My brother Steve flew into town Thursday night, along with his eldest of three boys, Jason. Though they were here only a couple of days, we had a great time being with them. They had come to see Mom, who is in a local nursing home. She’s had some health problems of late, and Steve, who lives just outside the D.C. beltway in Virginia, is about to leave for Israel and Greece on a sabbatical. So, it was good for him to come and see her.

Jason had not spent much time in Little Rock, so we hurriedly took in the sights. Steve has implanted a healthy dose of history in his boys, and one thing I’ve noticed over the years as I’ve seen them grow up is a strong sense of connection with their Arkansas roots. Raised largely in Maryland, they don’t sound like Arkies, but they certainly appreciate their dad’s native state. They sense that it’s in their blood as well, and that’s good.

So Friday night found us – there were six of us, including Janet and me, and Tim, our son, and his wife Kathryn – in our Kia Sedona sauntering all over town chasing the sunlight and trying to get in as many of our local sites as light would allow. Just as the darkness began to win, we were standing in front of Central High School. Jason, who is a federal probation officer in Baltimore (and carries the badge to prove it) was mesmerized by the school’s architectural beauty.

As we stood there, a Cadillac Escalade pulled up behind us. Out came a young woman of African-American descent and three younger girls. One of the girls, we would soon find out, is a rising senior at Central. The driver of the car identified herself as an ’89 alum, visiting from St. Louis. We talked about the Central legacy. I informed her that the 1957 student body president, now a local attorney, is a member of my church, and that the student council president in ’57 was the son of PHBC’s pastor at the time.

Another car drove up, this one parking in front of us. It had Florida tags, but obviously was a rental since the young woman who was driving said she lived in Virginia. She too was African-American and a Central alum, and when Steve heard she was from Virginia they immediately started the “What do we have in common?” game. After all, that’s a favorite pastime here in Arkansas where the degrees of separation don’t number six, they’re .5.

It was finally dark and time to go. But before we did, an amazing thing happened. The six of us, the four in the Escalade, the three in the rental… sensing that we had so quickly bonded, began to exchange hugs all around. Not artificially or forced, but spontaneously and warmly. The thought of it, even now, brings tears to my eyes. Yes, we’ve got a long way to go, but look how far we’ve come.

Ralph Brodie, the ’57 student body president, was in church the following Sunday morning, as he is so faithfully. After worship, I told him what happened on the front sidewalk of Central High last Friday night, and told him that he was, in no small part, responsible. It’s been a hard lesson to learn, not only to get along with those who do not look just like us, but to appreciate them and affirm them as well. And we’re learning still. But it reminds me of a prayer I once heard…

Lord, I ain’t what I want to be.
Lord, I ain’t what I’m going to be.
But, Lord, thank you that I’m not what I used to be.
Amen.