I dont go to church. It was never much for me. When we did go when I was younger I spent half of the time just flipping through the hymnals and the other half trying not to stare at the crucifixion, wherever it inevitably was, on a stained glass window, or heavy and made of wood, front and center. It was an image simultaneously intriguing and terrifying. I wanted to know more about it but the entire story was right there, spelled out in the anguish I felt that I could see on His face and it was always heartbreaking. The nails. The wounds. His crown of thorns...that bleeding halo to remind us in the cruelest way that angels cant live here, but maybe somewhere up above if its not just a written page. No, I dont go to church. It was never much for me... Still though, I set aside time each Sunday for quiet thought, and I dont know that it qualifies as prayer but theres a belief that Im talking to more than just myself and on this day, unfortunately, I feel smaller than Ive ever felt. The ongoing conflict in Gaza, politically speaking, is a subject too far beyond me to expound on. Im not an expert in middle eastern affairs. I know that what I see is tragedy in a thousand ways and theres fingers to point and blame to go around but thats not what I wanted to talk about. I dont know if its that this event struck such a chord in me or if its the culmination of years worth of weeping headlines. Maybe its the sky falling, one unsuspecting flight at a time or maybe its the never ending struggle to keep little girls safe in the night. Maybe its that Im typing this on a $500 iPad and children are starving in my own country. Maybe its the wars, maybe its all those needles in all those lifeless arms still grasping at a broken dream. Maybe its the fever in Africa, or maybe its the fires, or maybe its my mothers double mastectomy... Everything just feels bigger than me. You ask yourself if its your words that will help...or your money...or your prayers...or your time. What can I do to keep so much death and so much pain from finding all of these innocent souls. Is there anything or is even this just the sad manifestation of first world American guilt? Is it a luxury to afford the time for meditations on loss... I dont know. It hurts though. And its hard. I can turn it off for a little while and remember the sunshine and the bright ideas that wait for us on some, as of yet, unseen horizon but in these quiet moments its still there. You look up and the stars you wished on as a kid seem so far away now. And its not a hopelessness...its not despair. I guess if anything its a reminder to touch as many lives as you can while youre here, or, if its not about the number of lives, then the few you do connect with, you have to make it count, because what else is there? Maybe its the answer thats on the other side of that question that scares me the most. Maybe you fight the big fights where you can. Where you must. Some youll start, some youll finish, and others youll find yourself completely lost in the middle of, but through it all...the people that reach out and the people you reach for are all youll ever really have. Thats all I have. Peace.
Posted on: Sun, 27 Jul 2014 12:50:50 +0000
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