Friday, September 4, 2015

Hope in Rough Waters



It is not lost on me that I was born in the land of privilege. My parents were not. When I go back to India and see the village my dad grew up in with all the little children living in poverty and see the tiny house that my mom and her 9 siblings shared, I become keenly aware that this life of luxury I live in could have easily not been mine. The ease to which I feed my children, put them in new clothes everyday, plan for their education and give them all the toys that no one needs--this ease comes in large part because of the soil I live on, the place I have called home all of my life. But, there is a whole world of people who were not born on a privileged land--who do not come by the comforts and ease of which I often take for granted.

As news unfolded yesterday of 3 year old Aylan, I was struck in horror. Seeing that little lifeless body washed up on shore made me ache to pick him up and clutch him to my chest--to wrap a blanket around his body and breathe into him the life he was never given."There is no such thing as other people's children"-- I felt the weight of this quote yesterday as I saw pictures of 2 little boys who I never birthed--yet experienced a fierce love and fierce agony over their sacred lives. In an interview after Aylan's body was found, his father, Abdullah said:
 
 "My children were the most beautiful children in the world. Is there anybody in the world for whom their child is not the most precious thing? My kids were amazing. They woke me up everyday to play with me. What is more beautiful than this? Everything is gone."
 
Isn't that us? Isn't that our kids? I say the same thing about my boys, and you say the same about yours. There is no difference in my existence than his, but that I was born on the kind of land that he only wished his own sons were born on.

I thought about the days or weeks leading up to their decision to leave. A husband and wife in the wee hours of the night whispering out the pros and cons of staying or leaving on this boat to give their kids a better life--a safer environment-- maybe just a chance. It has never been a conversation Owen and I have ever had to discuss. Never. How brave. How courageous. How daunting and terrifying. But, as everyone on social media is posting "you have to understand that no one puts their children on a boat unless the water is safer than the land." In the end, that risk was the better option. That risk was worth the risk. Because the idea of staying in a war torn area was no longer life to them. There was more hope in rough waters.

I woke up this morning with a pit in my stomach for all the untold stories. For all the children's names we will never hear about. For all the people who didn't wake up in a warm cozy bed with their children in their own, safe rooms while they cooked them a hot breakfast over a working stove. For all the heartbeats fluttering in fear. For all the parents having to make the hard decisions. For all the lives lost --the lost artists, doctors, poets, musicians, peacemakers, business owners, light bearers, world changers -- who this world will never have the privilege of knowing. I woke up feeling hopeless, guilty, and desperate. 

Hopeless that the problem is so vast and I am so small. Guilty that I'm cozy in my house with my 2 boys while Abdullah just wants to sit by his boys' graves and rest. Desperate to do something. Anything. Like write out a bunch of words that might not change anything but the prayers I pray and the gratitude I hold in my heart. 

We may be blessed to live in the land of the privileged. But, to those who have been given much, much is required. We cannot assume this privilege exempts us, but rather calls us out and expects us to act on behalf of the marginalized. We must be hope in rough waters.

In the words of Sarah Bessey:

"Now go do your own small and senseless act of peacemaking today. Pick one small stone, my friends. It feels like it’s not enough, I know, but let’s make this mountain move."

Here are some practical suggestions from Sarah Bessey on how to move forward:
 

 

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