This past weekend, as the world watched the inhumanity of man play out in the Ukraine, I was hosting a slumber party to celebrate my daughter’s 9th birthday. With four lovely little ladies in my care, I was the hostess and witness to the amazing capacity for compassion from these future women.
There were lots of running around in and out of the house. And then I heard the kind of screams from the girls that indicated that there was something to scream about outside. They came running in to report that there was a headless gutted bird in my side yard.
I issued my husband outside with a snow shovel to dispatch with the deceased mourning dove into the woods off of our retainer wall. And I thought that would be the end of it save maybe a future nightmare.
The next morning, the girls were busy with paper and markers and informed me they were going to hold a memorial service for the bird. There was a cardboard gravestone, a breadcrumb ring, a bubble machine, letters of condolence, and a bubble machine issuing bubbles as Fiona played Amazing Grace on her ipad.
Their solemnity and compassion was astounding. Five 9-year-old girls showed me their beautiful souls that morning. And I was grateful to witness their ceremony to the unknown bird. And to the beauty of their own lives on our earth.
If women ruled the world, the healing would be happening already.
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