What We Do with Our Fear

We were on our way to North Georgia for a Sunday hike. Both boys were safely strapped into their car seats, each happily watching his own screen. This gave Michael and me a rare and luxurious hour of uninterrupted time to catch up with one another, conversational space that has been hard to come by these last six months. Grateful to get away from the city, in our own little minivan of familial connection, I could literally feel some of the stress melt into the seat.

We stopped at a light on Highway 23 and became aware of people honking at us. An SUV passed us, every passenger side-eying us. In the rear-view mirror, Michael saw a woman hanging out of the SUV behind us screaming at us. And sure enough when we pulled into a turning lane, allowing them to pass, she yelled as many obscenities in our direction as she could bark out at 65 MPH.

Weeks earlier, inspired by another vehicle in our neighborhood, Theo and I had decorated our van with window paint. The back window said, "Biden-Harris, for the soul of America." Borrowing from signs we've seen and discussed in our neighborhood, Theo had painted "BLM" on one side window, "No Justis No Pes" on another, "ByeDon" on a third. We had fun doing it, and it led to some meaningful conversation about why we have to say Black Lives Matter, what are justice and peace, and why we believe Biden and Harris will help heal the heart and soul of our democracy.

We turned away from the angry motorists, but Michael and I were both genuinely rattled. I felt my heart racing, scared for our physical safety in a visceral way. After all, we were driving into a county where one candidate has an assault rifle on his campaign signs. There are multiple gun shops and billboards promoting them along our route. I kept checking our rear-view mirrors to see if anyone was getting close again. I thought of the protesters shot by a civilian in Kenosha, the mean, vitriolic text messages and memes I had received while recently text banking.

We looked at our boys obliviously watching Thomas the Train, and thought, we cannot risk this. We cannot afford to have our van vandalized, or worse, to have some angry, gun-toting extremist shooting at us. So we pulled into the safest looking gas station. Michael went it to make a purchase while I carefully wiped off every single window (except the sun roof; Theo wanted to make sure there was a message overhead that planes could see.) I was flooded with conflicting emotions - shame, fear, relief, rage, guilt. All I kept thinking was, This is white privilege, right here. I feel just an inkling of a threat and I can pull over and wipe off the paint to protect myself, my children, and my property. How in the world do people live with this level of fear every day of their life when they cannot wipe off their black skin? When they refuse to take off their hijab. When they hold tightly to the hand of the one they love. When they do not have the right papers. If I am so sick and tired of living in this kind of America, I can only imagine how millions of others feel.

We are all scared. I try to remember that about the people brandishing weapons at peaceful protesters or leaning out their SUV window screaming obscenities. I just wish our fear led us to feel some solidarity with and compassion for one another, instead of such hate and vitriol.   We all want life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, to protect our own lives, our children, our property. Do we not see that the fear driving some of us to buy more ammo is the same fear driving millions of people into the streets to protest? We all just want to live in peace.

While we may all feel fear, I do not believe we are all truly threatened (despite political adds designed to make you very afraid). Not in the same way. I am keenly aware that the fear I felt that afternoon is not my waking reality. I do not walk or drive around feeling that my life is in danger because of my skin color, immigration status, religious affiliation, sexual orientation or gender identity. I could basically get rid of the threat with the wipe of a damp cloth, leaving me both relieved and burdened.

My white privilege and complicity continue to weigh heavy on me. I pray for more courage and clarity to stand up against the real threats, and to call out the manufactured ones. I lament the fear that has us up in arms, literally and figuratively, and pray for the grace and understanding that finally disarms us all. I long for a time when God will "judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares (guns into gardening tools, in contemporary language and practice) and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore." (Isaiah 2:4)

Grace and peace to you and to all who fear,

Kimberly