With my kids.
Not to pay a smuggler $4500 to launch us out in 5-foot waves on a rubber raft.
Not to gather the body of my son, washed ashore.
Just to play.
And afterward, we came home.
To our house, where every one of us has a bed to sleep in, clothes to wear, and (too much) food to eat.
And when the babies were napping peacefully (without ragged breaths of fear that someone might kill us for whatever they imagine we're doing wrong) I clicked mindlessly onto the internet.
And people were arguing about how many refugees we can take because there isn't enough room. And people were putting up walls in hearts and ballot boxes with the lie that there aren't enough jobs to share.
And I don't have any magic solutions but I'm looking around my house in the heart of the true north and I think what are we strong and free for, if not to welcome the oppressed?
What's the good of an extra bed, if it never welcomes someone in need? Why not share these extra calories with someone who needs them? Could we stretch our budgets in a different direction - to say Refugees Welcome instead of Merry Christmas this year?
I know I'm not the only one who cried in front of the computer screen today. I'm willing to bet that a lot of guest rooms would be made ready in a heartbeat if the government waived some red tape and asked Canadians to step up to the crisis.
There is room in this inn. Refugees Welcome.