Last week I met a young girl. She couldn’t have been any older than
four or five. She had never seen a “white” person. This made 
for
an interesting, and unique experience, which made me contemplate how we
view race and how we should all approach it with the humor, compassion,
and acceptance of a child. While we were chatting with this young
girl’s grandfather (in Kenya) several things happen instantaneously;
she plops down right next to me, grabs my hand, scrutinizes it like an
unknown insect in the grass, and she makes a decision and theory about
what’s wrong with me. I’m dirty. I’m white. I’m a white washed African.
She looks into my eyes imploring and then it changes to sympathy. She
looks eager to fix me so I nod in agreement that it’s worth a try.
her eyes for affect and when she opens them a look of indignant
surprise lingers on her face just moments before determination is newly
etched in. She takes a new approach-wiping the top of her hand onto my
arm as if to wipe the brown onto my desperately pale skin. My skin
looks promisingly pinker. We meet eyes and snigger for a couple of
minutes.
Her grandfather and my translator obviously missed the endeavor at
hand: “cure my whiteness”. They were not amused. We immediately stopped
laughing out loud but our continued sloppy grins revealed the
mischievous giggles we were hiding. Despite her efforts I’m still white
although I have acquired a minor tan from hours of scuffling down the
road in the sun.
Toa child, the outside is circumstantial – inside I was no different to
her, my skin just didn’t match. If we all could only have this outlook
– perhaps we’d understand the Lord’s heart for his children a bit
better.
at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samual
16:7
