I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but white, American, evangelical spaces can be tough for women of color to navigate successfully. The very presence of women of color often lays bare how far these spaces (which are generally not created with us in mind) are from modeling the true—diverse—body of Christ. Much is asked of women of color in these spaces: we are asked to be patient and forgiving, gentle and gracious, long-suffering and kind, present and trusting. But we are all responsible for creating change, so I’d like to shift the conversation a bit and discuss how dominant culture might support the women of color in their midst.

1. Learn our names

Names are significant, weighty, and intentional. They have meaning. Our names are connected to our ancestry. They contain the prophetic hope of our parents. Yet, far too often, women of color are met with disdain, disbelief, or disinterest when they finish the sentence, “Hello, my name is...” Women of color are commonly subjected to awkward mispronunciations, unwanted nicknames, and even outright mockery.

For some women it is simply too painful to have their name butchered everywhere they go. They would rather it remain sacred and unspoken than handled haphazardly, so they offer an out: “It’s okay; just call me [fill in the blank].”

If she genuinely prefers a nickname, that’s great. Use it. But before you do, at least attempt to honor the name given her at birth. We must erase the myth that our discomfort over learning a name is more important than maintaining the full identity of our sister in Christ.

2. Offer women of color their own space

I know it seems counter-intuitive that homogeneous spaces would further the cause of inclusive leadership, but studies have shown this to be true. Consider for a moment how often leadership meetings, Bible studies, small groups, classrooms, and board meetings are all white, all male, or both. We don’t consider these “whiteness” meetings, but they are still filled with cultural nuances reserved for and privileging every white person in the room. If we are to truly honor the women of color among us, we will happily provide them spaces to be affirmed and loved in their own cultural language.

This might be a Bible study, a choir, an after-service brunch, or a self-care group. The possibilities are endless, but you must first be convinced they are necessary.

3. Recognize we are not genies in a bottle.

Far too often I have watched churches treat women of color like genies in a bottle. They are expected to carry their culture deep within, containing it, hiding it, reserving it. That is until the church has a “special service” when women of color are asked to suddenly showcase their culture with flair. After putting themselves on display for the audience to consume, they are expected to become “normal” (white) when the event is done. But this isn’t the best way to honor culture.

Culture is a way of being, a way of understanding and making sense of the world. Culture is a gift that can and should be infused into the life of the church. Women of color who speak more than one language should be free to express themselves bilingually. Women of color should be free to share the musicality of their ancestors more than once a year. Resist the desire to exoticize women of color. Their cultural gifting is invaluable to the life and habits of the church.

4. Stop using white men and women as the standard for success

If you have only had white, educated, affluent, suburban men or women in positions of power, it will be very tempting to compare women of color to your existing model of success. You must reframe this standard. We are different—our vernacular, our body language, our dress, our accents, our personalities, our hobbies and interests, the books we’re reading, the movies we’re watching, the sound of our voices, our cadence, our humor, and our expressions. Even the way our skin tones interact with the camera may be quite different from our white counterparts. Expecting us to perform in the same ways, with the same mannerisms is unfair. You must have reasonable standards, but make sure they are, in fact, reasonable, not cultural.

Be open and honest about your expectations and be willing to challenge them. Expand your definition of what it means to lead well. Learn to appreciate the diversity of thought, speech, and insight that women of color bring to the table.

Want to read the rest? Hurry over to CBE International's Mutuality Magazine! 

Like Whoa. So, like many of you, I have been watching all things Moody unfold. And here is the truth. This happens almost every year at someone's college/university. Moody is not at all special or different in its unfolding drama, only the latest. This afternoon I had the opportunity to talk about higher ed, so its all one my mind now! And because of all this, I want to tease out something important for all of us to grapple with in Christian higher ed. 

We have some decisions to make, people. And by "we" I mean administrators and leaders at our churches and higher education institutions. 

The language sounds so great doesn't it?

We are going to be a place where all students belong.

We believe that diversity is an important component in the life of our campus. 

We know that our students are made better when they experience diversity. 

We know its important for all of our students to develop cultural competencies. 

And there are plenty of references about the difficulties too- to being uncomfortable, to the road being long, to being committed to change. Yes, much time has been spent crafting the language, the theology, the website, the document... and yet. 

And yet, students of color (and often faculty/staff of color) regularly find themselves in the center of what feels very much like a race war.

How could that be?

Well, its usually because people of color believe(d) you. We looked at your website and believed the words. We read through your documents and believed the words. We heard your theological support and believed your words. We heard your MLK speech and believe what you said. 

My guess is its been a long time since someone walked into your institution and had to make the case for diversity and inclusion. I'm guessing its been a decade or two since you first made the declaration that diversity, inclusion and reconciliation matter to you. These students are not holding you hostage to some arbitrary personal desires on their part. Students are holding you accountable to your own declaration. Faculty and staff are holding you accountable to your own declaration. Congregation members are holding you accountable to your own declaration. 

Because your declaration must come with actions, or your declaration is a lie. 

I know thats super harsh. But if we switched out the subject of our conversation, imagine the reactions. What if we promised students good, consistent meals and didn't provide them? What if we promised our students regular chapel services and only held one once a year? What if we told students their books would be in our stores and then didn't order any? What if our churches made a declaration that we were going to pray more and didn't? Study the Bible more and didn't? Do some outreach and didn't? 

We would feel awfully convicted if someone called us out on the lack of follow through. We would apologize profusely. We would appoint someone or somebodies. We would find a budget. We would fix it. We would apologize and fix it. We would try to make it right, immediately. We would plan and act. We would talk and act. We find immediate solutions while building long-term solutions. We would act with urgency and love. 

And yet, when it comes to all things diversity related, there is an immediate reaction to "manage" the conversation, to manage expectations. The preference is to move slowly, find incremental changes. There is a demand for patience, trust, understanding. There is much celebration for the accomplishments of the past, but there is little excitement to create anything new to celebrate. 

And then there is an explosion of frustration and anger aimed at students/members of color who are simply asking for evidence of your own proclamation.  Students are notorious for opening wide the gulf that exists between what is proclaimed and what is practiced. 

Rather than jumping at the opportunity to bring in a new leader, or to make changes to the chapel service, or to add to the curriculum, or to create a new center or department... there is instead a retreat, a pumping of the brakes, usually introduced with the words:  

I'm not sure we have enough buy-in yet.  

I'm not sure the student body / congregation will understand.

This just its the right time.

We have so much that we are juggling right now.

There are competing values at play here. 

Next time. Next time. Next time.  Next time. Next time. Next time. Next time. Next time. Next time. Next time. Next time. Next time. 

All that talk. All that scripture. All that training. All those proclamations and documents and language undermined because you lack courage for change and remain unconvinced of the immediate necessity for change. 

And student/members of color carry the weight. They go to class wondering if the institution will acknowledge their hurt and pain. They eat dinner wondering if the board will finally approve their center, their organization, their event. They fall asleep wondering if the institution will hold their experiences as sacred as the alumni's. They do their homework wondering if they will ever really belong in this Christian place where they live. They worship alongside their brothers and sisters in Christ and wonder if they will ever truly be considered to be made in the image of God. 

That cannot be acceptable. 

That cannot be acceptable. 

So, there are some decisions to make. Are those pretty words true? Is there enough conviction to to live them out with urgency, love, and faithfulness. We can get mad or we can get busy- harnessing that energy and excitement to support all of our students/members and creating communities that live up to our words. 

6 Things I'm Learning about calling...

School made so much sense to me. I went to first grade. I did well. I went on to second grade. When I did well there, I went to third grade. For me, the staircase of education kept things clear. The goal was before me, and I knew what I had to do to get there.

I believed my calling would operate the same way. I would get a job. I would do well. The next job would unfold like magic. I’d get promoted. Within a couple years I would be a “YBP” (young black professional) whose path just appeared (like it did in school).

Then I became an adult.

My vocational calling has been more circles than staircases: a dizzying array of decisions, disappointments, and dreams come true—sort of.

Here’s what I’ve learned in my first ten years of adulthood.

1. Vocational Calling Is Constantly Unfolding

In her novel Their Eyes Were Watching God, author Zora Neale Hurston writes, “There are years that ask questions and there are years that answer.” Though Hurston’s character Janie was grappling with ideas of love and marriage, I am finding the truthfulness of her words stretches easily into this space of vocational calling.

My husband and I just experienced a year of answers. We were living in Chicago where my career was thriving. I was doing work I love with people I love. Nonetheless, it was time for me and my husband to move to Michigan, where he is licensed, so his career could thrive too. We had a lot of questions determining how to make that transition, but 2014 was our year of answers. We relocated to Grand Rapids, where both of our careers are finding an anchor.

While I am grateful for this season, I am fully aware that being a resident director isn’t going to last forever. In a couple years, I will be right back in a year of questions determining what my vocational calling looks like after living among college students.

I am learning to enjoy the unfolding. It’s easy for me to become bored with the years that answer, yearning for questions, the seed of adventure. When the questions come, I long for the security of answers. Realizing that calling unfolds slowly gives me greater confidence to dream greater dreams in the question years and to dig deeper into the answer years.

2. I Believe in “Side Hustles”

Legal ones, of course, but side hustles nonetheless. I wanted desperately to believe my vocational calling would also be my full-time job. Though my parents regularly encouraged me to “have a job that pays the bills and volunteer time to my vocation,” I, quite frankly, rebelled. I love doing volunteer work, but I wanted my calling to come with a paycheck that pays the bills. Now I am finding the middle ground. I do greatly enjoy my full-time job (and paying bills), but giving myself permission to have a side hustle has been liberating.

Owning my side hustle means connection, expression, and exploration. It means ever evolving creativity. It means pushing myself into unexplored territory, putting my name on my work. It means not hiding. And, yes, it means getting paid for work that is well done. It also sometimes means rejection, but I live to fight another day. My side hustles are as much my calling as my full-time job, which leads me to number three.

3. I Need to Start Using the Plural: Vocational Callings

Even though only I could explain how each job is connected to my calling, the beauty is I no longer feel the need to justify my journey.

For a long time I assumed there was just one thing for me to do in the world. It was my job to find a way to fit all the pieces of my calling into one magnificent job. For me that meant figuring out how to offer spiritual guidance to young people, write and speak regularly, and participate in the work of racial justice. For years I agonized over the fact that no job seemed to fit all of these at once. I worked with young people, but I had no time to write, so I doubted I was called to write. I led workshops on racial justice, but there was not a single young person in my life, so I doubted my calling to young people. Now, rather than trying to fit it all into one perfect job, I am learning to weave all of my callings into my life. Sometimes working with students is the main thread, and during other seasons focusing on racial justice is dominant. The doubt I used to indulge has become the energy I use to create a tapestry of opportunities that feel right for me.

Continue reading by clicking over to Todays Christian Woman HERE

For my sisters who are tired. Who are unsure. Who are in need of encouragement and a reminder of who you are. My gift to you in hope that you will find hope. 

When I am erased from the political conversation, I remember Dorothy's refusal to be dissected and forgotten by fighting for her race and her womanhood. I remember Shirley's audacious path into politics, taking to new heights our involvement in shaping national policy. 

When my appearance doesn't suit the sensibilities of others, I remember Lauryn's locs, Angela's fro, and Coretta's curls.

When I am told I am too much, I remember Sojourner's bared breasts proving the truth, the strength of her womanhood before a crowd and I declare before the world Maya's words "I am a woman, phenomenally." 

When I feel alone, I remember Billie's seering song, Nina's longing for freedom and Aretha's demand for r.e.s.p.e.c.t. 

When for the dozenth time I've heard the phrase, "We just aren't ready for those kinds of changes, yet," I remember Mae's courageous flight into the stars and Mamie's daring decision to reveal the depths of America's racial sickness to itself. 

When I am told I need to give more, I remember Audre's words, "Caring for myself is not self-indulgence; it is self-preservation, and that is in act of political warfare." 

When my feelings and experiences are invalidated, I remember Rosa's determination sparked a citywide boycott and Pauli's fearlessness in sharing her discontent over the treatment of black women leaders in the Civil Rights Movement. 

When I am struggling to hold onto myself, I remember Nikki's ego trippin' and I...can fly like a bird in the sky. 

When I am called toxic because my work challenges the status quo, I remember Ida's dangerous crusade against normalized terrorism and Maria's revolt against social convention defending her right to speak before any crowd. 

When I am told how far I can go, I remember Harriet's train crisscrossing the country for the sake of freedom. 

And I can go on. 

Sometimes the days are unrelenting and night withholds rest. But even in these moments when the world hopes to define who I am and what I can contribute, I remember. The women. Who came before, who opened doors, who dared to be great, whose legacies live on. 

*Photos from Smithsonian Institute Collection