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LISA AND I seldom interrupt our morning walk to "pig out," but on this particular day I feel more like eating than exercising. So when Lisa calls, I suggest we get some fried okra and collard greens at one of her favorite places to eat, a soul-food restaurant in the inner city.
As we stand at the door of this crowded little restaurant, waiting for a table, it's hard for me to believe I have a white friend who's comfortable in an all-black setting. We're both keenly aware Lisa's is the only white face in a crowd of African Americans. When we finally get a table, our waitress has a rotten attitude. She smiles as she waits on other tables, but whenever she approaches our table, her cheerful disposition turns cold. Poor service accompanies her negative attitude. We repeatedly ask for glasses of water. We never receive butter for our cornbread. With each request, our African-American waitress becomes increasingly irritated.
"This is reverse discrimination," I say to Lisa. "We African Americans know how it feels to be treated like this. Why would we treat others the same way?"
ALTHOUGH I ASK THE QUESTION, I understand the answer too well. I, too, could easily play the "let's hurt white people like they've hurt us" game. When I was in kindergarten, a little freckled-faced white girl named Penny called me a "nigger." Penny's remark proved to be only the first of many derogatory names and behaviors I've endured from members of the white race.
Not long ago, an all-white church board hesitated to hire me for a job in their counseling center because of my color, despite the fact that my qualifications fit the job perfectly. I've been told not to wear my hair in braids or wear African-type clothing or head wraps if I want to be more successful. I've encountered enough racial incidents and innuendoes to keep me entrapped by anger and bitterness for a lifetime.
I carry a sign inside my heart that reads, "Go away, white people. Just leave me alone." But God's made it clear he wants me to take the sign down. Every now and then he sends me a special white friend like Lisa Sinclair who helps me chip away at the racial barriers in my relationships.
Lisa and I met five years ago at a women's retreat. At the time, my family and I were facing a major crisis. The church my husband pastored had asked him to resign. In four short months, my husband had to find another job and we needed to secure another place to live. Lisa's husband works with pastors in the city and they both were familiar with our situation.
After Lisa and I were introduced, she said something like, "I don't like what that church is doing to you. I just want you to know that. I don't like it one bit." Then she walked away.
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