In the 2012 elections, candidates for federal office spent an estimated $7 billion. If we took that money and gave it to the charity Compassion International, they could sponsor almost the entire under-18 population of Liberia for eighteen years. What we spent on what to most of us is little more than a distraction and a hobby could have provided life changing assistance to a generation of an entire country. And we could do that every fourth year. If we cared.
"He's not dead," I thought to myself, "He's just asleep." He looked asleep. His body lying there limply, face down, arms straight down his side. I've seen that posture every day for years. He had that "lumpy" toddler look with his oversize head and buttocks that always seem to project straight into the sky, like two peaks in a mountain range of cuteness. I looked at his tiny shoes and thought of the thousands of times I'd wrestled shoes just like that onto feet that just weren't ready for them. I looked at him and thought of my own toddler lying asleep, likely in the exact same position, upstairs. But, he wasn't asleep. Aylan Kurdi was dead. His body was lying facedown on a beach in Turkey, his face half covered in water. His father had secured passage with some smugglers the night before to get to Greece. The family was fleeing their home in war-torn Syria and facing the harsh reality that no one wanted them. During the trip, the waves had become too big for the overcrowded boat. The smugglers jumped overboard and the boat capsized. Aylan, his mother, and his 4 year-old brother drowned. I can't imagine what the loss of even one child does to a father. I would imagine it would unravel my entire world, but to lose your entire family in the cold sea . . .the weight of your wet clothes dragging you down as you frantically grasp for your children . . . I don't want to imagine that.
I'm typing this sitting in my new house. We didn't need a new house. The old house would have served us fine for the rest of our lives, but we wanted more space. Abdullah Kurdi wanted a home where his family wouldn't be bombed. Our house had older carpets, so we are ripping them out and replacing them with hardwood. Oh, how I've patted myself on the back for that. My kids won't have to play on cloth that smells like dogs. I've saved thousands by doing the work myself, and been blessed by the help of dozens of friends. Abdullah Kurdi fled his home to find safety in a land that didn't want him and failed. What pride has he left? If I cared, I'd rip those carpets from my home and sell them for whatever money I could find. My children would eat oatmeal for three meals a day and gratefully play on plywood floors so that a child in Syria could breathe and his father could have the same pride in his family which I have. If I cared.
This morning my family will go to church. We will sit in a multi-million dollar facility and wave our hands in the air as a band plays and words are projected onto the wall from high-definition projectors. We've patted ourselves on the back for that too. We've created a wonderful place for people to experience God's Kingdom. Yet, no one created a space for Aylan Kurdi to have oxygen. When I was a kid I went to churches made of cinder block with concrete benches. The metal roofs turned the buildings into ovens in the 100 degree heat, and a seat inside was considered a luxury. People sat in the aisles and crowded every door and window for hours to hear words sometimes not even spoken in their language. If we cared, we would strip our houses of worship of all the trappings of wealth and sell them to ensure no child ever struggles to find safety again. We would throw ourselves on the ground and beg the forgiveness of the Almighty for our selfishness. We would hold million-dollar fundraisers for others and lament with tears when we had to keep even the smallest amount to fix the holes in the roof of our own sanctuary. If we cared.
I suppose it's all just emotion. Thousands have died fleeing the conflict in the Middle East. Fleeing an organization which, I pray to God, is the worst I will see in my lifetime. Thousands have died fleeing, that doesn't include those who never had the chance. Why do I care now? Because I saw a picture of a child who looks like mine and met death in a place I'd go for vacation? I suppose. This one thing I know, the only difference between me and Abdullah Kurdi is fortune. I was born here, and he was born there. I lead my family with pride and his world has been destroyed. I look at the body of his son and weep tears of anguish and guilt and gratitude and know I should have done so much more for him. If I cared.
