Atlanta knows how to celebrate Juneteenth. As God would have it, I am here in the midst of it.
It started with my best friend wanting to see the Amy Sherald exhibit at the High Museum. And since we were here, why not add a WNBA game on the next day? And somehow missing in the midst of the planning the significance of our travel dates.
So here we are. In these days of America pausing to reexamine the truth of who we are in our 250th year.
It may be fighting cages on the lawn of the White House. It may be corporate sponsors of national events. It may be about starting a war costing billions of dollars and with more lives lost than we can count instead of funding health care.
In Atlanta, I was reminded of what else the truth of America is.
It’s a city full of people wearing a diversity of shirts celebrating the sin of “owning” people finally being abolished when all had been informed of the law’s enactment two and one half years before.
It’s a museum offering free admission for all and filled with people in colorful dress. My very best friend and I were almost the only pale skins in a rainbow sea.
It’s viewing an exhibit of art created by a woman from a small Georgia town honoring the people too often overlooked.
It’s people pausing with deep emotion to view portraits of our former First Lady juxtaposed with one of a woman murdered by police when they entered the wrong house.
It’s going to a women’s basketball game where the players have epitomized what it means to be strong women and who have worked to make sure those opportunities are available to all, particularly through voting.
It’s singing Lift Every Voice And Sing after the National Anthem.
America. The Beautiful.
House of Grace 