He doubted everything about me.
I loved him with every bit of me.
Our love was Real.
My groom and our little-Boy-Man embraced eight teenage boys.
We loved on them all.
A. Better. Chance. {for them} 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.
Real love isn't based on color.
Real love isn't based on color.
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.
Skin color wasn't evident behind the rose-colored glasses I wore.
I humbly learned that living sheltered isn't Real privilege.
Skin color wasn't evident behind the rose-colored glasses I wore.
I didn't live his story. His tug-of-war was not my own.
Teachers, mentors, families...no one here could understand the hatred he held.
He's back home. Future unknown.
A heart of gratitude was not his spirit willing.
And so, I stand in Real sadness for what we lost.
A boy who will soon become a man remains in our heart.
This part in our story wrecked my vision of love. Beat it down and stomped on it.
My Real love was denied. Doubted.
The boy couldn't understand {Grace} one single bit.
He wasn't willing to See.
He wasn't willing to See.
What a powerful word: "I humbly learned that living sheltered isn't Real privilege." How true!! Being sheltered can distort as much as it can protect if it grace isn't a part.
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