Bus trip from Williamsburg to Durham

5/7
Riding the bus is a sociological experience as they said today at our quaint, academic major’s brunch. I am struck now by the stark reality of the difference. My experience tells me I should be loving, accepting, and use my knowledge to enact grassroots change. However, again I see that God-love is hard. Today it is scary. I start to wonder if there’s some reason why I’ve never read of a woman’s experience loving “least of these” in these inner city communities. I want to say that as a woman I am some how entitled to feeling scared—and letting that fear disable me somehow seems “ok.” Isn’t a Godly woman sweet and docile?
Today I am struck with fear—fear somehow deeply engrained in me, probably rooted in the original sin or prejudice. I am afraid of the 19 year old white high school drop out who wants to tell me about his difficulties staying out of jail or dealing with his inbred high school teacher. When he says this, he is referencing mixed race—the sociologist, Christian, and human inside of me cringes, then reconsidering the privilege of education, ironically that is supposed to serve to keep me away from the fear that kind of comment is rooted within. I am afraid of the black man around me, especially the man who asks me to borrow my phone. What is this? Who am I? Why am I this way? This fear is disabling. How can I help when I cannot move? Who am I to use this word “help” even? What about when my fear makes me useless?
It’s humbling, I am nothing again.