The Orcas Island Film Festival has been in full swing now for several years. This past summer we decided to attend a showing of Ai Wei Wei‘s documentary about refugees around the world called Human Flow. It was 2 hours and 20 minutes of sweeping scenes of desperation, loss, and hopelessness. There were very few words, and for a 7-year-old growing up in stable America on a safe little island, never missing a meal, taking warm showers, sitting by the fire, sleeping in a cozy bed, and having the care and love of his parents, it was a shocking thing to watch.
Topics like this are not new to him. We talk about these kinds of things a lot as a family. We read every sentence in humanitarian Christmas catalogs as we sit at the dinner table. We sponsor children in Uganda and Ethiopia. My mom bought chickens in our name through Compassion as our Christmas present. We just finished all the paperwork for passports in order to visit a Kenyan orphanage to help update the photos of the campus and the children.
But watching a huge screen filled with images of people who cannot escape the next few decades of oppression has had a deep impact on our son.
I know this because a few weeks ago we were in the bathroom brushing his teeth before bed. He leaned into my legs and mumbled in a sad voice, “Mom, I just can’t stop thinking about the refugees. I can’t get them off my mind.”
A few days later, in a quiet moment between the two of us again, he said, “Mom, remember the refugee lady in the documentary? She said she wanted the leaders of the world to come and be refugees for a day and feel what it’s like. I wish the leaders would do that. Then they would change things right away.”
About a week ago, out of the blue, we were in the bathroom getting ready for bed again and he said, “Mom? I can’t stop thinking about the refugees and all the people in the world who are poor or need help. I don’t want to help a few of them. I want to help all of them.” In a reluctant and overwhelmed tone, because he is shy about having attention on him, he said, “I guess I should be the President so that I could get everyone to help. But I can’t do that. I’d have to stand on a stage and talk to people.” I genuinely encouraged him that his intentions were so good. But I could see that his mind was grappling with the daunting magnanimity of how one person in the world could possibly change everything. Now. For everyone. He was not interested in hearing any compliments; I withheld them and tried to step into his empathy in order to envision what he could really and truly do to affect every single desperate human being.
I suggested to him that children have great power if they are willing to step out and say something. I told him that he could begin creating change right away, not by figuring out any complex plan, but by simply stating his intention publicly and asking the world to meet him in it. “You don’t have to get on a stage in front of people,” I said. “The beauty of today is that you could sit in the comfort of our home, with no one watching you, and record your thoughts on a video for Facebook. Facebook reaches people all over the world in minutes. You never know what you could start without having to figure it all out.”
Two days later, apparently after thinking about that for awhile, he said, “I guess it’s more important for the people of the world to be helped than for me to worry about feeling shy.” “Yes!!” I said. “You’ve realized the key on your own.”
In church the other day, our pastor read what’s called the Franciscan Benediction, which I’ve loved ever since the first time he read it years ago. It goes like this:
May God bless us with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that we may live deep within our hearts.
May God bless us with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that we may work for justice, freedom and peace.
May God bless us with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, so that we may reach out our hands to comfort them and turn their pain into joy.
And may God bless us with enough foolishness to believe that we can make a difference in this world, so that we can do what others claim cannot be done.
Amen.
I nudged our son when the final line was being read and he looked at me with understanding. When we got home, he said, “Foolishness to believe we can make a difference in this world.” I began to explain to him that it wasn’t an insult, but he stopped me and said, “I know, Mom. I understand it,” and smiled.
As we wrestle with what to do, I thought I’d ask you for your suggestions of how our animal-loving, bug-saving, seed-collecting, 7-year-old vegetarian can begin to change the lives of every single person who needs help. I’m not kidding; I’m serious.
What are your ideas for him?
Thank you for mulling this over.
Sincerely, Edee
