A Weeping Woman

I see the weeping woman. 

I see the joy of a son and the relief of a healthy babe.

I see the strength and tenderness of a new mother.

I see the hope of the now.

I see the weeping woman. 

I see the Mama preparing to tell her boy what the world thinks. 
I see the heart both longing to shield, and to prepare her son. 

I see the complexity of the now.

I see the weeping woman. 

I see the streams running down her melanin cheeks. 

I see the hands lifted high, grasping for hope, agony in her heart.

I see the desperation of the now.

I see the weeping woman.

I see the hands in familiar rhythm preparing the funeral feast.

I see another memorial of teddy bears, crosses, and flowers. 

I see the grief of the now.

I remember the first wedding I was invited to. I felt so special, so…privileged to be with them on their special day. I remember being invited to visit my friends in the hospital after they had their baby. It felt sacred and special to be let in on such an intimate moment. I will always treasure walking with people in life’s most joyous moments.

However, none of these things compare to the honor it is to be sitting with someone in their pain. Holding a friend in unspeakable sorrow as she is miscarrying her child, the shriek of agony from a woman who has just been left, the despair of someone who just lost their job.  These are the truly intimate moments that few get to see. The moments of raw humanity. 

When I first started working with Civil Righteousness several people from different ethnicities told me the same thing – that I was carrying the heart of a weeping mother. For centuries Black women have been weeping over their sons, brothers, and husbands. Sometimes weeping in the joyous moments… and too often in the agony of unjust death. 

Unquestionably the Bible instructs us that a byproduct of being a Christ follower is compassion. While a dictionary might define compassion along the lines of being sympathetic of someone else’s suffering, the Bible uses the term in an intensely deeper way. God is described as compassionate. He was compassionate towards us in our imperfect, profoundly human state. In our sin, God had compassion. He was moved to action, joining us in our humanness, providing healing, promising restoration. 

I am a majority culture woman; I do not currently know what it is like to have a Black child. However, I can weep with those who are weeping. I can validate the hope, complexity, desperation, and grief of the now. Even when I do not understand I can let compassion move me to action. I can sit next to my sisters and become a weeping woman.