Sunday (non) Sense 7-27-14 Vol. 2.28 Let There Be Peace On Earth And Let It Begin With Me I am grappling this week with mixed emotions and finding it difficult to maintain a balance. Hope, helplessness, gratitude and despair are juxtaposed one onto the other and I struggle to sort them out and harmonize. On Friday I experienced the closest thing to a perfect day. Work was smooth. I spent time with friends during the afternoon. An early evening supper on my parents’ deck with both of my folks, my siblings and their families was prelude to the rest of a picture perfect Friday night. I sat at Temple with friends as we soaked up the outdoor service under a partly cloudy sky feeling the cool breeze of a glorious summer evening. The sun peeked through as a thousand voices joined in chorus and we prayed for peace. I came home and took the dogs for a long and thought-filled stroll. I was struck by the fact that at that very moment my biggest challenge was keeping the cord from my ear buds from tangling with the dogs’ leashes. Life is good. I was moved by the periodic glow of the lightning bugs, each shock of light startling my puppy so he’d jump and squeak in delight at the show the world was putting on just for him. As we walked my mind drifted back to the image of a little girl, about three years old dancing to the music at Temple. She was so free. She was so filled with joy. She was in that instant purely happy. It was impossible, though, for me not to think about the turmoil and tragedy across the globe. As that little girl was dancing freely another little girl was hunkered down in a bomb shelter. As lightning bugs twinkled along my path rockets blasted and lit up the sky in the Middle East. As mourners here say quiet prayers and bid those they’ve lost a dignified, love-filled and sometimes glorious farewell, hundreds in the Netherlands wait for just a tiny piece of closure while remnants of their loved ones’ final moments are desecrated and torn apart. I felt worlds colliding on Friday night as a young couple was blessed and their impending marriage was celebrated and praised. At the same time in front of the temple there was an ambulance. Nobody was injured. There was no emergency—at least not there in West Bloomfield, Michigan. When I walked from my car to the front of the building I saw red lights flashing and was worried for a moment. My immediate concern though dissipated when I realized that this ambulance was not there to treat a wounded body. This ambulance was headed to Middle East, a gift from an area benefactor to Mogen David Adom, Israels national emergency medical, and disaster relief organization (sort of EMS, FEMA and Red Cross rolled into one). It was a symbol of my internal conflict. It’s like when we hear of a car accident in the vicinity of one of our loved ones. We are instantly relieved to find that the person close to us is safe. However at the same moment that person’s safety means another’s life is in peril. Here I was exhaling at the realization that in my little community that night all was well and we were united in song and prayer, wrapping our arms around one another as we looked to heavens and let the tiniest beam of the sun reach downward and share its warmth. In seeing this vehicle of physical healing, though, I was reminded that I can not turn a blind eye to those who are holding their breath waiting for the calm. Perhaps the acknowledgement of and prayers for those who are not feeling as blessed is a reminder to feel grateful. Children from “south of the border” are not dancing gleefully and without a care in the world. Instead they are sent into the darkness like a Joseph Conrad novel, not knowing where they are headed. Their parents are so filled with worry that they send them into the night believing that whatever awaits them is far better than what they’ve left behind. These children, unlike that beautiful little girl at temple, arrive in a land that is equally filled with welcome and disdain. They are pitied, they are loved, they are abhorred. As I peek in on my children this morning, blissfully dreaming of the camping trip from which they just returned I am grateful for their safety, their peace and their health. Their nighttime meanderings are filled with notions of cliff diving at the Georgian Bay, eating all-dressed chips that they can only get in Canada and the feeling of safety and joy as they snuggle with their doggies who they haven’t seen in days. Their dreams will not be disrupted by air-raid sirens or the sounds of explosives in the not-so-far-off distance. They are not growing up with a list of school supplies that includes a gas mask and a map to the nearest bomb shelter. My family, like all, is no stranger to tragedy and loss. However we are also thankfully well acquainted with joy and love. I choose to pray each day and say thank you for continued safety and health and peace. That prayer though is not exclusively for my family and friends, the circle that makes up my every day. My prayers are for our global family. That includes all people of all colors and religions. My prayers are for peace and safety for the children in every country. My prayers are for comfort for the mothers and the fathers of those babies with an earnest wish that they too rest at night knowing that their children’s dreams will be filled with joy and happiness and dancing. I know that there are those who scoff at my perceived naiveté. However in the absence of concrete action what more do I have? If I drop my little pebble of peace into the river in my own back yard perhaps it will reverberate and join forces with a similar movement down the road. As these tiny forces gain power who knows? They may just create a tidal wave of wonder and make a world of difference in the life of someone half way across the globe. {If you’ve missed a Sunday (non) Sense or want to revisit one, they’re all waiting for you at alisazee }
Posted on: Sun, 27 Jul 2014 13:13:57 +0000
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