Sometimes, I’m quieter here - but there’s so much to say.
I remember the hidden wound.

There’s that invisible line of social class - serving old white people as their hands raise in a dismissal that hurts when I imagine it done to me.
I try to wonder if I’m over-exaggerating this, but I see it so often upon what we have somehow deemed to be second-class citizens. 

But, this goes for all colors and includes all ranks of social economics.
As I find myself in the service industry, I know this look all too well. This is what it comes down to, “You have nothing to offer me after this transaction.”

I notice it when I hear white folks talk in there “black voice” - how it sounds ignorant..and mean. I don’t quite understand why you have to explain a person as a “black man/woman” in a story.
I’m sure it happens the other way around in other communities, but a story is still a story regardless of color…right?
But when you say, “This black man came up…” It seems to change our perception of the story. We get more anxious - more nervous for what you’re going to say. I wonder why we do this, and if it matters or if it confirms our deepest thoughts.

As a native of the great deep South, this still finds its way into my conscious. 
There’s no one person I point out, but do realize it happens more often than I witness.

Sure, when you “shoo” away a waitress because we’re done, it may seem like a funny thing to do, but to her, it can seem oppressive and even more so, rude. 
It makes me uncomfortable, and for the sake of the situation, I will only speak for myself.
I speak on these things, not because I have hopes that it’ll change a person, but that the place my heart has shifted to sees these interactions as something that is hurtful, and that I want people to be aware of…
We have to change the way we think in these tiny ways, because it’s the small things, that bring justice and peace to a conversation or interaction.

But oh, the South.
How it calls me home. Blue Plate mayo in the ‘fridge - southern accents rising up from locally produced commercials make me chuckle in the best of ways. Things just seem brighter when you’ve been away for a while.
It’s nice to be somewhere flat for a change. It’s nice to find comfort in all the small things.

Fried catfish. FoodNetwork. Sleep. Crickets and frogs. Fat rain. Waffle House. Cracker Barrel. Biscuits and gravy. Twang. No expectations. Comfort. Sweet tea. Fried Turkey. Pecan pie. And family.

Some beautiful things…hugging my sweet momma and gran, spending some time with my sis and her beautiful babies…and just being here in the spirit of the holidays.

We have heavy hearts of a tough year - dear ones who have joined the Great Mystery and are fully reconciled to a good God, through all the violence and hate of such a broken humanity.

We give thanks for new life and freedom from oppression. 
We simply, give thanks.
For offering ourselves to a broken world and mending our hidden wounds..

..with peace.


Welcome home, native son.