Why I hold vigil every month witnessing Black lives lost to police violence and proclaiming that Black Lives Matter
Because I am white.
Because I have work to do.
Because I do not always know how to do it.
Because people mostly honk, and wave, and drive.
Because I waved at a white woman and she flipped me off.
Because a man drove by yelling “Trump Trump Trump” as a rebuttal to our signs.
Because that’s happened more than once.
Because it reminds me, even here, we have so much work to do.
Because it is living my faith.
Because it is full-bodied prayer.
Because I do not know all of their names.
Because we do not have signs with all of their names.
Because we do not have enough people to hold signs with all of their names.
Because there are always more names.
Because I do not know all of their stories.
Because there are always more stories.
Because there are hearts behind the names and stories.
Because the world was robbed of the rest of their story.
Because a mother asked to take a picture with me.
Because I was holding a sign with her son’s name.
Because I do not know how that interaction does not change a person.
Because every month something in me changes.
Because I need to be changed.
Because there are small black and brown faces in the back seats of cars who
look with wide eyes and do, or don’t, understand why we’re there and
why we need to be.
Because they will understand one day.
Because I want those babies safe.
Because I want them to always come home alive.
Because I never want to hold a sign with their name on it.
Because in the next car there is a small white face in the back seat with
wide eyes who understands, or doesn’t, but
will never need to.