I Hate This Blog--God Forgive Me

Going to say this upfront--I have no idea where this post is going. I have no answers or neat little tie-ups--truth, I just have more questions, more doubts, more concerns I'm getting things wrong, and definitely truly worried I will offend someone with the post. I beg your forgiveness in advance.

Last week while preparing for my sermon I read a commentary on the Gospel reading by Holly Hearon posted on workingpreacher.org. (Read full commentary)  She concludes her commentary with these words. "Justice denied can give way to a rage that burns like a furnace of fire. It can cause us to wither and cease to bear fruit. It can even lead us to become bitter enemies of one another and of God." I can't stop thinking about those words. I can't stop thinking about the words my daughter has used as we debate the vandalism, the property damage that has occurred during the protests. I have held firmly to destruction solves nothing; she has held firmly to no one listened until there was action. I still think we're both right (and I look forward to our conversation when she reads this. I cannot begin to express how grateful I am for my children and all that I have learned from them--always but particularly during this time.) And I can't stop thinking about something that happened when Caroline was in sixth grade.....

Caroline had a good friend she talked about all the time. Sitting here right now, I can't remember her name which is another part of the story I find problematic--okay a part of the story that brings me shame--but I'm trying not to make this about me. Caroline asked if the young lady could spend the night. I tried to talk to a parent or guardian prior to the weekend, but it wasn't to be--I have no idea why. All I know is the message delivered to me was the young lady could only come if a) I picked her up and b) she could stay for the whole weekend. I didn't have a problem with either--I still was very judgemental about the parent/guardian not wanting to talk to the person who would be hosting for the weekend.

Caroline got the address and I entered it into the GPS. As with GPS, the directions were not entirely accurate. I was frustrated and not being the most kind to Caroline. (I deposited into her therapy account.) Why was I frustrated? Because we were all going over to my in-laws for dinner and swimming, I didn't want to be late. We were in the parking lot of a subsidized housing unit, and I for the life of me could not figure out how to get to the exact apartment. I told Caroline I would walk over to the apartment still hoping to meet the parent/guardian. Instead, the young lady came running over to our car.

I thought we were being the most hospitable people in the world. The young lady didn't come with a bathing suit. Truth, she didn't have any change of clothes. Now let me set the stage--we were ALL there. Grandparents, all the brothers, their wives, and all the grandchildren plus a few extra friends. I'm also going to own here--we're a lot to take by anyone. Anyway, we all sprung into action and found a swimsuit for her. My mother-in-law even said, "Go ahead and keep it. It doesn't fit any of us anymore." We all thought we were being so kind and generous. It's truly what we would do with anyone. Next, we ordered dinner. My extremely generous father in law told our guest to order whatever she wanted. We were having a great time.

The next day we went on several excursions. I can't remember exactly what. I do know we wanted our guest to have a great time. I made a big breakfast of pancakes as I always did when we had overnight friends, we rented movies, we went out for ice cream, we did lots of stuff.

Late Saturday afternoon/early evening Caroline came to me in tears. "I want her to go home," she said. At first, I didn't listen to her, or rather didn't really hear her. I said, "It's just a few more hours. We'll take her home after church tomorrow." Caroline kept saying, "No, please now." I didn't understand this. Caroline is my the more the merrier, how many people can I fit into my room kid. I kept pressing and finally got this out of her. "She jumps out at me from behind corners and she has a knife." I would like to say I was stunned, but Caroline is also my very dramatic child (right Ms. K?), so I inquired further somewhat disbelieving. "She brought a knife to our house?" "No," Caroline said, "She got one out of our kitchen." Y'all seriously, I couldn't get my head around this, so I just said, "She'll be gone tomorrow."

Yep, you read that right. I did NOTHING!

The next day the young lady joined the family at church. She came to the communion rail and I served her. She joined in Sunday School and coffee hour, and then I took her home.

Caroline never mentioned her again.

Okay, here's where it possibly gets offensive, and I definitely start making assumptions. That weekend has haunted me over the years. I have thought about how I failed as a parent. I doubted Caroline or rather the intensity of the story. All these years I think about how I failed Caroline, how I didn't do anything to make her feel safe, how I let my desire to not create a "problem" keep me from being the person I want to be. Should I have taken her home immediately and demanded to talk with her parent/guardian? Should I have I sat down with the young lady and had a conversation? What did I miss?

Today I think, "How did we play a part of that weekend? In our attempt to be hospitable in the way we upper middle class, white people do, did we create a situation where she felt uncomfortable, out of place, defensive and less than? What experience did she bring into our world that had inner rage boil to the surface? What did I miss? What could I have done differently?"

As I said at the beginning, I have no answers. I know I failed my daughter (something that has been part of my nightmares for years), but I also failed that young lady. Maybe she really was just a psychotic young lady and it was going to be that way no matter what, or maybe we put her into a position where justice denied to her over the weeks, months, and years gave way to a rage she couldn't control, and I not only failed to see it, but I also helped to, unknowingly, ignite it.

What I do know--I failed two little girls that weekend. Caroline, I can make it up to. But the other girl, whose name I can't even remember, she was just a little girl, and after that weekend, we, I, just erased her from our lives.  God forgive me.