Even now the insecurities and questions of my experiences plague me.

Am I good enough? Does being black hold me back? Will the fact that I don't know many goal oreinted black men keep me from getting married? Or will I marry someone not black? Am I prepared for the criticism that typically comes with interracial relationships? Do I want to bring children into that kind of environment? Why am I fearful of what others think? Whose opinion of me really matters?

And then there's the line of questioning in regards to wanting to adopt. I have no problem with the thought of loving a child with a different color of skin than my own, but can I do justice by that child? I know in my head that love transcends skin color, but do I believe that with my whole heart? Do I teach that child about their country and culture of birth? Or does my heritage and family become all they need to know about?

I think there is such a thing as innate cultural tendencies. I have a Korean friend who was adopted by a white family as an infant. The adoption agency told her parents that she, my friend, would sweat a lot and sing. Her mom thought it a racist comment until my friend sweated more than any of their biological children and she not only sang, but she'd correct others if they were off key. How could I, not being of the same culture, begin to parent such a child?

But as I verbalize questions and fears, maybe for the first time, I realize that these are questions not very different than what any parent asks. How do you parent a child with gifts and talents unlike your own? You never know until you're put in that situation, but you handle it accordingly because you love that child. I firmly believe being a parent is more than just being a DNA donor. A parent is one who will stand for, fight for, love, discipline, and nurture a child. It isn't simply a biological occurence. It is a delicate, loving, unexplainable, and intricate bond formed between an adult and a child regardless of skin color.

That's a challenge I would love to take on.

But I worry that my prejudices may stand in the way of being used in such a way.

Like I said, I grew up in middle class America with the majority of my friends being white. Any friend or crush of mine was most likely not black. There weren't many black families, especially young black families like mine, in our area. My brother teased me by saying I was more comfortable around whites than blacks, which to some degree is true. My friends in high school started calling me Samantha, what they described as an all-American white girl name, because it fit me better than my given "black girl" name. This moniker was further propagated, against the backdrop of the other blacks in my area, by my desire and drive to do well. My high school was in a small, country Texas town where many people didn't leave. Or if they did they came right back after college. I don't know if it was ever a conscious decision, but I knew that wouldn't be me. Plus, I had parents who pushed me to do well, who wanted more for me. So I took the AP classes, got involved with various organizations, got a part time job, and volunteered...I did all the right things for college applications. And was harassed by my black classmates for being "too white."

Where did I fit in? I wanted more than what I saw around me. I wanted more than what my parents had. They wanted more for me. We were infinitely blessed in that they were able to carve out a comfortable life for us, but they wanted more for us than the struggles they faced. But how do you become a successful when you feel that you don't fit anywhere? When you don't feel like you have enough or the right things to get ahead? My desire to be more put me at odds with a lot of the other black kids, but I never really felt as if I truly fit in with the other kids whose dreams were more in line with what I wanted.

How do you overcome that? Can I overcome that?

Before I get any further, let me give a little background about myself. I am the product of a teenage pregnancy; however, my mom has consistently said she was estatic to learn she was pregnant. My parents got married when I was about 5 months old. They weren't the teen parents who, as most are often portrayed, got married out of desperation or a sense of duty. They really loved each other. My brother was born about a year later. No doubt there were some lean times, but we never really knew the stresses my parents were under. As an adult, I now can better understand my parents financial worries and fears, but as a child I was blissfully unaware of everything. I just remember being very loved and safe.

Fast forward several years. After high school I attended a private, liberal arts college where I graduated with a bachelor's in Liberal Arts. I've had the opportunity to be apart of some amazing things and hope to experience more. I consider myself to be an intelligent and well educated 26 year old black woman. My brother has been married for 3 years and they have a 2 year son and an 8 month old daughter. They are, without a doubt, the cutest kids you'll ever come across:)

Despite the less than ideal start, my parents overcame their poor pasts and successfully raised my brother and I in middle class America. We may not have had everything we wanted, but I can't recall not having the things we needed...love, clothing, food, protection, stability, and faith. I have led a very blessed life. Undoubtedly I, as everyone else, have been affected by the evil of this world, by the ability of the ones you love the most to hurt you the deepest, but when I consider where I could be, how my life could have played out, and thank God above for His deliverance and love.

I remember my first experience of racism as if it were yesterday. It's one of those things that leaves an indelible mark on your life. In this depraved world this occurrence is inevitable. I've wondered if there's some correlation between when and how this wound occurs to how jaded people become as adults. I'm not sure if there is a correlation. But I do know this wound was the first time I was made aware of my skin color.

Her name was Emily. She lived in our apartment complex and she was in my brother's pre-kindergarten class. I can still see in my mind's eye where we lived, where she lived, and where we were standing when it happened. I don't remember the circumstances of what brought it about, but I will never forget the 4 year old, who parroting her parents, said she wasn't allowed to play with little black boys. I remember standing there in confusion as to why she couldn't play with my brother. I will also never forget the following day when she came back to say she couldn't play with little black girls either. I don't remember what my mom told us after Emily's announcement, but I remember the confusion, the sadness, the internal questions of what was wrong with our skin, what was wrong with me.

There are numerous moments in a person's life that are burned into their psyche never to be purged. Hopefully most are joyful and happy. Some aren't. Some of my moments include the situation with Emily, the phone call saying my best friend had died, college graduation, the call to say my sister-in-law was pregnant, holding my nephew and niece for the first time. These are moments that have the ability to form you, but it's how you respond to them, I believe, that determines the outcome of who you are.

Although the situation with Emily was very confusing it never clouded my feelings of people, white or otherwise. Maybe it was the protection of young age that prevented me from fully grasping the gravity of the situation. Or that my family was close to other white families so it wasn't an issue of thinking everyone was like Emily's parents. I don't know. But I'll never forget that moment of innocence lost.

If you know me at all you know how much of a news junkie I am. Which is how I came across this article in Newsweek. It was originally posted in April 2009, but I saw it tonight on MSN.

Let me preface this by saying as a born again Christian, I like to think I don't see skin color. Jesus didn't act any different towards people based on their skin so I try to lead a life that emulates that. But I'm not completely convinced that I do.

Recently at church there was a discussion forum for those interested in foster parenting and adoption. Because I hope to get married and raise biological and adopted children, I went to the meeting and the issue of race came up. Of the three families who interracially adopted or are seeking to adopt, my focus is one the one white family who adopted a little boy from Ethiopia. Although I didn't have the chance to ask them to further explain, one of the things the dad mentioned was their having to face prejudices they held when looking into adopting a child from Ethiopia. I don't know the specifics of what these prejudices were, but having had the chance to observe this family, they also have an older adopted son from Russia, I am without a doubt sure of their love and commitment to Christ and each other. I've had the opportunity to work in nursery with their younger son and to see their interactions and it's obvious to anyone that the love between parents and child is deep, very real, and very much mutual. This further supported my thought that love can transcend a multitude of differences, but it also brought to the fore various "questions and fears" of mine. Since that meeting, I've grown to see that these "questions and fears" are, surprisingly, prejudices I struggle with. And I will attempt to unpack them here...tomorrow.

Is there a parable that can further explain Christ's love for me in a way that I can better understand it as a single woman?

I was talking to two friends and somehow that question came up. I feel like marrieds and parents have a better hands on grasp of what it means to love. Only a parent can begin to truly understand what it was like when God had to turn His back on His Son. And only a married can relate to being pursued and desired like a bride and groom.

I don't have those experiences. But parents have an entirely different perspective as they have the ability to better understand what God must have gone through when turning away from Jesus because of the sin He took on. And the same for marrieds. Jesus' metaphors of the church being the bride and He the bridegroom mean more to one who has pursued and one who has been pursued.

I don't think He forgot about or is prejudiced against singles. I'm just wondering where is the 'ah hah!' moment that it seems marrieds and parents have that I don't as a single woman?

I was rushing from one thing to another the other day, but needed to shower. As usual, I was behind schedule and in a frantic rush which is never good when I'm trying to not cut myself as I shave. But I finished in record time and got out of the shower. Unfortunately, it was as I was towel drying my hair that I realized I hadn't actually washed me! My hair was clean and my arms and legs were shaved, but that's all I'd done. Argh. Back in the shower I went.

And that pretty much sums up the whole of my life right now.

Failure, real or perceived, is one of my biggest fears. I constantly struggle to find the balance between surrendering my life and goals to God while realizing my responsibility to make plans. I don't want to be that person who prays and prays for God to reveal His plan, but never moves. He has equipped me with the tools to act. Through prayer, spending time with Him, and seeking gut-wrenching honesty and wisdom from those I respect I test those plans against His Word. But like anyone else, I'm not a fan of those plans being thwarted. Or disappointing those who may be depending on me. Or explaining why plans I had spoken of didn't work out the way I had described.

True or not, it all translates as failure to me. It feels like failure of my faith, my ability to plan, my person. It scares me. And although I'm not proud of it, I've come to realize that it's not only the fear of man that I need to deal with, but that this is a fear that's larger and more prominent in my life than my fear of God. I wish I could just be over it, but I don't know how to get past this.

I honestly don't think God causes bad things to happen in my life in order to teach me a lesson or to make me bend to His will, but I struggle with the thought of His using the very object of my fears, failure, as a way to teach me how to depend on Him. In one sense I think walking it out it is a logical way to face and get over that or any other fear, but that isn't always the best way to handle something. I realize a fear of something that has such a grip on my life is crippling and lends itself to putting God in a box He was never meant to be in, but I'm not sure how to "get over it."

But regardless of my philosophy of fears, I've found myself where I never wanted to be...failed. It's at this point, in an effort to encourage myself, that I'd love to insert some inspirational quote about failure making one stronger or some other such crap, but I can't. Failure isn't fun or easy. It can't be summed up by quoting some lame cliche. It hurts like hell. I wish I could blame it on someone or something else or take comfort in the fact that I'm not completely responsible for these current circumstances, but I can't do that. I just want to lash out, to make someone feel the same pain I feel. But I can't do that either. I'm finding that grieving and being angry while not sinning is very hard and with it being at a time that I'm already feeling kicked and bruised I just want to give in to my flesh and rage...against anyone or anything.

In my struggle with wanting to divert responsibility, my mom urged me to read Psalm 51. It's David's response after Nathan called him out on his sin with Bathsheba. When Nathan first came to David he told him a story of a rich man, with lots of sheep, who took the one beloved sheep of a poor man to feed to his guest. David, seemingly very right in his outrage, said the rich man had to pay retribution for his actions. What David didn't expect was for Nathan to say he was the rich man-he acted no differently with Bathsheba than the rich man with the sheep.

When she told me what Psalm 51 was about I was ready to mentally check out. Why would I need to read that? I didn't kill, steal, or fornicate. But I read it.

Have mercy on me,O God, according to your steadfast love;

According to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin!

For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you may be justified in your words and blameless in your judgment. Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me. Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being, and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Let me hear joy and gladness;let the bones that you have broken rejoice. Hide your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit.

Then I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you. Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, O God of my salvation,

and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness. Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise. For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it; you will not be pleased with a burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise (vs. 1-17, ESV; underlining mine).

...my sin is ever before me...you may be justified in your words and blameless in your judgment...create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me...the sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise...

These verses remind me that regardless of my or anyone's actions in any situation, I was born with a sinful nature. My sin is ever before me and always against Him so He is completely justified in any words about me and His blameless judgment of me. So regardless of who is "right" in this particular situation, I'm still woefully short on "rightness" in other more important areas. So essentially, I've already failed. My sin separates me from perfect harmony with my Abba.

I'm an eternal failure. Huh. That's exponentially worse than my original fears. But it comes with a sense of relief. He already knows the ugliness in me yet He still went to the Cross. He saw something, He saw me and felt I was worth an unimaginable death.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.