Perspectives on Privilege & Racial Reconciliation: A Collaborative Blog Series- Week 1

Heather and Holly were the first friends I made in school. It was back in 1990 when I was 5 years old and in kindergarten. They were also twins which made our friendship extra special for my twin sister and me. And they were white. I could not have anticipated that our afternoon kindergarten class at Becker Elementary would be the beginning of my ability to build genuine friendships across race.

From a young age I noticed segregated spaces around me. I vividly remember my twin sister and I often being the only Black faces in a sea of white spaces. We had a way of making white people feel comfortable. Some of this rubbed off from our parents who were always open to white people, even when the gesture was not returned. We dated white boys, had white friends over for dinner and sleepovers and my parents were unfazed. Looking back, I see how my upbringing forced me to navigate white spaces with ease and confidence, but also at a cost. The cost of giving up some of me in order to be more palatable to white people was high. I didn’t have the language to articulate this then, but now I understand more deeply that tension.

As an adult, I see the racial divide continues. Although I haven’t been called a nigger, I have experienced other racial slurs and microaggressions.  In recent years I have witnessed countless Black women & men killed by police officers for being Black. People like Sandra Bland, Rekia Boyd, Sam DuBose, Mike Brown, and the list goes on and on. Our Black skin continues to be reason enough to be feared.

I’ve organized spaces to grieve these unjust deaths.

I’ve participated in discussions to process these unjust deaths.

I’ve protested these unjust deaths.

And yet, I still have a desire to do more. I’ve felt God lay on my heart the role I should play in regards to racial reconciliation in the Christian community.

I go to a church whose values are devotion, discipleship, and diversity.

I have Christian friends of many races.

And yet, the divide still feels great.

Sometimes the weight of racial division in the U.S. feels so great I’m left paralyzed to do anything.

And I think a lot of us can agree with that feeling.

We think the problem is too big, so we do nothing.

And although this is an easy place to land, I know God has called me to do more.

To trust him to bring racial reconciliation to our community and for me to do my part in that.

So I asked myself, what could I do in my sphere of influence? What could my contribution be? I love writing and love people; why not start there? And this is how this blog collaboration was born. Since I write in my blog, albeit infrequently, I know I have a diverse readership, which isn’t something I see often. Typically I see blogs that either speak to white women or women of color. I rarely find writing that intentionally has both in mind. I wanted to change that, so I decided to bring 3 of my friends along for the journey. Precious, Amy, & Joy are all insightful and engaging writers who love Jesus. They are women I admire, women I trust, and women whose lights shine brightly. These are the type of women everyone deserves to hear from. We each committed to write an essay focused around themes of racial reconciliation and privilege from our unique lived experiences. We also committed to share the other 3 posts on our respective blogs so our readers are exposed to multiple perspectives.

A four week blog series isn’t going to end systemic racism or racial division; however, I know God has called me to do something, and I will obey. As well, I know God can and does use us to advance his kingdom even if I have no clue what the outcome of this collaboration will be.  God has only asked me to have a willing heart and trust him to do the rest. And that’s what I’m going to do - follow God’s prompting and trust that he will use 4 women to begin conversations around racial reconciliation because God’s heart is to see his people unified and reconciled.

So as you journey with us, I pray your heart will be open to what God wants to reveal to you.

I pray you would open your heart to each of our perspectives that were uniquely designed by God.

I pray you are empowered to do something based on your role in racial reconciliation.

I pray you would be quick to listen and slow to speak.

How gracious of God to use someone as broken as me for his glory. How will he use you?

Mika Karikari is a proud Black woman who loves Jesus, baking, sports, and writing. She currently spends most of her time reading and writing for her PhD program in higher education administration. She lives in her beloved hometown, Cincinnati, Ohio, with her handsome husband. Mika’s writing can be found on her blog, I am Enough. It currently focuses on grief, social justice, poetry, and faith.

Precious Jones is the proud daughter of parents who’ve known struggle.  The familial impact of poverty and struggle shape her writing.  She works in youth & education advocacy for those marginalized.  She’s a former Electrical Engineer who delights in creating through writing.  She is a proud southerner turned foodie who loves people more than she loves good food and a good read. She resides in Cincinnati, OH and candidly shares her predilections [bias, leaning, weakness & predisposition] on her blog, Precious Predilections.

Joy Becker is a wife and mama living in Cincinnati, Ohio. She recently resigned from a twelve-year career as a literacy coach and first grade teacher to become a full time stay-at-home-mom with her two young darlings. She is a lover of new notebooks, October, and goat cheese, and a hater of traffic, scary movies, and overcooked asparagus. You can peek even further into her love for Jesus, food, motherhood, and friendship over at 44 & Oxford.

Amy Seiffert is a wife of 17 years and mom of 3, who never thought she would love raising her family in a small college town. She works at Brookside Church as the Director of Outward movement and has the privilege of occasionally preaching. Amy loves tennis, ice cream, and making beautiful things . In between diapers changes, laundry, and soccer practices, she writes, blogs, speaks, and is working on her book on motherhood.  She has been in a monthly book club for 17 years and cannot believe Oprah has not brought them on her show. Amy inspires, teaches and humbly relates to the mystery and messiness of life. She tells all at www.amyseiffert.com

The Firsts

I knew the firsts would be hard.

That my heart would be heavy.

That my tears would be many.

That my body would ache.

I knew it would be hard.

My daddy dying of cancer after a 9-month battle continues to be the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced. I keep thinking it will get better, but I’m not sure better should be my goal. What does better even look like? Is better missing my daddy less? Or my love for him decreasing? If that is better, I don’t want better. Instead I’m trying to focus on managing. Managing my grief with my life and responsibilities, which is more difficult than I could have ever imagined.

Father’s Day was June 18^th and my daddy’s birthday was June 21^st. I knew that week would be difficult and filled with many emotions. I remember a year ago spending Father’s Day with my daddy. I remember the big birthday party my siblings and I threw for him. I remember how happy he was.

This year was different.

I spent Father’s Day at the cemetery.

I spent Father’s Day with tear filled eyes.

I spent Father’s Day wondering why God chose not to heal my daddy on earth.
I spent Father’s Day mourning.

And I decided that was okay and what I needed. 

I needed to sit in my grief.

To take care of my feelings and emotions.

To resist performing for those around me.

To allow myself to cry and be sad.

To not hold my feelings in.

I spend too much time ignoring my feelings for the sake of others. But I didn’t do that on Father’s Day. And Father’s Day was as hard and awful as I imagined. I have no silver lining or pretty bow to tie on that day. Father’s Day without my daddy sucked!

Thank goodness, God’s mercies are new every morning! My daddy’s birthday was filled with more happy emotions than sad ones. I still spent time crying and being sad. But mostly I smiled as I reminisced about memories of my daddy! My daddy loved golf and we played 9 holes in honor of him. I’m awful at golf, but felt connected to my daddy while playing. We ended his birthday with a celebration at one of his favorite restaurants surrounded by family and friends. I was moved by how many people came out to support us and honor my daddy. It reminded me of how many people my daddy touched & how I hope to live a life where people are positively impacted by me.

I got through the firsts.

I did it.

It was hard.

There were a lot of tears.

My heart ached.

But I also laughed.

And golfed 9 holes for the first time.

I spent time with family and experienced love and support from many people.

As I experience more firsts this year, I’ll use this post as a reminder that even with the heartache and pain, I know I will come through on the other side. 

Radio Silence

In 2014, I got married. It was perfect. I took 2 weeks off from work. When I returned to the office, everyone stopped by to see me.

To ask about how the wedding and honeymoon were.

To see pictures.

To hear stories about my amazing husband Emmanuel.

To get insight on all the details of the wedding day.

To celebrate with me.

I felt cared about. I felt supported. I felt like this big life event mattered to my colleagues and those around me.

Fast forward to January 2017. My daddy passed away after a 9-month battle with colon cancer. I took a week off work and classes. When I returned to campus, I did not receive the same welcome as I had 3 years prior when returning from my wedding & honeymoon. Instead of being warmly greeted, people avoided me like the plague. I got looks of pity or all out avoidance. This hurt. 5 months later I still feel the sting.

I felt ignored.

I felt sad.

I felt lonely.

Of course, there were some people who acknowledged his passing.

Of course, there were some people who called, texted, and sent flowers and cards.

Of course, I know most people around me cared.

But for some reason, they couldn’t figure out how to express their care in a tangible way to me.

And even though I felt hurt by the radio silence I experienced as I grieved, I can empathize because I’ve done the same thing before. Two of my best friends have each lost one of their parents. I did not express my care for them during those difficult times because I was afraid.

I was afraid to say the wrong thing.

I was afraid that bringing it up would make them sad.

I was afraid I’d make things worse.

The last 5 months have taught me that saying something is better than saying nothing. The reality is you never forget losing someone. It’s not like when someone brings up my daddy I’m like “OMG, he died?! I’d forgotten”. My daddy is on my mind all the time. When people bring him up it keeps his memory alive, gives me the space to talk about him, and makes me feel like losing him is acknowledged by those around me.

I’ve decided to say something to those who are grieving or experienced loss, even when it’s hard. Yesterday I stopped by one of my colleague’s office who recently lost her husband. I’d sent a card a week prior but felt it was important to visit her in person to express my care and just check in.

But, I was nervous!

I wanted to relate to her grief without making it about me.

I didn’t want to make her more upset.

I was scared I’d say the wrong thing.

Even though I had these doubts I still went to see her. We ended up having a good conversation.  She cried, I listened, and just let her know she’s thought of and cared for during this difficult time.

I write this for myself and for those who currently or will have people around them experience grief and loss. When people come back to work, or classes, or home, don’t ignore them. Don’t talk about the weather or some other non-important thing without first acknowledging their loss. Don’t avoid them. Instead ask them “how are you doing today?”, tell them “I’m so sorry for your loss”, give them a hug (I LOVE hugs), tell them “I see you and am happy you’re back." Just say anything. Because saying something is better than radio silence. 

I'm afraid

There are always so many things on my mind. Specifically regarding grief, missing my daddy, and trying to figure out what this new normalcy looks like for me.

And it's hard.

And it's messy.

And it's lonely.

And yet, here I am. 

Waking up each day and trying. 

Trying to put one foot in front of the other.

Trying to "take care" of myself.

Trying to grieve.

Trying to live.

One of my favorite new podcasts is Terrible, (Thanks For Asking), which is "a funny/sad/uncomfortable podcast about talking honestly about our pain, our awkwardness, and our humanness" and it's gotten me through the last few weeks when I felt like no one really got what I was feeling and that I needed a space to feel understood. It's been SO good for my soul. 

I'm also still writing. I wrote this thing that turned into a poem (featured below) as I was reflecting on how fearful I am of losing my daddy's memory. I didn't write this for anyone to reassure me that I won't lose it or for folks to try to make me feel better. Instead, I wrote it because that's how I'm currently feeling and my feelings, regardless of how they appear to myself or others, are valid.

To those that have been and are still walking with me through the darkest season of my life, thank you!

I'm afraid 

I’m afraid of losing my daddy’s memory.

Of waking up one day and forgetting the sound of his voice;

The way that he’d call my name…most people call me Mika, but my daddy always called me by full name, Shamika, and I loved it.

I’m afraid of losing my daddy’s memory.

That one day I’ll wake up and must look at a picture of him to remember the features of his face and how his body got smaller over time as the cancer ate away at it.

I’m afraid of losing my daddy’s memory.

That people will not want to talk about him.

I experience that already and it’s only been 4 months.

There are days when I feel like I must plead for someone to say his name, to want to listen to all I want to share about him.

I’m afraid of losing my daddy’s memory.

That when I’m blessed with children of my own that I won’t be able to fully articulate the man my daddy was.

I grieve the memories my future children will never be able to make with him, but instead will have to rely on my memories to know him.

I’m afraid of losing my daddy’s memory.

So I write down as much as I can remember.

I back up all the photos online I have of him.

I talk to him daily.

I commit to keeping his spirit alive

Because I’m afraid of losing my daddy’s memory.