The world is on fire. Yesterday I read about the Taliban taking over Kabul. Last week I read about mobs calling for Muslim blood in Delhi. I wonder if Sheikh Jarrah was in the news last month or the month before. Covid has made time wobbly like jelly. The clock does not make sense and the headlines make me anxious.

I am scared; there is no way to fix our world. I am angry; we do as much as we can but it is no longer enough. I am disappointed; we could have saved the world but didn’t.

And yet, I find glimmers of hope amidst the despair. I tell myself that maybe everything will be okay. We’ll keep pushing to save our world from apathy, ignorance, and hatred. We’ll clean up the ruins left behind with soft hands and softer hearts. We’ll wipe the tears of those rescued from the rubble with sooty palms. We’ll pull up more chairs so they can take their rightful place at the table. We’ll do as much as we can and hope that it is enough.

Hope. Because I believe in the future. Because yesterday the dog I’ve been feeding every night followed me home. Today he licked my hand. Maybe tomorrow he’ll let me pet him.