Black in the LDS Church Part I Youth Dance

I should not still be begging for the church to see me…Love is change. Love is progression. Love is hope. Love is action. I call the members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints to action!

Dumdi Wallentine approached me to ask if I could share an experience being a black member of the LDS Church. Unfortunately, I have had too many experiences to recount and not all of them were great. I could start with the time I visited the temple. An older white woman singled me out in mid prayer to tell me how happy she was to finally see a "colored" in the temple. I could also go with the time a missionary came over to teach me the Gospel, only to conclude by telling me that his mother wanted him to keep his blood line pure and marry someone with blonde hair and blue eyes. I guess he felt like volunteering that information would somehow strengthen his testimony. I could go on and on about the micro-aggression from members that I do not know who would come up to me and say, "Hey Sista gal!" "What’s up, Sista!" "I like this big afro puff." and proceeds to yank at my curls without my permission. Much to their surprise, they then exclaimed, "Wow, it's so soft. Can water get through this? " I believe it is safe to say my experiences have not been the easiest in the church.

Even though I can list a mountain of "experiences," I believe one stands out more than the rest. I was sixteen, a year before I officially joined the church. I was introverted, battling with depression and low self-esteem. I did not have friends, and I did not go out much. My young woman’s teacher, a black woman, teamed up with my great grandmother, the only active member of my family, to get me to go to a youth dance. Right away, I said no. But like I said, they tagged-teamed me, and you don't say no to your great grandmother! Plus, my young woman’s teacher spoke to me and said that this is a place where I could meet friends my age. She promised I would love it and be accepted. Eventually, I believed her. I looked forward to going to the church dance and maybe, just maybe, I would find a friend.

Nervous yet hopeful, I arrived at the church. My heart was beating so loudly that I could have sworn the young woman’s teacher had heard it. She must have, because she placed her hands on mine and said, "You’ll be fine." 

I nodded, swallowed hard, opened the car door, and went inside.

At this point, I did not feel the weight of my blackness. I looked around; people were running to and from wherever. No one really noticed me at first. I did not know what to expect, so when I saw a group of adult women in the kitchen talking, I meekly walked over to them.

"Excuse me. Where do I go for the dance? " I asked. They stopped talking, and a sea of blue and hazel eyes stared back at me for what felt like forever. The women then looked at each other, having some unknown conversation to which I had no access. As if the judgemental glares weren't good enough, they started whispering to each other.

That's when I felt it. My shoulders became stiff and strained. My teeth bit down on my bottom lip and my hands yanked at the base of my t-shirt. 

I am new here. That’s all. I am just new here. I tried to reaffirm myself. 

Eventually, one of the women, without any words, escorted me to the gym. As soon as she finished her job, she left. I shook off the tension in my shoulders, took a deep breath, and entered the gym. I said to myself, "Don’t be awkward. You can do this! Make new friends. "

As soon as I stepped onto the dance floor, I could not help but notice that all eyes were on me. I convinced myself it was in my head and that I was just self-conscious. And yet, with every turn I made, I saw the eyes of the adults staring directly at me. I started to feel like I was doing something wrong.

I went to a group of kids that looked my age to introduce myself, but as soon as they spotted me, they moved. Another group of kids that were attempting to do the shuffle I say "attempt" because they weren’t doing it right at all. I thought, okay, I can at least dance and impress them with my moves. When I started to dance, one guy looked at my feet and attempted to copy me. I noticed one by one they began walking away to join other groups of dancers, and the guy who I thought was having a good time learning the dance moves eventually saw it was just us. I could see the nervousness in his eyes as he looked around and caught others looking at us as well. Without a word, he quickly moved to another dancing group, and I was there alone.

The heaviness on my shoulders came back as I realized that I was different. Even then, I did not think it was because of the color of my skin. I thought it was because of how I was dressed. The girls had on skirts and dresses with floral prints and dress shoes, while I had on jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers. My young woman’s teacher and grandmother neglected to tell me to dress up. 

I stood on the sidelines, out of everyone’s way. People passed me with smiling faces, embracing their friends, and I sat in the corner trying not to let tears roll down my eyes. If I did not know before, I knew then: I was an outsider. I stood up to find a phone so I could call my teacher to take me home. Then, it happened. A girl about my age walked up to me. Straight towards me. Looking directly at me. I was shocked.

Does she see me?

"This dance is lame," she said. I didn’t realize she was talking to me at first. "You want to go play some games?" 

"Me?" I replied.

"Yes, you. What games do you like to play? " she asked.

"Whatever. I am up for anything. " I shrugged.

"Follow me."

I cannot remember her name, but I do remember her long, bouncy blonde curls. She was also in a skirt, which she kept pulling at. I think she was just as uncomfortable as I was. We walked around the church, hitting up every open room looking for games. It almost turned into a game itself. We dashed through the hallways, yelling, "Clear!" when we could not find anything. Laughing, we eventually ended up back at the gym. This time we went into the other side of the gym that was sectioned off from the dance. There was a basketball and one single hoop. We looked at each other and hurried to the ball to claim it first. She beat me. We shot hoops as the music blared on the other side of the gym. We did not say much to each other; we just went back and forth shooting baskets. Just like that, I was having fun! I made a friend!

"Sweety," a woman’s voice called from the opening of the gym door. "Do you want to come get some snacks?" Her mother shot a quick glance at me, then at her daughter.

"No, Mom. I’m busy, " she replied, then her mom walked away. We continued to play ball. Within the next five minutes, the mother’s voice came back again.

"Sweety, your friends are here. Why don’t you come and play with them? " She asked.

"Mom, I am playing already. I can see them at any time, " she said. The mom left again, even though there was a slight hesitation this time. We continued shooting hoops. Another five minutes passed. 

"Sweety," Her mother folded her arms and tapped her foot. "I think you need to come out here and join the others. Now. "

"Mom!" 

"Now."

The mother wouldn’t look at me.

The young girl glanced my way, and I swear I could hear her say, "Sorry," with her eyes. She threw the ball down and stomped towards her mother. As soon as the young girl exited the gym, her mother, in hushed whispers, scolded her.

As the ball bounced on the gym floor, I felt it.

The weight of my blackness.

I was not only different. I was black. I did not look like them. I did not act like them. I did not speak like them.

My tears came down in a sob. I spent the rest of the dance outside waiting for my ride to come. As soon as I saw the teacher pull up, I jumped in.

"Did you make any friends?" My young women's teacher asked.

Honestly, I can not remember what I told her. I just remember the rest of the ride being in silence, and I never wanted to attend a youth dance again.

This story stood out to me because I still had time to choose not to be baptized. Yet, I was baptized a year later in the church. It was more so because my little branch was predominantly black. I never felt out of place. I never felt black. I never felt like an outsider. It was home. I guess, in the back of my mind, I thought not all the LDS churches were like that little youth dance. It was just those people. At least there was one person who tried to be my friend.

One person who cared enough to see me, the outsider.

Now, fourteen years as a member and far away from the safety of my small, predominantly black branch, I feel like I am still begging the church to see me. I am still on the verge of tears and I am still waiting for my ride to come and take me back home. Even though I have had a few curly-haired blonde girls that saw me and befriended me, it is not enough.

I should not still be begging for the church to see me.

As a member of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I can testify that my Heavenly Father and Christ see me. I believe the only reason I am still a member, even though my activeness in the church is dwindling, is because of the love, hope, and strength I have in Christ. He holds me even when the community does not. Just like my home ward, a little branch in Jackson, Mississippi, there are black members who are also searching for a community within the church. Those black LDS members have created spaces for people like us. They hold me. Our backgrounds are all different, yet our stories are the same.

The weight of my blackness is shared throughout the Black LDS community, and seeing them push makes me want to push as well. I am not looking for sympathy; I am looking for change. I am looking for the members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints to lead with love as Christ preached in his ministry. Christ saw people's hearts, thoughts, morals, souls, pain, and goodness. He saw it all and still died for us. Love is not pushing racism, bigotry, prejudice, and abuse under the carpet and pretending it does not exist. Love is seeing the truth.

Love is change. Love is progression. Love is hope. Love is action. I call the members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints to action!