The America, the World, I Knew

The children that were.

Grandchildren entering the beach.

In all my 63 years on earth I never imagined living in a time where anyone I loved or admired could be ambivalent to suffering. Where self-preservation would move a child-like mind into a corner and say, “I don’t care about that.”

We are not here to save. Jesus was sent for that.

We are here to consider joy and suffering. Suffering and joy. Simultaneously. Stare awkwardly. Breath it in. Celebrate life, mourn life. Seek gratitude.

We are here to count our blessings and seek empathy on other human beings who are not as fortunate. Who might be suffering.

We are here to love creation, the earth and each other. We are here to see each other.

We are not here for any other reason I can think of, in my childlike mind, that often wants to cuss like a sailor and point my finger at those whose minds have been stolen by evil perpetrators that would will one to believe that they are better than the other.

You and me. Me and you. WE ARE NOT BETTER THAN THE OTHER. We never will be. We do not dangle one’s freedom over ones head.

As for the truly unloveable? Those that only God can love. We are here to pray that someday they will drop their evil ways, fall on their knees and sit with us in heaven. If we get in.

When I see the mother of Hersh Goldberg Polin cry out in anguish, “finally, finally, finally, finally you are free. I will love you and I will miss you every single day for the rest of my life,” and I am aware that this does not matter to half of my country? or the world? I answer with knowing that I would do anything for anyone, no matter all your identity labels, race, religion, belief, were you in this situation.

I will cry in my heart with you from here to every continent.

That is what we are called to earth for. To be living water.

Not for the divisions of hell on earth and beyond that those who lack the empathy of a child seek.

For the curiosity of a grandchild, at the beach, who worried over another child that was not being attended to. All day long. For the natural handholding of that child, who asked to have their hand held while in the water. For the sharing of toys, rocks, sand-crabs, holes to play in, sandcastles, watermelon. And love. For love. Love that is pushed through a birth canal and out into the world to love and be loved.

For the America, the world, I knew.

For the children we once were.

This is the only poem I memorized as a child. I was teaching it to my oldest grandchildren yesterday at the beach…

When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up
Till it could come no more.

At The Seaside - Robert Louis Stevenson

“For this reason I bow my knees before the Father,  from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

- Ephesians 3:14-19

Fill every hole with love and gratitude.