Our family moved from the inner city eight years ago. I could no longer tolerate the crush of humanity 24/7. We knew that moving outside of Rt. 128 (Boston’s loop) would most likely mean that our community would be less diverse. We planted ourselves in a small, farming community, a mere 25 miles from downtown Boston. We love the space, parking spots near our errand destinations, and the relaxed pace of life. However, we do miss the diversity. Not that there is anything wrong with whites, mind you. When we have to check boxes about ethnicity, white is the square we fill in.

Despite our majority status, throughout our lives, both Christopher and I have felt a pull to communities (actual geographic places as well as churches) where many nationalities are genuinely integrated. In our opinion, diversity means much more than having ethnic restaurants in town. In the simplest terms, it’s about valuing others enough to make a space for them and then sharing both access and power. Though that might seem easy to pull off, it’s not.

The first component of making diversity a reality is noticing and inviting others in. This has always been the easy part for us. We tend to be watchers and thus we see what others often miss. Recently, we attended our son’s football banquet. We arrived a bit late and settled toward the back. At our table for ten sat my husband, his brother who was visiting from Spain, and me. At the next table, sat a woman. Alone. Knowing I had nothing to lose, I introduced myself and invited her to join us. Once she got over her shock, I think she figured, “Why not?” gathered her belongings and sat at our still too large table.

We had a delightful evening. She hailed from Spain so she and my brother-in-law had many animated discussions–in Spanish. In the course of sharing much pasta, the likes of which one can only encounter at such potlucks, she admitted that in the four years her son had been in the school system, no one had ever extended such a simple gesture of hospitality. How sad. Really. Noticing and inviting are pretty simple.

What’s truly challenging is stepping aside, being willing to allow someone who is different from me to do things their way or influence my biases. I wish I understood why this is so difficult. When I’m really honest, I can admit that giving someone this much space makes me nervous. I worry that things won’t work out how I imagine or how I need them to work out. I worry that I won’t look good or that–gasp–they might actually do things better than me which might, in the long run, threaten my status.


Though Christopher and I share the same basic ethnicity, we are exceedingly other. This plays out in the kitchen. We both are fairly competent at cooking–provided that speed is not one of the metrics. My start to table time is generally 35-45 minutes. If Christopher dons the chef’s hat, he needs to begin prepping two hours before we need to sit down. This works if I’m out of the house, but when I’m present, I can barely contain my impulse to hover, hurry him along, or help him chop and saute. He feels devalued and I miss the gift of eating what he has created.

This kitchen lesson has larger applications. Whenever we value efficiency and speed over inclusivity, diversity loses out. If we care about others, we must slow down, endeavor to listen, and stop evaluating based on how quickly something happens.

In the many years that Christopher and I have been leading teams of volunteers at our church, we normally have 80% white team members, 10% Asian, and 10% Latino or African American. This percentage does not represent our church. And it certainly does not represent our region.

To some extent, this is a leadership failure on my end. Though I always try to make allowances for differing temperaments and space for their voices to be heard, I’m clearly still not getting it. This presses my incompetent button, which often results in my backing away rather than pressing in. The discomfort that I experience when I am struggling to understand and struggling to give up control is no less real than minorities’ frustration at not being understood or fully trusted.

Despite my obvious cluelessness, I’m not giving up. I truly long to see our churches, educational system, and government reflect the diversity of our nation. I certainly don’t have the influence to change systemic power dynamics, but I can continue to invite those who are other to sit at our table, and in the process, learn to listen and share whatever I have. There’s plenty of room. Anyone want to join us?