Reflections of a Praying Parent, Pastor, Educator, & Auntie

I am a mother,

Black as the soil that bore my ancestors,

descendant of slaves who sang freedom into the night.

I am a wife,

to a man carried across the sea as an infant,

a Korean son grafted into this land.

Together we raised five children,

teaching them to honor every face,

every story,

every soul made in the image of God.

But what world waits for them?

A world where guns sing louder than hymns,

where fear is preached as faith,

and hatred wears a cross around its neck.

Where men are crowned as martyrs,

not for mercy or justice,

but for mocking the very ones Christ came to save.

Is this the gospel?

Did Jesus not say:

“Blessed are the peacemakers”?

Did He not gather children in His arms,

not weapons in His hands?

Did He not break bread with the outcast,

the foreigner,

the sinner,

the poor?

Where in His kingdom is there room

for “Christian” nationalism,

for white supremacy dressed as light,

for judging skin and shutting doors?

Heaven is not America first.

Heaven is every nation,

every tribe,

every tongue

lifting one song before the throne.

Heaven is a table with room enough for all,

not walls built high with fear.

So why do we push lies as gospel?

Why do friendships fracture,

families splinter,

hearts harden,

when Jesus prayed:

“Father, make them one, as You and I are one”?

My spirit groans,

my mother’s heart weeps.

I ask: Is there a place for my children here?

Will they inherit a land of justice

or a wilderness of grief?

And yet—

I hold to the Man of Sorrows,

who was despised and rejected,

yet bore the sins of us all.

I hold to the Christ who overturned tables,

who touched the untouchable,

who loved without boundary.

I hold to the cross that breaks down every wall,

and the empty tomb that shatters every chain.

So I pray:

Lord, teach us to raise children of peace,

to be a church of welcome,

to walk as neighbors, not enemies.

Teach us to love as You loved,

to see as You see,

to serve as You served.

And when the weight of this world becomes too much,

I lift my eyes and whisper:

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come quickly.

** Sending love to all who lost loved ones to gun violence, war, and other forms of violence and injustice this week May God be your comfort.