Behind the Ramparts.

The benefit of pen and paper rests in the fact that it is mostly available at all times. It happens on a regular occasion during the day that I find myself captured by my thoughts, but rarely do I reach for a pen and pad to jot it down.

I probably should start.

Today is Saturday, and it was a great Saturday. John and I took my car to the mechanics and we met up with my parents and little sister for breakfast. Sadly, we are almost never up for the most important meal of the day, and if by some chance we are, the norm is to neglect it due to our fast paced, "I'm running late" schedule.

After breakfast, we went to the bank and then to Barnes and Noble. John immediately snagged a few audio engineering (recording) magazines, and I restlessly browsed about in the fiction section. Book title after book title took me back to many reading assignments from Junior High into High School and even to more recent literature from college. I read a little from Geoffrey Chaucer, TS Elliot, and a few others. It was good to reminisce. I finally settled with a book I'd gotten wind of from a friend and nestled into a creaky chair beside John.

And we read.

We came home and watched a few episodes of Lost (of which I am now addicted to), and then I napped a little while watching a suggested Zombieland. I woke to John playing with my hair, moving it out of my face and whispering that he was ready to grab some late lunch. I smiled and submitted. I wasn't much hungry, but he was very convincing.

It's days like this that form this undeniable battle within me: it's my silver-spoon of a life vs. 2/3 of the world that face the realty of survival at each sunrise.
I read about it and gaze at the pictures oh-so conveniently from my yahoo.news homepage.

Every part of me knows that I am not worthy to live the life that I have. I am a rotten, self-centered person, yet God has given me so much. And I am haunted with the question of "why?" I could have easily been born on the other side of the Ramparts, but I wasn't.

One day, maybe soon... maybe years from now, John and I will take our first step onto the soil that rests outside the walls the American life. And we may never look back. Instead, we will look into the faces of those richer than I have ever seen. We will see into lives filled with pain, hopelessness, false promises, sickness, starvation, abuse, hypocrisy, and lies. The least of these.

And we will sit at their feet and listen and weep. We will walk with them. We will love.

Everyday, I pray this will happen.

Remember.