I’m not much of a jewelry person, but sometimes, I wear
a ring – my Lady Crusaders 2014 Conference Championship ring. It’s bright. It’s
shiny. It’s obnoxiously big. It even has my name on it. It’s a big, bright,
shiny, personal reminder that two years ago, all of the pre-season hard work,
in-season sacrifice, and post-season grit was worth it when we clinched our
second conference title in three seasons. I love it. I’m honored to wear it. It
brings me joy.
it’s also a little heavy.
I feel it when I write. I feel it when I type. I feel
it when I let both hands drop down by my sides and my right hands seems closer
to the ground than my left.
it’s also a little loose.
It slides around my finger when I wash my hands. It
slips and pinches my skin when I pick something up or shake someone’s hand.
Sometimes I worry it’s going to fall off.
I wear it anyway. I wear it because it’s beautiful. I
wear it because it exemplifies the beauty comes from hard work and sacrifice
after not just a game, a week, or a season, but years of dedication and practice. I wear it to remind me of my
privilege in success – privilege afforded by the seniors who required more of
me my first season, by the women on the inaugural team in 1994, by the women
who fought for Title IX legislation. I wear it because the groundwork for “my”
success was laid long before I got
there, by many more than just me.
I’m not going to give all of that up because it’s a
little heavy. That weight is the weight of history – of a genealogy of
hardworking women and battles won.
I’m not going to give all of that up because it’s a
little loose. That sliding, slipping, and pinching is the uneasiness of growth
– of finding footing at new heights and still reaching for more.
Today is a hard day. Today is a day that has ridden in
on waves of hate, fear, and ugliness.
Politics aren’t easy. Voting isn’t easy. Loving our
neighbor isn’t easy. Doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly is. not.
easy.
We have to choose these things. We have to choose them
when they’re heavy or confusing or making us uncomfortable. We have to choose
them because if we don’t, we lose the beauty, the honor and the joy that comes
from the history, the sacrifice, and the privilege.
Democracy can feel heavy. Democracy can be slippery
and pinch our skin. Love, compassion, and empathy can feel heavy. Love,
compassion, and empathy can be slippery and pinch our skin (or sometimes slap
us in the face). But we don’t take on this weight, this pain, this risk for us.
We do it for those who couldn’t, and can’t. We wear this risky weight for the
naked.
Or at least, we should. Oftentimes, we are reminded
that we don’t. We take our big, shiny, personalized prize and claim it only as
such. We take pride in ourselves and ignore the weight that comes with it. Our
success is seen through the lens of me, instead of the lens of love of Christ
and neighbor, and we ignore the progress that has been made on behalf of women,
minorities, immigrants, the poor, the friendless, and the needy. We elect a
leader who flaunts his transgressions, denigrates women, ridicules the
outcasts, demonizes the oppressed, and rides his own ego all the way to the
top.
Today is a hard day. But it is not a day devoid of
choice. We must choose the weight of love, compassion and empathy. We must
choose the risk of being a voice for the voiceless. We must choose the uneasy
footing of privilege, and offering others a hand up.
We must choose hope,
that we will see the beauty born out of self-sacrifice overcoming the ugliness
born out of self-preservation.
Let us bear the weight of doing good, regardless of
uncertainty, risk, or pain.
Let us start by loving our neighbor.
