It was late last night when the most recent conversation took place with our oldest. A 25 year old responsible, independent young man, he stood and paced for 2 hours at the end of our bed though it was nearly midnight. He shared his excitement over purchasing a new to him car soon and lessons he's learned at work. He shared his hopes for his future and making a life for someone he loves. But then I watched as tears filled his eyes. "Mom, we're just never going to be a united people again."
At first glance, one might think his lament was a purely political one but that's when you have to really listen. He likes to think that his compassion and concern for his fellow human beings are things buried deep within him but they're not. They're ever close to the surface with his tale tell sign being historical experiences that have shaped his outlook.
I listened as he recalled an event they all learned of through their years of homeschooling.
On December 24, 1914, only 5 months after World War I began, the booming of canons and popping of shots ceased in the trenches across portions of Europe. Then, slowly, a German voice would be heard singing from across the no man zone. It was the sound of Christmas Carols in their native tongue heard from their enemies' trenches. I cannot imagine the confusion, the disbelief, the baited hope those young soliders must have felt.
On Christmas morning, the first men would literally stick their necks out of those godforsaken hell holes to see the eyes of the opposition peering back at them through the fog. First one man, then another would venture out, unarmed to meet their adversary in gestures of good faith, restatement of humanity and chivalry. Thus, the infamous Christmas Truce began when these enemies would "live and let live", exchanging small gifts and tokens to solidify the idea that we're all in this place together and while we may have our differences, we can still recognize the humanity and heart of those we would otherwise deem our enemies.
I watched the tears and listened to his cracking voice as he said, "Mom, it's just too late for that now."
But it's not.
The reality is that most of us live in the other 85%. Most of us WANT to see others as human beings to be loved and have compassion poured on them, the same way we wish to be loved and shown compassion. It is not by mere coincidence that Highway 85 transverses our country from north to south directly down the middle.
The neighbor that you built a relationship with prior to the heightened emotional state that we live in now is still the same person they were before. The old classmate who reached out to let you know they were thinking about and praying for you through that gut wrenching situation is still the person who wants to do that today. The cashier who watched your kids grow and shared that his daughter was your same age until she was tragically killed at 18 is still the same man who wants to get that little side hug each time he sees you in line.
If we could lay down our arms for just a moment... If we could recollect the character of the people we've built relationships with because of who they are and have always been... If we could meet in the middle simply because we are all in this life together, longing to be loved and shown compassion...
As long as I have breath within me, it will never be too late.
This morning I woke as I always do. In the midst of so much confusion and heartbreak "out there", I asked the simple question I've asked so many times before - God, who do You have for me to love better today?
