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When Chronic Blessings was first published, it was terrifying to trust my story with the world.  It was beyond difficult to subject myself to the vulnerability and criticism that goes hand in hand with sharing the struggles, hardships and judgements involved in living with a chronic, invisible illness. 

As it turns out, my fears were well founded.  People I know and love, acquaintances and also total strangers have said more hurtful things to me than you would believe.

Here are some things I’ve been told:

·       “You’re making it up.  It couldn’t be that bad.”

·       “It really would be better if you just kept your problems to yourself.”

·       “You’re better now than you used to be so just be thankful for that.  There’s no point in complaining about it.”

·       “You’ve gotten so much help from the medical system and now you want them to take the time to learn more about your condition?  Everything can’t be about you.”

·       “I’ve never seen anyone treat you badly when you’re struggling, so I think it must be all in your head.  You’re just overly sensitive to it.”

·       “I’ve got no issue with people with invisible illness, but maybe if you just try harder then people who do wouldn’t give you such a hard time.”

·       “Why spend so much energy raising awareness for POTS when all illnesses are important?  Don’t other diseases matter?”

·       “All diseases matter.”

Okay, okay.  I’m sure you realize where I’m going with this.  No one said any of those things to me.  Thankfully no one said anything remotely like the statements above. 

But if you know and love me, did you start to feel a bit upset as you read these so-called quotes?  A bit of outrage even as you heard what people have supposedly said to me?  I would think so.  Those statements are hurtful, mean, cruel even. 

And yet.  People I know and love (as well as so very many I don’t know) say similar things with the exact same sentiment directly to (or about) black men and women when they tell their stories.

When I told my story, most did not have any experience with invisible illness.  Many were truly getting a window into a world they didn’t know existed.  And people listened.  Really listened.  People expressed an interest to learn more.  They said they looked at the world and other people through completely new eyes.  They said they would treat their patients, friends or family members with a much higher degree of sensitivity and compassion.

So why do some white people assume they have nothing to learn when a black man shares his story.  Why do they think he is being overly sensitive or trying to gain something he doesn’t deserve?  Why do they only look at the riots and violence and ignore the voice of the peaceful brokenhearted?

This isn’t about white guilt.  This is about treating others as Jesus would by seeing them, listening to them and entering their pain.  I’m asking that you treat black men, women and children with the same degree of respect that you treated me when I shared my story.  Don’t assume you already know all about it.  Listen, not to formulate a response, but to learn with ears that recognize you are not the expert on this subject matter.  You are the student.

I don’t know what it’s like to be black in America.  But I can tell you that when we moved from a county that was over 50% black into a new neighborhood that is very white, I told Greg, “This would be so much more scary if Aiden (our almost 16 year old son) was our black child, rather than Carrington (adorable 11 year old girl).”  And yet, when it comes to America at large, we feel that tension and fear for our daughter.

I can tell you that I have learned a lot over the last few years when it comes to issues of race.  I was blissfully ignorant before.  Strange as it sounds, it was a privilege to be ignorant—meaning it was an issue I never had to think about while others are forced to every day.  I still have so much to learn.  But like I tell Carrington all the time when helping her with schoolwork, “You can’t learn if you already think you know it all.”  I’ve had to check all my preconceived notions at the door.  I have to listen with the desire to see through another’s eyes and feel the emotions that are within them.  As a Christian I can do no less, even though I will mess it up a lot.

What I’m asking is for you to check your preconceived notions at the door as well.  For those who know us personally, you can’t fully show love to Carrington without trying to understand.  Wives don’t feel fully loved and seen by their husband if he dismisses her experiences and needs as a woman.  And vice versa.  If you’d like to really learn, then I’d suggest three things.

1.       Pray that God will open your heart and mind.

2.       Turn off the news.

3.       Read or listen to Be the Bridge by Latasha Morrison (Audible!)

And if you’re still feeling disgruntled by all the focus on black lives right now, ask yourself if you’ve ever gotten upset about the parable of the lost sheep.  Have you ever gotten angry that the shepherd left 99 sheep behind in the open country?  Of course not.  Was Jesus saying that the 99 left behind didn’t matter?  Nope.  That thought never crossed your mind, did it?  There was one sheep in crisis, so that sheep took priority at the moment.  We’d all agree that the lost sheep mattered… without ever getting our panties in a wad that somehow the other 99 didn’t.  Black lives are no different.

And if you still feel confused about how black lives are in crisis, well, then, listen to the heart of any black mother.  Or refer back to my list of 3 suggested things. 

May the Good Shepherd who cares for all His sheep guide us.  May He teach us the art of closing our mouths while opening our ears, hearts and minds.