Black Lives Matter

I apologize for not keeping up
with my weekly writings—
life (and the world) have been a little
overwhelming.

Not so much due to Covid,
though that did set our family back a month
when we all believe we had it,
but because the personal life—
where actions are born,
where motivations are textured and torqued,
where the loss is experienced,
and where the healing happens—
sometimes simply needs space.

So much has happened since my last post—
most notably that hearts have needed to be reminded
(re-hearted?)
that black lives matter.

I’ve been doing my own reflecting, learning—
and I hope to share more on that later—
but for now I wanted to simply say that
black lives matter.

And that we need diversity—
we are only as beautiful as our diversity.

x


PS I will be writing monthly for the next while—
with posts coming out near the end of each month.

In the meantime, you are welcome to still follow along at
the newly created social media account!

xx
@birdnbabe
{on Insta}

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A few Sundays ago, we started another gardening project—this time, at our neighbour’s across the street. We were taking in the protests, rallies—along with the tyranny—that followed the death of George Floyd letting our thoughts turn over as we over turned some dirt. We live north of the Border though we’re Americans, and it somehow felt medicinal to cultivate the land on that Sunday evening as I reflected on the overwhelming events from the past week. As my fingers sifted soil, my mind, body, spirit sieved thoughts.

And earthworms.

And quietly grieved our broken world—and all the systemic powers that keep her in bondage. Where to even start?

I only know one place.

The One who also grieves.

—And weeps.

My heart is with our black brothers and sisters, and I continue to be in solidarity with them as well as the journalists risking their lives to bring light to the systemic darkness of America.

I have and will continue to garden my household to love all colours of our shared human soil. To stand up when we see injustice around us and while there are so many quotes about making this voiced, sometimes, the pain is so great—all that can be uttered is a cry to the One who knows. Lamenting is a form of social justice—the world is wrong and not right, life dies and doesn’t live, and we need the One who heals and raises life back from the soil (again) in the here and now and not yet but will be.

I view motherhood as a place of departure—of departing from a former way to usher in a different way of life. One that enlivens the soul and heals hearts and creates different trajectories. (And I love that in ancient Hebrew—that is precisely what the word ‘mother’ includes—a place of departure.) But I now see my job with even more acuity as I reflect upon my own ignorance.

As for my home nation and individual hearts, I pray that new soil can truly be overturned, that life can actually germinate even in the most acidic of soils, and that a peace can transcend all understanding. And that we always live with a posture of humility. We are a part of the mess. Black lives matter.