The Practice of Being Light
It starts here, it begins with us
“Excuse me,” I heard a voice behind me.
I turn around and see a shopping cart full of groceries and three young girls staring in silence. The oldest introduces herself and explains that they are refugees from Ukraine and need help paying for food.
I freeze, my brain reminds me I drove to this supermarket to get a specific brand of organic coconut milk—I feel miserable.
I stand there and notice the youngest girl; she can’t be older than seven and is already living out the reality of this world.
In retrospect, I asked a lot of stupid questions, as if I needed to confirm their story. A reality check of my own life bubble, the one society curates on this side of the world. They arrived in the US two years ago and worked as house cleaners, but with the recent government changes regarding immigration, people no longer hire them.
This newsletter is not about immigration. I can’t speak about it because I have not walked in those shoes, so I listen.
This note is about being human. It’s about the bubbles we’ve created for our lives in the name of making idols for ourselves. It’s about choosing to look again when our default is to move along.
A light in the darkness
I decided to put up our Christmas tree yesterday—no decorations yet, no details around the apartment. I took the tree out of the box and plugged it in so the lights would shine in the living room.
I didn’t know that hours later, I would go to sleep watching videos of immigration officers arriving in Charlotte, NC, where I live, and entering a church to arrest people.
I tossed and turned all night, as I was writing this newsletter in my head1. I kept praying, asking God to have mercy on all of us.
As I write this, I glance at the tree lights and recall one of my favorite Bible verses: The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it (John 1:5 NLT).
Two minutes after I said my goodbyes to the sisters at the supermarket, the youngest came back running and wrapped her arms around my waist for a hug. I froze again. I drove home in silence, thanking God for the gift of experiencing heaven on earth.
In the next few weeks, we’ll turn on the lights and prepare to celebrate the light of Jesus entering this world. I pray that if you have the privilege of looking away from the hard things around, you choose to look again.
I invite you to stay a bit longer, to sit in the discomfort of the things we don’t understand, to listen.
I’m still learning how to do it myself, but choosing kindness can be our next step.
Talk soon,
Stella
This is pretty normal :)