when our Love isn't believed

He doubted everything about me.

I loved him with every bit of me.

Skin color wasn't evident behind the rose-colored glasses I wore.

Just. Love.

And we did. Wholeheartedly.

My groom and our little-Boy-Man embraced eight teenage boys.

We loved on them all.

A Better Chance was our hope.

Each was from a different place than us. All with experiences we could never imagine.

But still, Love was our call, and we did it with Joy.

This one bigger Boy, nearly now a man--he didn't believe us.

He questioned our intentions and included us as fault for history.

His doubt was centered on our white skin color and the vanilla community we were raised in.

Privilege was his hate.

And me, I just couldn't understand.

I didn't live his story.

Teachers, mentors, families...even we couldn't understand the hatred he held.

And now he's gone. Back home. Future unknown.

Mouth shut and heart of gratitude were not his spirit willing.

And so, I stand in shame of my race sometimes and in sadness for what we lost.

A boy who will soon become a man, was once in our life and is now in our heart.

There's so much I could say about this experience.

For one, it wrecked my heart--beat it down and stomped on it.

My love was denied. 

The boy I wrote about could not understand {Grace} one single bit. He wasn't willing to See.

And so, as we are challenged to receive Grace for ourselves, or extend Grace for another, I think of him and how he struggled to receive the Love that we were so freely giving.

This week, People of the Second Chance presented the next poster in its series of Grace.

It's of the KKK.

The boy I think about would just broil with rage over the idea of Grace for *Them.*

Lord, show him somehow...
Speak to him even where he is...
we're not all like that...
and even *they* are within your reach.

Help him to believe...and help me to trust in your purposes, even for *him.*
And help me to trust in you--that you're bigger than Me. 

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