On McKinney, Charleston and Houston...

My heart hurts.  

Will I be burned at the stake of indecision if I confess that it hurts for everyone involved in all of these crimes? 

The victims, the shooters, the adults, the children, the black people, the white people and all the shades of gray that seem to divide us all in between. 

I have taken my time in responding publicly to McKinney. Honestly, after pouring my heart out the way I did in my Mississippi post a few weeks back (http://missionmommyjourney.blogspot.com/2015/05/how-place-like-mississippi-helped-me.html?m=0)
 I wasn't sure I had the emotional energy to go there, but in wake of the Charleston shooting and all the responses I've seen on fb and the web comparing and contrasting the two, I felt I could no longer keep silent. 

So here it is.

 My heart. 

Take it or leave it. 

Debate it or praise it. 

This is where I am. 

If you know me, or have read my blog you know that, 

I am the white granddaughter of a Southern war veteran from the only state to still fly the confederate flag, who fought hard in his life to rise above his own poverty and broken past, and of a Northerner who was stubborn about providing for his family rising from his own humble beginnings even if it meant working hard until the day he died. 

I am the daughter of a Southern Baptist Mississippi  preacher and a retired special education teacher from Missouri who have spent their lives loving and serving the sinners, the broken hearted and the "unlovables" in pursuit of a calling upon their hearts to do so. 

I am the daughter in law of African American parents from Memphis and rural Georgia who have spent their adult lives in the pursuit of higher education in an attempt to pass on this heritage of knowledge to their future generations. 

I am the wife of a mixed race adopted man from Atlanta who has felt called to working with and adopting children who are without hope. 

I am a biological mother to a precious mixed race toddler whose innocence and child-like wonder makes me stop to take it all in. 

I am the adoptive mother/houseparent to children whose profiles range in age, race, mental capacity, and backgrounds. 

On any given night I sit down to supper to feed little black children from impoverished backgrounds, little white children whose parents are in prison, teenagers who have emotional  issues due to abandonment, preteens on the autism spectrum, children who have been homeless, been subject to abuse, neglect, and hatred, who have been victims of violence, who have been taught to be racist and who are just trying to make it in America. 

And at my house they all sit down together and hold hands to say grace with me and my little melting pot of a family. 

So when I watch those teenagers on that video from McKinney, scared and confused, my heart hurts, because I see my own family. 

When I hear the heartache of the victims' families in Charleston, broken and in shock,  my own heart aches, because when I look at them, I see my family. 

When I hear the parents' outcry from the situation in McKinney, angry and upset, my heart hurts, because I see my family. 

When I look into the eyes of the young man who took those nine lives, and I see hatred, yes, even then, my heart hurts, because I see my family. 

Because of who I am and where my family has come from, melding together by God's design and  in light of my new home at BGC in Houston and the new family we are creating,  my horizons have been widened and my eyes have been opened to the deep, deep love that the human heart is capable of, if we look at the world and see everyone we meet, as family. 

If you don't see them as family as well, then I humbly suggest you examine your own heart and explore the reasons why. 

Yes, there is much to debate. 

Gun control. 

Police brutality. 

Mental illness. 

Terrorism. 

Racism. 

Media. 

And I do have opinions on it all. 

But here, now, and in order to soothe my heart that is broken, in order to find peace, 

I choose take it all in, to grieve for them all. 

To judge none of them lest I be judged. 

For to see them, all of them, the victims, the perpetrators, the cops, the broken-hearted, with these new eyes I've developed as a mother, I am realizing more and more, is to see them with the Father's eyes as well. 

The most powerful thing I saw recently on the media outlets was a link some of you have no doubt seen as well, about a young black man who reached out on fb to Dyllan Roof, the Charleston shooter, bf he was arrested telling him that he was loved, he was forgiven and he could be free by the grace of God.

"I love you, Dyllan," he wrote, "even in the midst of the darkness and pain that you have caused.  But more importantly, He loves you!"

http://wtvr.com/2015/06/19/marcus-stanley-viral-facebook-post-to-dylann-roof/

I wish I would have thought to find him to tell him, too. 

But I will have to suffice in telling my kids around the supper table, instead. 

Because ultimately, for most of us, other than a few fb posts or blog rants arguing this issue or the other, there is not much any of us can really do,

Other than love those around us. Forgive those who have wronged us. 

Accept the grace which has been offered us 

And tell our stories of who we are and where we have come from

But most importantly, to tell it in the shadow of the cross. 

In the midst of all this heart ache, what will be your story that you tell?