Thoughts On a Plane
October 19, 2010
I take a lot less for granted now because I have seen so much. In my journals, I started off writing nonsense — the silly nothings that sweep through a young girl’s mind. And then, after India that nothing started to become something. It was strange how I could be filled with so much pain and so much gratefulness at the same time.
It is painful to think about why I was spared from a different life, painful to think of all the good people who went before me, setting me up into a position of freedom and, even, a little authority. My grandpas fought in a couple of wars. My grandmothers cast their ballots in the first votes. My parents never treated me as if my life should be less adventurous than my brother’s because I’m a girl. My family has filled our circle with so much love. It fills up, and it overflows. They are good people. The best people. It staggers me to think about why I was given so much love when so many people have none. I just don’t know why that is. It hurts. My eyes sting as I write this.
It hurts because it means there is a requirement, a pressure for change and sacrificing complacency. There is the obligation to speak up, and the knowledge that I am bound to this cause, until slavery is gone or Christ returns. Every decision that I make going forward rotates around the knowledge that my life will never be my own again, though it really never was.