As we learn how to tell our story with God, our voice becomes our superpower and points people to Jesus. It’s not just about knowing our story; it’s about telling it with the voice we have been given.

There is a reason that Jesus instructs his followers, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). Once we become adults, our ability to embrace change and to open ourselves to new ways of thinking and living diminishes. But children have an inherent openness and malleability; with the exposure to the right kind of books, a child can be formed in ways that will last into adulthood.

As those who follow Christ, we believe in a God who provided daily bread in the wilderness (Exodus 16); a God who multiplied bread for thousands of people (Matthew 14:13-21), and a God who ultimately became bread to satisfy our deepest hunger (John 6:22-59). We can imagine it grieves God that anyone should be hungry; it should lead us to lament too. How do we wrestle with the weight of these realities and love our neighbors as ourselves (Matthew 22:34-40)? 

I’ve learned that change rarely comes through arguments. My parents aren’t moved by stats. But stories, especially ones that echo their own, sometimes open something up. When I connect their immigrant struggles to those of others today, it sometimes softens them. Not always. But sometimes. What helps most is grounding our conversations in the life of Jesus—his humility, compassion, and refusal to chase power. When we remove Trump from the picture and just look at Jesus, the contrast is jarring. In the best way.