Blind Spots

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Sometimes it doesn’t make any sense to add my own words to the clutter in the blogosphere, because other people have said it so well.

“It is Sunday morning, and I am once again late to church but determined to go.  I moved to this new town in east Texas a few months ago, and I know two people.  It’s time to make some friends and find a good church.

As I make my way through the parking lot, I see a young black woman with three boys heading towards the large church door.  The boys are reluctant to go, and I hear her encouraging them to keep moving.  She’s black and about to walk into a church auditorium filled with a 1,000  white people.”

…the rest of this post is mercy in action, and it humbles me.

And in contrast, given my recent experience, this really resonated too (language alert):

Dear Parents of Well Behaved Children,

I just spent the summer traveling around the country with two spirited children and I have met lots of you. You usually like the idea of us. You start out eager to chat with me at the pool or the park. You ask if my boys are adopted. You tell me you’ve always thought of adopting… later. Someday. You tell me how beautiful they are. They are.

And then my little one gets frustrated with something and shouts, “SHUT UP, YOU FUCK!”

Then my big one does a wild dance that is funny for a minute but goes on a little too long. Then a lot too long. And it starts to seem weird.

Your smile grows forced, your body language uncomfortable. You drift away. You corral your kids in another part of the playground.

Don’t think they don’t notice. Don’t think it doesn’t hurt my kids’ feelings to be rejected and side-eyed. Don’t fool yourself into thinking they are doing anything but their absolute best. They want the exact same thing we all want- to be seen and loved and appreciated for who we are.

(Click through to read the full posts. They are both amazing.)

Mercy Monday small

 

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