And all the while, that “yes, but” voice kept echoing in my head. The voice kept suggesting that something was missing in the conversation on racism and reconciliation that was happening in evangelical, mainline, and Black Protestant spaces. That “something missing,” I finally figured out, was the voices of the women, especially those from my southern, working-class relatives, who carried centuries-old wisdom about how White folk behaved and how to survive them. It was through them that I had come to be a student of race, of racism, and of racial reconciliation.
