I’m a woman, I have two sisters and three grandmothers, and I went to girls’ schools for most of my schooling. Even in college. All that’s to say – women make a lot of sense to me.
In all the recent pre-Christmas hours of amazing girl-time, however, I’ve also been trying to get ready for Jesus. It’s been hard. Generally, boys confuse me, though this one tops it all. So I tried a little harder.
Man, the entire story is just so brilliant:
There’s a child. That child is the most marginalized kind of little human you can imagine. Homeless, poor, and prosecuted. And that little child ends up changing everything. Like – everything. The ways in which we perceive power and privilege. The way we conceptualize the human condition. The way we love. Dang.
And we’ve been on a new course since.
And while we’ve come a long way since approximately 12/24/0000, we’re still not there. There’s so much hunger, so much poverty, so much violence, and not just in Africa. Everywhere, there’s so much stealing of the right to live a decent life. To have Choice.
So, in this season of Advent, I ask myself: Why did we stop with Jesus? (For the optimists, the question goes: why did we slow down after Jesus?) Surely, the Son of God isn’t born in a manger in the desert with an ox and a donkey every day, but children are born every day; homeless, poor, prosecuted children are being born every single day. Why don’t we report about them the ways in which the shepherds reported about Jesus? Why don’t our wise men and wiser women drop everything to go visit them, even if their GPS is broken and private jet is out of fuel that day?
I don’t have children other than my babysitter kids and middle school students and baby cousins. I’d love to have some of my own one day, but here’s my issue: how am I going tell them that, sorry, the world’s just shitty like that. Sorry we didn’t prepare for your arrival. Or actually, we did, but other people don’t care about other children’s arrivals. You just got lucky.
Whether a child can walk—and healthily and happily so—on the path towards knowledge and friendship should not be decided by the arbitrary force that luck is. And if, then only under the assumption that luck is a twin and you’ve got to share it with your brother and sister in order to reap its benefits.
I’d rather not have to rely on luck. I’d rather make that luck a predictable and replicable reality. I’d really like to pave that path towards knowledge and friendship everywhere. (Some call that building schools and providing all children with an education.) Most importantly, I’d really like to tell our children about a world of respect, freedom, and love. So much love.
About a world that’s worthy of them and that cannot wait to meet them and show them its amazing wonders.
And I’d really like to not have to lie doing so.