a rant on injustice
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This is a different sort of blog post. It's not refined. It's not planned or calculated or all that intentional.
And it's not exactly the kind of post I usually write, so feel free to ignore this and come back tomorrow.
I started this as a link included in yesterday's round-up. But when the explanation became multiple paragraphs, I knew I couldn't just leave it there.
Here's an article about the Las Lomas colonia just outside of Rio Grande City in Texas. It has nothing and everything to do with this blog. Nothing, because it's about the realities of (usually illegal) immigrant families from Mexico. Everything, because I taught students from this colonia for two years.
A binder from one student still sits on my shelf, his name on the spine so I can see it every day. No one in his life cared about him, and I couldn't care enough to make up for all the neglect and pain in his life. I know he dropped out; I've heard he's serving time. I pray for him daily, and I couldn't make it through this paragraph without tears.
I do what I do - in writing this blog and in serving in special needs ministry at my church - in part because of the memory of the boy whose name is on that binder I see every day and because of the other boys and girls who captured my heart in South Texas. I write because so many other teachers didn't care enough about them to teach them before they showed up in my middle school class, woefully unprepared because previous special education classes were more focused on babysitting than actually teaching and because teachers like me were asked to switch to general education "because you're wasted on these kids and we want you to be teaching kids who deserve you." (Yes, those words were said to me by an administrator. No, I did not switch, and I even managed to hold my tongue to avoid telling that administrator exactly what I thought he deserved.)
I care enough to spend hours and energy and tears and sweat over special needs ministry because I don't want to see people with disabilities cast aside like so many of my students were, and I especially don't want to see that in the church. The colonias you can read about in this article changed me. It changed me to visit kids in homes with dirt floors and a hole in the corner for a toilet. It changed me to be given homework pages that had been soaked during rains because Las Lomas flooded badly. It changed me to have to fight so hard for each of my kids, against so much apathy and so many other obstacles.
And now that I have kids? To consider all of that from the perspective of a mother? I am undone by that.
I didn't mean to make this into its own post, but I'm beyond frustrated that so many people can become indignant over the injustice of one court case while remaining apathetic about the many injustices we encounter - and ignore - every day. (Nevermind that it seemed like more people were outraged by the outcome of said trial than by the death that preceded it.)
It hurts to feel. It can be exhausting to face injustice. It is painful to let our hearts be broken by the things that break God's heart.
But what about the alternatives? Not caring. Ignoring injustice. Living a self-absorbed life. Saying "well, my kid doesn't have special needs..." or "I was born in a country with opportunities..." as an excuse to throw away knowledge of those whose lives are different from our own.
Care. And not just about some kids on the Mexican border or the little girl whose mother was found not guilty. Care about the people in your neighborhood and in your city and at your church.
Don't just talk about injustice; care about it.
Don't turn away. Spend yourself for the Repairer of Broken Walls.
And it's not exactly the kind of post I usually write, so feel free to ignore this and come back tomorrow.
I started this as a link included in yesterday's round-up. But when the explanation became multiple paragraphs, I knew I couldn't just leave it there.
Here's an article about the Las Lomas colonia just outside of Rio Grande City in Texas. It has nothing and everything to do with this blog. Nothing, because it's about the realities of (usually illegal) immigrant families from Mexico. Everything, because I taught students from this colonia for two years.
A binder from one student still sits on my shelf, his name on the spine so I can see it every day. No one in his life cared about him, and I couldn't care enough to make up for all the neglect and pain in his life. I know he dropped out; I've heard he's serving time. I pray for him daily, and I couldn't make it through this paragraph without tears.
I do what I do - in writing this blog and in serving in special needs ministry at my church - in part because of the memory of the boy whose name is on that binder I see every day and because of the other boys and girls who captured my heart in South Texas. I write because so many other teachers didn't care enough about them to teach them before they showed up in my middle school class, woefully unprepared because previous special education classes were more focused on babysitting than actually teaching and because teachers like me were asked to switch to general education "because you're wasted on these kids and we want you to be teaching kids who deserve you." (Yes, those words were said to me by an administrator. No, I did not switch, and I even managed to hold my tongue to avoid telling that administrator exactly what I thought he deserved.)
I care enough to spend hours and energy and tears and sweat over special needs ministry because I don't want to see people with disabilities cast aside like so many of my students were, and I especially don't want to see that in the church. The colonias you can read about in this article changed me. It changed me to visit kids in homes with dirt floors and a hole in the corner for a toilet. It changed me to be given homework pages that had been soaked during rains because Las Lomas flooded badly. It changed me to have to fight so hard for each of my kids, against so much apathy and so many other obstacles.
And now that I have kids? To consider all of that from the perspective of a mother? I am undone by that.
I didn't mean to make this into its own post, but I'm beyond frustrated that so many people can become indignant over the injustice of one court case while remaining apathetic about the many injustices we encounter - and ignore - every day. (Nevermind that it seemed like more people were outraged by the outcome of said trial than by the death that preceded it.)
It hurts to feel. It can be exhausting to face injustice. It is painful to let our hearts be broken by the things that break God's heart.
But what about the alternatives? Not caring. Ignoring injustice. Living a self-absorbed life. Saying "well, my kid doesn't have special needs..." or "I was born in a country with opportunities..." as an excuse to throw away knowledge of those whose lives are different from our own.
Care. And not just about some kids on the Mexican border or the little girl whose mother was found not guilty. Care about the people in your neighborhood and in your city and at your church.
Don't just talk about injustice; care about it.
Don't turn away. Spend yourself for the Repairer of Broken Walls.
“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.
Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
The LORD will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.
Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
The LORD will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.
Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.
{Isaiah 58:6-12}