Why I'm Glad My Husband Is White

{Elissa Ewald Photography}

I originally started this post over two months ago when everything was happening in Dallas and Baton Rouge, but I just didn't have it in me to finish it. Sadly, the recent happenings in Charlotte have given me a reason to revisit the post and hit publish. This time it's different. It's much closer to home. My sister lives in Charlotte, and I don't want to go to bed at night thinking about her safety. Y'all, please hold your loved ones close and be kind to every person you encounter. This life is too short to get caught up on the small stuff.

The other night, when I was trying to process through all of this junk, I looked at Rory, and I said, "Is it bad that I'm glad you're white? Because if I had married a black man I might have to be more afraid of how my kids will survive in this world." He just looked at me and said, "Well, that's a really dark thought, but I understand."

How messed up is this world that thoughts like this run through my mind? In light of all that has changed, there is still so much to be done. But it starts with the little things. The news portrays all of the tragedies that we see. People share statistics about why it is important to understand that black lives are not the only ones being threatened. There is ignorance on all sides of the issue.

I grew up in the suburbs of East Cobb in Marietta, Georgia. Not exactly a hotbed of racial tension, but also not a place with a ton of diverse attitudes and perspectives represented in the majority. People often would say "You're the whitest black girl I know" or "You're like an Oreo, black on the outside but white on the inside." I often would laugh and joke along with them, glad that I was "accepted." Um, false. Because when you qualify someone's personality by saying that they are more comfortable with you because you act like them and people with whom they are more comfortable, there's a problem.

Much as I hate to admit it, I wanted to be accepted, so I would poke fun at my color and make jokes that literally sicken me to my stomach when I think about them now. Because the fact is, it's not funny to make fun of yourself. It's not funny to continue cycles of shame. And it certainly isn't funny to do that because you feel as though you must in order to be accepted by the majority.

Last night, I was praying for the people in Charlotte, mainly my sister and her boyfriend. As I started praying, I said, "Lord, we come to you saddened by the events today-well, I don't know if Rory's sad, but I come to you saddened tonight..." And Rory kind of stopped me and was like, "Why do you not think I'm sad?" Because try as I may, there are still some very dark parts of my heart. Because maybe I still think that this is a "black issue." False. This is a human issue. I assume that because my husband is white that maybe he's not sad. Maybe he doesn't care. And that is completely and totally untrue. He cares because he's a person, too. He cares because he happens to love an African American woman. But he cares because he is a follower of Christ.

After crying and praying, I rolled over and said, "I'm scared to bring kids into this world." Because I may try to comfort my thoughts by thinking that maybe because our kids will be biracial it might not be "that bad." But the truth is, people are mean and ignorant. People are unkind and harsh. And our kids may face a lot of junk that neither of us faced simply because of their sweet caramel skin.

So why am I glad my husband is white? Because it forces me to face some dark parts of my heart. It forces me to be honest and be a truth-seeker. And it forces me to ask myself if I am truly loving as Jesus loved.

Further Reading

Why I'm Prejudiced & So Are You
The Real Reason White People Say 'All Lives Matter'