This week we are proud to have Crystal Thomas (one of our many wonderful Brite artists) write a special blog post to close out our month. It is great timing because it is on our featured cause for this month Project: AK-47.

Brandon and I got married 2 weeks ago. My wonderful husband, his funny cat, and I live in a 635 square foot home. We’ve been in our new little home for 3 days now. The cat is not happy. By not happy I mean scratching-at-the-bedroom-door-crying-for-8-hours not happy, while we’re trying to sleep. Needless to say, neither of us has slept for the last 3 days. When asked what’s wrong we tell people we haven’t slept since we got home from our honeymoon and they give us the “way-to-go” nod and a thumbs up–things you do to newly weds who have a relentless cat, I guess.

I am afraid to say it, but I have made complaining into an art. I call it an art because it’s just whining until you make yourself a hero for it. Somehow, the fact that I am writing this at 4 am with a purring, slightly coy, cat sitting on my lap makes me a martyr–or at least I’d like to think so. And, somehow, amid this deep suffering I’m experiencing (please note my sarcasm), I can’t help but think about the child soldiers in Burma, what they are doing tonight, what’s keeping them awake–not a friendly, attention hungry cat, I’m sure. I think about the little girl, who was taken into one of the Burmese militia groups when she was 4, whose primary purpose in life will be prostitution for the Burmese armies. I wonder what’s keeping her awake tonight.

Suddenly, our little house feels like a palace. I’m not so angry at the cat anymore. And I feel slightly guilty for sipping this awesome, locally roasted [Drew’s Brews: Lost Weekend), French pressed coffee out of a little mug from the clothing chain, Anthropology (of course, I did slip on my Toms because my feet were cold–can you call that charity?). I wonder for a moment. Why was I born into an upper middle class family? Why have I had the world of education at my fingertips since the time I was 3? How do I think that since I lived off of hot dogs for 3 months and sold my car to make my first record that I have done something great and out of the ordinary? And why is it that my greatest ailment at the moment is the friendly cat, which wants to sit on my lap so badly that he whines at the bedroom door for 8 hours? And the inside of my house is warm and dry. And my amazing husband sleeps in the other room. And my coffee is hot. And my tablecloth is pretty. And the cat is friendly. And my kitchen is a color called “Crisp Apple Pie,” and I bought the paint from Lowe’s with money. And last night we went out to our favorite bar with friends. And today I get to work as a baker. And Friday I leave for a short tour and get to work as a musician. And if I want to talk to my mom all I have to do is pick up the phone and type M-O-M into the search bar of my address book. And I conclude that I am silly.

And yet, I also begin thinking about Esther and Mordachai–not that I would ever compare myself to Esther. I mean, lets be honest, the mouse that ran through my kitchen the other day scared most things out of me. I wish I could say I was as brave as Esther, but not so. For those who are not familiar with the story, Esther is an ordinary girl, who is crowned Queen. Unbeknownst to her doting husband, she is of Jewish decent. When the King issues a decree to slay all of the Jews, Esther must face him and confess her heritage. Mordachai comes to her and says, “Esther, perhaps you were made for such a time as this.” And thus, she requests the king spare the lives of her people, despite her own fears that the King will kill her. And he spares them.

Weren’t we all made for such a time as this? Weren’t we all placed, intricately, into the fabric of our time, as little threads weaving in and out of it? And the only answer I can come up with is: yes. Yes, we were. It is a tapestry so large that I couldn’t tell you why I was placed here, but knowing that this is my place and my time is enough. And this leads me to my next question. What can I do for the little girl, who is destined for prostitution in Burma? Surely, that is her time and her place, which is something I could never even pretend to understand. But I, in my time, and in my place, with my paycheck, can help her. I look at my Anthropology mug. I bought it for $8 (and what a bargain. Have you seen the price of their dresses?) Anyway, for the same price I could provide shelter and food for 2 weeks for this little girl. For the price of 2 of these mugs I could sustain her for an entire month in a place where, perhaps, she’d be lucky enough to be awakened by the friendly cat.

And I am blessed. And I will bless. At the end of the day we are all the same kind of human, no matter where we were placed. And those of us who have the means to help should help. Those of us, who have the time to help, should help. We were made for such a time as this.