But here are two.
We can’t look at one of our children without understanding that assertion about the precious individual. Whoever that infant might become, nearly all of us cannot look at her or him and not feel some hint of recognition of preciousness, of possibility, of hope.
And, there is, within my experience, no way to avoid the fact we are all related, every blessed one of us, made of the same stuff, blood of each others blood, woven out of each other. And, in fact, how can we not sense how this is an even deeper assertion than a claim of common human family, as justifiable as that image can be. It is even more radical a statement, one that should haunt our dreams. We’re all related, every thing in this cosmos.