The Cry of the (White) Kids

Yesterday there was a 4th of July party at my parents house. I walked in the door, hugged my mom, and willingly exiled myself to the kids room. The kids table, outside with the kids after dinner, the whole deal.

I am 23 and I have been working with kids for 7 years.

When I was in Chile, who did I miss? Right: kids.

I do not have my own kids and I do not want my own kids.

However, it is clear that I like kids. I want to be around them. I do not like them because they are small and say random things and I can boss them around and sound smart while telling them historic or scientific facts that everyone who has any sort of middle school education knows. No, actually, I like them because I respect them. I feel that by being the only ones here brave enough to be vulnerable and ignorant and small, they earn my respect. When I am in a room with adults my interior screams: WHY DONT WE ALL STOP FAKING IT. When I am with kids, well, it gets quieter.

The most shocking cultural behavior that has impacted me this year during my re-entry has undeniably been the way people in the U.S.A. treat their children. White kids, in particular, get my attention because I have only ever been one, and I know exactly how it feels to be a sensitive creature at the other end of that repremand, that painted smile, that flippant laugh.

Interactions in restaurants, at the gym, in the neighborhood–anywhere!–have exposed me anew to the egoistical disrespect with which children are treated. We have got to stop! If we do not acknowledge our children as humans, and being a human as intrinsically good, how will we love this world back to life?

The lie of badness is daily hammered into children, in all spheres of our culture. Home. School. Play. Good Lord, no wonder we are killing each other! I almost do not blame us. Except for all of the goodness I have seen, and have learned to see. There is so much goodness & we are truly all intrinsically good, accepted, loved, and valued. This darkness cannot last long. Our souls were made to be free, if not as children, then as adults.

I wrote the following piece after witnessing a particularly harrowing parenting episode in a restaurant. Parenting truly must be difficult, but I know it is not impossible to hear the cry of our children. I know it is possible for each adult in the U.S.A. to welcome their the truth of their goodness home into their deepest selves that they may pass it on. That the cry for love may be heard, and may heal the generations to come.

The Cry of the White Kid is a cry for respect & love. May we, as adults, receive the love and respect that is freely poured out on us from the Divine, and may our children absorb it and thrive.

The Cry of the White Kid

Mom, Dad,

Please dont look me in the face and tell me that I am bad.

Please dont teach me to see the patterns of my shadows–I need you to teach me to see the light that will lead me into and through that darkness.

Please dont smile at your friends and tell them how bad I am while I have tears streaming down my face.

Please dont laugh at the way I swim or only point out my weaknesses.

Please assume that I am right where I should be, instead of stressing constantly that I am behind the others.

Please dont use me to puff up your ego or make your decisions or shield you from your emotions.

Please dont always point out my imperfections–I already see them in full color. I need you to show me my perfection. No one else ever will.

Love unconditionally and with all my respect,

Future You in the World

 

Amen,

Lydia Nomad, a white kid 🙂

 

P.S. Here is a Great Parenting Blog Post.

 

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will I go?

Visiting the Wycliffe (Bible Translators) headquarters in Dallas last week, I guess I asked for it. The Holy Spirit came knocking (per my own bold request) on Sunday night, solidifying all I’ve known to be true since 8th grade….I’m destined to follow God’s call overseas, and following that call is not going to be easy. There is a reason not all languages have translations of the Gospel. Living overseas is hard. Trusting God (rather than your own ability to pull up them bootstraps!) to provide your daily bread is not comfortable. Living oceans away from your family….daunting at best. Let’s not even mention the powers of darkness at work.
Life is full of heartache (wherever you live) and following Jesus takes immense courage.

Another follower said, “Master, excuse me for a couple of days, please. I have my father’s funeral to take care of.” Jesus refused, “First things first. Your business is life, not death. Follow me. Pursue life.”
~Matthew 8:21-22, MSG

So there I stood, in the highest building at the International Linguistics Center, as they sang:

Letting go of my pride
Giving up all my rights
Take this life and let it shine*

How can I give it all up? I can’t escape the thought. I’m standing on the brink of the rest of my life and all my weak heart can cry is: I love my life! I love Little Rock! I want to stay.
Yet, I know what staying would mean. Happiness laced with hollowness. Wondering. A curiosity that would never leave me be, that would make me restless everyday of my life. The knowledge, achy like a stomach cramp, that I had not said “yes” to the Lord of my life. How can I slam the door in his face? How can I sing the songs….

Surrender?

do you people know what that means? I thought, as everyone sang happily around me. It means no more truck rides with inner-city kids and hot Cheeto fingerprints, no more Halloweens spent driving from one side of my beloved city to the other; no more drop-in visits to friends who have known me since before adolescence, friends who rode the high school roller coaster with me; no more knowing the ins & outs of one place, one people.
No more weekends at mom & dad’s.
Will I get to see my sisters…even once a year?
God, I love my life.
It is a gift.
Is it an idol?

You surely know that your body is a temple where the Holy Spirit lives. The Spirit is in you and is a gift from God. You are no longer your own. God paid a great price for you. So use your body to honor God. ~1 Corinthians 6:19-20, emphasis mine

Do I love my life more than I love the God who gave me life? If I truly believe that all good things come from God why would I run away from him instead of towards him?

He has given me time, talent, & the treasure of my heart & free will. He won’t force himself on me, but he allures me towards the adventure my soul longs to play its irreplaceable role in.
And all I can do is shake in my little gray Skechers:

Surrender.

Truly, it is the only option. I don’t have to be smart enough. I don’t have to be healthy. I just have to be willing. I just have to trust him. It is hard to sing the words:

It will be my joy to say
Your will
Your way*
(Chris Tomlin, Lay Me Down)

…so I will whisper them, tears flowing from the depths of my shattered heart.

I surrender. I will go; I will go if You go with me.

And He said to him [Moses], “My presence will go with you and I will give you rest.”~Exodus 33:14, ESV

He is enough. Who else has a bottle full of the tears I’ve shed since birth? Who else loves me enough to make me whole? No small part of my heart is isolated; He cares for every inch of my eternal soul.

Make your light shine, so others will see the good you do and will praise your Father in heaven. ~Matthew 5:16, CEV

Dare to follow him, and join the deluge of people who have taken the plunge into the ocean of his grace;
His grace for you.

LYDIA2

Judy Griffith (pictured in blue) spent her life translating the Bible for people groups in Papau New Guinea. What will your legacy be?

https://www.wycliffe.org/