I have no idea

what it means to be a Christian.

I wake up in quiet, make a cup of tea, check email or facebook, pet my dog, make breakfast...

I don't worry about where my next meal comes from, in fact, it's already in the fridge.

I take for granted simple pleasures of saying a peace-filled goodnight to Mr. Darcy as he lounges next to my bed. In the light of morning I go out to the barn and ride my beautiful young horse. I drive a fancy new truck. I have a closet full of clothes, most of which I rarely wear.

I have no idea what it's like to fear for my life because of my faith. I have no idea what it's like to run in terror, to be a refugee, to be an outcast. I have no idea what it's like to lose absolutely everything because of who I am ethnically or religiously.

I know this is an age-old-problem for believers -- this question of why did God put me here and not there?

And I have no answers, except gratitude, which sometimes feels fake and not enough.

Lord, come quickly. And in the meantime, give me strength and laser-straight focus to pray for my brothers and sisters in persecution, while I'm surrounded and distracted by affluence and comfort.