I can't believe we're already halfway through December! If you've been following along over on our Facebook page, you know we've been doing daily acts of kindness during the Christmas season. I think it's especially important this year, when the world sometimes feels like such a dismal place -- with stories of racism, refugees in crisis, political polarization and more, it can feel like hope and joy are hard to find. In fact, Kendra, Julie and I decided early on this month that we'd like to help refugees for our Advent Acts of Kindness finale. That's why I was beyond thrilled when my friend Samantha approached us with the opportunity to help in a very specific, tangible way. We're joining with her in her efforts to provide kerosene for displaced folks living in Iraq, whom she recently visited. I'll let her explain the rest:  

Aiden and I

“In Sinjar, we have pool,” he shared as we walked up the rugged road to the mission’s main house at dusk. “My friends, me would jump off the top of the house to the pool. Very beautiful. I miss it.”

My companion on this walk was a 9-year-old boy I’ll call Aiden I’d gotten to know over the previous week. We were coming from his house--or rather, the structure where he and his family had been living for the past 15 months. Though considered comfortable for the refugees in the village (i.e. a metal door, window covering on two windows, and cement floors), his current dwelling was far from the home he spoke of.

The temperatures were dropping quickly. We could see our breath and shivered as we hurried along. The forecast called for rain and low temps the next several days. I had found that when it rained there, it poured. Cold in Iraq was different from the Minnesota winters I was used to; though the temps outdoors were similar, there was a vast divide between the comfort of my Minnesotan home and an Iraqi village lacking electricity and warmth.

Last Friday night I was putting the final touches on a talk I would be giving the next morning to a group of ladies in my community. We’d be talking all about kindness and gratitude and what it can look like to live those things with our families.

I read through part of the scripture I’d be covering again where Jesus tells us, "Love your enemies. Bless those who persecute you" (Matthew 5:43). And suddenly, in light of the chaos of Paris (and around the world, really), my talk on kindness to others (including strangers and refugees) seemed so radical.

I went to bed praying for the people of Paris and unsure what to do with the rest so I just left it. I tabled the ideas and thoughts around what it would look like to love my enemies, because suddenly they felt very close and I was afraid. Afraid for my safety and my kids. Afraid for our country. Afraid for the world and where things could be headed, filled with ideas about worst-case scenarios of where we could go from here.

Love your enemies.

Do good to those who would persecute you.

We’ve heard about it for months. We’ve read about the terror. Rape. Murder. Fear. And there’s been talk of help, organizations who’ve been stepping up and those who’ve been praying.

But this week a little boy washed up on shore and something broke—deep within us—all around the world it could be felt.

We focused our eyes on what is happening, and we have not moved. We’ve watched. We’ve wept. We’ve prayed. We’ve read the statistics:

THE WORLD IS IN THE WORST REFUGEE CRISIS SINCE WORLD WAR II. 

AND SYRIA’S CIVIL WAR AND THE RISING OF ISIS IS THE WORST HUMANITARIAN DISASTER OF OUR TIME. 

THE NUMBER OF INNOCENT CIVILIANS SUFFERING: MORE THAN 11 MILLION PEOPLE ARE DISPLACED. Source: Ann Voskamp

And now?