𝗗𝗼 𝗪𝗲 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻?

𝘋𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴?

Do we remember that, just like us, they do not have all the answers? They have come to their beliefs through their life experiences, their education, their wounds, their culture, and their understanding of the world. That does not always make them wrong. It does not always make us wrong either. Sometimes it means we have simply arrived at different conclusions because we have walked different roads.

𝘋𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯?

Just like me, they think. They love. They dream. They work towards their goals. They want the best for their families. They were not born asking to be judged as black, brown, white, or anything else. Neither was I. Underneath the labels we place on one another, there is a human being longing for dignity, safety, love, and a better world.

𝘋𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥?

Have I truly thought about what they may have endured while I have been sitting here in my safe and comfortable world? I cannot imagine the stories they carry. I cannot imagine what has shaped them, frightened them, strengthened them, or changed the way they see life. But underneath it all, they have a heart like mine. A heart that can hope. A heart that can ache. A heart that can easily be broken.

𝘋𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨?

They bravely carry their beliefs where everyone can see them. Are they braver than me, I wonder? They long for connection with the divine, just as I do. They have their way of seeking it. I have mine. Perhaps we are not as different as we think. Perhaps we are simply travelling in different cars, on different roads, still longing for meaning, understanding, and peace.

𝘋𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭, “𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨”?

𝗗𝗼 𝘄𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝘀𝗵𝗹𝘆 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲, 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝘂𝗿, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗻𝘁, 𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆?

𝘋𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘦?

Put me in another country, another culture, another family, another set of circumstances, and I could easily be the one misunderstood. I could be the one judged. I could be the one seen as wrong before anyone had taken the time to know me.

𝗦𝗼 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗼𝘂𝘁, 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗿, 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹, 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝘂𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲.

𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻.

𝗔 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝘀, 𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝘀, 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀, 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗽𝘂𝗿𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗮𝗳𝗲𝘁𝘆.

𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗺𝗲.

𝙇𝙚𝙩 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝘽𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙤𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙑𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚.