In just two days, a global event will take place where more than one million people will march together for justice, peace, equality, and hopefully, ultimately, love.

The Women’s March on Washington attracted both men and women in all our diversity, and has now blossomed into 600+ sister marches across the U.S. and, beautifully, across the world. The mission and vision for this march can be found here, complete with a full PDF.

As the march approaches, my heart somehow feels both broken and incredibly strong, simultaneously. Truthfully, this march could have occurred during any year, any day, of our history here on earth. And in some ways, I’m sure it has. Individuals, tribes, communities, villages, organizations, groups, and even countries have encountered and protested injustices since the beginning of time. The battles have been fierce, hard fought, and never-ending. And yet, this march occurs the day after we feel reality set in as we reflect upon the actions of our new so-called leader here in the U.S. And, more importantly, as we gaze upon our own faces in the mirror and reflect on just who we are and what we will stand for.

It is a significant time.

And I choose to march. Not because it will miraculously save the world or protect all of those who are oppressed. Not because it is the ultimate action that is needed.

I march because they march, because many have marched. Countless have worked, and spoke up, and fought, and sacrificed.  I march because there is a ‘we.’  I march because I refuse to let the incredible work of so many less fortunate and less privileged than myself go in vain.

But, to give that more concrete and personal terms, to bring it home so to speak, here’s the real deal:

I march for your daughter. And I march for mine.

Now, when I say “daughter,” I encourage you to hear at least two things. First, make no mistake that I am marching and advocating for females across the world, including my own incredible daughter. This event is titled a women’s march for a reason, and that reason is because women have been, and still are, relentlessly viewed and treated as less than. I march as a woman, for women.

However, the importance of the second meaning of the term “daughter” (as I’d like to use it) is vital for all of us to understand and embrace. It requires you, us, to dig deep and identify the daughter within. A daughter, a baby girl, can evoke a beautiful hope, a tenderness and compassion, that few other experiences can. Her gaze dares us to be authentic and present, to be strong and protective…not because she needs it in the way the world has twisted and warped the word “need,” but because we need it. We need to have a reason to be courageous, a person to unearth our potential, to motivate us to fully embrace who we are with an openness that a daughter brings to us.  Think of an infant girl, that young toddler that you’ve seen or held, perhaps the one you’ve lost, or the one longed for, or who is on the way….look into her eyes. She reflects you, does she not? She offers a mirror and a magnifying glass. She is somehow looking at you in a way that allows you to really see yourself and what you are capable of, both good and bad. You see her and you see you, and that can be both mesmerizing and terrifying.

Our sons can evoke this same response, and I am certainly not suggesting a gender binary here that isn’t helpful or which further contributes to gender bias.  But I would argue that because of our sociocultural conditioning, or perhaps how we were created, or likely a combination of factors, a daughter can symbolically represent something unique and powerful. The ‘daughter’ can represent that part of us that holds the most important truths about who we are as human beings.

That part of us that is strong, and yet viewed or treated as weak.

The part that sometimes stays hidden or masked, because it’s afraid of rejection.

And, indeed, that part often does experience rejection.

That part of us that knows she desperately needs others. She was created to need and be needed by others.

It’s the part that sometimes sacrifices, perhaps even too much, for the sake of others.

The daughter isn’t selfish or narcissistic. She looks and sees the worth of the earth and all that resides in it.

It is the part that tragically gets neglected or abused most often.

It’s the part of us that we are ambivalent about. We question its worth, too.

The part that might have been silenced, or imprisoned, or even killed.

And yet, it is also the part that must live.

The world depends on her crucial, honest, and worthy voice.

We each have a daughter, perhaps only within, but no less real. Many of us have or are in contact with multiple daughters. Half of the world has experienced being a daughter, in a very literal sense, and all of us have encountered one.

And therefore, I, we, will march for them. For us.

I march for anyone and everyone that has ever been treated as less than.

I march for the times when I  have treated others as less than.

I march for those who are marginalized, outcast, and spat upon.

I march against greed, against hate, against the destructive forces aimed to injure or destroy our daughters.

I march for my dear friends who have been sexually assaulted or raped.

For the children who have cried with me, or who have been numbed by their experiences of neglect and abuse.

I march for the children, men, and women who are used as objects.

I march against the idea that one human life is more valuable than another.

I march for those that do not have the ability to speak or to make their voices heard.

I march against the ways in which, even as women, we degrade and judge one another.

I march for those who need our support as they explore their own gender and sexual identities.

I march for the minorities who experience daily threats.

I march for those who have been told that they somehow do not belong…to the human race.

I march because I am prone to these destructive forces.

I march because the God I believe in has been, and continues to be, used to justify violence, prejudice, oppression, and murder. And I protest that.

And yet, I march because I know He created male and female, every human being, in His image.

And this gives worth that cannot ultimately be taken, destroyed, or dismissed.

I march for my own daughter as she continues to receive false but powerful messages about what she must be to earn her worth.

I march for my son who is also objectified and told what he must be to earn his worth.

I march for those whose basic needs are not being met.

I march for the forgotten veterans and elders in our communities.

I march for me, for my mother, for my grandmothers.

I march because I have been used, discredited, ignored, objectified, neglected, and threatened because of my gender.

And yet, I march because I count. And so does she.

So do you.

I march for your daughters, for our daughters.

And I will march for and with my own.

Breaking a tradition, habit, or ritual is always tough, especially those that have been around for our entire lives. So, as one can imagine, going into the Christmas season knowing that there would be absolutely no presents caused some angst and uncertainty for a mother of two. Make no mistake: I was simply thrilled that I didn’t have to wrap up another grueling quarter of grad school only to fight the shopping crowds in the remaining two weeks before Christmas. Nor was it unpleasant to pack the car to visit family in Utah without having to play Tetris with odd-shaped packages while the bows found a new home in my hair. No, I was quite relieved and content. No black Friday shopping, no hour-long searches online. Just December. Just family and friends. Yet, I wondered how the kids would do with no Santa and no presents. I feared they would be sad, whiny, or miserable. I feared that I might be those things too.

It turns out that planning service projects is no easy task. For safety and liability reasons, many places would not allow children to volunteer. Well, that’s not exactly accurate. Many did not allow children to volunteer their time. They were happy to take money or gifts from anyone, including our 8 and 11 year old. However, it was somewhat difficult to find ways to actually give of our time and effort…to actually be with people who needed company and to seek to brighten their day. But, not surprisingly, the church had answers, and we were blessed to be connected with others who had suggestions. It wasn’t long before we had several activities lined up.

We began at a place filled with wise, wonderful people who are often overlooked or dismissed in our country: a retirement center for senior citizens. This was our first act of service, and the kiddos were nervous. Admittedly, so was I. Would people find it odd that we weren’t family or friends, but simply strangers stopping by? Would the kids be too shy? Would they be scared by those with dementia or physical disabilities? And what would we do? What would we talk about? Me, being the planner I am, made sure we arrived with bags full of games to play, books to read, and snacks to share. Things cannot go wrong if we plan well enough, right?!? Our first stop was a room with a couple who were not too interested in anything but a quick hello. Odd stares and nods. The TV was much more interesting than us. Our anxiety increased and my husband and I gave the “oh boy” look to one another. But, the next room was quite a different story. A dear 105-year-old woman greeted us with a big smile. She shared stories of her life: Born in China, was a teacher, moved to the U.S. with her husband, and attended school to further her education. Photos adorned her walls. Family, friends, and trips across the world. She was quite the traveler. She was warm and welcoming and it was a pure joy to watch as Cameron read an Elephant and Piggie book to her. She complimented him on his enunciation (she was a teacher after all) and told Adam and I what a great job we were doing on exposing our children to “people of different ethnicities.” She was simply wonderful. When we returned the following week, we could hardly escape her room without a half-dozen cookies filling our stomachs and hands.

We made other friends at the retirement home as well. We played bingo together, swapped stories, and simply shared our time. Taylor and I will be returning soon to paint nails with the ladies and Cameron will visit his adored friend Dee, who has a wicked sense of humor that he loves. Some friends who know us by sight when we enter, and some who forget us the moment we step away from the room. All beautiful people. It’s always a mix of emotions as we walk out. Sadness, inspiration, despair, love, joy, contentment, and somehow….hope…even in a place where people are in their last stages of life. Hope in relationships, in humanity. The mix of emotions somehow boils down to a simmering love for and appreciation of this thing we call life.

We also had the privilege of being involved with a service project that a couple from our church have been doing for decades. Based in Mexico, there is a tradition called Luminaries in which lighted candles once lead the way to the church on Christmas Eve. This has been expanded over time so that the lights now represent preparing the night for the arrival of the Savior. So, every year, this dear couple hands out over 1,500 fliers to the homes of their neighbors and surrounding blocks. Families have the opportunity to purchase luminares for $1(a votive candle in a simple brown bag with sand in the bottom) to set out on their curbs, porches, or driveways on Christmas Eve. The money paid goes to the buyer’s charity of choice. So, our family helped sort candles and bags, and then helped scoop sand and deliver orders the weekend before Christmas Eve. We also purchased some of our own luminares and put them out at the Elizabeth House on Christmas Eve, a home for women and their children who are seeking to get out of abusive relationships.

It’s a simple idea, nothing explicitly life-changing about the task. Yet, simplicity is what we needed and I cannot fully describe the way in which we were ministered to during this activity. Ernie and Judy invited us into their home and their lives. They fed us, and treated us like family during our times with them. The kids could not get enough. The love and joy that they have fostered in their own lives and through this project was evident as neighbors flocked to their house to pick up orders. We once again found ourselves sharing stories, and feeling fulfilled as we saw the love of God radiating from others. That same love that we sought to give, was being given to us. And the bonus: It came with fun perks for the kids too! Cleaning up leaves and delivering luminaries becomes very exciting when one gets to use a leaf blower and a small electric truck. It reminded me of my times growing up, when being neighbors really meant something and people had time to just be together.

As I look back and reflect on the experience, I realize there was nothing spectacular or particularly amazing about what we did this Christmas season. However, the ease of which we were able to enjoy the holiday was remarkable. It was almost too easy, too good. Not once did we feel saddened or left out by getting rid of the gifts. Not one tear or pout on Christmas morning. Our attention and focus on relationships left us feeling content and satisfied in ways that are really not explainable. Our ability to listen to and really engage with others was heightened. And low and behold, we experienced…joy. We were deeply ministered to, in a way all too mysterious and all too uncommon in our lives right now. I remember asking myself countless times, why haven’t we done this before?

As we helped serve dinner in the park for those without a home, I was reminded that our relationships are not a given. There is nothing specific about being human that ensures we will truly love and cherish one another. I look at some of the people at the park and in the street who are homeless, and I think: I wonder when was the last time they were hugged? Have they been told lately that they mean something? That they are worthy to be cherished? And what about people in positions of great wealth and power? Do they experience grace and forgiveness? Are they appreciated just for being human? As I reflect on our experience and on my life in general, I cannot escape the difficult but necessary reminder that there are many people who are deeply hurting. There are times when we all have been hurt or have inflicted pain on another. Yet, there are also people who are serving and loving one another, despite their circumstances. Bearers of relentless hope and perseverance. And we all have the chance to do just that. In small ways that make a big difference. Not just for the served, but also for those who serve.

On Christmas morning, we woke up and had breakfast as a family. We played games and simply relaxed and praised God for the miracles He provides every day. And not the house or the car or the clothes. Instead, the people. Human beings, with all of their strife, shortcomings, and vices, have wonderful potential for love, connection, and a life worth living. The family and friends in our lives, old and new, young and old, are nothing short of miraculous, undeserved gifts.