So I went to a march last Sunday. A peaceful protest. A communal sign of support. Let’s just call it a love walk; I’m running out of synonyms.
It was at our local Islamic Community Center, a mosque with golden spires that, at the onset, appears out of place in that little residential community. But dig in deeper, enter the doors, admire the vibrant colors of the hijabs and the dogmatic supplications of their 1:00PM prayers, and you realize that you’re just itching to pull up a mat beside them. At least I was.
We lined the streets, colorful signs swinging through the air they weren’t political they were purely loving. Yes, we were protesting the travel ban, but, more than that, we were demonstrating solidarity, surrounding the mosque, and the beautiful people inside, wrapping them in a blanket of love in the hopes that their prayers would bring them…
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