sick and tired
an ode to our aching hearts and our brown skin
— (note: I didn’t have the capacity to record these words with crying, so please forgive me for not recording this post this time)
How can a color be seen as a threat?
When I see yellow, I think of energy and joy. When I see blue, I think of feelings and slowness. When I see white, I think of a beautiful winter evening and daisies. When I see red, I think of God’s generosity to die and give. When I see brown, I see image bearing beauty worthy of dignity.
But somehow, a color on the skin of a human being means threat, less than human, violent, scary, and ‘must be stopped’. This not just in America, we currently have brothers and sisters across the world being oppressed, dehumanized, murdered, and neglected because of many things - including their brownness
But how can a color be seen as all of that?
This is the question that came to my mind when I saw the video of beloved Ryan Gainer being murdered by a police officer. Ryan Gainer was a 15-year-old Black boy with autism who lived in California and was shot and killed by a police officer in front of his home this past weekend.
Another image bearer of God with melanin laying on their skin - killed because they were seen as a threat, less than human, and violent.
A boy. Not an adult. A boy with autism. A boy in his home. A Black boy going through a difficult moment where he was having trouble regulating his emotions. A boy worthy of helping calm down and not be killed.
Ryan had a garden tool in his hand and he was walking towards the police with it when the police officer arrived. Some would say this is not an ‘unarmed’ situation but I would us to remember that a gun and a garden tool are not the same things. The mental experience of the person holding the garden tool was different than the one holding the gun. The position of the person holding the garden tool was different than the one holding the gun. The skintone of the person holding the garden tool was different than the one holding the gun. The authority of the one holding the garden tool was different than the one holding the gun. One person belonged to a historically targeted group and the other belongs to a group of ‘trained’ people.
As a trained social worker, if I would have come with that police officer, then the situation what have looked much differently but that’s not what the police officer chose to do and that’s not what the system is set up for. To protect and serve, sometimes and to react and kill, sometimes too.
But we know in Ryans situation it wasn’t just about what was in his hand.
For some police brutality and racism is a thought that comes up when things like this come up. That’s a privilege we don’t all have. For some of us, it’s a thought whenever our husbands walk out to the door to go to work. For some of us, it’s a thought when we are simply walking in the street. For some of us, it’s a thought when we are peacfully sitting in our homes. Ryan was killed in his home. Breonna Tayler (this month 3 years ago) was killed in her home.
Even if we’ve made our homes to be a safe place, that safety is limited by the sin that is racism.
As I sat and thought about all of this for the past few days, I saw the picture of Ryan and just thought, I’m so sick and tired. And I’m tired of being sick and tired. But this thought and feeliing is not new. It’s an inner cry that People of Color have been shouting and whispering for centuries. Our sister, Fannie Lou Hamer who passed away this past week 47 years ago said these very words.'
Sick of “Black Lives Matter” being an argument. Tired of seemingly begging for dignity. Sick of breaking news after breaking news. Tired of performative justice. Sick of constantly thinking about this while others occasionally consider it. Tired of the Church being quiet and complicit. Sick and tired.
What do we do with being sick and tired?
What do people do when they’re sick? They rest.
What do people do when they’re tired? They rest.
But real rest feels unattainable, unreasonable, and unproductive when the same traumas and tragedies keep happening over and over again.
Perhaps the thing to do when we are sick and tired (while still actively dismantling injustices and racism) is…..
To wait….
“Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.” - Isaiah 30:18
“But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint. - Isaiah 40:31
And to hope….
“You are my hiding place and my shield; I hope in your word.” - Psalm 119:114
“I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope;” - Psalm 130:5
And to lament….
“Hear my prayer, Lord; let my cry for help come to you.” - Psalm 102:1
“Our God, will you not judge them? For we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.” - 2 Chronicles 20:12
And to be patient…..
“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.” - Romans 12:12
“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” - Romans 8:25
I don’t have answers when I’m sick and tired but God does and that needs to be enough to help me keep going and hoping. That’s how I’m choosing to be a sanctuary in this circumstance.
For Ryan, for us, and for every image bearing human being walking this earth worthy of dignity - not because of their character, skin-tone, past, decisions, mindset, words, age, beliefs, or heart. But because they are Imago Dei.
Our hearts may be aching but our skin will continue to shine and our hearts will continue to beat while we wait for the Lord.
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If you’re wanting to practically and Biblically grow around this topic (this substack post topic) as a member of the Body of Christ- then be sure to check out the announcement I’ll be making in a few weeks for my new book! Be the the first to know by clicking here!
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your fellow sanctuary,
Pricelis Perreaux-Dominguez
Hope-filled waiting, hand in hand with deep lamenting. It’s a lot. Your writing gives voice to lots of thoughts than can’t scramble together in my brain!
Thank you for expressing what so many struggle to do. 4 of my brothers are Black Men. Tragedies like this are something that I have grown up being more than just vaguely aware of. As a big sister to Black boys who would and have grown to be Black Men, this fear is tangible for me. It's something I keep apprised on and I don't pretend that it's fake. I'm also from an area that has very negative interactions with the PD. They've had specialists come in because the PD has a reputation of being overly militant. Everyone I know is uncomfortable and scared of them. In a little town in VT, not the usual place one would think. I also have several friends and who are raising little boys with autism. I also have two nephews with autism. Little boys who will grow up and act differently than most people. I know they fear this exact thing happening to their sweet misunderstood sons. Gardening in your yard shouldn't be a threat. Walking down a sidewalk or sleeping in your bed shouldn't be a threat. Existing shouldn't be a threat. I am praying for this family and community. Imago Dei needs to mean something again.