Juxtaposed Childhoods

My sister and I have been typing my father's small, handwritten script from the first notebook of his autobiography.  This morning, I typed 5 pages from his childhood about sledding.  The details of his memory are astounding...how could he remember so much about whizzing down hills, racing with his 5 older brothers, missing the dinner bell, and crashing into trees in the dark? The stories are filled with the joys of childhood in the 1930's.  It is commendable that his parents, who I know struggled to feed them, were able to shield their children from the stressors of the Great Depression. 

And then I listened to an interview with a father in Gaza.  This father has tried to shield his children, too--telling them the bombs are only fireworks or thunder.  But at the tender ages of 2 and 5, they no longer believe him.  Migrating from town to town to escape the destruction, he is now at the southern most point in Gaza, and he fears for their memories.  After such violence, violence can only become embedded.  He said he will leave when it's all over.  He will cross the border into Egypt, like that other Holy Family did 2000 years ago, to better protect his children from harm.

We are all so much the same, and we always have been.  United in our universal longings, we all long to protect our children from harm in a place where they can grow up with happy memories of sledding, or tree climbing, or kite flying...

Creator of Everything, protect all of your Holy Families in this holy season, wherever they may be.