What’s in your hands?

Reflections on, “Selma,” and Dr. King

Watched the last hour of Selma again tonight.

Dr. King’s words are always a call to action for us, black, white and otherwise. We are all responsible to act to end injustice.

I thought about what I can do and what…well, not so much. Marching? The physical stuff. Not so much. My activism is born of the gifts He gave me: words.

Writing is my most dominant kingdom gift, followed by speaking. Singing is last, but they’re all word gifts. All prophetic gifts. I was here for 40 years before they were identified this way.

I’m so grateful for the tools that come with living now. The internet is indispensable. We’re so blessed to connect and reconnect with each other all over our communities, our countries, and the world now.

What activates the way I use my gifts is my heart, and His Voice. I’m a 911 responder. A white blood cell. I respond to pain. Dispatched to wherever The Body is hurting. And in response to some of those piercing, convicting words I heard Dr. King speak as he led the movement that pushed a reluctant, non-heroic, straight up politician LBJ towards the Voting Act?

We’re all responsible. Black, white and otherwise. To do nothing is to be responsible, to have your hand on the trigger that the trooper pulled that killed a mother’s son as he fought for justice. MLK said we all pull the trigger, because whatever we do is never enough as long as there is injustice.

Pretty powerful. Pretty all-inclusive. So, I self-examined, and his words are a personal call to action for me. Again and today. Because it’s getting hard to tell 1965 from 2015 and 1960 from 2016. We’re still living Selma over and over and over again. This country has a wide base of folk still determined to make it damn near impossible for blacks to vote, and they present new obstacles every year.

If you’re not aware, you’re either asleep or not exposed because of privilege. Wake up and join the cause, my friend. It’s rampant and it’s real.

So, excuse me if I’m not on the streets with signs, but it doesn’t mean I’m not, “active”. There are all kinds of foot soldiers. I am the way He sent me here. I’m just breathing out what He breathed into me, and using what I’ve been given. I fight the war against hatred with the weapons He gave me: a heart of flesh that will break over injustice…

..The words…and a keyboard. Pretty soon, I’ll be back at the mic again, too. This activist is armed with His heart and His words. And I feel every blow. That’s it, because that’s how He sent me. That’s what’s in my hands.

What’s in yours? What did He breathe into you? What are your weapons and tools and gifts? How did He send and equip you, my friend?

Because we’re all responsible. All of us, as long as just one of us experiences injustice.