Justice . . .

I am a white female. I am a white female with two white children and a white husband. I will likely never need to worry about my white husband or children dying in a pool of their own blood at the hands of law enforcement.

I am also a white female with a heart for adoption. With this heart for adoption (and Jesus) comes a heart for all human beings, regardless of color, gender, sexual orientation, religion, fill in the blank.

The possibility that my family will one day welcome a non-white child into our lives is likely. Because of this, I must concern myself with the well-being, or not, of all communities; red, yellow, black, white.

In the future if my family opens itself up to a young, non-white boy, we will have to discuss how he should behave during a traffic stop. I will have to teach him that because of the racism of some police officers he must make no sudden movements, that he must be sure his identification and papers are in plain view at all times, and that he dare not ever disagree or argue because he could be seen as uncooperative and therefore dangerous. We will need to have this conversation on a regular basis.

I will have to teach him to discern between good guys and bad guys while they're all wearing the same uniforms. I will have to teach him to trust police, but will know deep down, he can't really trust anyone because how can you know who is trustworthy when everyone looks the same?

I will not have to have these conversations with my white children. 

How am I to make sense of that? How are my kids to make sense of that?

The color of our skin does matter. It matters because generations before us made it matter. It matters because the actions of a few with incredible power continue to make it matter.

I cannot stop crying. I cry for the mothers who have lost their children; for the children who have lost their parents. I cry for the child(ren) who might one day join our family who do not look like me or sound like me; whose skin color stands out and labels them dangerous, while mine labels me safe. I cry because the actions of some create a mass fear of all. I cry because it seems to keep getting worse.

We have come so far and still have so. far. to. go.

When will this madness end? When will we learn that violence does. not. win? When will we seek justice for all? When will we value one another, instead of denying each other the reality of our struggles?

When will we stand for love? Peace? Kindness? Equality?

I have no answers. While I try to look to Him who does, it's hard and I think it might always be hard.

To My Mom-Friends on Mother's Day

Every year on this day for the last 4 years, I and others have celebrated my being a mother. I vividly remember driving back to Fort Worth from a baby shower in Birmingham and being kicked by the sweetest, tiniest little bean growing in my womb. It was the beginning of a very sweet and trying journey.

Today, as I have 3.5 years and two children under my motherhood belt, I feel the need to celebrate Mother's Day a little differently, a little less me-focused. Sure, I still kicked my family out of the house enjoyed some alone time at home, showering and singing Adele. And, yeah, I also enjoyed an amazing pedicure with a glass of champagne. But something about this Mother's Day struck me with a different sense of gratitude.

This year, more than any other, I am thankful for the moms who walk alongside me on this journey of boo-boos and dirty diapers. I am thankful for the current examples I have of loving mothers. It's easy to forget or distort the lessons of childhood. We tend to either glorify or vilify the mother we grew up with and I need examples and ideas now from those walking my current life-stage. At the very least, I need help from the moms one or two steps ahead of me.

My mom taught me a boatload of things, that is for sure, and I glean from the lessons told by veteran moms. But life is a lot different now than it was 28 years ago. We have more education options, more recipes to pin (and never cook), and WAY MORE social media to remind me of how miserably I am failing at this whole #childhoodunplugged movement.

So to my mom friends, thank you. Thank you for fighting with me against Helicopter Mom ideals. Thank you for giving me the universal look for "You got this" when my child is flying off the handle and I'm about to go with them. Thank you for being real and never letting on that we don't share the same insecurities and fears. Thank you for holding a sturdy arm out in front of me and pulling me up when I've been knocked down or for allowing me space to be in a funk.

Today as my love-tank is filled with homemade crafts and massage gift cards (holla), I feel grateful. Grateful for the mom who gave me life, for the children who call me "Mom," and for fellow-moms walking along this path with me. This motherhood thing is H A R D and I'm thankful to go at it with you at my side.

May the mothers who come after us, follow the trail of sisterhood that we are so lovingly blazing for them