I grew up hearing that I was made in God’s image.

But everywhere I looked

God’s son was a white man

and my mirror told me I was anything but that.

I pleaded with my skin to be anything but dark

and I tried to be a man of God.

I was never white enough to be pure

or man enough to see the reflection of God.

I was not Godly.

But as I aged, I found out that God is love.

Even on the margins

overlooked

and forgotten.

God is the angry black woman

fearfully sending her sons out

demanding justice for the ones that never returned.

God is the mother at the border

her child torn away.

God is the child in a cage

becoming a mother to another.

God is the sister fighting for equal pay

and the daughter looking for a way to break the glass ceiling.

God is the giver of life

and ain’t that the most female thing you have heard?

The mother, daughter, sister, friend.

Are we not just as Godly as the man?

God, whose son was killed on the cross.

Black and brown bodies suspended in the air

then

and now.

Ain’t that a reality for people of colour?

Somehow we have made God into a specific image

and anyone that does not look like him

is cast out

behind walls

inside jail cells

in the kitchen of houses determined to force them to stay less than.

So when we are told to go back to where we came from

we will return to God

dragging our weary feet

carrying our brokenhearted.

We will leave and find out God was a lot closer

than the world wishes us to know.

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