There is a tiny Caribbean island just south of Florida. We've been hearing a lot about it lately. While it is only a fourth the size of the state of Louisiana, its population is more than double. Some of you have probably began to think of this island as a terrifying place, where the sound of machine gun fire echoes like thunder and crazed protesters burn tires in the street.
But some of us pat the dark curls of our babies as we sing the old hymns in church and dream of the days when we sang them in another language. We remember when we crowded onto simple wooden benches instead of sitting a respectful distance from our by sitter, and how we always carried a water bottle and sweat rag, and then another rag to wipe the dust off our best church sandals.
Some of us raid the plantain rack at Walmart almost every week. And when we fry them up and pile on the cabbage pikliz, we remember birthday parties with slushy Coke and loud laughter. We wonder when we will ever get the chance to stand in a dark side street making small talk as we wait for our Styrofoam box of fried chicken.
Some of us check our phones and see messages from family and friends. The ministers wife sends a daily Bible verse in French, and the song leader sends a recording of some of the Sunday's service. People are checking in to see how everyone is doing, reminding each other that God is in control.
Some of us rock brown babies to sleep and and always make sure to sing the songs in both languages. Because remembering is important.
Just south of Florida, there is a Caribbean island, where sometimes the sound of machine gun fire echoes streets which are on fire with burning tires. But to some of us, it is not a strange, terrifying place. We know that it is full of people just like us. And whether your skin is the color of vanilla, caramel, or dark chocolate, you matter to God. He gives courage and strength bit by bit, day by day.
Maybe we will see peace here on earth, and maybe we won't. But people from all nations are promised peace of mind during the worst trials, and eternal peace in heaven with Jesus. If we sing the old hymns up there, I hope we can sing in French. And I hope I'm wearing my best church sandals and not sitting such a respectful distance from my bysitter. But that's just me.