Dear Jordan,
Hey baby. I know you tell me not to say that, because you say you're a big boy. But I told you I call all the kids at the homeless shelter by that name, because I love yall. I miss the way you adore playing basketball and the way you used to jump out of your chair and go look out the window every time a train rushed by, no matter what was going on in class. I miss the way you used to get in so much trouble, only to give me a hug later.
I wanted to say sorry.
I'm sorry I live in a society that tries to hide people who live like you. I'm sorry I exist in a culture where our races are separated in a more fundamental, deeply rooted way than I'm afraid I could ever hope to understand. I'm sorry our economy is dominated by principalities that plot to deceive and ruin you. I'm sorry that I have settled for school systems that are going to diagnose, medicate, and isolate you. I'm sorry that the sins of your mother have made you a crack baby. But they are more than just the sins of your mother. They are the sins of the world, and they are my sins, too. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I have handed in donations and put you on prayer lists in exchange for actively taking a role in your life. I'm sorry that I have advocated for you only as long as it was popular and comfortable, never willing to sacrifice. I'm sorry that I've been scared of you, settled for having pity on you, and retreated to "church" when what I really needed to be doing was to be a part of the church. I'm sorry the systems, institutions, and powers of our city create an endless web of entanglements that have left your mother lost.
I'm sorry that I have given my time, my money, my attention, and my allegiance to these powers. Is it enough to stop now?
I'm sorry that even now, I want to hold onto the comfort of living the way I have always known. I want to close my mouth when I know I should tell my friends about you and this evil system, because I am still confused, meek, and uncertain. It is so hard to loosen my grasp, but that is the only way I can begin to disconnect myself from these powers. And, yet, still...I am scared. I don't know if I can do it.
Can I find the boldness to tell you thanks?
Thank you, Jordan. Thank you for giving me more nourishment than I ever dished out on your plate at lunchtime. Thank you for literally displaying the Kingdom of God before me while I merely tried to teach you more Bible stories. Thank you for helping me understand how complex our world is. Thank you. You've shown me more hope than I could have ever shown you.
Please don't let me stop here.
with the difficulty, confusion, and beauty that is love,
Michelle
6 years ago
3 comments:
beautiful
and so telling in such a simple way
You are an amazing woman. I've read this 3 times and it touches me every time, although I see a little something else every time...somehow, Jordan knows what your heart was...I am sure of it!
dianna
Michelle,
This is...
just
so
beautiful.
And I'm crying. Because the way you talk about Jordan touches me, because this is much more than an apologetic. Because I've thought the same things myself, and being stuck in a society that tries to hide people, that enforces separation in a much rooted way is just confusing. Hard. And sad.
And I think this is a testimony to why you are in this world, Michelle. You are a small, humbled woman in this world. But your experiences this summer have opened your heart and mind, and I hope that wherever life takes you, you will be with kids. Kids who need love. Kids who need to be held. Because you will learn something from each other, and you have the capacity to love with everything you have--this is something special. Something that not everyone has.
Isn't incredible how people "in need" so often give us more than we could ever do?
As you try to disconnect yourself from these powers, remember these kids. Remember Jordan. Remember how your heart felt walking into Star of Hope. Remember it all, because maybe with all of that, you can do it.
I love you. Thank you thank you thank you for writing this.
Post a Comment