x (wept)

today, i wore my suit to my internship because of an interview at 5pm (with a nannying organization for a summer job).

((side note... one of my coworkers, a somalian refugee caseworker comments daily on my appearance.  at first, i didn't know what to take of, "oh leah, you look so good today."  but realizing it is totally cultural and sincerely stated, i have begun to enjoy hearing how fabulous i am twice a week (ha!!).  i WILL miss that part of my internship :).  LOL!))

anyway, picture me, blue button down, black pencil skirt, pointy heels, blonde(ish), tall.  and as i make my way to the bathroom, i walk through a waiting area full of refugees (mostly from iraq).  it's amazing how i can feel at home in one room of our office and like a minority in the next.

as i strolled through these refugees, i hated everything about my ensemble, skin color, hair and blue eyes.  in a disgusting way, my ethnicity symbolizes what is marketed as "most desirable" to the world.  and to these refugees, i represented all that they wouldn't be able to achieve because of systemic racism, classism, language barriers and more.  i wanted to peel off this outer shell and give it to the beautiful cuban woman so that she could have a chance to succeed in america.

obviously, being white, blonde and english-speaking isn't the only route to success in america and there are hundreds of amazing stories of refugees being resilient and successful.  i do not want to invalidate that at all. 

but i do want to acknowledge that because of who i am and how i look, it is much easier to get the things that i want.  the path to "success" is paved much more smoothly and protected from the desert barbarians who lurk in the cliffs above.

and for that, i am so sorry.  and, even sorrier for the fact that as much as this grieves me, i will use these these things to get ahead in the system.

. . .

today, my ethiopian client came to me and broke down with tears of desperation.  he is old and in pain and has nothing to pay for medical bills.  through translation he said, "i am desperate.  please help."

a 78-year-old, former public health official coming to a 24-year-old, spoiled white girl in a suit, telling her he is desperate and needs her to help.  i wanted to give my tow-headed costume to him and take his humility and sadness into me.  i am so sorry, i am so sorry my african papa.  i am so sorry that you come to this land of SUV's and golden oil and you have nothing except your dignity.  why can't i pay for your medical bills?  why can't we take you under our insurance plan or bring you into my home?  why has your life become this when it has been so much more?  i would ask you to teach me, my african papa, but i am incredibly and arrogantly undeserving of that privilege to be your student... have mercy, dear jesus.

. . .

it is so beautiful here in chicago today, for many reasons.  and i feel that this painful blog (well, painful to me) is such a contrast.  perhaps a reminder that the resurrection and lightness of new life is available for all... but that just feels so superficial... "salvation for all who believe!" or the joy of jesus in light of the sorrow of my clients and unfairnesses they cannot avoid... i think that is because, perhaps, my view of jesus' joy is indeed superficial... deepen my understanding of your joy and your earthiness/awareness of reality and its heavenly hope and contrast, risen Lord.