Dear 45, on behalf of children of colour...

Dear Mr. President,

First thing first... I’m Canadian. You’re not my President. Yet time and time again, you’ve dragged all of us—women, people of colour, advocates, allies, global citizens, Kingdom people—into this through your comments and your actions.

        

Yesterday, you called the homes of millions of people a term that I struggle to repeat on my blog. You—the man that holds the most powerful political office in the world—used a vulgarity in one of the highest offices in the world that many, if not most, people rarely to never dare to use in their own offices, schools and homes. That alone is an abuse of your power.

But this letter isn’t to tell you to watch your language—you should probably know that. This letter isn’t even to tell you that I’ve been to Haiti and that it’s beautiful, or that one of the most precious girls in my life is from Africa and that she is beautiful. Plenty of people are doing that, and I will let them speak on behalf of all of us who work every single day with the resilient, beautiful, incredible people of the Global South to breathe beauty and love and wonder into this messy world.

No, this letter is on behalf of children of colour who live in America.

You see, in this season, I’m trying to work on giving people the benefit of the doubt. I’m trying to work out of the overflowing grace of Jesus in the way I respond both privately and publicly to events, people and situations in my life. So even though the cynical side of me absolutely does not want to, I’m going to try and approach your comment under the assumption that you are simply ignorant. That your racist comment comes because as a white man that grew up in America, you are simply ignorant to the experience of people of colour in America / North America, and you are ignorant to the ravaging effects that your comments have on young, impressionable children of colour.

So, I humbly ask you to hear me out for a few minutes as I explain.

I grew up as a first-generation Asian-Canadian in a primarily white neighbourhood just outside of Toronto, Canada. I was privileged to have some exposure to cultural diversity, since Toronto is one of the most multicultural cities in the world. But my primary experience was one where whiteness was default and everything else was Other.

It starts innocently enough. Maybe it’s Remembrance Day (that’s Veteran’s Day, for you) celebrations at school. The history class that goes along with it is about the trenches in Europe and the men and women that fought those wars—for freedom, for liberty. The assignment that goes along with it is to see if your ancestors fought in those trenches. My classmates go home, and come the next day with stories of their grandparents who are war heroes. Their ancestors are celebrated for their contribution to the peace and freedom that we enjoy here in Canada today.

But my ancestors did not fight in those trenches. So these little doubts enter my mind: Are my ancestors weak? Does my family not contribute to making Canada peaceful and free?

Then maybe it’s a trip to the movies. Maybe it’s every trip to the movies I ever took throughout my childhood and youth. The main character is always white, by default. Their experience is always one that white people have, or at least “default Americans” have, so why not just cast a white actor, since, remember, whiteness is always default in the world I grew up in. It’s the same story when I turn on the T.V. or read books.

There are never people of colour in those stories. Definitely no Asians. Definitely no Asian heroes. So those little doubts are reinforced: Is the experience of people like me not worth depicting in the media? Is my experience always second to the default of whiteness?

Then maybe it’s a few innocent enough comments I heard ever so often. “Your dad says that word funny.” “Nothing’s more Canadian than summers at the cottage and winters at the ski resort!” “I love Chinese food. You’re so lucky, your mom must make Chinese food every night for dinner.” “Can you say something in Chinese?” “There are terrorists in the Philippines, right?” “I would never go to China.”

But I’ve always understood my dad, even when he enunciates every syllable in comfortable as if it’s a Filipino word. My family has never had or wanted a cottage, and we’ve never been skiing. And so on. And those little doubts start screaming: Is there something wrong with the way my family operates? Is there something so exotic or different about Chinese food and language that makes people so interested in it? Is there something wrong with the countries that my family is from?

Are the places I’m from sh*tholes?

I’ve come a long way, Mr. President. I am so proud of where I’m from. I am so proud of the diversity that I and my fellow people of colour bring to this country, and the stories we can start to tell.

But yesterday when I heard about what you said, my mind immediately went to the black, brown and yellow kids all over North America who have had those little doubts bouncing around in their minds all their life. And I was bowled over with grief at the realization that the most powerful man in the world had just validated their deepest, darkest doubt by stating that the places they're from are sh*tholes.

I know it’s hard for you to understand because you’ve never experienced what I just described to you. But I hope you can try. I hope you can start to listen to the experience of people of colour in America.

I’ll end off with this:

To my white friends... This isn’t about anti-whiteness. This isn't about discounting who you are, what you contribute to this world, or implying that your whiteness is wrong. I want you to know that from the deepest parts of who I am. What this is about is recognizing that people of colour experience a wildly different America than you do, especially in times like the one we’re in now. And we want you to hear our experience so that you can begin to link arms with us in change. It’s not just about the way we teach history, or represent in the media, or the passing comments we make... it’s much more systemic than that. But we can start to change those systems of oppression when we hear each other, hold each other, and build each other up.

To those from Haiti, countries in Africa, Mexico, El Salvador, and other countries in the Global South, and especially first generation kids in North America... I know for many of you, it will be a long time—maybe never—before you get to see the place you’re from again or for the first time. And based on what you see in the media, sometimes it’s hard to believe that those places are beautiful. But they are. They are not sh*thole countries. They are even so much more than “very poor and troubled”, as the President put it when he tried to rescind his vulgar comment today. They are places that were created by Creator God—just like you. And even in the midst of messiness and brokenness, that same Creator God has a deep desire to reconcile and redeem and restore and because of that, the place you are from is home to many beautiful, wonderful, divine stories of hope and restoration—stories just. like. yours.

Stories just like the one I hope we can start writing as we move forward together.

On Charlottesville...

I'm trying to put into words right now the range of emotions I've felt this weekend as I watched Charlottesville unfold.

And the only words that surface are: Lord Jesus, come.

It's all I can think to say. Well, okay, I can think to say a lot, and yes, I did and probably will continue to keep letting words flow, but I keep coming back to these three words. Come, Lord Jesus. Come.

And somehow, it doesn't feel like a small and helpless cry, but as if there is power in that name. Because there is.

And this is what I come to, after an exhausting and horrifying weekend: Christ-followers, we need to be declaring the name of Jesus right now. We need to be establishing His Kingdom with our words and our actions because if not, the anti-Christ of white supremacy, or Nazism, or violence, or racism, or war, or whatever evil might be coming next weekend will take root in far too many hearts, and honestly? I am sick of losing souls. Aren't we all?



So look--Church, at this moment in history, we can't just be about justice. Or peace. Or love, in general.

There will be a lot of voices that call for justice, peace, and love.

No, right now and always, we need to be about Jesus. 

Because being about Jesus means being about justice. Being about Jesus means being about peace. And you better believe that being about Jesus means being about love.

But if we believe that His Kingdom is where all things are made new, then we cannot just declare our own kingdoms of justice or peace or love. Because declaring their own kingdoms is exactly what those people in Charlottesville are doing and oh, did we see what a dangerous road that is to walk.

No, we need to establish, with our lives, the Kingdom of Jesus.

This weekend--in the between refreshing Twitter a million times, hoping to get just one more image of Charlottesville that might finally tell me that it wasn't real--our church family was working tirelessly to prepare for the arrival of the second Syrian refugee family that we are sponsoring to come to Canada.

There have been so many miracles in this process thus far, such as mid-month occupancy at an apartment in a crazy housing market, but the miracle I'm personally holding in my heart is the way that the Lord simply knew that I would need those preparations this weekend.

If white supremacy was going to rear its ugly head this weekend, then God gave me the gift of being able to counter it with preparations to welcome this family to Canada. To respond to the shouts of "You will not replace us," with an emphatic, Jesus-centred, community effort to declare, "We welcome refugees."

Friends--now isn't the time to just be peaceful, or just be anti-Nazism, or just be for defending marginalized communities.

Now is the time for intentionally establishing the Kingdom--on earth as it is in heaven. All those other things--good and vitally important things--are all by-products of Christ's Kingdom. So let's be, live, declare, establish it.

There is power in the name of Jesus. If you happen to believe that, then more than anything else you could do, the world needs you to declare that power right now.

The world needs you to establish a space and live a life where Jesus is King.

Because in that Kingdom, the King Himself suffered under all the evil humanity had to offer and declared it is finished.

In Christ's Kingdom, it is finished. White supremacy. Racism. Nazism. All evil--all of it--is finished. 

All that's left is for us to deny the kingdoms of this world--deny ourselves, our own kingdoms, and the evil that often lurks even in our own hearts--and instead declare the Kingdom of heaven.

And the Good News of this all is that the Kingdom of heaven is near--and not in the way the obnoxious street preachers mean it. No, the Kingdom of heaven, the one where all evil is finished, is so near that we could maybe even see it here--if only we choose to stop chasing our own kingdoms and seek out Christ's Kingdom.

If only we choose to declare that Jesus is Lord.

A related MUST READ (Please. Sit and listen to this!): After Charlottesville, the Question We Absolutely Have to Answer: Who Is Willing to Pick Up their Cross? by Lisa Sharon Harper

There Is No Neutral

I don't know about you, but I am starting this week feeling incredibly heavy. burdened. weary.

The weekend started with the Muslim ban. People were detained in airports because of the passport they carry. Families who had been going through a gruelling application and vetting process had their hopes of starting fresh in the safety of a new home totally crushed. Some had been in the pipeline for 3 years and had just a few months or weeks left before boarding the plane. Instead, they were told they had to stay where they were--in their imploding cities or nearby camps, living in extreme poverty.

And still, so many people carried on cheering for this policy.

By the time Sunday night came around and news came through of a mass shooting at a Quebec mosque, I just wanted to shut it all out. As if that would make it stop.

photo source

There is no neutral anymore. This is the time for the Church to be the Church.

We're no longer allowed to say, "I don't do politics." Because this isn't about politics. This is about humanity. This is about the Kingdom. This is about Jesus.

Church, this is not the time to disengage. This is not the time to preach recycled sermons and have quiet small groups and be apathetic and have shallow fun at youth group and spend another night at family midweek getting spiritually fat.

This is the time to engage like never before. To not only engage but shape, inform, and cultivate culture and society like the Church has been known for throughout history. To passionately preach subversive peace and radical love. To roll up our sleeves and get to work welcoming strangers and feeding the hungry and clothing the naked and visiting the sick and imprisoned.

#1000gifts ~ We visited this sweet little one and her family tonight... she proudly showed me this picture of ME that she drew! Isn't she adorable and the drawing the absolute cutest?!? :: "For such a time as now..." #WeWelcomeRefugees!!! :: I am saddened by the fact that America is about to close its doors shut to refugees. My hope is that Canada will continue to keep our doors wide open! :: Tonight, just quietly reading this: http://www.relevantmagazine.com/god/what-bible-says-about-how-treat-refugees

A photo posted by Aimee Esparaz (@mama2greatkids) on Jan 25, 2017 at 5:02pm PST

Church, if we hadn't yet, we have officially lost the ability to be neutral. Either we stand up for the marginalized, or we oppress them ourselves. Either we pick up our cross, or we are the Romans cracking the whip and driving the nails.

There is no other way around this. This goes beyond borders. This goes beyond politics.

This is what the Church is on this earth for. When governments won't protect the marginalized, when nobody else will... the Church will. That is who we are. That is who our Saviour is: One who was so often moved with compassion. One who was a refugee. One who protects the vulnerable.

Perhaps, this is the very moment for which we were created. And no, we can't afford to sleep through this moment. We just can't.

Pray like you have never prayed before. Be the Body of Christ in real, tangible ways. Contact your elected officials. Welcome a refugee. Raise awareness. Learn. Donate to people spreading Christ's hope on the ground.

And love. Love like you never have before.

Because Love conquers all.

Jesus conquers all.

Come, Lord Jesus. Come.

Build Your Kingdom here.

Aleppo and Advent

Just over 2000 years ago, an oppressed, forgotten people waited for a Saviour.

A Messiah. A King.

And they expected chariots and fire and revolution and war. They expected the overthrowing of their oppressors by a mighty king and ruthless warrior.

Instead they got a baby. A carpenter. A small-town boy who just so happened to be God Himself.

This is what we celebrate at Christmas.

Today, oppressed and forgotten people wait for a saviour all over our bleeding, broken world. Today, the oppressed, forgotten people of Aleppo wait to be saved, and many wait in vain.

And we expect fire to rain from heaven. Miraculous intervention. We expect Him to move mountains and do the supernatural.

It’s the season of advent. A season of waiting. And we wait. We wait and we wait and we wait... But what if He’s waiting for us? What if He’s saying: “I already came. And I left it now to you to continue.”

What if this whole bleeding world is waiting for us to be the Body of Christ—broken and poured out and given?

We wait. And rightfully so, we wait for the day that He makes all things new.

But perhaps we can do more. Perhaps He is actively making all things new and how can He do that but through His Church? Through His Body. Through us.

So, as we wait in this advent season, let’s consider that maybe the world is waiting for us. Waiting for us to stand up and mean it when we say “never again”. Waiting for us to stand up and be the Church. Waiting for us to stand up and be the broken-and-poured-out Body of Christ to a world that so desperately needs Him.

Let’s not utter Come, Lord Jesus, unless we’re willing to be the vessels through which He comes.

Let’s not celebrate His birth unless we’re willing to be the ones who breathe a courageous, Mary-like yes to birthing Love Himself into the world each and every day.

Because it’s advent, and millions of people are waiting for a Saviour.

So, come, Lord Jesus. Come.

Here are 3 ways we can can be the Church to the people of Aleppo and Syria:

:: Donate to the Preemptive Love Coalition {Related: The World-Changing Art of Not Being A Sham This Christmas: 3 Ways to Help Aleppo For Real from Ann Voskamp... read this!!} or Mennonite Central Committee's Syria Response. 

:: Sign this petition, calling on the Canadian government to protect the people of Aleppo.

:: Sponsor a refugee family to come to Canada.

Welcome Home

When the day was over, all I could think about was what a shame it is that anyone could ever say no to this... and miss out on all this beauty.

Because all of this - yes, it's about this beautiful family being welcomed home. It's about their tears and relief and safety and joy. It's about giving them the opportunity to safely and freely grow and learn and laugh and love. It's about exemplifying a radical Love to them until all the hate they've ever known melts away.

But at the end of what was quite possibly one of my favourite days ever, I realized that this might be more about us, than them.

Because you know what? Without us, this family would've still been welcomed to Canada. The Canadian government would've still accepted their application. Another sponsoring group would've been in our place. This family would've still had loving sponsors who would've been committed to moving them into an apartment, helping them register for school and ESL, sourcing furniture and household items and raising funds to support them for a year... all of it.

The only ones who would've missed out is us. 

We would've missed this beauty. We would've missed this joy. We would've missed the opportunity to get to know the Jesus we follow in one of the most real ways there is, because when we welcome the stranger, we welcome Him.

We would've missed out on experiencing the Body of Christ come together in one of the most beautiful ways I have ever witnessed, to declare with our lives that Love is greater than fear, apathy, intolerance or hate.

Because yesterday, I saw 35+ people - and not to mention the hundreds more that have generously given money, time, donations, prayers and love to get us to yesterday's move-day - come together as the Body of Christ to move a formerly displaced Syrian family into their new home, filling it with furniture, household items, laughter, life, and love.

From empty apartment...

...to warm, home sweet home. 

And this family... they've been through far too much brokenness and pain. The displaced, broken parts of every human heart - those parts that choose fear and violence and apathy and hate because our human hearts war and rage against Love Himself until we displace ourselves from the Love that created us - that brokenness left this family without a home or a safe place to grow, live, and love. 

In fact, those displaced, broken parts of our hearts have left millions without a safe place to call home. 

My mama read it to us just today, on the way home from visiting our family... "There are 60 million displaced persons in the world," she reads, "12 million in Syria alone."

There are 60million displaced persons in the world. 12million in Syria alone. This must break the heart of heaven - Bill Hybels @willowcreekcc #wewelcomerefugees

A photo posted by We Welcome Refugees (@wewelcomerefugees) on Jan 10, 2016 at 1:24pm PST

It's a staggering, overwhelming number... One that grows each day as war continues unfazed.

"But you know what?" I responded to my mama's stat, "Four of those 60 million people aren't displaced anymore."

No, they certainly are not. They are laying their heads down tonight in their very own home - safe, warm, together.

And as I quietly smiled at that fact, I thought -

Perhaps those displaced, broken parts of our own hearts might just have a chance as well.




Definitely one of my favourite days ever. It's hard to express the fullness that we all felt at the end of the day. Please continue keeping this family in your prayers as the settle in - that in the midst of what is surely going to be a tough next few months that they might find peace and hope in the Love we will try our hardest to continuously share with them. 

Dear Sweet Little Girl*,

This all started with a little boy just a little younger than you and your brother.

This entire day, it happened because of Aylan's tiny, lifeless body washed up on the shore of the Mediterranean.

And quite honestly, sweet girl? I was discouraged for once. This optimist wasn't so hopeful this time around. I didn't let my heart hope for even a second... I thought I knew that Aylan's photo would cause a lot of retweets but not a lot of actual action.

I had accepted that all that would come across the air to Canada from Syria would be more stories of despair.

Yet here you are.

I suppose I forgot that there are good people in the world. I forgot that there are many, many people just waiting for an opportunity to birth Love into this world.

Because yesterday, sweet girl, I saw Love birthed into the world like I've never seen before. I saw the Body of Christ come together and come alive and bear His image to you and your family in one of the most beautiful ways I have ever seen. 

I can only imagine how confused you must feel right now... They told you that you were coming to Canada, and then you got on a plane, travelled 16+ hours and were put up in a strange hotel in a strange city for the night. Then in the morning, you were shuffled out of that room and told to wait in the lobby.

Your poor parents were told nothing of a sponsoring group... Nothing of the God-sent apartment that had been rented for you or the sweet family with beds made in their spare room just waiting to host you for the week while the aforementioned apartment's paperwork goes through. Nothing of the team of people who have sourced furniture and found Arabic-speaking doctors and researched schools... none of it.

I can just imagine how disorienting this must feel. Like maybe this was all a bad idea after all.

And when I saw the tears and relief in your parents' kind, weary, and courageous eyes as our translator told them that we had been preparing to welcome them for months, my heart could've just about burst.

When the whole lot of us huddled into that conference room of that hotel - the whole mismatched group of us, beautifully brought together because of a desire to welcome you - and your papa said that thing about feeling like we are your new Canadian family? Oh, little girl, I think even the toughest of us were tearing up.

Because this is it! This is the Love we get to share in the midst of a broken world. And how could we ever say no to this? How could we dare to miss this?

And then we went to that restaurant serving up meals from your homeland and okay, the whole party of us? We were hard to miss.

So a regular at that restaurant leans to the waitress and asks What on earth is going on over there? and the waitress tells her the bits of our story that she's gathered in all of five minutes of us being there and soon after that regular customer leaves, that waitress is over at our table letting us know that our entire tab had been picked up by that stranger.

But it didn't stop there. That waitress herself picked up the tab for our coffee afterwards, and the owner sent you home with a box full of meals on the house for your first week in Canada... A taste of home to help with the homesickness.

And I'm realizing that we live in an ocean of grace. We live in a world where people are ready and waiting to birth Love into this world, and we can believe in the hatred we see on the news, or we can believe in Love. 

Dear sweet little girl, it is just all too fitting that your family is ringing in the new year in a new country with a fresh start lying ahead. Yet I can only imagine how tough this coming year will be for you. It will be a long process of getting accustomed to life here - one that will at times be messy and frustrating, yet also, we hope, fulfilling and incredibly beautiful.

Know that we, your new Canadian family, will be there with you every step of the way.

Because sweet girl - we believe in Love and we pray that you and your beautiful family will come to believe in Love, too.




Yes, the first of two Syrian refugee families that our church family is sponsoring landed in Canada this week! We met them yesterday, New Year's Eve - and how fitting is that?! Your prayers are mightily appreciated as we step into this year-long journey together. #WeWelcomeRefugees


*As of now, our family prefers not to be named publicly on the internet.

Christmas Reflections

My draft box is full of the real good-intention to post something. Promise.

The world has been a hurting place this fall. Even a bit more than normal, it seems. There was terror and intolerance and yet still, the First World I call home went about life and Christmas and shopping - unfazed. And words started, but they never ended, as evidenced by my draft box. Maybe they'll come in the New Year, but we all know how the "blog more" resolution always turns out... ;)

The ending to those words didn't get written not because I didn't know the ending, but because I think I got far too excited about the ending before I got to write it, and I would spring up to join the awesome people taking action on this great hope before I remembered to hit "post" on those words.

And so I think I'll write a collective ending to all those hurting beginnings here, as the fall comes to a close and I spend some time reflecting at Christmas...

The conclusion and the response to a world of hurt is this:

Oh, how He loves us. 

Even now. Especially now. 

He hurts for His hurting creation more than any of us ever could or would. 

He hurts so much that he came down in the midst of it all to bear the hurt for us. He came down from glory and became a helpless baby and a human-just-like-you-and-me.

He spent His life demonstrating a Love that would heal all the hurt of this world, and our role? Simply believe this Gift to be real. Accept this Gift of Love with thanks. 

Then He culminates this life of Love with His arms stretched across a tree... Bearing every last hurt, pain and brokenness this world had and would ever see, declaring It is finished.

Dear hurting world... All our hurt and brokenness - He has already carried it for us. He longs to continue to carry it, and simply invites us to love with that same Love He showed us all those years ago.

To make room to birth Love into this world again and again and again...

...so that this Love might bear every hurt until it is all healed away.

That is what we celebrate this, and every Christmas.


Merry, Merry Christmas, to you and yours.


Year-end family updates from my Mama can be found on her blog... Check it out!

Dear Aylan (Part 2) -

You, little angel - I think you changed the world.

The last time I wrote to you we were all still reeling. We were just learning your name and your story and how we could have saved you and we were all shocked numb.

And I told you that all I could pray is that you did not die in vain. "That your death would, if not convict us, then embarrass us to action."

If I'm honest with you, Aylan? I wasn't feeling very hopeful when I signed off on that letter. I was angry. 

I was angry that we would forget you. 

But you know what? We haven't yet. 

There are people all over the world telling the story of your people, hearing the story of your people, and most importantly, welcoming the stories of your people into their own stories by opening their borders, their homes, their lives. 

It became real this week, Aylan. Mennonite Central Committee matched our church family with the first of two refugee families that we will be welcoming into Canada and into our lives in a few short months.

And yeah, we have zero clue what we're doing. 

Because there are fears and doubts and worries and just the straight-up inability to speak Arabic, you know? 

And wow, there's those nasty things people say on the internet about you and your people, little Aylan. How come we blame you for wanting a share of the security, the laughter, and simply the breath in our lungs that we take for granted every single day?

And then there's this huge task ahead of us of finding an apartment and doctors and people to show our new friends how to ride a Canadian bus and shop at a Canadian grocery store. And then there's preparing for the stories and the trauma that this family might carry on their shoulders after their long, long journey out of a war zone and into our lives. 

But here's the best part: we serve a Jesus who has filled our community with hearts to serve and gifts to share - doctors and teachers and expert-apartment hunters and people who know Arabic-speakers. And the most awesome people who are willing to spend their days finding and sorting furniture and household items to fill our families' not-yet-found apartments and others who are willing to clear their garages for a free place to hold it all in the meantime.

This is community. 

This is how we come together as the Body of Christ to respond to the worst refugee crisis since World War II. 

We're smack in the middle of history and when it's all said and done we want to be remembered as the generation who welcomed the strangers as if they were Christ himself, running into Egypt, fleeing Herod's slaughter as a refugee.

I remember reading an article back in Grade 10 while writing a history essay. It told the story of a boat filled to the brim with Jewish refugees and bobbing on the shores of Canada. 

And I remember being so angry, Aylan, because do you know what happened next? We turned them away. We listened to our fear of the other and we told them straight-up to turn around and they sailed straight back to their deaths in those horrific concentration camps. 

I remember thinking it - if I had the chance I would have let them in.

And here's that chance. Our chance to respond with love and open arms, so that a student much like me, writing her own history essay many, many years from now, will be able to say - 

We Welcome Refugees.

I was a stranger and you welcomed Me.

Matthew 25:35

As we prepare to welcome two refugee families, our church community would so deeply value and appreciate first and foremost, your prayers, because yeah, for something like this? You can never have enough prayer. Secondly, we would be so thankful for your financial support and (for those in the Toronto, ON area) your tangible contributions. Learn more at www.tinyurl.com/SyriaResponse. All donations made between now and Thanksgiving Monday will be matched by a generous donor. Thank you. 

Dear Nameless Boy -

Edit: The boy has since been identified as 3-year-old Aylan Kurdi.

This picture of you ravaged the world yesterday. (Link includes a graphic image that I decided to keep off my blog in order to give you the choice whether or not to click and view it. I strongly encourage you to choose to view it, because the world needs to see - really see - this photo.)

You stopped me dead in my tracks and yeah, the world isn't sure how to go on.

But then we will.

And I'm sorry, sweet little boy.

I am so. angrily. horribly. sorry.

And that sounds pretty pathetic and oh how worthless it is to you now, but I somehow have to say this anyway, for the sake of those that will come after you.

I'm sorry that we will solemnly shake our heads at that photo of you - today's top story - at six o'clock and then enjoy laughter and family time at the dinner table at seven.

I'm sorry that this week we're ready to cry an ocean of tears, and next week you'll be but a distant memory as we, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, embrace the first week of school and the flurry of activity that comes with it - things you'll never have the opportunity to know.

I'm sorry that as my country's leaders campaign to become the most powerful person in this country, we are more concerned with scandals and with pensions and with daycares and with rich guys and a squandered 90k than we are with you. I'm sorry that you and your people aren't a big-ticket campaign issue and I'm sorry that my people don't care enough to demand that you are.

I'm sorry that we think you're the government's problem.

I'm sorry that being sorry just simply isn't enough.

Because sweet boy, I'm downright embarrassed to tell you that as more than 2500 men, women and children just like you have perished on the Mediterranean this year, here in my homeland - a place of luxury that you could probably only dream of - we've been "fleeing" our own homes to go on vacation. We've been up in arms about a lion. We've been seeing who can make and try the craziest foods at my city's annual exhibition. We've been arguing with each other over the saddest, most pathetic things.

Oh, I squirm while saying this to you - we've been living mindless lives instead of loving you until you're simply able to live.

We've filled churches on Sundays while you and your people filled boats and sailed straight to death - and are we really being the Church or just filling steepled buildings hollow?

Because we're full of empty good intentions and real-sounding excuses when we should be full of the love of Christ. 

And sweet boy, this is my apology, this is my outcry, but mostly this is my confession. 

Because while that mortifying picture of you should anger me and convict me until I'm nothing short of doing a radical thing like boarding a plane and personally escorting a family like yours to safety*, the embarassing truth is that I'm probably going to tap out this blog post, retweet a few links, maybe make a donation, and then forget while I go to university to learn how to save the world when what really needs saving is you.

Here is the truth, tiny little nameless boy: I don't have the answers.

My soul aches a thousand aches to say that. I don't have the answers. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to save you and I don't know how to end a war that is continually pushing more and more of your people into the same situation as yours.

And I will never understand any of this while I am on this side of heaven.

Here is where I would usually write something to the effect of What I do know is that I serve and cling to a Jesus who has already overcome all the brokenness in this world.

And yes. Yes, I do. I certainly, most definitely do. That is always and enternally humanity's blessed hope.

But for your people that are still bobbing on the Mediterranean, I'm not sure those words are enough - unless my people act on those words like they are true.

And for my people that are still mindlessly bobbing around our luxurious world, I think those words might be too much - we take them as a licence for inaction when we actually have a role to play in overcoming the brokenness of this world.

Nameless boy, I feel like weeping as I say this all to you.

And I simply hope and pray that you did not die in vain. That your death would, if not convict us, then embarrass us to action.






*So maybe that get-on-a-plane plan is not the smartest or most sustainable. But if you are feeling a little radical, this link is for you. Or, you can donate here to help Mennonite Central Committee bring the hope and love of Christ to refugee camps in the Middle East. Or, you can get involved with an organization in your city like Matthew House Toronto, people who are welcoming and supporting new refugees to the city. Or, there's this letter that Ann Voskamp wrote and this community that she's started over on Facebook… a whole bunch of people coming together to say that we will welcome refugees with the love of Christ, now let's figure out how.

Man, was this ever heart-wrenching to write. I think I'm a bit of a bad writer today for not having a better point at the end, but I just needed to get something out to shine a light on this. Yeah, it can seem bleak and hopeless, but I meant what I said: We serve a Jesus who has already overcome... now let's start acting on those words like they're true. At the end of this blog post, I still don't have the answers and I still don't know what to do. But we can start by doing what we can and doing it as though it were for Christ himself. Let's start there, and maybe - just maybe - we'll save some nameless boys and let them know that He knows their name.

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by name; you are Mine!

Isaiah 43:1

Wilmington, Take 3

Hi, blog. I think I'll just save the bytes and skip the whole apology for the dust everywhere and just dust off this little corner right here and place this little update about my trip to Wilmington down. However, I'll put a little plug in that my Twitter & Instagram are far less dusty, for anyone interested in 140 character and/or snapshot updates on a more regular basis. But for right now, I'm still blown away by how Wilmington blew me away again... 

The city of Wilmington, Delaware never ceases to amaze me.

I didn't see anything new during my latest trip to Wilmington to work with UrbanPromise - my third trip. Nothing groundbreaking. I tell stories about Wilmington and they sound repetitive, same old, I've-heard-this-one-before.

And maybe that is the most beautiful thing of all.

It's been 4 years since I first stumbled upon this Kingdom-community known as UrbanPromise Wilmington. And 4 years later, they're still the same passionate, world changing Jesus-lovers that inspired me and changed my life back in Grade 9.

Yes, they're moved by Christ-like compassion, hope, and love. But what makes this community different from every other spark of passionate action for social justice is their Christ-like perseverance.

When the going gets tough, it's not "Well, we tried." It's "We're gonna get through this. Together. Because we're a family. We're the Body of Christ."

Guys, I'm just gonna skip the tip-toe politically correct business and say that it's been an especially tough year for at-risk minority youth in American inner cities. The streets of America seem especially soaked with the blood of black youth this year. Race relations, black violence - this is all real stuff all the time, and maybe it's because I'm older or maybe not, but there was a new level of tension in the air this year.

And this trip was a reality check for this girl from the Canadian suburbs, let me tell you. Because there's shaking my head at the latest on CP24 from Ferguson, and then there's sitting in a room while a teenager from Wilmington says he's literally afraid to take his little brother outside sometimes.

Because there's retweeting something social-justicey, and then there's the community at UrbanPromise Wilmington that is passionately and tirelessly working together against the grain of this broken culture day in and day out.

"What's the biggest challenge facing youth in your city?"

All three of those teenagers said the exact same thing - "Violence." "Violence." "Violence."

It runs so deep. And even though the stories are same-old, may we never take lightly the absolutely heart-wrenching, world-shaking, holy Kingdom-work that the UrbanPromise community is doing with a Christ-like hope and perseverance - kids, youth, interns, and staff alike.

I think we like quick in this culture, wouldn't you say so? Quick results, quick answers, quick LTE data.

While my generation has the power to change the world with our quick advancements, what's going to kill us is our restlessness. Our inability to stick around long enough to see the really beautiful deep stuff take root. The best stuff - hope, love, reconciliation - that stuff takes time to grow.

The UrbanPromise Wilmington community has stuck around. Beauty like that doesn't just happen. It requires trust. It requires perseverance.

And I know I'm guilty of restlessness. But my week in Wilmington taught me that there is beauty in staying, because our Father knows exactly where He needs us to be -

And personally? There's no place I'd rather be.

The World In Which I Get To Be An Adult

Boy, it has been a whirlwind couple of weeks.

I found out I was accepted to the University of Toronto's International Development Studies, Co-op program on a Thursday. I celebrated 18 years of life the next day, Friday, with sweet girlfriends and a Frozen birthday party fit for a 4-year-old.

I turned 18 - adult age, for real - the next Wednesday.

And you know what? Until Tuesday, my birthday eve, I was totally unaware and unrelenting to the fact that, on that Sunday after my birthday party, ISIS had beheaded 21 Egyptian Christians.

And this is the world I get to be an adult in. 

A world where teenagers flee their home country, leaving their family and everything familiar behind to run from persecution, torture or death.

A world where teenagers sleep on the streets, far away from a home or a family.

A world where teenagers feel helpless to do anything about everything... They know their peers are suffering all over the world, but they just don't know what to do about it.

Happy Birthday, me - this is the world you get to be an adult in.

Oh, but wait - and lean in close for this part, because this is where it gets good...

This is also the world I get to be an adult in:

A world where I get to celebrate my birthday on Friday, then celebrate the birthday of two refugee youth at Matthew House on Saturday. And my heart could almost burst at the loving community of Christ that is surrounding these two after the most tumultuous year.

so awesome to have meaghan from the @refugeoutreach speaking about #youthhomelessness at @DunbartonDHS today! :) pic.twitter.com/z6lXzYtvgH
— alyssa (@_godsgal4ever) February 19, 2015

A world where I get to lead a workshop at my school about youth homelessness, encouraging fellow students to get informed and take action.

A world where my beautiful friends gift me with donations to The Refuge for my birthday.

A world where I get to watch my face flash big across a screen at a youth conference, my voice telling this room full of my peers that "We have a God who loves us. One who made a way to fix this mess and make things right again." 

Post by Aimee Esparaz.

And then I get three. whole. minutes. to tell these unsuspecting world-changers that they have the power to do something for their peers living in extreme poverty by sponsoring a Compassion child. And can I admit something? I came off that stage frowning, but that girl that came up to me after with "I love what you said." on her lips? She made my weekend.

A world where I get to study International Development at the top university in the country on a fancy scholarship, and my heart just wants to shout it - this world is full of crazy amounts of grace if you look just beyond the brokenness.

Because yes. This world I get to be an adult in is so. so. so. broken. Just ask Kayla Mueller. Or those 21 Christians.

But oh yes, is there ever wild amounts of amazing grace in this world, too.

I once said that we don't get to choose the world that we're born into.

But I do believe that we get to choose the world that we live in.

May we always. always. always. choose the world where we can take heart, for the world we have chosen is already overcome by the Man that hung on the cross. The Man who overcame, is overcoming and will overcome this world with salvation, peace, hope, light and love.

And may we always declare that truth with our words and our lives... We are people of the cross - people who live saved and freed, stand for peace, believe in hope, shine brightly, and love radically with a risky, take-up-your-cross type of love.

Dear Justin Bieber -

source

"Mr. Bieber, you are charged with the following: DUI - alcohol or drugs, resisting without violence, and driving with an expired driver's licence." 

- Florida Judge Joseph P. Farina

Dear Justin,

After I finished watching the judge read you your charges, I clicked replay, tuned him out for this second time through, and just watched you.

And you just broke my heart.

Because we failed you.

I'm not at all a Belieber, sorry man. I don't claim to be even half as supportive of you as all those who have trended #WeWillAlwaysSupportYouJustin on Twitter for more than 24 hours now. I follow you and your sweet mom on Twitter and have a grand total of two JB songs in my iTunes, and that's about it.

But although I might not be a Belieber, somehow I always wanted to believe in you. 

And I still do.

I want to believe that this is the real you:

source

source

source

I think you saw it. What I saw. And I think you fell just as deeply in love with the Philippines last fall as I did two summers ago.

I think that moment you handed that boy that pencil or cradled that baby you felt it. That joy of being fully in sync with who you were created to be - a vulnerable human who simply loves other vulnerable humans.

That joy of reaching out - no million-dollar cars, no drugs, no drag races needed. All the fullness of life - any drug or fix or thrill you ever needed - was cradled in your arms, reaching for your gift of a pencil, or cradling your neck as you pulled her off that wooden porch and into your arms.

Justin - they're saying some nasty things about you out there. And yeah, let me tell you, you're an idiot. Your actions definitely need to be dealt with because DUI and street racing and weed is not cool or healthy or safe for anyone. Please try to be better.

But oh man, this is our fault too.

Congrats on being next on the long, long, long list of names that society ran in to rehab, jail, insanity, mental breakdown and loss of self-identity. Just in our lifetime, Justin, that list starts with a couple of girls named Lindsay and Britney and more recently continues with a girl named Miley and apparently, you.

We're so desperate to see you guys fall. So excited to see what crazy thing you're going to pull off next. Because we're just messed up like that. 

We live in a society where people who have extraordinary talent are destroyed in an average of 5 years flat.

You're pushed and pulled and expected to do superhuman things on a superhuman schedule and still stay perfectly put-together.

Why couldn't we just let you sing?

Why did we also have to read truth and lies about you in magazines? Why did we also have to chase you on the streets, take your picture, threaten your girlfriend and cover our bedroom walls with your face?

Why wasn't just listening to your music enough?

Why do you have to sacrifice yourself on the altar of Hollywood in order to share your God-given talents?

So I can't stand silent while people say that supporting you is terrible because you're a terrible person.

We're all terrible people. 

And I mean, I don't know about them, but I'd sure like to be supported even though I'm a terrible person. 

Justin - I believe in an amazing-grace Jesus who associates with terrible people. And I know you do too.

And not only does He associate with terrible people, He loves them. Believes in them.

Justin, I still want to believe in you. 

And I think if we all tried together, we could start to believe in the world, too - terrible as it is.

So let's try, shall we? In your very own words -

"Let's make the world better."

Haiyan.

She hurls herself towards a country in which I left a good chunk of my heart.

image credit: The Washington Post

Then for a good, long moment, if you tried to look for the Philippines, Haiyan blocked your view.

She engulfed the Philippines, took that beautiful country from the rest of the world for a few long, long hours.

Then she spit all those islands out in all this disarray, gave the country back to the world and said Here - your move.

And I could only think - what did Justin do in all that mess? Not in the hardest hit city, but any level of typhoon swirling around your head when you don't have a place to call home would be devastating.

Justin.

And those nice basket-and-picnic-mat-weaving ladies we met in near Tacloban, the hardest hit city? What did they do? What are they doing now?

These ladies' creations have made many appearances at church picnics.

What are they doing when there's no food, water, medicine, shelter or any form of authority on the island?

What are they doing when there's been so much looting, there's no looting left to do?

My heart is so heavy as I watch that beloved country flash across my TV and computer screens - so much desperation and devastation. So much despair.

A staggering photo comparison by my Mom. It speaks for itself.
Top: My parents in Tacloban, 2011
Bottom: Tacloban, today

Dear friends, the Philippines desperately needs us - the world - to make a good, compassionate, generous, we-are-one move in response to Haiyan.

I saw it on the news today - many, many more people will die in the coming days if we don't do something.

Can I ask you - not just as a social justice advocate, or a Compassion advocate, but as a girl with a piece of her heart on those islands - to give?

Give what you can. Anything. Because the people of the Philippines so. desperately. need. us.

Many great organizations are gathering funds for the people of the Philippines. Two organizations that I so love and strongly recommend are Compassion International and Mennonite Central Committee.

Here are the links to donate to their relief efforts:
Compassion International - Canada / USA
Mennonite Central Committee - Both Canada & USA
[Canada - From now until Dec. 9, the Canadian government will be matching donations, dollar-for-dollar, made to Haiyan relief efforts!]

And lastly - let's pray. Just pray and pray and pray for strength, comfort, courage, hope, peace for all involved.

Dearest Philippines, we stand with you.♥



ps To everyone who asked me about family, friends & sponsored children in the Philippines - thank you. As someone with a connection to the Philippines, it's been so amazing to see people without any connection to the Philippines gather around and show support. Family is all ok, considering. Still waiting to hear about specifics about Compassion girls, Florianlyn & Rechelle, and I know many other sponsors are waiting too. However, as of now Compassion has had no deaths reported among Compassion beneficiaries - Praise God! - and they've promised to pass along updates about affected children & families ASAP. Keep praying.

International Day of the Girl

To my dearest sisters, worldwide:

I'm sorry. It really isn't fair.

It's not fair that I was born in Canada and you weren't - and that decides which one of us is able to read and write this letter.

It's just not fair.

It's not fair that because you're a girl in a certain part of the world at a certain point in history, you're not allowed to go to school.

I'm a girl in that same point in history - and because I live in a different part of the world, in a different culture and class, I'm allowed to go to school.

It's not fair that you're sold into prostitution against your will. It's not fair that you'll marry at thirteen and be abused by your 40-year-old husband. It's not fair that literacy is deemed unnecessary for you because all you'll ever do is cook, clean, tend to children, and sell at the market. It's not fair that you'll grow up and be cheated by loan sharks because you don't understand interest.

I get how unfair it is and I wish I could just come and teach you how to write - because this words-girl here can't even imagine not having the precious, precious ability to write.

It almost hurts to think about it.

And here I am sitting in high school stupidly trying to earn high 90s and I feel like if you were in my place all you'd want is to learn.

I feel like the high 90s wouldn't matter to you. You'd simply be thankful for the knowledge, wisdom, gifts you were acquiring.

Yeah, it sucks. It's not fair and I'm sorry I forget about you and spend my energy sweating over my education.

And you're just wishing for one. 

But girl, there is hope! You would not believe all I've been reading this week. There are all these people coming together and calling for education for you. 

Yes - people are starting to understand that it's not fair.

There's this girl, just like you and me. Her name's Malala. You would not believe how many people she's inspired to fight for education. 

Some people tried to silence her with a gun - but a year later, her voice, crying out for education for all, is stronger and louder than ever.

And sister, here's my promise to you:

I promise that I will always use my literacy to fight for you. I promise that I'll never use my education to take advantage of you, but to let the world know about you. About how unfair it is. How all the scales are tipped against you.

I promise I'll always use my ability to write to cry out on your behalf. 

I hope you'll be able to write back soon.

With all my love, support and respect. ❤

Happy International Day of the Girl!

Refugee Girl

source: BBC News

I've wanted to say something about Syria, but I'm just not sure what one says to such horror.

But I thought this piece I wrote up this week would be a bit more appropriate than angry, political tweets. 'Cause those rarely turn out well.

Just thinking of the one million Syrian children in refugee camps today, and how no amount of politics will ever give them back their childhood.

refugee girl 

mama says we’re almost there.
but where is there?
she says that everyday.
i think she thinks i believe her.
we left our home a million days ago.
from the amount we’ve walked i feel as though we should’ve circled the earth by now -
and simply arrived back home.

but i know we haven’t been all around the world.
because we haven’t seen the eiffel tower yet.
or the great wall of china,
nor the american white house.
papa used to tell me about those things.
he used to say that one day he’d take me there,
and i’d always fall asleep dreaming about a trip to france with my papa.
that was before he went to fight.

dear soldiers, why do you fight?
why do you kill each other,
hurt each other,
hate each other?
maybe if you stopped, i could go home.

i’ll tell you a secret -
i don’t really want to go to that camp my mama talks about.
i want to go home.
but i tell her it’s ok, whatever she wants.
i don’t tell her how hungry i am, either.
because i don’t want her to be sad.
she looks sad.
she looks scared.

maybe she’s scared that i’ll die, like my friend mary.
mary and her mama were walking with us before.
but then mary got very sick, a few days ago.
she died, and that’s when mary’s mama stopped walking with us.
the night before she left, i heard my mama trying to tell her to stay.
she thought i was asleep, but i wasn’t.
i heard her talk about scary things.
she said words like torture and massacre.
but mary’s mama still left.

sometimes, at night, i wonder where my papa is.
i block out the sounds of the fighting and i try to remember his face.
i hope he’s not in trouble.
i used to ask my mama about him,
but she got very upset.
so i stopped asking.

before he left, he told me he was going fight, and it was a good thing.
a good thing for this country, he said.
good?
i know - maybe he’s gone to stop the fighting.
then we can go to france.

Say a prayer today for a child living in a refugee camp, and offer some thanks for the safety and security we all too often take for granted.

The Gun Thing, The Race Thing, And The Broken World Thing {3 Thoughts On Trayvon and Zimmerman}

We expected the court to sort this out?

Yeah, I most definitely believe in the court, but riding so much on a verdict has me thinking we might've believed too much in the court this time.

Because the court can sort out charges and evidence and jail time.

But it can't sort out years of racial tensions and pain deeper than one teenager dead.

The pain here runs deep - deep into blood-soaked, hard-worked soil and unforgiving, bitter hearts. 

And the court deals with law. And let's agree on one thing - there's no laws when it comes to pain this deep.

We can say all we want about the verdict given to George Zimmerman.

But really, this is messier than anything guilty or not guilty can clean up.

And with that said, my twitter stayed silent on Saturday night.

Not because I didn't care, but because I wasn't sure how a series of 140 character statements could sort out the mess any more than that Florida court could, nor did I trust myself to say anything worthwhile.

But you know me, I can't stay silent.

This blog post isn't going to sort anything out either. This is just a teenage girl picking out bits from the messiness and trying to at least come up with something.

Here it goes.

The Gun Thing

If George #Zimmerman had not had a gun, he'd have never got out of his car that night, and Trayvon Martin would still be alive.
— Piers Morgan (@piersmorgan) July 14, 2013

And it's as simple as that.

There might've been a fist fight. And the whole thing would've ended in a night at a hospital (at worst), not in a court, a morgue and international news.

Everyone's speaking out about race (and yes, definitely - more on that in a sec), but what about the gun thing?

Here's the thing - 6,198 gun deaths have occurred in America since Sandy Hook. In just 7 short months. [That link is a must see - it very clearly paints the grim picture.]

I feel like society should be more disturbed by this. 

The fact of the matter is, it was legal for Zimmerman to have that gun, and from the picture presented to the court, it was legal for him to use it.

Don't be angry that Zimmerman got acquitted for shooting and killing Trayvon, be angry that the law allowed it.

Perhaps the jury thought the same as me and you - it shouldn't be ok for someone to kill another someone. But the laws don't agree and that's what I think we're all really angry about here.

The laws of America love the right to bear arms. Don't be upset that Zimmerman got acquitted if you're also in love with the right to bear arms.

It's contradictory.

Mr. Piers Morgan tweeted some brilliance yesterday, and allow me to share a bit more of that with you as I close out this gun talk:

I don't criticise the jury - I criticise the law that enabled them to find George #Zimmerman not guilty of anything. #RIPTrayvon
— Piers Morgan (@piersmorgan) July 14, 2013

Until Americans stand up and shout 'ENOUGH!' re guns, the senseless slaughter will just go on, and on, and on. #Trayvon #Newtown #Aurora
— Piers Morgan (@piersmorgan) July 14, 2013

The Race Thing

Let me tell you a story.

I was once shooting hoops out on the driveway by myself, when our next-door neighbour stepped outside, preparing to leave in his car. We small talked for a bit then he stepped in his car and started the engine, me assuming he was going to drive off. I turned back to the basketball net, only to spot a friend of mine walking up the street with a group of his friends.

I waved, chatted with him for a bit, let him take a few shots, and then he continued his walk down the street. Only when he left did I notice my neighbour still sitting there in his running car. He'd watched the whole 2 or 3 minute exchange. "Do you know those guys?" He asked, once they were out of earshot.

"Yeah," I said, "We go to school together."

"Oh, good." He said, and drove away.

Here's what I left out of my story: race. 

My neighbour is white, living in a primarily white community. My friend and his whole group? They're all black.

Now, my neighbour is good person. A normal person. He has a toddling daughter and I appreciate him looking out for me. I know he didn't mean to racially profile my friend. But he did. It happens, in real life, to everyone. 

But what if this - what if we were all part of the Jesus-culture first, then race was just one of the many things that makes us the diverse Body of Christ?

That, to me, is the ideal. Not for everyone to be treated the same, but for everyone to be able to bring their different gifts, personalities and traits, race being one of those beautiful things, to the Body of Christ and use those things to advance his Kingdom.

And that's all great stuff, and it starts with stuff like this -

for whites to stop assuming that black people are criminals;

for blacks to stop assuming that white people are out to get them;

for every race - red, yellow, black, brown, white - to stop defending the colour of their skin, and start defending who they are in Jesus.

I'm not calling for colour blind here - I am the biggest believer in embracing your race and all the beauty that comes from that part of your identity.

I'm calling for a safe place where everyone gets to do just that - embrace the beauty of their race without feeling that they have to defend it or have it rise above another.

The We-Live-In-A-Broken-World Thing

We could say gun laws killed Trayvon Martin. We could say racism killed him.

But in the end brokenness killed him. Humans' sinful nature killed him.

We lived in a broken, screwed up world where injustice happens. Everyday.

And all Christ-followers can do is try as spread as much light into the world as possible - despite our own human nature.

We sang it at church yesterday - Your light will shine when all else fades.

But a lot of that depends on us, because we are His image-bearers on this earth.

Through us is where His light will shine through when all else fades.

And we have a choice in how we respond to all this mess. We can respond in anger, or we can respond in love. 

We can burn in anger or we can overflow with love.

Yeah, not only the Zimmerman case, but the whole wide world is filled with deep pain and a whole lot of messiness.

But if there's one thing I know for sure, it's this -

Love can cover a multitude of pain, hurts, and messiness.