Broken Glass

A field of broken glass lies in front of me. 

As I tried to write about it (and failed repeatedly at doing so), I discovered that the more I tried to generalize the broken glass to a broader audience beyond myself, the more I realized that this particular field was designed just for (and in many ways by) me. It was based on my own unique history, my way of viewing the world, my own judgements, my own biases, and my own limitations.  While millions of Americans faced their own similar fields, the one in front of me was mine to consider, and should I choose to walk forward, I would be alone in the crossing.   

While only a month ago, the broken glass merely reflected a global pandemic and economic calamity, the field has now grown and thickened, as the simmering and unresolved racism that underlies American life has come to a boil after the cruel and entirely preventable deaths of George Floyd in Minneapolis and Breona Taylor in Louisville Kentucky.

Now, the field stretches as far as the eye can see... vast, intimidating, and seemingly uncrossable.   It sparkles sharply, thwarting any attempt I might make to ignore it or distract myself.  Whether I read the daily headlines or not, the steady uptick in COVID-19 deaths, many of them preventable, jerks me awake at the very moment I might otherwise fall into much needed sleep.   And, despite the fact that I have left my overwhelmingly white home county only a handful of times in the past two months, the cruelty, the judgement, and the discrimination handed out to people of color in our society intrudes abruptly into my conscious mind even when I am seemingly immersed in tasks and to-do's that are entirely unrelated to issues of race and ethnicity.   

Some of the broken glass also reflects my history, a myriad set of my own experiences where I could have handled the racial divide so much differently.  I look across the field and see many mirrors.   

So many mirrors.  

Times where I heard stories about how students were being treated differently and did nothing. Moments where I said something in front of an entire class that, viewed through the eyes of some students, felt dismissive and unkind. Lost or faded relationships where I didn't take the difference between another person and myself seriously enough.  Too many assumptions that the headlines must be sensationalized -- surely racism couldn't be THAT bad in this day and age.  

Years where I refused flu shots with flimsy excuses about needles.  Many days where I went to work sick, with a clearly inflated view of the value of my contribution and work and a dismissive attitude about infecting someone else.  

And, the list goes on.   Mirrors -- reminders of where I could have and should have done better.   

But, as I stand facing the field of broken glass, I am tired.  I want to change.  I want to grow.  But, that field just looks so much bigger than me.  I don't want to move.

So,

I could easily succumb to the temptation to be still. I could remain in this same spot along the journey of life, pondering the broken glass from my own complacent and safe space.  I could fake being content with such immobility.

And,

I could even rationalize my stillness by burying myself in work and busyness.   If I bought into my employer's message that more work = true loyalty, I could even turn away from that nasty looking field altogether. 

And,

I could throw in a few perks to standing still -- buy a few new toys, indulge in a couple of luxuries, remodel, or redecorate.   I could even ... go on a cruise while the pandemic rages on (oops-- reckless behavior ALERT).   

Or,

I could make a run for it, read a book (or more importantly the Book), watch a few TV programs on the topic of racism and the data behind the pandemic and call it good. I could convince myself that I've done what I can do.  Though, running across all those sharp edges could cause permanent injury to my bare and exposed feet. I might never walk the same again.   

So,

My only real choice is to step forward and walk slowly across the field.   While the glass underneath my feet will cause me pain and be impossible to ignore, it will not cause lasting injury as running will do, nor will it keep me from what lies on the other side, as standing still would do.  

Instead, walking slowly across the field will, in addition to causing a few laws of physics to work in my favor, force time to reflect, engage time to grow, and put the brakes on a life that might otherwise move recklessly forward and whether by poor, impatient choices or by good intentions, cause harm to others.

But

all that glass.  Ouch.  

Maybe, I can just put it off one more day.  

But

that Book I should read far more often than I do is calling me -- to move forward (Job 17:9) and strain forward to what lies ahead (Philippians 3:13).  

Sigh.