Do you know who my Father is?

A reflection from Lalia Mangione, Renovare’s Violinist & Community Manager

Every December as my friends and family prepare to celebrate Christmas, I like to think back on the year that’s ending. I usually pick up my journal and look at entries from the past year, reminding myself of the things that were hard as well as all the things that brought me joy. All the things that encouraged me. All the moments where I felt God’s presence. 

Yesterday as I began this year end ritual, I was thinking a lot about darkness. As I sat on my couch and reflected, I was struck by the brightness of my Christmas tree in contrast to the blackness outside my window. It made me think about all the darkness we face. In particular, I thought about how often Rebecca and I walk in and out of prisons. Prisons. We say that word almost flippantly these days. But prison is a dark place. It is a compound surrounded by barbed wire, a place where people are mistreated and forgotten. It’s a place that I can’t imagine living in, so when I see a resident smile, make a joke, speak positively, or encourage ME, it blows my mind. 

A couple days ago, the men of Renovare’s Unmuted strings program performed a shared concert with the Oberlin Music at Grafton Choir. As the choir was wrapping up their half of the concert, I looked behind me to see two of the men from Unmuted  whispering to each other and laughing. The laughter grew in intensity until one man laid his head on the other man’s shoulder, in an effort to stifle his laughter. I wish I could have taken a photo to capture that precious moment of innocent joy shared between two grown men who have both been locked up for longer than I’ve been alive, because in that moment I was encouraged. 

I think of another day, when Renovare was leading a Documentary Songwriting workshop with our new friend Marlene as part of our “Embrace” project. Marlene is a black birth worker who has been mistreated and disrespected in ways that I can’t imagine. But as she shared one such experience in this collaborative songwriting session, her response to that treatment wasn’t hatred. She simply said: “They don’t know who my Father is.” 

The statement was so simple, but so powerful. Her statement implies that if you know she is a child of GOD, if you see her as a human being created in His image, then you would treat her as such. It also speaks to her trust that He is guiding her path in life and is there every step of the way. That He will never forsake his daughter. 

Through the work of Renovare I get to see God’s presence in more ways than I would have ever imagined, and as a result my trust in the Lord grows. Day by day, I see light in dark places. Though sometimes the work is discouraging and feels like too much, I see God driving out the darkness, not just in spaces of injustice, but in my own life. He is molding me through this work, and through the communities that I am privileged to enter into. 

This year, we played 81 concerts/events, taught 100 classes in prison, and co-wrote 11 Documentary Songs. There have been ups and downs, laughter and tears, and some days feel really long. But what I remember most from this year is two men in prison holding their string instruments sharing a laugh together, and Marlene reminding me of God’s sovereignty. That is God at work. That is God changing me through Renovare’s work. 

Renovare has a goal of raising $30,000 as we wrap up 2023. This year our team grew to three full-time staff members, and we have plans to bring on one or two additional full-time staff in 2024 to continue growing and deepening the impact of our work of loving our neighbors, affirming the value of all people, and cultivating reconciled communities through music.

Would you join us in this work with a year-end gift?

Donations can also be made by check and mailed to P.O. Box 201625, Shaker Heights, OH 44120.

Renovare Music is a 501(c)3 nonprofit; donations are tax-deductible to the full extent allowed by law.