I recently had the experience of engaging with two Victorias. It was not planned – indeed, both ‘acquaintances’ were well and truly out of my hands. One Victoria was large, proud, and presented as stronger than anyone else around. The other was small and meek – it was a blessing to be in her presence.

The big and proud one was described warmly by a number of journalists who enjoyed living within her confines. As someone from New South Wales, this interested me… I had read that Victoria, pre-Covid, was running ahead of the other states in economic development. Apparently, it is back on track and waiting to expand – hoping for lots of immigrants to fill empty jobs. These journalists praised how the city was coming back to life – it was a ‘much better’ cosmopolitan meeting place compared to Sydney…! They were pleased that Victoria had a government that was serious about keeping them safe – not only from Covid, but also from deep ‘intolerance’. They tried convincing readers about their grandiose lives in their even grander state. The journalists ended their articles by moralistically telling those outside of Victoria to keep their opinions to themselves – particularly about their elections.

But I also read other reports about Big Victoria. Those dissenting accounts described a place that was becoming less supportive of humanity – a state with laws that it made it easier to encourage old people to end their lives. A Victoria that shut up its capital city longer than anyone else in the world where they shot citizens with rubber bullets and arrested a mother in her PJs for raising concerns about the lack of transparency during mandated lockdowns. This Victoria made it difficult (and sometimes illegal) for professionals in the fields of community and medical health to raise questions about the parameters set by the government health officers. It is a state that made mistakes because of a ‘creeping assumption’ at the most senior levels of political leadership. This was the state that made it illegal for people to pray for others in doubt about how they express their sexuality – including parents – and where Christians are publicly named as being unfit for public life. Big Victoria complains that it wants gas from other states, while refusing to look for any of its own. And they have made abortion so easy that the death procedures can continue even on babies who survive the initial attempts to take their lives.

This is the big and bold – with bravado – Victoria.

Then we have the small, meek, and truly brave Victoria. I met her in Romania in one of those very old underground café-pubs. I was having lunch with a pastor who, back in the day, was involved in the revolution that brought freedom to that part of Eastern Europe. His particular role was to help Romanians stop hurting each other in their quest for release from authoritarian dictatorship. It worked, and he went on to start thirty local churches to continue his passion to help others of his people.

Then Victoria and her mother came in with the pastor’s daughter (who is studying medicine). Victoria also has a brother, but he was at school. As I listened to Daniela’s story (she was the mother), I was amazed at the courage and perseverance of refugees from Ukraine. Their pain is real as they disclose what their family has been through and is going through. But their life is a shining presence as they make the most of each day in front of them – like it is an unexpected gift to be savoured.

Then I was introduced to Victoria. She is sixteen years of age. She moves around, lying down in an oversize pram. She needs help with most physical functions, and her controlled movement is restricted to her hands (partially), and most of her facial muscles.

But I could hear Victoria’s gargled laugh as those who knew her greeted her and spoke lovingly with her. They were not being artificial – there was genuine affection between the Romanians and these Ukrainian refugees. As Daniela simply explained to me: ‘We were told these people would love us, all of us, and they do.’

So, on one hand there is a Victoria that pretends it is in control of life despite its underbelly of coarseness. Then there is the Victoria who is stricken to laying down for her whole life, who knows she is not in control, but accepts life in its fullness. The Big Victoria believes it is self-contained and can look down on anyone who dares speak into their business. Then there is the Victoria who willingly accepts any who comes into her space to greet her. The Big Victoria ignores the pain and suffering of its members. The crippled Victoria accepts her pain, and the people who enter her life within her pain. The brash Victoria sneers at doubters. The injured girl Victoria carries no guile. The proud Victoria believes there is no equal. The weak Victoria accepts anyone who comes down to her situation.

And then there is the eyes. It is said the eyes are the window to the soul. When I look into the eyes of the those boasting of Big Victoria, I see confounded, conflated, competitive spirits that want to best anyone who comes close. It is an invitation to death.

I had the opportunity to look into small Victoria’s eyes. I was saying goodbye and making some small jokes about my Aussie accent. Victoria laughed, and she smiled in her eyes. In those eyes I saw a glimpse of the heavens. I was looking at glimpses of the depths of Creation. I was looking at life itself.

Then I realised that if small Victoria was born in Big Victoria, she most probably would not have lived. Her parents would have been counselled that the unborn baby would not live long, nor have any quality of life, and it would be best to abort.

Quality of life? Really? Give me small, life-giving Victoria anytime. I will give the other one a miss for the moment.