The week has left me reeling. Watching through spilling eyes pictures of utter devastation. Not just one country. Lives lost. Some simply washed away. Others targeted by their own rogue governments, striking them down in cold blood. The world’s a stage for the drama of desperate clinging to life. The souls reach across the miles through my TV and ache for my interest, attention. Their eyes plead for help and intervention. I sit helpless, worried and anxious about my own circumstances. On my comfortable sofa with my steaming coffee. News of the future assignment not what we hoped, and so I grieve. In my clean clothes with my feet toasty.
Snug in my own coccoon, I cry out angry venom as I struggle to understand His plan for our family. What do YOU do when ‘your’ plans don’t line up with HIS plans? I thought these WERE Your plans Lord!!! You told me so. I thought I was hearing from YOU all these long days and months and years of watching my husband sacrifice himself for the greater good. You told me it would happen. And it didn’t. You told me to trust you. I did.
There’s His voice again…..It embraces me. Even my balled, clenched fists.
It whispers, “Trust me…”
Right into my living room, the news brought an elderly Japanese policeman who had not been home since all the events last week. He returned to his village, or what was left of it. Cameras rolled as he saw the rubble of his home and realized that his entire family, wife, son, son’s wife and children, were all gone. He sobbed. My heart crumbled to the floor.
The next soundbite showed Libyan ‘rebels’ dancing in the street with their rifles because the world had imposed a no-fly zone above their very heads. Protecting them from their own. Their dingy, unshaven faces lit with laughter hugging each other with the joy of discovering the gift of another day.
Then just this morning I caught a glimpse of my sweet neighbor headed down the sidewalk to the market, alone. His eyes distant as seemingly this was a new chore for him. It has been a week or so since he buried his wife in the village cemetery.
It was then that my own brattiness hit me square in the face.
I’ve been given so much. Probably too much. My over abundance seems a handicap when viewed through the world’s eyes. A blindness? Raised in wealth by the world’s standards, in a country that guarantees our freedom to seek it, are we also born blind? Living here, in a culture with a history of wars fought right here literally in their backyards, the Germans know what it is to do without, be without. Conversely, we don’t know what it is to see our homeland destroyed, multiple times. For most of the world, life is hard. Why should I not expect problems and grief to visit? I am not entitled to a life without pain.
Without understanding, I cling to Him to help me make sense of the week. He who is the lover of souls and restorer of all. He has promised to redeem whatever is laid before him. He changes hearts and rebuilds lands and makes all things beautiful. I whisper Thanks again, for it is impossible to feel both bitterness and thankfulness at the same time.