I watched a video shared by a friend about Christmas during the First World War. Boys with eyes like ping pong balls timidly climbed ladders out of the trenches on a frozen stretch along the frontline. Taking their lives in their trembling hands, they stepped onto the tundra between two warring nations... Germany and the United States. What they found there were young men much like themselves, far from home, and missing family so much it hurt. They traded chocolates, kicked a soccer ball, and shared the photographs that kept their hearts from breaking. 

 

I was moved to witness the deep divide, and the faltering attempts to cross it. Both adversaries had a stockpile of reasons to stay apart, and yet something planted deep in their souls was throbbing for a chance to heal. The story from 1914 has been chronicled in books, and lyrics, and short films. All of them make me weep. By contrast I notice that tales of continued cruelty, some of them quite recent, are less likely to be illustrated and sung about for a hundred years. 

 

When I see the bravery of these men who are bone weary of war, it reminds me that animosity is a heavy burden, even if I only carry it in sharp words and sneers. But if we look for it, there is a light that beckons us to leave our weapons behind.