I'd like to offer a fair warning that if you are looking for an uplighting, look-at-the-bright-side post - you may want to skip today's post. 

What Difference Did I Make?PrologueOn Thursday of this past week, I underwent part 2 of 2 UV light treatments to remove pre-cancerous spots on my face due to years of sun exposure. Part 1, four weeks ago, came and went with little irritation. I was pleasantly surprised because I had a similar process (with medicinal ointment rather than UV light) about 10 years ago that led to weeks of excruciating pain from blistering and peeling skin.For these treatments, 48 hours without sun exposure of any kind is important. So, I’ve spent the last three days huddled indoors – getting loads of client projects completed and getting caught up on all my ‘busywork’ like paying bills and trying to figure out Pinterest – not to mention the background noise of the Great British Bakeoff (thank you Netflix).I expected Part 2 to be as painless. Instead, my face was far redder and hotter than with Part 1 – but at least it didn’t blister and peel!When I woke on Sunday to 32 degrees and sunny – I was excited to get outdoors. I headed to the bathroom to slather on sunscreen (which I use EVERY day now) only to realize that as I rubbed the sunscreen on my face, my skin began to peel and crack, exposing big red blotches.Not one to care too much about what others think of my appearance, I knew I still wanted to get outside but thought too much sun wouldn’t be a good thing – sunscreen or not.Main EventI decided to head to a movie: The Hate U Give. I treated myself to a big tub of popcorn and settled into my king-size recliner.I did not expect to hear or see anything new. Like the main character, I grew up in a rough neighborhood and went to a private school across town. Although my children don’t live in a rough neighborhood, as people of color and children of two Catholic school teachers of very modest means, they attended majority white, wealthy schools.I’ve seen “the young girl sees friend shot and needs to decide whether or not to come forward as a witness” story before in movies like Free of Eden (with Sidney Poitier and his daughter). I’d seen fights, drugs, SWAT teams, and injustices growing up. I live in what is considered one of the most dangerous cities in the country - Chicago. I know the names of the TOO many black boys who’ve died at the hands of a police officer and the fear that it could someday be my child or husband (as I wrote about here).I intended to view, with curiosity, how this movie portrayed the struggle, and head home to read a good relaxing book before the start of my work week.As the movie progressed, I couldn’t help but think ‘every white person in America needs to see this’ – just as I did with so many other movies: I Am Not Your Negro, Hidden Figures, Fences, and the many movies my husband wrote about in his blog post.This movie – like so many before – made me laugh, made me think, made me cry, but mostly it made me angry. AftermathBy the time I walked the length of the parking lot to get to my car, I was shaking; my heart raced; my head pounded. I couldn’t drive. My normal heart 70 bpm heart rate was clocking 103 bpm (Samsung Health) – and I’d been sitting for 2.5 hours.I sat at the nearby bookstore, attempting to breathe deeply and get a grip.Anger isn't new to me. I’ve been angry before:

• When friends were unfairly arrested after outsiders arrived in the neighborhood to make trouble; when my neighbor beat his wife and child; when my father abandoned us. (1970s)
• When a high school teacher announced to a room full of wealthy white classmates that “everyone on welfare is lazy and ignorant.” (1977)
• When students fasting for Democracy in TianAnMen Square were murdered. (1989)
• When fellow Sisters were being compelled to get U.S. green cards against their wishes. (1991)
• When local school authorities planned to merge two schools serving rival gang members in a building around the corner from my home. (2004)
• When a coworker sexually harassed students but kept his job. (2000-2007)
• When someone I love was refused a job and told he would be ‘better for the job at an all-black school.’ (2007)
• When a woman explained that the school’s diversity policy didn’t mean ‘that kind of diversity’ speaking of race. (2008)
• When I was told my ideas were ‘too big’ and they just wanted a simple school. (2015)
• When the Catholic church covered up massive, widespread sexual assault of children. (ongoing)
• When Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Philando Castillo, Mike Brown, Eric Garner, LaQuan McDonald, and so many other young black men became household names. (ongoing)
• When a self-confessed sexual assaulter was elected president. (2016)
• When a proven liar was seated on the Supreme Court. (2018)

Anger at violence, racism, police brutality, poverty, and injustice are always with me. But instead of carrying anger like a sword and shield to fight for justice, my anger fits like a snug under-garment – glimpsed only rarely, almost by accident.For more than 25 years, I taught teenagers with the hopes of influencing the next generation to break the cycles of ignorance and hate that lead to injustice.But I can’t help but think: what difference did I make? My entire life has been spent trying to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly within my sphere of influence. Every once in a while, I get fed up and fired up – and make big plans to make a big difference – and the world gets a glimpse of my under-garment, for a moment.But I can’t help but think: what difference did I make?I share articles and memes on social media. I yell at news programs on television. I educate anyone who says something ignorant. I call out hatred whenever and wherever I can.But I can’t help but think: what difference did I make?I hear some say that they’ve stopped paying attention – that they turn it off for their own sanity – that they just want to live in peace. And this makes me angry and I think, “Lucky for you that you have a choice to ignore it all – to not have your life or the life of someone you love on the line every minute of every day.”And then I wonder if my anger is any different than their apathy – because really when it comes down to it:I can't help but think: what difference did I make?