Some days it hits you all at once.
Your husband is out of town, the kids are screaming for daddy, and as you try to mind-numb with Facebook you see this little boy sleeping in the same position as your kiddo sleeps. Except this child, he isn’t sleeping.
And things start to swirl: there are expectations to meet, objectives to achieve, people to not disappoint. And there are babies dying and boys killing other boys. There are mothers weeping and oh my God I just want to make it all better.
But I can’t save the world. I can’t even save my own soul.
So I want to run away. Because I feel so small, the world feels so big, and what I do feels so incredibly pointless.
We humans are a funny bunch. Faced with the enormity of the messiness before us, we often think walking away and wallowing in our privilege is our only option. But it’s not.
We can choose to live in the messiness and the tension. We can weep with those who weep without forgetting to rejoice with those who rejoice. We can refuse to look away from tragedy without refusing to look for the light.
We can stop throwing our hands up as if what we do everyday doesn’t matter.
We can look our children in the eyes and speak kindness over them. And we can believe that it matters.
We can choose to be aware instead of turning our backs. To love anyway. We can know our neighbors. We can ask God for eyes to truly see those hurting around us. And we can trust that it matters.
We can share a meal. We can gather quarters for someone’s laundry. We can challenge ideas without bashing people. We can surround ourselves with people who think differently than ourselves. And we can be certain that it matters.
We can choose to say yes in our own small ways. We can do for one what we want to do for all. And we can know that it matters.
If you’re looking for practical ways to help with the Syrian crisis, check out Ann Voskamp’s blog.