Hug a Stranger

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Aisha gave an update on her 108 in 2008 which reminded me that I need to do that, too.

I have accomplished a few more things on the list but if my math is correct, I need to do approximately 12 things each month for the rest of the year to complete it all. Funny how things pile up when you procrastinate.

Here are a few of the things I was able to cross off the list:

3. Click to donate on the HungerSite every day for a week.
Because I’m forgetful I thought I would never get this one completed. I’d remember to go to the HungerSite for a few days, and then forget one day and have to start over. Then I saw they have an option to subscribe. They E-mail me every single day with the link reminding me to come click to donate. It has worked brilliantly. Not only have I clicked to donate every day for a week, but every day for many weeks. I encourage everyone to subscribe and do the same. It takes literally 30 seconds of your time each day while you’re checking E-mail, it costs you nothing, and it feeds hungry people. That’s a pretty good deal.

11. Bake Biscochitos.
I had baked and eaten biscochitos once, many years ago. My older sister was living in New Mexico and she gave me a mix which already included all the dry ingredients. I made them and loved them. The taste of the anise is so unique. Ever since then I’ve been meaning to find a recipe and make them from scratch. I finally did and they came out just as I remembered. Carlos and the boys loved them, too. (For the recipe I used, see here.)

20. Hug a stranger.
This happened unexpectedly. I’ve actually been trying to find an opportunity to do it but none of them felt right, until last Sunday. I took the boys to church, but we didn’t go to the church we usually go to. I like to visit other churches in the area sometimes.

We went to a church service that is held at the high school. I could pretend to be color blind and not mention the next thing I’m about to say, but I can’t ignore the obvious. The congregation was nearly entirely black.

It’s a strange feeling for a white person, to be nearly the only white person in the room. It’s something we don’t often experience, and it gives me greater empathy for what minorities must often feel like. There’s an uncomfortable self awareness that occurs.

I knew this church was primarily black and so I was better prepared this time. I put on my nicest clothes, which honestly, still weren’t nice enough to compete with what others had on. My 9 year old Nick whispered, “Next time we come here, I want to wear a tuxedo like everyone else.” (He calls any kind of fancy suit a “tuxedo”.)

We took a seat towards the back. I know that in some churches people have certain seats they like to sit in each week. I didn’t want to take someone’s favorite seat, and besides, I was feeling shy. An usher wearing white satin gloves approached us a few minutes later and asked us if we’d please move up and join everyone else. I readily agreed although I was uncomfortable. I was later thankful that the usher had given us the opportunity to come sit with everyone else and be a part of things rather than just observers.

While we waited for service to start, my 6 year old son Julian piped up, “Let’s play I-spy!” I immediately knew this was a bad idea but he started the game before I could stop him. He called out loud and clear, “I spy, with my little eye, something that is WHITE!” … I nearly did a face palm right then.

Eventually service started and it was phenomenal. (This coming from someone who usually finds church boring.) I actually had fun and felt uplifted. First the youth performed a step dance routine, which was really cool. Then they had praise through music.

At most white churches praise through music is singing (or mouthing the words) with hymnals. If you’re lucky, you’re in a contemporary church with a good rock/pop band - but still, participation from the audience is minimal and has to be encouraged.

This was not the case at this church. Those in attendance were just as much a part of the music, the experience, the worship, as anyone up on stage. It was like a celebration. It was contagious. I, who usually stand politely and mouth the words, found myself clapping and yes, even dancing. I danced in church, and the people who smiled at me, I think they smiled because they were pleased, and not because I seriously lack rhythm. (To be fair, I had a good clap going for awhile but Nick kept clapping on the off beat and confusing me.)

After the music the Preacher read the verses from the Bible on which he would base his sermon. He asked us to join hands in prayer before he began. I looked to my left. The black woman sitting next to me looked at me hesitantly. I stretched out my hand, and she took it. As the Preacher prayed, I had a difficult time focusing. I kept thinking about my hand. Is it too sweaty? Am I holding her hand too tight? Too loose? At one point during the sermon the Preacher said that we pray for our neighbors sitting next to us, and she gave my hand a squeeze.

When I opened my eyes, she was smiling at me. I opened my arms and gave her a hug.

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