Three days later and I am still processing all we saw and heard last weekend. What a moving experience!

The civil rights movement happened in the very same America that my great-grandparents came to. They gave up their families all over Russia and Europe and risked everything to travel alone on a boat for weeks to escape racial and religious persecution - only to arrive in a new land with nothing but the hope of starting over.

Growing up in the northeast, I had no sense of the extreme hatred and violence that took place in the fight for civil rights. Up north, Italians, Poles, Germans, Irish, Russians…they all hated each other as they fought to make a way in the new world. But by the time I came along race didn’t seem to matter much, at least in the city. My own mixed family was testament to the melting pot. But we were white…and they chose to be here. What happened to blacks, however, is nothing short of astounding.

I have a new respect for Martin Luther King as a brilliant strategist, as these events did not just ‘happen’, they were very well timed and planned (by church people because they were the only ones who couldn’t be fired by white bosses)…and for the countless women and children who knowingly walked into harms way in the name of some very basic things that seemed expected where I grew up. It is amazing how recent these events were and talking to people who were there really brought it home. I came away with a profound sense of gratitude for those in the movement and a renewed commitment to do my part to end hatred and intolerance in my sphere of influence.

There is simply no place for that in the same America that embraces the ‘tired, poor and huddled masses yearning to breathe free’. Those masses include every race and if they are ALL not free, what, exactly does America stand for?

I just got home yesterday evening.  It was a long day and long drive … nice bus, though!  I had a full weekend and really enjoyed the trip with the church.  It was nice meeting a few new folks- everyone was really a joy.

The trip was very educational, but a hard look at some (I think recent) racial issues… some scary stuff!!!  Really ugly stuff!  But, the stories of the Men and Women and Children-I didn’t know that children played such a role in the civil rights movement-they all fought for their rights and equality.  WOW!  Very inspiring… brave folks with intelligence and a strong faith in God… that’s the good stuff.

We went to the morning worship service at  16th Street Baptist in Birmingham yesterday.  This is the church that was bombed and where the four young girls were killed.  It’s a very different church from Hope-360 degrees different-and I really enjoyed it.  LONG!  whew… note to self: no coffee before church.  It was so good to see that, despite the bombings and the extreme ignorance and hatred behind them, God’s love has healed this congregation and this church.  16th Street Baptist is still God’s house and very much alive with His Spirit, where the folks from the local community still meet every week to worship our Lord and savior. Praise be to God.

I just arrived home from this unforgettable trip, turned on the news, and listened in disbelief as I heard of a local church that had racial slurs spray painted on it just yesterday!!  It was clearly identified as the work of the KKK.  THE KKK!?  How can it be that they are still in operation in 2009???  For three days I’ve been studying the brainwashing of hate and superiority, and for a brief period of time I had the naive thought that the Civil Rights Movement had been successful.

Following are the last, incredible stops we made along the way:

In 1965 African American activists held a series of marches to protest not being able to vote.  During one such event, a 26 year old man was shot and killed by local police for trying to protect his Grandfather and Mother from being beaten by authorities for participating in the peaceful demonstration that day.  This death deeply angered, and inspired the crowd to stage another protest by walking from Selma to Montgomery to the State Capitol.  But after peacefully walking just six blocks however, they were attacked by police using brute force and injuring dozens.  This scene became known as Bloody Sunday as they were beaten and gassed while attempting to cross the Edmond Pettus Bridge.

Two weeks later the crowd reorganized and carried out a well-planned Selma-to-Montogomery Voting Rights March, protected by the National Guard, and walked 54 miles to the Capitol.  The crowd began as 2,500 and swelled to 25,000 by the last day.  It took 5 days.  Because of this demonstration, Congress later passed the Voting Rights Bill finally granting African Americans to vote.  Walking over that bridge myself, imagining the courage it required was a powerful brush with history.

Our final stops were as powerful as the first:  The Birmingham Civil Rights Institute which was part history lesson, part audience participation and part demonstration of how the city has evolved since the 1960s and was a very artisitic, modern museum that kept us captivated for hours.

Nothing could compare though to attending services at the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church Sunday morning.  It was this exact site where one of the deadliest moments in history occurred during the civil rights era.  Days after a six-year court battle ended in favor of integrating Birmingham schools, Klansmen retaliated and in 1963 they bombed the church, killing four girls who were preparing for Sunday School.  Now, maybe this especially ticks me off because I’m a momma myself, but I CANNOT tell you how powerful it felt to today be worshiping side by side in this very spot on Sunday as if to say to those Klansman, ‘Look where your hate brought us … it brought us to LOVE!!’ I couldn’t help but smile and cry at the same time.

This trip is WAY too huge for words … but although I realize prejudices still exist, as in the KKK’s recent acts, we can learn from those who’ve gone before, we have seen that if we all stand together, we CAN be successful at demanding equality.  So … are we together?????

Oh - and next year, mark your calendars and join us!!  GO ON THIS TRIP!!  BE MOVED!!  You’ll never regret it!!

Saturday morning…

This post is a much tougher assignment that I ever could have imagined. In a way I’m regretting my vow to ‘report’ from the field now … for I realize that reading about our country’s history is powerful, watching movies made about the Civil Rights Movement is painfully revealing, but standing amongst it is enough to make a grown man break into sobs.

Where in the world can I begin to translate the emotions felt into words that will mean something equal to the incredulous power of what my eyes have seen on this trip and what it felt like to touch … to T O U C H the evidence & even the people who were first-hand eyewitnesses to such horrific events? Does it sound amazing to think that the people manning these museums and historical sites were THERE during the hate crimes and the struggle for something as simple as being treated HUMANELY?? They were literally present. I could have listened to their stories for days. This is the most incredible history lesson I’ve ever had.

Yesterday we arrived in Montgomery, AL where we went to the Dexter Avenue King Memorial Baptist Church where Dr. King was the pastor at age 24. One of the amazing things to me was that the church, which is still in use today, has maintained its original appearance. We were allowed to sit in the pews and match the visual picture from our history books of King preaching to a physical reality. King’s podium is still commanding at the front of the church. I had to touch it … which in some way allowed me to touch King himself.

This church is the birthplace of the Civil Rights Movement because it was here where Rosa Parks, an African American woman, refused to give up her seat on the bus to a white man and was arrested and thrown in jail in 1955 for not complying. This created the impetus for local pastors to assemble and MLK was recruited to organize the Montgomery Bus Boycott where African Americans, who were largely the paying customers of the bus system, refused to ride for over a year, and instead organized an elaborate carpooling plan that successfully delivered thousands of people to/from work, school and shopping. The bus company went bankrupt. In 1956 the Supreme Court finally ruled to integrate public transportation.

Victory! At least one tiny one in the big picture of how far they still had to go and how much blood was yet to be shed.

Next we walked into the Dexter Parsonage where King and his family lived while pastoring. We were allowed to sit on his couch…touch his desk…and most powerfully learn of the ephiphany he had while sitting at his kitchen table (but that’s a whole other story for another day!). We put our fingers in the broken cement where someone bombed his house and then counted the steps from the bomb to his baby’s bassinet just a few feet away. I left there in tears. It was p o w e r f u l.

We concluded the day by visiting the Civil Rights Memorial Center which was an incredible modern artistic depiction representing the people who paved the road for equality with literally their own blood. Here, 40 stories come to life as we learned how even innocent children were brutally and barbarically killed. A timeline of these martyr’s stories is etched on a granite table that draws your fingers to trace each of the names. As I touched them, I felt like I was touching the millions who have come before me. I loved though the call to action for myself in the last part of the museum where visitors are allowed to make a pledge to stand against intolerance and sign their names to the ‘Wall of Tolerance.’ It was powerful to watch as my own name was added to the commitment.

Processing all of what I’ve seen is going to take TIME. Hearing this history … once again first hand from many who were present during these historic events comes with a pain that I’m not sure what to do with. First of all I want to tell my black friends how sorry I am for doing this to them, I want to say How in the world could a people group have such inner strength to overcome such insurmountable odds??? And I want to simply say I love you, and I absolutely see you as my equal. No … wait … maybe not. For all the unexplainable courage the black culture has had to muster I realize that I am gravely inferior!! I would have so quickly crumbled.

So where do I go from here? I go home. I take this lesson and I live it. I teach my kids that people w/ blond hair should have the same opportunities as people with brunette hair.  People w/ brown skin have as much to teach us as people w/ red skin do.  Mommy’s friends sitting around the dinner table are people w/ white skin, black skin, yellow skin or whatever color skin!!   I teach them what their textbooks are missing and I lead them by example.

Today, I am very touched.

I wonder what’s in store for me this weekend … I’m looking around the bus loving the vast array of people, most whom I have never even seen before at church, but I bet I will feel very bonded to each of them by the time Sunday arrives. What are we going to see that moves us? That impacts us? That forever changes our outlook?? What will we learn about justice or injustice rather, or the struggle that our family members w/ black skin have faced and fought for. No matter what I see, I’m glad I came to find out.

I’ve seen the advertisement for the Justice Tour many years now, and I’ve asked people who’ve gone before to explain to me what it’s like. But, it’s funny how I still don’t really know what’s going to happen on this trip. One thing I do know is that it takes work to learn Black history. It isn’t just ‘caught’ because so much of our rich cultural history isn’t in our textbooks. You need to pursue these incredible stories of courage … or loss … or leadership … or FACE the shame of what our country has done to segregate white from black. There are SO many things that I should know that I hate to discover I’ve had no idea all along.

So this trip … it’s another good step in saying, ‘I care.’ I want to know. Tell me everything; I’m listening. I’m ready to walk in MLKs footsteps. I’m ready to be moved.

I am absolutely fascinated to see how other people live life.

So I was thrilled to get a ticket to attend Manassas High graduation last week. I was going because my friend’s daughter was one of the few who’d be receiving a diploma – a concept very hard for me to grasp because where I grew up there was never a kid who didn’t graduate – so I went knowing that I’d never truly understand how huge this day was for the proud families who had a child standing up front. I tried to envision the obstacles they had to overcome and the temptations to give up along the way. But the reality of such challenges flooded me the second the first senior’s name was read and her family erupted in whoops and hollers! Not the polite ‘Way to go honey’ I might have seen at my high school, but rather all out almost inappropriate but no-one-cared-about-rules-at-a-time-like-this kind of screaming. Tears were inevitable and the depth of pride and awareness of accomplishment flooded me at that instant. These kids faced odds. And they’d overcome them. And today, some were certainly the first in the family to reach this goal so it was a team effort … every family member felt a personal sense of pride and that somehow, part of this milestone was their victory as well.

It was hard for me to stay composed after all that ruckus but the program began and then my attention was fascinated by a new set of circumstances. I noticed the crowd didn’t really settle down and there continued to be a dull roar of talking all throughout the special music, the valedictorian’s speech and the main speaker. Several times the crowd was hushed but after-all it was the last day of high school so there was little motivation to comply. Finally the ceremony arrived at the traditional handing of the diplomas where student after student walked, crumped or danced across the stage to even louder screams by their families as they accepted that coveted piece of paper. It was incredibly moving. As my graduate approached her moment I switched my focus to her baby son … sleeping on his grandmother’s lap. I looked intently at that little bundle of overwhelming challenges and hoped that somewhere despite his deep slumber he was storing this moment of his mother’s example to push on and succeed. I looked back toward the stage and drank in the surreal scene around me, soaking in everything I could process, living this day right along w/ my friends. I lifted my shoulders back a bit and raised my head higher, tears and all and could not – for the life of me – resist the urge either. Days like this don’t come very often. I took one last look around at the family I was sitting with who were of course on their feet, shouting, screaming, whistling and chanting their sister’s name … and decided to live life like they were. V a l e r i eeeeeeeeee I shouted!! V a l e r i eeeeeeeeee!!! You ggggggoooooooooo GIRL!!!! Whooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!! V a l e r i eeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now that felt like living :].