I'm often asked what it's like being the only Black Missionary with all White Missionaries?

What's It Like?
Most of the time
I don't have the vocabulary
It is awesome no matter how I look at it
All senses are turned up several notches
My weaknesses confront my strengths
Often we live at different notches on America's time line
Based on our experiences in the realm of diversity
God shows me through my white counterparts just what I am made of,
Something He already knows
But something about which most of the time
I have no clue.
What's it like?
It's like being Black in America with modern day experiences
While serving in a time warp in our world's historical past.

Being the Only African American,
Sitting on the missionary compound porch
Sipping mint julep tea
The sins of the ancestors
Kick in
And the ingrown toe nail of master/slave
Sneaks into the day.
My American status often gets muddied
In the rich sepia tones of the people around us.
I am often mistaken by some of our missionaries
As subservient
Because we are waited on hand and foot
At our compound by the kinship of my brown Haitian sisters and brothers.
Its innate.
It's a non-tangible
Difficult to document.
An inkling.
An attitude.
A look.
A sharpness of tone.
An impatience.
An assumed expectation.
So I keep myself busy
Alienated in the communion
Of burying myself in the great commission;
So I won't notice my fellow American's personal exclusions and omissions.
I challenge myself to go over and beyond
The thoughts of the melanin in my flesh
As I dance and play tag with the pink elephants in the room
As I strive and strain in spite of the blackness and whiteness of me
to give God His best.


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