It’s strange on the 21st of November to have big, fluffy snowflakes filling the sky. I was on a walk that day and looked up into a massive backdrop of light gray. I knew the snowflakes were there but couldn’t see them clearly. You almost wouldn’t have known they were there at all. But then as the snowflakes got closer to the ground—our homes becoming their backdrop—I could see each one of them.
Falling softly—landing safely in my yard.
Our world is a bit chaotic right now. I don’t suppose we’ll soon forget this time in our history.
Just this morning I saw footage of a woman detonating a bomb that was strapped to her body. The news showed the exploding windows of an apartment building while she remained inside. A suicide bomber. A twenty-something.
Our fear is palpable. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know how to respond. I feel paralyzed, probably like you do. Am I supposed to be doing something, saying something?
Politically speaking, I’m not qualified to speak on behalf of refugees, or of people logs, protecting American borders or immigration. Knowing the right thing to do in this situation is not so simple. Because the person who says, “keep them out” has their reasons—reasons they feel are no less valid than the person saying, “let them IN.”
Could we stop for a moment and consider this from a different angle? Without politics? Without Fox News or CNN?
Keep it simple.
It’s is a phrase from Alcoholic’s Anonymous—one I live by—a mantra I’ve come to depend on. Life can so easily become chaotic and complicated. Keep it simple means all I have to do is…the next right thing.
The next right thing.
That’s all. It’s not so hard. Like the golden rule. Like kindergarten.
Every toddler knows the word, “mine.” It’s their favorite thing to say. Keeps them safe. Keeps what’s theirs, theirs.
When we hear our sweet little self-absorbed babies say it, we always respond the same way. We don’t tell them, “It’s not yours.” Instead we say these two words:
The implication goes something like this…
It may be yours, but you should share with others.
Taken a bit further, the implication has deeper meaning.
You’re going to want something of theirs one day. I would consider sharing what you have if you know what’s good for you.
As children we learned our most valuable life-lessons on the playground. We didn’t need commentators, political analysts, or critical news data to tell us how to Be Nice.
As adults, we may not always heed this advice, but we know what Nice is. And we know what Mean is.
We know what MINE is.
This country—it’s not mine. We stole it many years ago from people who were already living here, and now I’m wondering if Something Greater Than Ourselves might be asking us to share. A chance to redeem ourselves?
Maybe. I suppose it’s possible.
It’s easy to hoard our things when we can’t see the actual needs of others close-up—when suffering is happening half-way around the world.
We see buildings explode on the news or footage of refugee families on a pilgrimage to find their freedom. Or we scroll past the searing photo of a little boy shell-shocked from being buried beneath the rubble of what was once his home.
To some of us, these images are simply nightmarish postcards—not really real.
But what if we could see them up close? Not as snowflakes masked in the backdrop of an enormous gray sky, but really SEE each one of them.
Falling softly—landing safely in our yards.
Our homes becoming their backdrop.
Would we see them then? Would we share with them then?
Would we be nice?