with a boom box and dancing."  And then the other two said "Excellent idea" (one of the many reasons Ashley and Christy remain two of my favorite people on the planet).  So we put down Mounce's Greek and, in a New York minute, became Waco chic.  Instead of reading Kierkegaard, we were ready to kick it hard.  (Now I'm done.)

Before piling in the Altima (RIP) we decided to invite new friends, Tiffany and Meagan, to join our fledgling Instaparty adventure.  This was a risk of biblical proportions in the early stages of friendship.  There was a 90% chance they would think us crazy (the bad kind); however you can kind of tell within seconds of meeting someone who will be an Instapartying kind of friend and who won't.  We felt they fit the bill, but you never know.  People are tricky.  Amirite world? (Lesson)

We nervously dialed their number and said, "Hello Tiffany and Meagan:  We are tired of studying.  Would you like to show up unannounced at classmates' homes with a boom box?  And then we will do some hollering and dancing?"  We put ourselves out there. 

Tiff and Meg waffled for about 3 seconds and then threw caution to the proverbial wind.  To say Ashley, Christy and I were elated is an understatement.  We knew these would be lifelong friends.  Here is a photo from that evening:

L to R:  Christy, Katie, Meg, Tif/Tiff and Ashley.  Note Ashley's space glasses,  Tiff's jazz hands, Meg's ascot, my flash disk necklace and Christy's sweet frames.

We had a lot of fun.  Life is grand when you make friends who don't shut down your good crazy--they capitalize on it.  Ashley Gill, you're a blessing!  I can't wait to share in your special day.

A Passport to your National Parks

Last weekend I told my college pals central Virginia is the loveliest place I've lived.  This is practically anathema when you come from the gorgeous state of Kentucky, but I can't get over these mountains.  And when the mountains and the sunset join forces it's over for me.  The oranges were brilliant and the purples...oh the purples.  It was as if God dipped a brush in Lent and painted the sky.  

Since it's Presidents' Day I decided to do something historical.  On Saturday friends suggested we meet for lunch and Fredericksburg was chosen as the destination. I was thrilled because in addition to seeing friends I could visit a Civil War Battlefield!  I love history AND I get a stamp in my National Parks Passport!  As a lady who enjoys crossing things off lists, imagine what excitement a stamp delivers.  

After speaking with helpful park rangers, I hiked through the hallowed grounds.  It sounds cliche but any time I have the privilege of being amongst such history I'm in awe.  I am a tactile learner so touching the trees and walking alongside the trenches makes the story alive again. So many thoughts come to mind: War and peace, death and life, freedom and cost.  There is much to ponder.  I learned about Stonewall Jackson and stood where he was fatally wounded.  I thought about Abraham Lincoln and Robert E. Lee and US Grant.

On the way home I trudged through Tale of Two Cities (I'm trying pals of Charles Dickens) and then talked with my niece on FaceTime.  I am grateful for a day of beauty, friendship, family and history.  I'm grateful for a day full of life.  Thanks Presidents' Day for being awesome.   

A Childhood Dream Come True

I can't believe it happened.

I HAVE A GAME BALL.

Once again:  I have a game ball.

I was elated.  Stoked.  Thrilled.  Over the top excited.  I called my dad.  I called my brother.  I still can't believe it but it's true! It really happened. I HAVE A GAME BALL.

I can remember toting my Macgregor glove (why no capitalization of the 'G' friends?) to Saint Louis Cardinals games as a girl hoping for a chance to catch a ball.  Last night the childhood dream came true!  And it was a Nationals game ball.  And I love love love the Nationals. (Please excuse my excessive use of 'love' for such a time as this.)

For non-baseball fans, to what can I compare this joy?  It's like a guitar pick from The Edge.  It's like a piece of the net from March Madness. For game show fans (too much?):  It's like a Pat Sajak AND Vanna White autographed a piece of the Wheel.  A game ball--especially a scuffed up ball--is pretty much the best thing ever.

My pal Erin surprised me with excellent tickets to the game.  We were just behind the dugout.  That in itself was enough to delight me for the next week.  I love love love (can't help myself) surprises and this was a great one!  I could see the expressions on the players' faces. When Tyler Clippard (bless him) returned to the dugout dejected and downtrodden we stood and clapped for him.  I think he made eye contact with us.    I gave him the "You'll get 'em next time" support look.  I think he felt that.  It's a stretch, but I think he felt that.

So:  The ball.  How is it mine you ask.  One of the Brewers' players foul tipped the ball.  The Nats ball boy picked it up.  As he ran back to the dugout I stood up, smiled and politely said "Hello!  May I have the ball?"  We made eye contact and for some strange reason he tossed it at me.  This is when things went into slow motion.  I see the ball hurling toward me (thank you ball boy!).  I reach for it but wait:  A man in front of me snatched it for himself.  Nooooooooooooooo!  Noooooooooooo mister!  GIVE ME BACK MY DREAMS.

Ultimate sadness...

Until the man turned around, handed me the ball and said "This ball was meant for you."  I gushed.  I thanked.  I gave a passionate explanation of the significance of this ball.  It was a bit much for him.  I think he was done about 15 seconds in but I needed him to know.  Thank you mister.  Faith in humanity restored and childhood dream come true.

Thank you mister.  Thank you ball boy.  Thank you Erin.  Thank you baseball.