Resistance Requires Sacrifice and the #RubyWooPilgrimage

I have a lot of mixed feelings about leaving today for the #RubyWooPilgrimage. It’s not that I’m not excited. I am. I am excited about being with an incredible group of diverse women from across the country to journey and learn together about the road women before us have traveled in order for us to be able to do this together. It’s an honor and privilege to take the time away from work and home while staying connected to both through technology.

But being a woman also means many roles with conflicting schedules and demands on my time. My emotions pull in opposite directions. This trip is no exception. Every time I leave my family there is a moment of hesitation.

Is this the invitation God has for me today?

Today also is my husband’s birthday. Birthdays are medium deals for us. We exchange gifts, go out to eat, share funny stories, and then eat some more. The celebrations tend to be a bigger deal for the kids, but even as they have gotten older the celebrations are more subdued. But they are important, and it seems so odd to be sitting in the airport (where, of course, the flight is delayed) instead of eating dim sum with Peter. And, right now, knowing that the plane I am supposed to be on hasn’t arrived at the gate doesn’t make the thought of Peter and our youngest sitting there, ordering shumai, sticky rice and pork, and egg custard tarts, make me wonder if this is worth it.

Today, God’s invitation is to be sad about missing my family and to hope for the journey to come.

I don’t know many of the women I am joining in Syracuse. Some of the women I “know” only through our interactions on Facebook and through one another’s blogs. This will be a reunion of sorts for many of us, and I am looking forward to connections made in real life. Others are complete strangers, only known to by their email addresses, and I am looking forward to connecting with more like-minded women.

But God’s invitation also is to be honest. I am tired. I am not sure about my capacity to build new relationships in the midst of what will surely be an emotional and spiritual deep dive into women’s history in the United States – and how our histories have sometimes meant oppressing one another. I am not sure how I am going to trust more white women and more non-Asian American women into my circle.

The white pundits and pastors keep saying that our world is more divided than ever, as if they are surprised. I am not surprised. I feel it everyday, as my own willingness to code switch dies. Four days on a bus traveling with a diverse group of women could be a little part of the solution, the beginning to bridging the gaps.

But in order to bridge the gaps we must be willing to name the gaps, the canyons that separate us as well as the reasons why those divisions were created.

We must be willing to name how they are being sustained, and honestly talk about what is at stake if we are truly committed to unity and healing.

Healing sounds lovely but it’s not easy.

Think about cancer. Chemotherapy kills the cancer, including some of the good cells. I’m not always sure if even I want to do that kind of all out attack on racism and patriarchy. What are the things I have come to benefit from in a broken system that may have to die in order for all of us to live?

But, I’m here (even though the plane still hasn’t arrived). I’m here because sometimes birthday dim sum can wait. The revolution may not be televised but I certainly want to be a part of it. So I’m here with my red lipstick, and all the hope and honesty I could pack.

This article was originally published by Freedom Road.



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