OVER THE COURSE OF THREE DAYS: Videos of black Americans being killed broadcast on the internet. I watched one video today. Tears flowed as a police officer in Minnesota shouts “fuck” repeatedly realizing – in shock – what he has done. The officer is so visibly overcome by grief he cannot retract his own arm. As a grieving woman moaned prayers to her Lord. As a four-year-old daughter comforted her mother with no real understanding of what she’s witnessed. She softly consoles, “it’s ok mommy, I’m right here.” Opening, against my better judgment, the 8 second snapstories of protests turning violent in Dallas. People fighting for justice are caught in the middle of fear and chaos. Hiding around corners, under cars, in elevators. My stomach tightens as a snap story of a white man walking out to the calls of police officers does not raise my fears. He’ll be fine. They aren’t looking for him. On the news, with compelling composure, anger comes from a mourning girlfriend as she demands justice and peace – and care for the troubled hearts of police officers.
My heart cannot process. (No justice, no peace.)
My soul cannot breathe. (No justice, no peace.)
As a child, I barely remember race riots in the early 90s. But I’m living them now. "Can’t we all just get along?" Black lives matter because all lives matter. All hearts long for the same thing. All souls come from the same God. We've got to be better than this! Where are you, warriors of the heart? Where are you? Where am I? Where is the love?