Jessie’s Hope and Vision 2022

Recently my mom texted me this photo of a letter she’d come across, which I wrote to my beloved Ginny Grandma when I around 10 years old, if memory serves me:

My Ginny Grandma lived in Cadillac, Michigan most of the year and spent the winters with us in Illinois for as long as I can remember. I savored every minute we had together, whether it was spent building formidable multi-room blanket forts, learning from her how to shuffle cards for Gin Rummy, eating and learning to make her famous Swedish “Skorpa” from stale hot dog buns, listening to one of her stories that only got more captivating each time she told it, or confiding in her my most intimate troubles and dreams. We always had a special bond. Her absence weighed heavily on me after she’d returned to Cadillac, so I wrote often to her, knowing that she would always write back and take me seriously. 

As I ponder my hopes and vision both for myself and for our Lace on Race community, my mind keeps landing on this letter, and on my Ginny Grandma’s profound influence on my life and racial justice journey. I cannot tell my story without introducing you to her, without whom I likely never would have become a part of Lace on Race. 

The thing I remember most clearly about Ginny Grandma is that her metaphorical (and literal) kitchen table was like Lace’s: always big enough for anyone who wanted to sit there and who would abide with love and kindness. Everyone she knew was, in her eyes, inherently and unconditionally deserving of her best. It was impossible to feel lonely or lacking in her loving presence. She was one of those people who always gave you her full attention and authentic self, and who made sure you were seen and heard and loved, which included being made aware if your actions didn’t line up with the potential she knew you had. She knew how to cherish a person, and I watched her cherish anyone and everyone whose path she crossed, right up until her last breath.

Ginny Grandma’s commitment to loving others unconditionally was marrow-deep. As a child, I always assumed that she didn’t have to think consciously about it, but I know better now. I understand that she chose to be this person again and again and again and again, through many difficult choice points that would certainly have led to different outcomes if she’d come to them with different priorities than those she held dearly. In other words, she must have had to work so diligently to develop her priorities into a robust root system that would nourish her and allow her to bear so much fruit throughout her life. I wish I knew more about the choice points she faced and how she stayed true to who she wanted to be, but that’s another essay…

One of my earliest memories is of bringing Ginny Grandma to school with me to have lunch for “Grandparents Day.” When we entered the classroom, her attention turned immediately to one of my peers, Erika, who was sad that her grandparents couldn’t come. I don’t remember why exactly. I do remember, vividly, that my grandma invited Erika to sit at our table immediately, and loved on her just like she loved on me and my family. I also remember vividly how joyful and proud this made me to be her granddaughter. I remember feeling no jealousy or resentment for Erika, because I knew in my bones that we weren’t competing for my grandma’s love and affection. On the contrary, her love always seemed to multiply whenever she extended it. 

I think of what I’ve learned in the past year about the roots of white supremacy and systemic racism. I’ve learned that the fear of scarcity is such a driving force of supremacist behavior. I’ve learned how my own fear of scarcity drives my own supremacist behavior and sense of being in competition with “The Other.” In my fear of deprivation, I’ve deprived others. In my fear of disappearing, I’ve erased Black and Brown people. White supremacy is all about choosing to hoard for myself out of fear that if I give of myself and my resources freely, there won’t be enough left for me and my family to survive and thrive. My Ginny Grandma and the durable, no nonsense, Hesed love that I’ve experienced in this community has taught me that the opposite is true: when I invest myself and my resources in following our North Star, I become part of a larger *we,* who survive and thrive collectively within this “Beloved Community” of ours. 

I believe that everyone needs a Ginny Grandma, an Aunt Cathy like Lace’s, a Pure Perfection Chat, a Chef’s Table, where we are seen fully and affirmed, both that we are enough just as we are, and that we have it in us to become the people we say we want to be. It is from that place of knowing we are enough that we can face the mirror that shows us how we’ve fallen short– how we have harmed Black and Brown people– so that we can root out those underlying beliefs that we wish we didn’t have and lay down those weapons of whiteness and white supremacy that we wish we weren’t holding. It is from this place of enough that we can un-center ourselves and see each other, affirm and love each other, and abide in community with each other, without fear of scarcity.

My hope for Lace on Race is that we may be Ginny Grandmas and Aunt Cathys to each other, to ourselves, and to our larger communities outside of Lace on Race. My vision is that through dismantling this myth of scarcity, we dismantle white supremacy and rebuild Beloved Communities, like ours, in its place. 

Please join us in the Bistro discussion below.

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