Given the infinite nature of the Universe, four hundred years is merely a blink of the eye. But the human existence is not infinite. We understand that from the moment we take our first breath out of our mothers’ wombs, our journey begins towards that moment when we take our last breath. So, for us whose existence is finite, we consider four hundred years a mighty long time.
We really know very little about those first twenty Africans arriving on the shores of Jamestown four hundred years ago. We don’t know what their family lives were like. Were they married? Did they have children? What were their grandfathers’ names? Were they afraid? We focus so much on whether they were enslaved or indentured servants that I believe we forget that they were flesh and blood men and women. Men and women who dreamed dreams, were someone’s children, and most likely someone’s parents.
Four hundred years later, it is only right that we remember them. It is only right that we honor them. They deserve all the positive accolades our vocabulary carries. But we should also remember our own mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, and all those whose sacrifices contributed to where we are today. I don’t know your story, but I know I am where I am because of the words of encouragement and prayers of protection and guidance of so many over the years. They deserve all the positive accolades my vocabulary carries.
So, as we prepare for the third decade of the twenty-first century, I believe we should pause and give reverence to not only those first twenty Africans in 1619, but to those in our own lives whose names we know but don’t acknowledge often enough. Go ahead, I’ll wait.
Later.