There once was an elaborately beautiful garden. Aromas wafted and flirted with the air as sweet smells of blooming honeysuckle, lavender, bluebells and chrysanthemums rose to the clouds. The sunshine warmed the flowers to their cores, kissing the brilliantly colored petals with whispers of “I love you’s.” Each plant inched its way to the sky, side by side with the others it was surrounded by. Every color, tint, shade and patterned variation brought completion and magnificence to the well-adorned bed of flowers. The morning mist was a pane of dewey glass that caught the sun rays at just the correct angles to cast the most remarkably illustrious compilations of pigment and projecting a near-holographic rainbow across the entirety of the garden. All was well, all was in harmony. The honeysuckles chuckled at the lavender's laughs, with the bluebells belting out in songs unrecorded, and the chrysanthemums crying tears of joy at the sights and sounds and glory of it all.

Then, one day, after a horrid and destructive storm, where only the honeysuckles were left intact, a noticeable difference occurred in the disposition of the garden. The bluebells drooped unusually low, their weakened petals making contact with the soil of the earth, dirtying their skirts. The lavender leaves and blossoms had browned from the lightning that had scorched and electrocuted almost all the life out of them. The chrysanthemums were terribly maimed, barely recognizable. Every inch of these flowers were crippled, slaves to mistreatment and destruction. Even though all of this had happened, the lavender still managed to giggle at the bluebells squeaky and raspy voices attempting to sing with the chrysanthemums mustering up tiny grins, squeezing out the last bits of joy they had.

The other flowers had taken note of the way in which the honeysuckle had separated themselves, no longer associating with the rest of the garden. It had seemed as though the once-harmonious and interactive plot of land was now nothing more than a subtle tyranny. The honeysuckles began to discriminate against their fellow flowers. They called the bluebells astonishingly hurtful names, they cut what was left of the somewhat-living lavender, and worst of all, they used the beautiful rays of the sun, once known to protect and warm, against the chrysanthemums, slowly burning them out, one after another, until the chrysanthemums were afraid to open up whatever they had left with each morning. There seemed no apparent grounds or rationale for the injustice within the garden, and although the damaged flowers tried to reason with the honeysuckles, there was no use. These flowers just continued to strip away the life and beauty of the entirety of the garden, deeming themselves privileged and favored because they had not been broken during the great storm.

The days were cloudy, and the sunshine only came out only to destroy the chrysanthemums. The bluebells and lavender were continually droopy and depressed, still singing, but now sorrowfully. When will this injustice end? they hummed. When will the honeysuckle cease this ludicrous infliction of pain and death? When will they realize that our differences solely point to aesthetic beauty and luminosity, that they delineate diversity and wholeness? Will we ever be safe? Is there anything that can be done - anything at all? How will these ruins be brought to vibrancy, vivacity and togetherness again? Is there no resolve? Tears rolled down the flowers’ petals as melancholy set in permanently.

I understand that this story is fictitious. I know that people are not flowers, and we are not rooted in a fairy tale garden. However, I am not wrong in the fact that we were all once created for beauty and harmony. Division, discrimination, ignorance and, yes, even racism have poisoned the air in our lungs and have robbed us of life and abundance. Comparison has us locked away behind the bars of our hearts, imprisoned to bigotry and privilege. We all struggle with desiring to be the best, the smartest, the most successful, the most lovely. What good does it do? Where will that get us?

I want to encourage myself and you, the reader, to decide how we will bring the ruins to life again. Where will we find refuge? When will justice and peace preside over prestige and domination?

I’d say don’t put the differences aside. Don’t squash heritage and culture. Don’t try to change people. Instead, I’d invite us to celebrate differences! Embrace others with open arms, and appreciate the beauty and splendor each race, each ethnicity, each human brings to this life. Open your mind, open your heart, open your hands. Offer love and comfort to those who are severely hurting, be sensitive toward, include, encourage, delight in those you are planted next to. Then, allow room and love for others to grow and blossom into who they were created to be. All lives matter. It’s time we started not only acknowledging that by hash-tagging it, but actually believing it and living it out. Sing, chuckle, laugh, cry tears of joy - pray. Pray for our country, for our black, hispanic, asian, indian, middle-eastern, and all the rest of our beloved brothers and sisters. Pray for protection and harmony and love. The Creator does not discriminate, but adores and is enchanted by all of his creation.

It’s about time we do the same.