This week’s reflection is by the Rev. Adrieene Reedy. She is the chair of the Cornelius Corps Board of Directors. More importantly, she and her husband Steve are the parents of three bi-racial young men. In commemoration of Mother’s Day, Adrienne offers the following profound and vulnerable reflection on what it means to be the mother of bi-racial children at a time when our nation’s leadership is actively reversing much of our progress toward racial justice and equality. The video posted below features Adrienne offering her reflection – what a gift and what a challenge.
A Mother’s Lament: The Gift of a World That Isn’t Here Yet
The question often arrives as a shadow or a blunt inquiry: Why would you bring children—specifically biracial sons—into a world where systemic racism remains so deeply entrenched? On Mother’s Day, as we celebrate the nurturing and building of lives, that question cuts to the marrow.
For me, the answer has always lived in the tension between the history I inherited and the future I believed was waiting for them—a future that now feels, heartbreakingly, like the past.
My paternal grandmother was born in 1887 in Bessemer, Alabama. At some point, she left the South and made her way to New Jersey, but she never told me how she got there or what it cost her. She never spoke of the transition. I imagine that silence was its own kind of preparation—a survivalist’s caution from someone who understood that safety often meant staying small. She knew exactly what the world was, and her silence
became a shield, as did my own mom.
When I became a mother, I made a conscious choice to break that inheritance of caution. I believed the greatest gift I could give my three sons was a world where they did not have to shrink. I did not raise them for the world my grandmother was born into. I raised them for a world of progress—one where their humanity would be seen first. I wanted them to move through life with the dignity of men who belong in every room they enter, not with the hesitation of those waiting for permission to exist.
But this Mother’s Day, that choice feels like a haunting miscalculation. We are living in a time when the clock does not just stall—it turns back. The national climate feels shaped by cries of the era my grandmother fled. Protections erode. Language hardens. The sense of backward motion is difficult to ignore. There is a particular kind of grief in realizing that I raised my sons for an “after,” only to find them standing in a “before.” Did I prepare them? The weight of that question is staggering. If I prepared them for inclusion and they are met instead with exclusion, have I left them vulnerable? Have I equipped them for a peace that does not exist?
Motherhood is often described as a labor of hope. But hope, in this moment, feels like a risk. My sons stand as a bridge between my grandmother’s 1887 Alabama and a country that seems uncertain of its direction. We are left holding a fragile line, where progress no longer feels guaranteed, and dignity must still be defended. I raised them for the world I hoped for, not the world as it is. I am left with the tension of a mother who gave her children a map for a territory the world now threatens to erase.
So this Mother’s Day, my answer is no longer just an explanation. It is a prayer:
“Protect them. Guide them. Love them in ways I cannot. You entrusted them to me, and I have tried to steward them with hope. I trust that Your love keeps them grounded and whole. I am tired in ways I cannot fully name. In my humanity, I do what I can: I listen, I stand beside them, I search for the right words. But lead them back to You—because Your shoulders are broader than mine will ever be.”
Proverbs 3:5-6
Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make straight your paths.
Adrienne Reedy
Cornelius Corps Board Chair