Last Wednesday night Sharonda Coleman-Singleton was at prayer service when her cell phone rang. She took the call. Moms almost always take the call when they see the home number on their screen. This was one of those mundane calls – where’s the remote?
We know about that phone call because a few moments later this mother was shot for the color of her skin.
I read that one little detail in the Washington Post this past week, in an article entitled “Amid the Prayers, an Unholy Plan.” Here’s how it was reported:
She “took a call from her son Chris Singleton, a baseball player at Charleston Southern University. He needed to know where she had hidden the TV remote. It’s in the closet, she whispered, tucked away to prevent Chris’s younger brother from spending too much time playing video games.”
I keep thinking about that phone call.
Was she angry or bemused? Did she say, “I asked you not to call unless it was important,” a phrase all parents have said at one time or another? Or did she smile, thank her son for watching his brother.
Did she end his call with a hurried, “Love you.” Did she promise, as we all have, “I’ll be home soon.”
Early last Thursday morning, a photo was going around, a photo her son had posted on Instagram on Mother’s Day. He is in his baseball uniform, and their arms are draped around each other, and they are smiling. Her pride and joy are so evident on her face. He wrote, “Happy Mother’s Day to my #1 Fan.” He said something about how she was always there for him.
Tonight I was at my son’s baseball game. Cheering and clapping on a beautiful evening in June, and thinking of her. She’s not there for him anymore.
I am glad the flag is coming down. But if anyone thinks that’s sufficient, if that exceedingly low bar becomes a “I’m-not-a-racist-cause-“ statement, well, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Keep trying I guess.
On Friday night I went to an outdoor vigil near my home. We stood in light rain, trying to keep the candles lit. Words were read, prayers were prayed. We sang the song, “There is a balm in Gilead.” It has one of the truest lines I know: “Sometimes I feel discouraged, and think my work’s in vain.”
The first time through we sang the next line in the traditional fashion, “But then the Holy Spirit revives my soul again.”
The second time we sang about the promise that the wounded would be whole, the pastor had us change the words: “But then all those around me, revive my soul again.”
I hope Chris Singleton makes it to the Majors. I will cheer so loud for him.