A Person is a Person

Dear Alexis,

At the end of Horton Hears A Who, Seuss writes,

     “This,” cried the mayor, “is your town’s darkest hour! The time for all Whos who have blood        that is red to come to the aid of their country!” he said. “We’ve GOT to make noises in greater amounts! So, open your mouth, lad! For every voice counts!” Thus he spoke as he climbed. When they got to the top, the lad cleared his throat and he shouted out, “Yopp!”
And that Yopp... That one small extra Yopp put it over! Finally, at last! From that speck on that clover their voices were heard! They rang out clear and clean. And the elephant smiled. “Do you see what I mean?... They’ve proved they ARE persons, no matter how small. And their whole world was saved by the Smallest of ALL!” “How true! Yes, how true,” said the big kangaroo. “And, from now on, you know what I’m planning to do?... From now on, I’m going to protect them with you.”

Six.
It seems somewhat insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
Six, to me, is the biggest number ever, because that’s your age.
At 6, you are at school full time.
You definitely know your likes and dislikes.
You prefer being a ninja over a fairy.
You prefer green over pink.
Chai lattes over baby chinos.
Yoghurt frogs are life.
You love craft. All the time.
You don't like photos. 
You don't like peas. 
Depending on the day you like avocado. 
You can swim a 13-metre pool.
You’ve just gone up a level at gymnastics, and I’m not exactly sure why. I’ve seen how you listen in those classes.

Alexis, there is a saying “though she is but small, she is fierce”.
It explains you perfectly.
Small, but incredibly fierce.
Your breakdowns come on all of a sudden and without warning. They are all consuming. But at the same time, so is your love.
"Mummy" you call out, "I love you"
Sometimes you forget your manners, but mostly you use them.
You are forever trying to scare me.
You desperately love your cousins and friends.
You love school.
And your friends love you.

Though you are little, you are fierce.

This time last year, I was in India. I haven’t spoken to you much about India, but it was my dream to go there and to partner with people who were working with the poor. I don’t know why or what triggered it, but from about 16 I just knew I needed to get there.
So off Dimity and I went went on our three-week adventure.
​I was leaving you here, for the longest time I had ever been away from you.

As I stepped off the plane, I remember thinking I should have left my pink bomber jacket at home.
India is as overwhelming as Tasmania is underwhelming.

Driving through Delhi on the first night, I remember seeing children, younger than you are, walking the streets, laying on the side of the road fast asleep. I thought back to you, my baby, safely tucked away, fingers in mouth, Tedda clutched tight, sleeping peacefully. The next day you would wake up, your only concern being what to wear - and not even that would worry you. Your every need would be met, your options would be endless. You’d be offered your chai in the local café, where they know your name, on the way to church. Yet, only a twelve-hour plan ride away, there were little girls who are not only scared of the night but are fearful of the daylight too.

My western ways didn’t leave me, despite me leaving my western comforts.
My heart broke on out first day of touring, while little girls tried to slip bracelets onto my wrists, selling them to me. The mum in me wanted to wrap them up, get down on their level and look at them, tell them their worth, cry over them, worry about them, cook them food, offer them warmth, let them belong and exist in safety. As they tried to sell me bracelets, I hurt. There was nothing I could offer them which would change their future. I could offer them nothing, not even hope.

I walked away, my heart needed to get away.
A little of the hope that I had in humanity was ripped away, shredded, destroyed.

The first half of the trip made me desperately miss you. I missed your smell and slow deep breaths at night when you relaxed into my bed.
We toured and explored a beautiful country with amazing sights, but none compared to you.
I knew I would miss you, but I didn’t know how much my heart could ache from missing you. I didn’t know that my love for you could make me physically ill. It was a new feeling, one I hadn’t known, one I don’t wish to know again.

The second half of the trip, we flew into Kolkata. Busy and humid beyond belief. This was the place where the work would start. Each day we teamed up with Vision Rescue to go into the slums, to witness the everyday difference that locals were making to the lives of the poor. We heard stories of young brides, babies who had their own babies. With a new brokenness in my heart, I thought, “Why her? Why me? Why did Alexis get her life, yet, these children are here? How is this possible? Why was one chosen to have it so easy and the other so hard?”
I questioned God, “God, why are these babies allowed to endure this? Why wouldn’t you stop it?”
I wanted a clear answer. I wanted a reason. I wanted peace. I wanted to understand. This couldn’t all be in vain.
Where was the person who worried for these children’s safety? Whose heart ached with pain for missing them, just as mine did for you?
I questioned my faith. How could a big God let little babies suffer?

I didn’t understand.

Alexis, I needed India.
I needed India a lot more than India needed me.
I was just another westerner, another white girl, who would go to help for 10 days and come back home.
I didn’t really make an impact.
The sad truth is that the babies that let me cuddle them are still in the same slums. The girl, who painted my nails with her only nail polish, is still living under a bridge. The boys, whose dad tried  to sell them, are still in the boys’ home. 
They changed my heart, but maybe they’ve forgotten about my visit a year ago. And rightly so.

India broke my heart, but I hope that it gave me a voice.
Alexis - you are little, but don’t act small. I’ve seen your heart and it doesn’t match your age.
You have the capacity to create change.

Tonight, there are children in detention centres who want, who need, who deserve safety. They came to our shores in search of it. Children who are so sad they want to die. Children who hurt themselves because they are so sad. Children. Little children like you.
I can’t go and help these children. Not physically. I can’t take them all home. I can’t help them all, but I can sign petitions. I can’t rescue them, but I can email my local MP.

We sponsor a child. We don’t do this to feel good about ourselves, but to be a positive force for change. We can’t do everything. There are little girls we can’t help, but there are also some we can.
We can do something. We can help our little Filli, her family and her community by giving a bit each month. We sponsor a child, so that you understand that your role is to contribute back to society, so you understand that there are people with a lot less. People who need your help.
We sponsor a child, so that you understand that you can cause change.

You have a voice. Use your voice.
Yes, there is so much sadness, but you can use your voice for good. It’s overwhelming, everything is overwhelming, but you have an opportunity to be someone who creates change.

Are you going to change the world? I doubt it. But can you make a difference? Yes, without any doubt at all.

Alexis, maybe God allows the sadness so that people can step up, so that people can do good. Maybe he has given us a purpose.

Lex, please know this, indifference is tolerance. Tolerance is agreement.
If you don’t change it, you agree with it.
If you stay silent about an issue, you’re allowing the issue to exist, which means you’re in agreement with it. No, you can’t stand for everything, but you can stand for something.

My favourite song, Flags, says this:

“Who's at fault,
Is not important,
Good intentions lie dormant,
And we're all to blame.

While apathy acts like an ally,
My enemy and I,
Are one and the same.”

This isn’t an issue of good versus bad, the issue is passion versus indifference.
Passion always wins, indifference always loses.
There are more indifferent people in the world than there are passionate people. The passionate people act on what they want to see happen, and that makes all the difference.

Passion may not always be for good.
But it still stands stronger than apathy.

You have a choice - passion or indifference.
There are more apathetic people than there are bad people. Bad people don’t rule the world, apathetic people do. 
Bad people aren’t winning - apathy is winning.

What’s your choice?

Maybe Dr. Seuss got it right in Horton Hears a Who, when he said, “a person is a person, no matter how small.”
Maybe though, just maybe, this has a double meaning.

We all breath the same, Alexis. We all eat the same. Cry the same. Smile the same. We all need our basic needs met. We all need love, acceptance, safety. There is more that joins us than separates us. 
You see, Lexi, the smallest, the most vulnerable, the poor, the poorer than poor, all they need is someone to stand up for them. They need someone to back them. They are people, no matter the smallness of their status, age, money, or situation.

However, it also means that your voice counts, no matter how small you are.
There is more power in a child’s voice than an adult’s. A child who speaks out and supports, is far greater than an adult who does the same thing.

I have a choice.
You have a choice.
Let’s choose to have a voice.
Let’s choose passion.

It’s our darkest hour.

Light is brighter when it’s darkest. In the dead of night, a light is seen at its fullest capacity.

It’s your time. It’s your time to shine brighter.
My time to shine brighter.
Our time to shine brighter.
It’s our time to live with purpose.

People are starting to rise up, but it takes everyone. After all, “their whole world was saved by the Smallest of All.” 
You are one of the everyone. 

I hope I can raise you to love, to have passion, and to care for others in a way you didn’t know was possible.

I love you, 

​Love me x