Our lives have always been uneven.
We have papers to grant us an official birth, country, and legality; our neighbors often do not.
We were born to well-fed mothers; most of them were born into an outrageously high infant mortality rate.
We have a house with concrete walls and strong ceilings; they have a collection of bamboo, wood, tin, old signs, and tarp.
We have water and electricity that runs into our house {most days}; they have one light bulb and a communal well.
We have a house above floodwater; they have mud and rising waters.
We have locking doors; they have diary locks.
We have an amazing machine to throw our dirty clothes into; they wash them by hand each and every day.
We shower in private; they shower publicly.
We drive a motorbike or car or bicycle; they bicycle as a family or walk.
We sleep on a mattress raised above the rats and creatures; they have cardboard or mats resting on the ground.
We throw out the trash; they collect it from us.
I could go on. But it’s an easy point to see and has been since we arrived: it’s uneven.
And yet today, I finally woke to my third alarm at 6:45, which is yet another uneven: the cell phone, the alarm, the fact that I slept past daylight. Stephen rolled over, put his arm around me and kissed the back of my hair. He told me he loved me.
Not only is that a very good way to wake, but it was stark reminder of another uneven. After the night we had last night, I am very aware of what some women are going to sleep with and waking up to.
Instead, I’m waking up next to an uneven Stephen: one of the greatest gifts I’ve been given.
Which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!
Matthew 7:9-11