Last week my 8 year-old granddaughter said, “My friends at school say that President Trump is going to build a wall around Mexico.” “Pawpaw, does that mean you can’t go to your office in Mexico City anymore?” “Or if you go there, you won’t be able to come home?”
Not exactly sure how to explain the situation to her, I said, “No Anna, it means something different.” I told her that I would be fine and my friends and work-mates from Mexico could still visit here. My words seemed hollow and I could see the fear in her eyes and felt certain that my explanation fell short of reassuring her.
Fear. What an ugly experience. And now, so many are living in fear. Fear of deportation. Fear of being denied immigration. Fear of separation from loved ones. Fear of banishment. Fear of death.
What about the fear of terrorism? Fear of unknown or unwanted persons who could do harm to our nation; our cities; our homes. Do we build walls and create borders and more restrictions to keep out anyone who is deemed a threat? And what is the criteria for exclusion? Religion? Skin color? Language? Dress? Who decides?
I think of my own great-grandmother who made the perilous journey alone from her homeland, at only thirteen years of age, to build a better life for herself. My very existence depended on her acceptance into this great nation. Today because of her lack of education and inability to prove herself worthy of finding gainful employment, she would doubtless be denied access.
How can I have hope for a future that seems so dismal? How do I tell my beautiful granddaughter that her unbridled love and pureness of heart may not be enough to cure the evils of this world? I can’t. I won’t.
I need her to believe that good conquers evil; that justice is for all; that hope is still alive. And I will follow her example by loving without question and always looking for good in everyone. I will pray, not just for my friends but for my enemies as well. I will stand up for those who can no longer stand. I will speak for those who no longer have a voice. I will fight racism and sexism at every opportunity. I will respect ALL life.
And I will face another day. A better day. Hope is still alive. I know this because Anna tells me so, without ever speaking a word.
Peace,
Denis
So we pray and we cry and we hold on to one another. And somehow we survive. Perhaps not in the way we had hoped. Maybe not as long as we would like. But we survive. Strength returns. Different strength. Renewed strength. And we are changed. Our misfortune gives us the wisdom to cherish what is good and right in our lives. Our suffering reminds us that our blessings always outweigh our pain. We are lifted by the love and prayers of others and as the Alleluias ring out at Christmas, we know that we are never alone. When we light the pink candle this Sunday on our Advent wreaths we are reminded that in our longing there is also hope. O Come Emmanuel!
Journeying & Journaling 