A little Turkish girl that lives close by had rushed home, having refused to wait for her mother to collect her from a friend’s house, a short distance from where they live. She wailed, knowing this to inspire the approach of her most loved person. Commitment to tears turned her cheeks red and the despair in her eyes unearthed an unrelenting desperation for her mother’s arms; a showering of kisses and cuddles from the Creator’s catalyst. Her efforts bore no fruit. Normally, I ignore outside noises. Anything that cannot be annexed to an action I have performed or word I have spoken, I will likely dismiss as being outside my area of concern. This time, however, hearing the loud cries, I stepped out to make sure she was okay. Although she did not speak, the locked grill door and her attempt to force it open with her little hands revealed the reason for her distress. Her mother was out and the house was impenetrable.
“Would you like me to sit with you?” I asked.
She nodded her head, wiping her tears with her right sleeve and sitting on a step with her backpack still strapped to her shoulders. I moved to occupy a space next to her. In a world that tells us not to love without caution, a world that endorses a fear of what is different, we were breaking all the rules. Muslim and a Jesus lover, curly, soft hair and dreadlocks, child and young adult, Turkish and black African; irrespective of our differences we found comfort in each other’s presence. So the heart of a child will conquer the weight of any villain, with no more than the innocence that drives them to see the sparkle in an ogre’s eye. We just sat… on a step… quiet.
Sometimes our differences cause us to abandon a higher standard of humanity. But when we get it right, my God, is it spectacular.