It was a Saturday morning.
I was getting ready for my appointment; she had been snuggling with me in bed earlier
and was now joining me in the bathroom as I was putting on my makeup.
She held up the thick
brush and with pleading eyes she asked if she could put on some blush.
It was Saturday, so I nodded and continued on with my eye shadow.
She brushed with enthusiasm and her little cheeks grew
pinker and pinker and she brushed and swirled the blush on her small little
face. She kept chatting and I kept
attempting something new with my eye lids.
“Ann’s skin is so beautiful, Mom. Did you notice how pretty
her skin was when you saw her at my school?”
I nodded my head and gave some small agreement. I remembered Ann. She was the friend that shared her name.
“And my other friend’s skin is pretty too. So pretty.”
I decided to enter into this
conversation with some motherly words of wisdom, “ Anna, your skin is beautiful. You
have very beautiful skin.”
“But Ann doesn’t need makeup. I will – just like you. I have white skin, but Ann has brown skin. I wish my skin was dark like Ann’s. Don’t you
think that black people and brown people have the most beautiful skin in the
whole world?”
It was then that I realized what she was comparing – and indeed she was correct – both of her
friends had beautiful brown skin. I
agreed, “Yes Anna, dark skin is absolutely beautiful. Sometimes when I see their skin I just want
to touch it because it looks so smooth.
I think you are right, black and brown people have the most beautiful
skin.”
We stood there for a few moments in silence. I assumed the
conversation was done. She was still swirling and I was still working
with the mascara brush. Suddenly her
voice was tense and her words were laced with fear and concern. There was panic in her little voice when the
words came tumbling out, “Would you have adopted me if I had been black?”
The words hung thick
in the air.
 |
| The week she came to live with us. |
As soon as her terrifying words were said, deep sadness
filled my heart. Even the question of us
not choosing her as our own caused my heart to skip a beat. Just the thought of her not being mine caused
me to feel like a part of me ceased to exist.
I immediately stopped what I was doing and leaned down close and met her
gaze. I looked straight into her big beautiful brown eyes.
“Yes, Anna. We would
have adopted you if you were black. We didn’t adopt you because of the color of
your skin. We adopted you because we
wanted you. We loved *you* – not the color of your
skin.”
“Oh good!” I could hear the relief in her voice. “I wish I had black skin; but I’m so glad I
have you as my Mom; and if I was black I would still want you to be my
Mom. She continued to talk about how when she is
a teenager she will need to have extra time in the bathroom in the mornings
when she is old enough to wear makeup. I
assured her that we will be able to accommodate that when the time comes.
Sometimes the most
profound conversations happen when you least expect them; this one reminded me
how all of us are the same. Regardless
of skin color – we all are people needing to be loved and accepted. Had Anna been black or brown or white she was
a little baby in need of a family to love her and care for her. I am so glad God brought her to us. I cannot imagine our lives without her.
Jesus loves the little children
All the children of
the world
Red and Yellow, Black and White
They are precious in His sight.
Jesus loves the little children of the world.
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