The Light (Day 4)
In the darkness, it is easy to fear what awaits us. It is just outside our doors, just around the corner, one wrong move away.
It is so easy to feel alone and powerless.
And then someone asks us to light a candle. Such a simple act.
And the light it sends into the world is so tiny and inconsequential, so easily snuffed.
And yet, I feel defiant and larger than life.
I stand on my deck as a storm rages. My candle struggles in the wind and so I cup it in my hands, to protect and nourish the fluttering flame.
Just as we work to keep the hope in our hearts alight.
The fear is new. As a white man, I could approach an officer and not be shot. I can’t count the number of times I have reached for my wallet when pulled over by an officer. There were no shouts, no popping thunder. No going cold as I bleed out in front of my family.
I’ve never had to have “the talk” with my children on how not to be killed by the police.
I heard the shouts and pain, for sure, but I didn’t understand. It was so alien to my existence.
But then I began to listen.
Not pretend to listen but to actually listen and feel.
This is not about winning an argument or feeling good or dealing with our shame. This is about people dying.
It took me way too long to ask, “What if that was my brother or sister?”
What if it was my father? My mother? My child?
I was struck by a blow that threatened to collapse me at the knees.
Because these are my brothers and sisters. They are OUR brothers and sisters. And it is time to hear their cries and stand united with them.
“I affirm that I am light. Whenever there is darkness, I will shine.”
Every night at 7:11pm (or at a time that works for you), please join us in lighting a candle and spending 17 minutes in solidarity and contemplation.
You can find the post that started this amazing movement here:
No negativity of any kind will be tolerated.
