Toubaako!

If I never hear that word yelled at me again, that will be just fine with me. "Second term blues."  That is what they call it. When you return to a place you have been before, yet all those things you thought you were used to aggravate you more than they did before. A few aggravations are on my list, but none greater these days than being called, "Toubaako!" or "White foreigner!"

Sometimes it is an innocent child who just does not know any better. Little children are often more open and honest than we really want them to be. For instance, I go out with my three-year-old to visit. I really want to stay and talk, but she keeps begging to go home. I cannot hide that from those whom we are visiting. When a small child is calling to me, I can suggest that they call me a name they would use for their mother or aunt, because the chances are good that I am older than their mother.

However, when a teenager or, worse yet, an adult yells at me, I just want to scream. The culturally correct response to them is to call out in their language, "Black person."  Maybe it is because of my daddy being from Alabama. Maybe I heard too many things said regarding a person's color having grown up in Louisiana. Maybe I became more sensitive after the race riots in Shreveport when I was in middle school. I just cannot seem to bring myself to use this culturally appropriate response. The few times that I did bring myself to say it, I had a bad taste in my mouth.

I try to dress like the people here. I speak their language. No matter what I do, I will always be different by my skin color. It is not that I mind being different. I know that there are some ways that I am different because of my faith and that is not a problem. I just want to stand out for the right reasons.

Last week, we were studying the founding of Jamestown.  A light went on inside my head. It is no wonder that white people are seen as they are after how the French came here to colonize. It was likely a very similar impression as that given to the Native Americans by the Spanish and English. Father, help me to elevate these people, and help them to see their value through Your eyes.

Sunday, as we met for worship, it occurred to me that I am here to stand out. No matter how much Jesus tried to blend in, even taking on the clothing of a man, he could not help but stand out. By no means am I Jesus, but he sent his followers, of which I am one, out to be different.   Lord, when I stand out because of my skin color, help me to shine forth Your light with a holy glow.