When Someone Else's Words Are Better Than Your Own

With everything going on in our world right now, let me tell you, I have words - lots of words.  Sometimes, I have so many I just can't get them out.  The words in my heart and my head are currently in the midst of a traffic jam.  While they sit in gridlock and wait to flow again,  I decided to share some words that warmed my heart yesterday when I read them.  My sister, Catie Coyle, shared a story that I knew needed to be shared.  So for now, she speaks, and soon I will be too!  Thank you Catie for the following words and thank you to our mom for raising us to see people and not color.  

I have been thinking about the recent news out of Charlottesville and how to respond. I struggle to find the rights words and war with myself about my anger and my desire to be a light in the darkness. This process of thought has had me reflecting on my childhood and one experience in particular. 

As a little girl, I practically lived at the Springfield Marketplace. The building itself breathed and was alive with adventure and spirit. My mother had an antique shop toward the front of the building. Christos was a lovely shop, beautifully appointed, and always her shoppers would be greeted with the sounds Gershwin or Beethoven lightly playing from a small Boombox hidden in the back of the store. 

I loved the Marketplace; I loved the people there and the adventures we shared together. It was my little paradise.

Despite the warm memories, it was also in my own little Hamlet that my heart was first darkened by the awareness of racism. The Marketplace had a shoe shine stand that my friend, Charlie, owned. Charlie was old and gentle and apparently… black. I can’t explain why I didn’t seem to notice that about him. I just didn’t. 

Charlie was just my friend. 

Sometimes, when the stand was slow we would go for our walks together. I would show Charlie silly things like where I had scooped a drowning bee out of the fountain and cared for him until he could fly away. Or Charlie would tell me stories about the people that had their shoes shined that day. It was nothing spectacular, except maybe to me. 

Then one day, Charlie would not go for a walk with me. 

I was heartbroken. 

I didn’t understand why my friend would not want to spend time with me. 

To make matters worse, my mother wouldn’t let me go outside either. There was a nervousness in the air. It was uncomfortable and confusing. 

I don’t know how I found out about the Klu Klux Klan or their despicable presence that day. I don’t know who told me. I don’t actually remember if I really understand who they were. All I knew was that they were gathering by MY fountain. I somehow learned that they hated my friend Charlie, and people who shared the color of his skin. I learned that Charlie was scared. And I knew, without a doubt, that I hated the KKK.

As an adult, I still struggle to forgive those that have such foulness in their hearts. I know that hating those that hate does nothing to promote the love of Christ, but I still struggle.

The recent news about the white supremacist rally in Charlottesville has had me thinking about Charlie again. When I heard news of the rally I felt so angry and helpless. Even after all these years, I still don’t have the words. I still feel like a little girl who feels betrayed by total strangers. 

I wish there was a way, as an adult, I could go back there and tell Charlie how much he meant to me, and how ashamed I am for being upset that he wouldn’t go for a walk with me. 

I wish I could hold his hand again, his old wrinkled hand, and tell him that I would keep him safe. 

I wish Charlie knew that that day, that was undoubtedly terrifying for him, awoke in me a passion for equality. 

I hope Charlie knew that I loved him. 

I know that there are a million “Charlies” out there. People that are our neighbors and our co-workers, our friends, strangers we pass on the street, and family that we adore. People who feel scared and angry. I know that my experiences are different than theirs. I know that I cannot speak for them and for the racism that they experience every day. 

I know I don’t really know what is it like to suffer under the yoke of racism because I was born with light skin. I also know that I will stand up for what is right and what is true and what is love. I will do my best to show my neighbors, and my co-workers, and my friends, and even strangers that I pass on the street, that will stand with them. And I know that we will be victorious in this battle, because “love never fails."

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” - I Corinthians 13:4-8