Our world is so much bigger than our everyday movements

Our world is so much bigger than our everyday movements

It’s Monday morning, and it has been raining since late Friday night. I mowed the yard to within an inch of its life on Friday, so the rain is welcome, creating a cocoon of existence since it began. The air is cooler, breaking the hottest weather trend I can remember for this time of year.

My outside kitties are huddled in the garage on their Browns blanket, the fuzzy orange and brown creating a warm base for them to lounge on. Spoiled cats.

Yesterday found me in church singing on the praise team. I haven’t sung in church for a long while — by my own choice — and found that it had been so long that newer members to the church didn’t remember I sang at all.

My entire family is made up of singers, and all my sisters sing on praise teams at their respective churches. We don’t sing together enough, but when we do, that sweet harmony is unparalleled when our voices climb the octaves together.

There is something to be said for familial vocal chords finding their respective parts and combining in unison, singing words that clenched the soul who penned them.

When I was asked to take part in this Sunday service and help sing in Spanish, of course I said yes. The Spanish language is a melody, a sonnet to me, and even though my tongue has not perfected it, I was happy to try.

The service was led by church members who were former missionaries to Nicaragua and still work closely with an organization there.

Nicaragua has been in turmoil since spring, and the message was focused on learning about the whys and how we are walking beside them in prayer and must continue to do so. It was moving, and as my lips curved around the syllables of the songs in Spanish, I was glad I had decided to take part.

Our world is so much bigger than our everyday movements. Even though I had been following the Nicaraguan conflict, seeing families recorded and sharing their harrowing stories of fear had me reeling: killings, fear and rampant violence in the streets — told by those who live there — the Nicaragua of now. 

Some of them spoke of not being able to post anything on social media for fear of targeting. Imagine that: Not being able to post on social media for fear you or your family would be targeted, hunted down because of your stance against what the government is doing. 

I believe we should be able to say what we feel — taking a position against something that is wrong — without fear that a government or its head will strike back against us. There should be a leader — always a thoughtful leader — not a ruler that demands respect instead of earning it. A ruler does nothing but demand fealty to cohorts and people that are under a thumb. 

I watch Nicaragua unfold, one tense eye focused on each tiny right taken away, and whisper prayers sent furtively under my breath. I carefully watch my own space, the one where I send cobbled-together dispatches out into the world, and I wonder if there will ever come a time when what I do and say, the words of those I love, will come under scrutiny too.

Is that far off or is it near? My sentences are free and clear until someone decides they aren’t. In a free society our words and leanings are our own — until someone decides they aren’t.

Who gets to decide? I would never change the direction of my convictions because someone demanded me to do so. But then I’m not staring down a squadron of people sent to find me, to instill fear in me. I am free to write what I want until someone decides I can’t.

I watch Nicaragua and know these things are happening now, happening to people that are connected to us through people we know. May the greater world never be so far removed from us that it becomes so distant of a conflict we aren’t bothered by it.

May we never insulate ourselves inside a wall so tight and high we can’t see outside of it, because then it will be too late.

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