Somedays, days like today, I own being white. You must know my journey in exploring my identity as a white woman has been, well, mostly stalled, critical, and frustrating. Like most white people, I grew up thinking that all would be well if I could just get to a place of white nirvana where black people liked me, I didn't have to talk about race, and the world was convinced I was truly "color blind". Well, all of this was an attempt to erase my whiteness and escape all of the uncomfortable and painful realities of race in my daily experience. A part of my embracing being white was realizing it was possible that things weren't so cut and dry for us in the grand scheme of things either; the story was greater than just white people feeling (perhaps even rightly so) the need to be ashamed, hide their oppressive heritage (and tendencies) and some of us (ahem, me) thinking we are the reason for all the pain in the universe. Deep breath. The journey my life had taken me on was leading to a very peculiar and unforeseen breakthrough: God designed me to be white, and that was a very good thing. (gulp)
My husband and I work with Destino, a contextualized ministry of CRU reaching the world with the gospel of Christ through Latino college students. A pivotal moment in my journey toward embracing my ethnicity, came after a dinner we had in our home with students. I was washing dishes and a dear friend, a student who would end up living in our home, was standing with me sharing some of her story. We discussed life, Jesus, relationships, education, and race, you know, the usual Destino talk. I chose to live in a moment of vulnerability and share with her my discomfort with being white and knowing where I fit into the healing of so many Latino students who may or may not trust me. After graciously listening to me, she looked at me and said,
If you weren't white, none of the life giving words you say to me would mean much.
Stunned and exposed and trying to keep washing the dishes like that wasn't the most powerful thing anyone as said to me, I almost lost it. Tears were welling up and healing was beginning in my core. I had always encouraged her that God made her brown for a reason, but it didn't dawn on me that God made me white for a different one. I've known how much power I have walking into a room of diversity, but I didn't know I could have a voice. I thought the best way to steward my whiteness was to sit down and shut up, frankly, and give someone else a turn. And, while all that has it's place and should be done sometimes, the point isn't to be a doormat. God designed me by hand, and he chose for me to be white. Since then, I have started to explore being white and embrace what that means.
I like yoga. a lot. Ironically, the practice originally is anything but a "white thing" but here in Denver, well, it sure is. Biking, too. Professional athletes from across the country come here to train and play on their bikes. I went to yoga at our gym on monday night and went for a bike ride tonight on a trail near our house. A year ago, I would have expected to see people who look like me, hoping that I wouldn't appear to be too much like them (you know, white). Tonight, I started to open my eyes. I rode past a white woman running, short dark hair and a marathon shirt. I wonder what her story is. An older man with dark skin, skin worn by age and the sun and the first thing I see that tells me who his mother or father might have been. He rode slowly against the wind with dirty jeans and a few jackets, and smiled at me as I passed. I wonder what his story is. The more comfortable I feel being white, the more I am able to see those I pass and be present enough to think of their stories.
My friend reminded me last night that "those who are ignorant of their traditions are slaves to them"...and he is right. The more aware I become, the more I can see those around me, and praise God that they, too, were designed exactly as beautifully intended.
I am white, and I enjoy yoga.
