The privilege is not lost on me

& other questions I still have

The privilege is not lost on me
Merely for the lightness of my skin; The ease of my passport; The accessibility of my language; The gift of a family, whole
The me, a minority in this foreign land
	A minority here that is but wished upon rather than judgmentally whispered about

It's not lost on the me who has seen where privilege is so lacking
Where tired feet walk
And poverty encompasses
	The ones whose governments, circumstances, or philosophies show their hand of unreliability
Proving their darkened, hopeless thoughts—
‘You see? No one to count on but yourself. Find your own way.’ 

This is not all there is! my heart longs to scream
There is more than this hopelessness you too often feel
More than empty plates, empty hopes, empty religions
	Or the magnitude of emotions felt down somewhere deep, from hurts and brokenness imposed by circumstances of no fault of their own

But all they see are my rosy, white cheeks resting easy atop plush pillows
A life so different from their own
'She doesn't understand,' they surely must think
	And they're right
How could I?

But then enters a different privilege
The gift from a perfect Savior being ripped open wide by a world rebelled against him
The most selfless of acts enabling a separated people to be intertwined in a messy but beautiful togetherness
	A diverse unity
Under the only One who can bring such disparate worlds to the same table

Will anyone listen to this truth I have that's burning in every fiber of my bones? 
	Or will my otherness be yet another barrier to what I know to be the only answer for all tiers on humanity’s deluded hierarchy
For every division was shattered at the Name above all names

He who chose to feel hunger, to often have no home over his head, to be persecuted by those misled religions, to desperately plead for the Father to take away his pain
Yet still he chose obedience and unconditional love all the same
The highest of us all climbing down the ladder and becoming like us
That we might become like him

So, how will I use all of my privilege? 
	The temporary, infuriating ones simply from the color of my own skin and country of origin, but moreso
	The forever one from the very Creator who made every color in his image, dying for us all so that we might believe and live
Will it be wasted on things too simple—
	Myself?
	My comfort?
	My own desires?

Or will it be given toward what will eternally never run out…
On my fellow finite man
On sharing this very hope of what we are all offered yet so few of us have the privilege of truly knowing
	Good news for all people—rosy white cheeks and beaming brown ones alike
On what is worth giving away to gain what can never be earned 

May my life fight against the natural turrets of man’s separateness from one another 
From the commonplace, accepted, and even applauded self-love
Until more hear, more see, more breathe in
The Life that privileges all who taste and see his very goodness
	Into eternity
And also into his arms, now

For them, for me
For us