Today’s a new day!
“In the end, we’ll all become stories.” Those words, often associated with the power of memory, remind us that every life leaves behind a testimony.
Anne Frank’s diary has endured because it captured history through the eyes of a child. She didn’t write knowing the world would one day read her words. She wrote because she was afraid. She wrote because she hoped. She wrote because putting pen to paper was one of the few freedoms she had left.
Her diary asks every generation a difficult question:
What are the children of our day experiencing?
As I look across America in 2026, I can’t help but wonder…
How many children are quietly keeping journals they never intended anyone else to read?
How many are writing about watching a parent disappear after an immigration raid?
How many are describing the fear of hearing a knock at the door?
How many are documenting life spent wondering whether tomorrow will bring another goodbye?
How many families are being torn apart simply because they were born in another country?
These questions are not about comparing one tragedy to another. Every chapter of history has its own unique pain. Instead, they ask us whether we are paying attention to the people living through history right now.
One day, today’s children will grow up.
Some of them may publish memoirs.
Some may never share their stories.
Others may leave behind journals tucked away in closets, attics, or family boxes, discovered years after they’re gone.
What will those pages say about us?
Will they describe neighbors who chose compassion over fear?
Will they remember churches that opened their doors instead of closing their hearts?
Will they write about strangers who offered food, shelter, friendship, and dignity?
Or will they wonder why so many people looked away?
History has an unsettling habit of asking questions that cannot be answered once the moment has passed.
Future generations won’t simply read government policies or political speeches. They’ll read the stories of ordinary people. They’ll hear the voices of children who lived through these days. They’ll ask what the adults around them did when families were hurting.
As followers of Jesus, our calling has never depended on a person’s nationality, language, immigration status, or background.
Jesus consistently moved toward those on the margins.
He welcomed the stranger.
He cared for the vulnerable.
He challenged His followers to love their neighbors—not just the ones who looked like them or believed the same things.
Loving our neighbor doesn’t require us to agree on every political solution. Nations have laws, and citizens can honestly disagree about how those laws should be shaped and enforced.
But compassion should never become a casualty of politics.
A child is still a child.
A frightened family is still a frightened family.
A person created in the image of God is still a person created in the image of God.
Perhaps the question isn’t how many Anne Franks are hiding across America.
Perhaps the better question is this:
Will today’s children remember that someone saw them?
Will they remember someone who chose kindness over indifference?
Will they remember someone who reflected the love of Christ when they needed it most?
Because one day, the diaries of 2026 may be opened.
And when they are, may they tell stories not only of fear, but also of courage.
Not only of uncertainty, but also of hope.
Not only of suffering, but of people who refused to let compassion disappear.
History is being written today.
So is our legacy. ~OC
