With You
As a child there were sometimes news reports from Vietnam. Every now and again I'd hear about the unrest on the streets of Third World countries. Car bombs. Suicide bombers.
"They live like animals," my mother would say.
I remember being thankful that I lived in America. The greatest country in the world. Where we were free of such unrest.
I didn't understand the anger.
We learn what we are taught. I was taught love. I was brought up to love all. I learned that trust was earned, but I was taught so much. I was taught to cherish my family. I learned to treat women with respect. I believed that all of God's creatures were created with a purpose in mind. Love thy neighbor. Love thyself. Love the dogs. Love the guy who treated you badly. Turn the other cheek. Treat people as you'd like to be treated.
And trust.
I've been to Boston a few times in the last couple of years. It's a great city. There's so much history. It's so beautiful. When I was there I walked around in appreciation of everything that didn't say Red Sox on it. Just a beautiful city. In my trusting, loving, appreciative heart, I was impressed.
When the explosions rocked the end of the Boston Marathon I felt a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I thought of remembering and praying for those in Newtown. Once more I felt the despair of Aurora and the desperation of 9/11.
It's all so confusing to a loving, trusting, appreciative human being.
I don't want to live in such a violent country. I don't want to hear the death tolls rise. I don't want to look for blame, and for the love of God, I don't want to start an argument.
But someone somewhere will take issue with wanting to just feel the pain and pine for the simplicity of the way it used to seem to be.
Can we still live our lives on a higher ground?
I want my kids to grow up feeling as secure as my parents made me feel. I don't know if I can do that for them in the new world that has existed since September 11, 2001, and perhaps it was well before that. Yet that was when a lot of us learned, the hard way, to pay a little more attention.
Trust was replaced by suspicion. Love took a back seat to doubt. We suspect our neighbors and those who don't look like we do. We are scared to send the kids to the movies. Frightened to death to head outside and spend time with others. And we will hear it all in the next few days.
Secure the borders.
Bomb he who bombed us.
Fight. Kill. Count the bodies. If you see something say something. Buy a weapon.
Defend yourself in the brave new world.
It's all so confusing to a loving, trusting man.
But the single thing that gives me hope is that God is indeed there in the details. The men and women who helped. Those who ran straight to the hospital to give blood. Those who will lay their heads on their pillows and pray and hurt for those who are injured.
And I thought of my Mom and Dad who cut through the bullshit and made us feel secure in spite of the big bad world outside the door.
They provided heart in a sometimes heartless world.
It's all I really want to do for my children.
"Who did this?" Sam asked as I watched the coverage.
"I don't know," I said.
I turned it off, trying to shield him, but there is nowhere to hide.
"There were hundreds of millions of people who didn't do this," I said. "All of those people are hurt by this. Those are the people who we need to trust."
Sam didn't quite know what to say to that.
But he will.
Someday he will.
To all those suffering.
There are millions suffering with you.
Let's figure out a way to stop feeling this way.
Please.
"They live like animals," my mother would say.
I remember being thankful that I lived in America. The greatest country in the world. Where we were free of such unrest.
I didn't understand the anger.
We learn what we are taught. I was taught love. I was brought up to love all. I learned that trust was earned, but I was taught so much. I was taught to cherish my family. I learned to treat women with respect. I believed that all of God's creatures were created with a purpose in mind. Love thy neighbor. Love thyself. Love the dogs. Love the guy who treated you badly. Turn the other cheek. Treat people as you'd like to be treated.
And trust.
I've been to Boston a few times in the last couple of years. It's a great city. There's so much history. It's so beautiful. When I was there I walked around in appreciation of everything that didn't say Red Sox on it. Just a beautiful city. In my trusting, loving, appreciative heart, I was impressed.
When the explosions rocked the end of the Boston Marathon I felt a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I thought of remembering and praying for those in Newtown. Once more I felt the despair of Aurora and the desperation of 9/11.
It's all so confusing to a loving, trusting, appreciative human being.
I don't want to live in such a violent country. I don't want to hear the death tolls rise. I don't want to look for blame, and for the love of God, I don't want to start an argument.
But someone somewhere will take issue with wanting to just feel the pain and pine for the simplicity of the way it used to seem to be.
Can we still live our lives on a higher ground?
I want my kids to grow up feeling as secure as my parents made me feel. I don't know if I can do that for them in the new world that has existed since September 11, 2001, and perhaps it was well before that. Yet that was when a lot of us learned, the hard way, to pay a little more attention.
Trust was replaced by suspicion. Love took a back seat to doubt. We suspect our neighbors and those who don't look like we do. We are scared to send the kids to the movies. Frightened to death to head outside and spend time with others. And we will hear it all in the next few days.
Secure the borders.
Bomb he who bombed us.
Fight. Kill. Count the bodies. If you see something say something. Buy a weapon.
Defend yourself in the brave new world.
It's all so confusing to a loving, trusting man.
But the single thing that gives me hope is that God is indeed there in the details. The men and women who helped. Those who ran straight to the hospital to give blood. Those who will lay their heads on their pillows and pray and hurt for those who are injured.
And I thought of my Mom and Dad who cut through the bullshit and made us feel secure in spite of the big bad world outside the door.
They provided heart in a sometimes heartless world.
It's all I really want to do for my children.
"Who did this?" Sam asked as I watched the coverage.
"I don't know," I said.
I turned it off, trying to shield him, but there is nowhere to hide.
"There were hundreds of millions of people who didn't do this," I said. "All of those people are hurt by this. Those are the people who we need to trust."
Sam didn't quite know what to say to that.
But he will.
Someday he will.
To all those suffering.
There are millions suffering with you.
Let's figure out a way to stop feeling this way.
Please.
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