I am weary. Do you hear me? Weary! I am too weary to even write this blog post. I’m sad. I am sad so far deep and down in my spirit that I don’t even know where the bottom of my sadness is.
I have been trying to write this post for several days now. On Wednesday, June 17, a murderer entered a holy and sacred place in Charleston, South Carolina and murdered nine human beings. It is too much for me to understand. It is too much for me to process. I thought that after a day or two my shock would go away. But writing this now, my shock and sorrow and anger and pain and sadness is still fresh and new. It is just like a wound that refuses to heal.
All across this country we are in pain. We are in pain for the sons and daughters who will never get the chance to grow up and grow old. We are in pain for the grandmothers and mothers and aunts who will no longer hold children or blow kisses or cook collard greens and poundcake. We are in pain for the children who lost fathers because of indifference and hate.
And we are weary of the insincere apologies and expectations of forgiveness. Weary of the funeral boycotts and heartbreaking eulogies. I am weary.
Today, I listened to the President of the United States singing amazing Grace over the casket of one of the victims. That was such a beautiful way to honor the victims. It was such a bold and grand gesture. But why was that even necessary? Racism, hate, and indifference made it necessary.
And while I am weary today, I know my strength will be renewed. Because I need my strength to fight. To fight for a country where my son can grow up to be the man he is meant to be. Where my son can grow up and know what freedom really is. And where I can spend my last days with great hope for the future and great hope for people. I will fight for place where a blog post like this is not necessary. I hope you will join me