Despite the vast destruction our illusory hungers inflict, the trees still call to us—the flowers, grasses, forests, rivers, oceans, deserts, even the green leafy vine hanging from the ceiling over my desk as I write: our precious Earth. Call it love if you will, this constant invitation to release our destructive patterns and find nourishment in our sacred bonds with one another and with all creatures.

What if we, like the first followers of Jesus, decided today to live as if all beings mattered? What if we, too, set about the task of creating multitudes of small communities where we sheltered immigrants and the unhoused, in our spare bedrooms and empty church buildings?

Growing up, my dad remained silent about what happened to him, unless I asked questions. I don’t think he was able to fully accept what his own government had done to him and his community during WWII. As a sansei, or third generation Japanese American, I feel compelled to be his voice now and speak out against racial injustice and hatred.