Ginger | Black.
I’m sure many of you
are familiar with ginger jokes… the “belief”, that I, a red-head, actually have no soul due to the color of
my hair? If that’s your first
time hearing the jokes, lucky for you! But yes, there’s a wide-range of jokes I
have heard about that. It became a popular term and joke though a tv show back
around ten years ago.
When having an honest
conversation with anyone, I can’t believe that someone would actually argue
that I have no soul due to the color of my hair. And if that person does exist, they have enough
other problems, so this debate isn’t worth having with them.
We can all agree that
ginger jokes- although possibly funny- are
completely ridiculous. My hair is simply the accessory to my scalp- it has no
bearing on my worth (or my soul).
So then, why do so many
believe that the shade of a person’s skin… a genetic characteristic, just like
hair color, determines their worth, their intelligence, or their behavior?
Racism and the
effects of it will be a forever part of our family.
Because
you see, for those who don’t know, Aaron is African-American, and I am as pale of
Caucasian as they come (and a ginger). Our
children will one day deal with being bi-racial and most-likely looking
different than many of their friends. As much as we hope and believe that our
children will be living in a time where skin differences are normal and
beautiful, we are not naïve to think it will be accepted anywhere and
everywhere God might take us.
Please allow me, a
freckle-faced ginger, to walk you through my life of learning to live
not color-blindly, but colorfully.
I don’t want to miss out on the beauty of God’s rainbow of races, I want to
learn to appreciate and enjoy the beauty that each race brings to this world.
2 ½ years ago I
started dating my now husband. Aaron is
the most hard-working, noble, loyal, honorable man I know. To say I got quite
the catch is an understatement… but that’s been mentioned on this blog before! In
one of our pre-marital counseling sessions, we were talking about our family
backgrounds and heritages, and then we crossed over to the subject of our
races. I remember the counselor asking us a question that shed light on
the different way Aaron and I viewed this element of our relationship. When
asked how I would deal with someone who had an issue with an inter-racial
couple, I remember saying something more tactful but basically “Well, they can
deal with it.”
Aaron was then asked
the same question, and as usual, his wisdom far surpassed mine. He replied, “Holly should never
question how proud I am to be with her, but I am also aware that in some
places, with some people, it is necessary to be extremely cautious and aware of
our surroundings.”
Then adding, “We are blessed
to be living in an area where inter-racial couples are widely seen and
accepted, but I’m very much aware that in some towns, the opposite is true.”
The counselor then
looked at me and lovingly but firmly said, “Holly- you need to take a lesson
from your fiancé. Your mindset could
cause unnecessary heartache one day if you don’t learn to use discernment in
this area. Yes, you and Aaron should be proud of each other, and use your
inter-racial relationship as a way to further show the world a testimony of
God’s love and equality, but not everyone in the world knows, believes, or
chooses to accept truth. You must walk in wisdom, not naïve foolishness.”
His words have stayed with me. But
my journey in this area continued…
I remember later on
in our engagement watching the musical Memphis
which is a love-story between a Caucasian man and African-American woman set in
the 1950’s. Eventually, they break-up because of the pressures of the
color-minded world wreaking havoc in their lives. I remember tears falling down
my cheeks as I realized that if I had lived a mere 60 years ago, my marriage to Aaron would still be illegal in some
states.
And that stayed with me. But my journey
in this area continued…
Over Thanksgiving, we
had the opportunity to go to NYC, and while there we watched the play “Cinderella”
on Broadway. This Cinderella was the first-ever African American lead. As we walked into the theater, I was
surrounded by little girls of all different races, and it began to occur to me
that they were seeing themselves as a princess on a stage…perhaps for the first
time.
As the show began, I
thought, this is awesome, but surely they
could have still related with a white princess on stage. And in one sense,
they could… Just as I had related with Pocahontas’
and Mulan’s strong personalities, regardless of their Indian and Asian races.
But not until we were
back in Houston, and we were talking about the show, did I stop and remember the first time I saw a girl with freckles in a
magazine. Not a few perfect freckles
that were obviously photo-shopped on her nose, but freckles that actually covered
her face. Just. Like. mine.
And I remember what that felt like: To finally see someone who looked like me,
and who was considered beautiful on a universal scale… there aren’t words to
describe what springs up in a young woman or little girl’s heart.
There is something special about the confidence that creeps into your
soul when you discover that there is a place for your kind of beauty in this
world.
I realized that I had
been given a glimpse of the excitement that a woman just like me, but African
American instead of Caucasian, must have held while witnessing a black Cinderella
on Broadway. For now, when she told her
daughter that her skin color is
princess-worthy, there was another voice to back that up.
And that stayed with me. But my journey
in this area continued…
All these thoughts
and beliefs finally came together with a powerfully bright, light-bulb moment …
after I had the chance to go to Africa last month.
While there, I was
given the opportunity to work with a table of African women as they made jewelry
for a week. On the first day there, these beautiful ladies asked me questions
about America and Americans. And then, as I discovered, African women are no different
than American women because they started talking about men! At one point, one of the younger, more
out-going women, asked me… “So what are white men like?” I laughed and asked
what she meant… when I realized she meant in terms of a relationship, I told
her, “Girl, I don’t know…I’m married to a black man!” The shock on her face was
priceless and hilarious. She then translated that to the rest of the table, and
they all burst into frantic, shocked, and excited conversations. I pulled my
phone out to show a picture and “prove” it to them, and as they passed around
the phone, they literally, burst into smiles and started CLAPPING. Yes.
Clapping. I laughed so hard in the moment and throughout the week as it came
back up. It was amusing to me to see the excitement my marriage caused!
When I came home and
saw the racial tension consuming American news, and my own Facebook feeds,
however, I became conscious that the simple truth of my inter-racial marriage
had created a bond for me with those African women that I never could have
forged on my own. I realized with a
sobering reality that in their world, equality was still being fought for.
Maybe not legally, but certainly socially. What was, for me, a temporary news
story, and a week of Facebook newsfeeds, was their everyday life. And although America
is much more progressive in this subject than my friends’ home in Kibera,
Africa, America still has a long way to go as well.
I began to understand
why my love for my husband and his love for me resonated with my African
sisters in a way that my words would never be able to. Our house has chosen to
be Black & White. Not Black VS White.
Those beautiful African women were every bit my sisters in Christ as my
beautiful white sisters. They are every bit equal to me in worth, significance,
and intelligence. But they have been
told otherwise for so long that a white woman’s marriage to a black man was
still a shock. Yet, it was also a stake of hope. Hope that the rest of the
world will see colors of skin a thing to be celebrated and valued instead of
judged and hated.
So my friends, my African sisters
will always stay in my heart, for a multitude of reasons. But my journey in
this area will still continue…
And now, when I see
the news stories, and read the Facebook comments, I find myself asking…
I can’t help but wonder how much God
hurts when…
He sees His children
blatantly ignoring Romans 12:10- Love one another with
brotherly affection. Outdo one another
in showing honor.
When I assume the
best or the worst of a person because as something as shallow and literally
outwardly as their skin color, how am I showing her honor?
I can’t help but wonder how much God
hurts when…
We tell little white
girls or little black girls that verses like Psalm 139:13-14 are written for
them…
You made all the delicate,
inner parts of my body
and
knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 Thank you for making me so
wonderfully complex!
Your
workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.
We say to live freely
knowing that God created them in their mom’s tummy and hand-picked each of
their characteristics… that they are beautiful and perfect in God’s eyes. Yet as they are in our
homes, we also teach our little girls that Asian, Arab, and Indian girls are
less intelligent…less worthy… or less beautiful than they are. Maybe we don’t
say that in direct ways, but in our indirect conversations about “them” or “those
people”… or perhaps our complaints about “that culture”.
I can’t help but wonder how much God
hurts when…
We read Peter’s words
to us in Acts 10:34-35 “…Truly I
understand that God shows no
partiality, 35 but in
every nation anyone who fears him
and does what is right is acceptable to him,” and yet we assume that no partiality means not
caring if someone’s hair is purple and pink instead of blonde or brunette. We
have come to believe that doing what is right in the eyes of God is publicly
denouncing races or cultures because of the behavior of one man or woman. How
do we place the entire race of God’s people at a lesser value and think that we
are being found acceptable in the eyes of the Creator of that entire race we
just condemned?
Maybe for you the battle isn’t Black vs. White. Maybe it’s Black vs. Asian. Maybe Indian
vs. White. Maybe Middle Eastern
vs. White. Maybe Northerners vs. Southerners.
Whatever it might be….please
reconsider your words. Your actions. Your thoughts because the colorful life is
a much more joyful place to be than the color-less or colorblind one. Celebrating our differences brings greater
happiness than condemning them.
Most of us don’t
have the smallest idea of what these teenage girls battle on a regular basis,
but we think we do and we think by telling them “Jesus is enough” they will
magically no longer want a boyfriend, no longer desire sexual attention, no
longer make a decision that they will later regret.
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