I'm mad. I'm mad at the whole world. -Sally Brown

I did this outreach thing today with a church in my area. I've only attended the church once, on Easter, but my brother attends regularly, invited me to a small group and they mentioned they needed help with their gig. I decided to be a part of it.

Today I maned the water and lemonade stand and did a bit of face painting. I saw joy and relief spread across people's faces when they realized it was free. If they asked about the church we told what we knew, but we did not market it beyond providing relevant information (no pun intended).






The miracle for me did not happen until after it had started raining and we were all huddled by the brick building housing the fire department. I noticed this black family, they were very black, blacker than most black people around here --and they were not speaking English to their children, who seemed to be numerous. I engaged one of the women in a conversation, asking what language she spoke (Sudanese) and I assessed they were from the Sudan (the country, not the car). I learned she had 5 children, all seeming to be under the age of 12. The woman with her, who though slightly younger, also had 5 children of the same age range. I asked if they worked and neither of them replied in the affirmative. Upon further investigation I learned a more detailed recount of their story: how they were in the Sudan where their country was internally conflicted, then they were moved to a refugee camp in another country I do not recall what it was called, a place I was unfamiliar with, and they were in that camp for eleven years. Six years ago they were moved to the states and their family was scattered over the U.S., and they concluded with smiles and affirming that they were happy here and that it was very nice to be here.

I think I am still in shock from hearing their story, because something tells me theirs is not unique. How many refugees are in the States? How many are still in camps in their own countries or neighboring ones because of violence and internal struggle due to a corrupt government? These women don't work. They speak English, but only just. Their children, born in the USA are now citizens, because of our rights, because of our laws, because men our country sacrificed their lives to see a future where their families could live free from tyranny. Maybe that was not the sole reason they fought and died, but that was one intention, as evidenced by the Constitution they risked their lives to write and sign.


Now, I could exploit these women's story for a compelling argument to spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I could use it to shame those of my country who are obsessed with their next opportunity to have sex. I could use it to pat myself on the back, congratulate myself for serving the likes of them in our most excellent church outreach. I could criticize those women for not using condoms or for having sex, producing children and creating a burden for our society. I could blame them for the struggle of our government to take care of the needy in our country, as an argument for universal healthcare or an excuse for why everything sucks. Maybe I could use it to elicit sympathy for donations of money to a cause or church to help support such families.
Honestly, I am sincerely tempted to bury my head in a book, to distract myself with an interesting TV show, and maybe I still will, but I needed to get this off my chest first.

I am sad. I am sad for the whole world. When I think about all those families in refugee camps, who must be dirty and face terror every day; when I think about my own family, torn apart because my parents couldn't or wouldn't find some kind of common ground enough to stay together; when I think about how I am only one person, with ten fingers, ten toes and one heart.

I am comforted by the thought of casting all of this care on Jesus, which is what I've been taught to do since I was a wee little lass, but what does that even mean? I'm tempted to believe it means I'm not responsible for this mess of world affairs, or that I am not to concern myself with doing anything to work toward a solution. I'm tempted to believe someone else will take care of it for me. That maybe if I ignore it, the whole thing will just absolve itself. From an Avatar perspective, I should get to work discreating beliefs for all those people who are creating suffering in the world and that by doing so will magically either make me not care any more or who knows, maybe shift their consciousness enough to stop doing what they are doing. Perhaps, but I doubt it.

I feel like all I have are these words I am typing on this screen. I have been given so much. I signed up for college today for this semester; I am able to do so because my father is a committed man who cares enough about his family to sacrifice himself for it. He is willing to work and do whatever it takes to see myself and my brothers succeed. I wish I could say as much about my mother. And then there is me. What am I willing to do to save the world from self destructing? What is the world? What is real?

It is a big job. I don't believe there is only one solution, and I refuse to believe that achieving the goal of better is left up to a group of people as bad as the Catholic church during the Dark Ages, selling Enlightenment for a small fee, only to watch the rest of the world burn and that small group be pressured into producing more fodder to feed the system supported by the belief they are actually creating something of value. Only time will tell if what they say is true, or if they are simply creating a utopia of hypnotized minds all walking off the cliff of an Enlightened Planetary Civilization mountain. Time tells all.

So what is a girl to do?
I don't know, but I haven't given up hope.
I have much to be grateful for and I am proud to be an American, even if I am cliche enough to say so.
Fair well, until I rant again.

Stepping off my soapbox now,
A.C.