The danger in silence.

Scrolling down my Twitter feed is an exercise in Godly trust. I don’t work for a nonprofit. I haven’t written a book. (Yet.) I am one voice among many, MANY voices and what I am on a daily basis is a wife, a mom, an elementary teacher. What the hell can I possibly do that will make any semblance of difference in the justice fights so many of my brothers and sisters are waging day in and day out? I don’t trust that God can use me and I fight the feelings of failure and jealousy with every flick of my thumb on my social media feed full of justice crusaders.

I am full of righteous anger for the underserved, underprivilidged, overlooked. I talk a big game and I write a blog and then… I put away the laundry. I make my son’s lunch. I water the garden. I regret that I’m not being used for more: “USE ME, USE ME, USE ME!”I cry out! I walk the precarious line between begging to be used by the God I love but not wanting to hear him tell me to be patient, to align my motives, to focus my passion.

 

Journal scribbles.

Journals. So many journals.

Romans 9:21 – A potter has the right to do what he wants to with his clay, doesn’t he? He can make something for a special occasion or something for ordinary use from the same lump of clay.

The crux of the thing is, God isn’t really concerned with what I think He should be doing with me. I can try to make my own path, but I’ve tried that enough to know how that goes which means that my options are:

1) Keep moping in assumed mediocrity and frustration with opportunities not aligning with my own vision of justice reparation or

2) Stop being absurdly childish and start each day begging God to give me eyes to see the ways in which I can fulfill the purposes He has set for me which, coincidentally, do not require my bulleted list of suggestions.

Given the options, I’M GOING WITH THE SECOND.

So here’s what I’ve got:

*Words. I adore words. I love shaping them, reworking them, forming them into phrases that were previously only fragments of a thought. I can write.

*Privilege. Unasked for, undeserved, unearned, but there nonetheless: my race, my economic status, my sexual orientation, my education, my religion, my origin of birth, my nationality… None of these things should give me a platform above others, but regrettably, embarrassingly, they do and so I will warp them until they serve a purpose.

These things? These are what I’ve got to fight injustice. I will wrestle these into weapons I can wield and I will pray continually that I not underestimate the ability of the God of all the earth to use me without my intervention or pouting.

I will remember that my job is not to take over for God. My only assignment is to speak to what I know, learn from others what I don’t, and use my unearned but present privilege to lift the voices of those whose aren’t being heard. There are topics upon which I can speak with authority and there are far more for which I cannot. Kathy Khang (@mskathykhang) advises that on such topics we should: listen, learn, ask questions, open doors, and then step aside. Those things- those are things I can do.

Greater society would love us to believe in the “us & them” lie. The divisions are many and exist for so many painful reasons that are unjust, unfair, unearned, and ultimately un-Christlike. So for now, I will write. I will write in my downtime between lesson planning and tucking my child in to bed and catching up on the day with my husband. For now, that’s what I’ve got to offer.

So come Jesus. Come use the least of us. You’re enough and right now, in the midst of all of this overwhelming brokenness, our silence is doing more harm than good.

 

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