As white people -- and particularly, right now, as white Americans -- we have a responsibility to confront our privilege. To sit with it. To feel uncomfortable. To stare it down and force ourselves to keep staring, even when all we want is to turn our heads and run far and fast back to the safety of the norm.
It’s so easy to look at the lines of zeroes that turn 100 into 100,000 and feel distantly devastated without grasping what death actually means: the souls gone, the people changed by loss.
On the space between acknowledging privilege and hatred in trying times.
Miracles truly do happen, even if those miracles are mushy rather than perfectly soaked.