So, the day is finally here. We’re leaving to get on a plane at 2 pm today to go to South Africa. Notice I said ‘go’ and not ‘move’ to South Africa, Reader. A great deal has changed.
It would be inappropriate for me to write about the details of the events that have taken place over the course of the last 3 weeks, but suffice it to say that a journey that started out with so much faith and optimism has morphed into a veritable festering, seeping scab, caused by the daggers of the 3xC’s – Crazy Colored Church-folk. If you’re ever looking for a group to drag you down back into a barrel, find a black church. There’s always that one gossipy, misinformed, self important individual ready and willing to insert themselves into your affairs where they have no business, and equally ready to spread their arsenal of misinformation to thwart your plans. With good and ‘godly’ intentions, of course. They start a firestorm and a chain reaction of mess and then step back and watch, wonder why and how everything has gone so awry?
So here we are: Thousands of dollars spent later, and tens of emotional hours spent on the phone with grandma and good friends, tearfully saying our good-byes and relishing the shrinking number of days we will all have left together on the same continent. That is, until I discovered that we did not have approval/support/whatever to go to South Africa as of, I dunno, 10 minutes ago.
I counted up the cost, analyzed the tidbits of conversations I have been privy to, and came up with this conclusion:
I need to find me a White church.
I’ve said it before when I thanked my White friends for being White: When I want excellence, I need to go to White people. When I want to find a (well paying) job – White people. When I want hot fries, I gotta ask White people. When I need a solution – its always White people who bring it. Black folk cause 96% of my problems, and I’m finally sick of it.
The only good thing that has come out of all this is that I finally made it plainly clear that I have zero interest what-so-ever in being a pastor’s wife, co-pastoring a church, or having any association/job description that sounds like or rhymes with pastor/preacher. Don’t. Wanna. Do. It.
Hopefully, I’ll have more humorous fodder once we land…and get internet. You know how Black folk like to take their time when they’re in control of the services you need.