This Is Not News

This is not fake news, or real news, or news at all. Just one human heart hunched over a computer keyboard in a cold, dark attic in Cincinnati, Ohio, at 11:38pm.

Aleppo. Haleb. I think to most people it is a tragedy in a faraway land. But I have been there. True, if Emily and Jared had lived somewhere else, my Christmas 2010 would have probably been spent in another country. And true, I was only there a very short time, and I didn't learn the language or the deep intricacies of the culture. But for a short time, I was there. I felt the sun on my face and the stones under my boots and heard the joyous sounds of a thriving metropolis.

Maybe it is because of that, that my heart aches so. Maybe.

And of all the places I have been, Aleppo always sticks in my mind as the most hospitable. The most sacrificial of loving places. And I was only there a week. And yet.

Maybe, because to so many it is just a tragedy happening far away, and maybe it is only breaking my heart into two hands full of smithereens because I still remember walking down those gorgeous streets, maybe I need to have more compassion on those who call on a wall, or those who call for more "vetting," whatever the heck that means. I have friends who have tried to come to America- wonderful, sacrificial loving friends, and they cannot get in. I have friends who have asked me to tell their stories to Obama. Friends who remain thankful and hopeful, friends who laugh and dance, and play with their children in the snow. I could vouch for them.

I could vouch for the mothers who just want their children to get a good education and have a good life.

I could vouch for the fathers who just want their children to eat well and sleep safe.

I could vouch for my sisters who long for adventure.

I could vouch for my brothers who desire justice for their people.

I could vouch for all of them.

I would vouch for every single disillusioned, traumatized human soul who crawls out of a broken state.

But maybe I should have more compassion on those who have no idea who my friends are. They don't know what they're missing out on, after all.

Because the streets of Aleppo are not some far-away sadness, or more military spending. The streets of Aleppo were beauty. The streets of Aleppo welcomed me when I was a foreigner. The streets of Aleppo were full to bursting.

(And my parting word is one too terrible to type.)

Good night.