Yesterday was an ordinary day – for life in America.
We had a pleasant breakfast, lingered over coffee and conversation about pleasant things.
We drove an air conditioned car to church without fear of arrest because we might be suspect of going to some kind of political event.
We worshiped in song with christian music – again, without fear of being heard and suspected of whatever a perverted government needed for an excuse to exile us to Siberia or a concentration camp.
We visited with friends in the parking lot. Not hiding from officials in uniform.
We met with other church friends at a nice restaurant, not worrying about the cost – calories, maybe, but not $.
We shopped for a new phone system without having to fill out permission forms.
While my husband installed the new system I rested on a nice soft sofa with a magazine that was not edited by a corrupt government.
Then we had fun playing cards to wile away the time left before we could enjoy a nice light supper.
Day done, we headed to the shower with hot and cold running water and snuggled up in bed, as is our custom to watch the evening news before turning on a movie to put us to sleep.
End of a very nice day – except – the news brought the world and reality into our bedroom. Refugees wandering in the dessert mountains, fearing for their life. Because they wanted to live according to their conscience, not as dictated by uniformed guards – and I remembered. That little girl on the screen, looking so tired, her little feet hurting and her stomach crying for food was me – me, seventy years ago.
My heart is full of gratitude for all the comforts of life I now enjoy but not a day goes by that I don’t think about all the people who are still living the existence I once knew.
Read “The Chocolate Bar” by Agathe von Kampen