It could have been us...

I first saw the video below about a year ago, and was struck by it. The concept that a little girl could be living a life so similar to my own little girls, and the realisation that within the course of a year her whole world had been shattered, struck me like a fist to the gut. Sometimes its so easy to remove yourself emotionally from the news reports. To filter. To put distance between us and them.

But that's just the thing.

There is no difference.

Rather, there is one difference.

These children, whose images we have seen strewn across our TV screens... that child, whose lifeless little body will forever be engrained upon my memory, was only really different in one way.

He grew up in a different part of the world to my little three.

He was a little boy who, according to his Father, loved life in all its fullness... loved to play, was exuberant and bubbly... greeted his parents in their bed every morning. His mother was like any mother... a protector, wanting only what was best for her two little boys.

So similar to my own little family. What wouldn't I do to protect these three little ones of mine?

A mother and two little boys; three lives, snuffed out... a small picture of the thousands who have been lost in this crisis already, and yet we, in the West, find it so simple to sit in stunned, unresponsive silence.

This morning I read this story, and was challenged to my core. A familiar story, and yet one that opened my eyes to my own selfishness and sinfulness.

I don't want to be hardened, selfish, and unresponsive anymore...

I want to do something.

There's lots that you can do from the comfort of your own home. Please don't turn a blind eye.

Do something to help.

Anything.

Whatever you decide, don't choose apathy.

#savesyriaschildren.

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