I want to look back on 2008 when I saw racial hatred rising again. I felt fear like I had known when I was in second grade, hearing stories of cross burnings in the yards of black families and watching them burn on TV.
The scary thing I was dealing with this hatred among white Christians who I thought were my friends.
Before I went to sleep one night, I asked God, "What is this thing on me that I am battling?" Then, I received this message in a dream.
A small group of whites said they wanted to help me as they poured this white liquid substance over my head.
"You'll look better with this," they said. Other people stood in a circle, waiting for their turn to impress this group of leaders.
"I don't want to perform for these people," I thought, excusing myself to go to the bathroom. When I peered in the mirror, I saw the plaster had covered all over my head and my entire face.
"This looks awful!" I thought, pulling off the plaster that had begun to harden. I peeled off the first layer than the second.
Now I was my normal self-wearing natural hair. Although my hair still had some tiny white specks, my naturally curly hair was so much prettier than my processed hair. I shone brightly.
"Why would they pour this on me and want to cover who I am?" I asked.
"Because you are black, and they weren't comfortable with that," a voice responded.
And that’s just exactly what whites have done––insisted blacks conform to their ideas of everything in order to be “good” and “accepted.”
White supremacist culture makes you hate yourself as a person of color. It makes you want to be someone other than yourself.
My husband bleached his skin to try to make it white as a young boy.
I had absorbed the cultural norms that my voice doesn't matter as a black woman and that I should remain silent. I've stepped away from that lie
I started finding my way back to love this part of me thirteen years ago.
I stopped getting relaxers in my hair and have worn natural hair ever since. I had worked so hard to make whites feel comfortable at the cost of losing a part of me.
Created in the image of God, it brings Him joy when we accept how He made us. The different colors of humanity reflect an aspect of His glory.
I found my voice in the Spring of 2020 by writing about my racial experiences. It's time to speak the truth and shine bright for His glory!