I gape at the headlines, and I am speechless. I stare, open-mouthed and damp-eyed, and the weight of my own helplessness crushes my lungs. Powerlessness chokes.
I‘ll be honest with you, I cannot watch. My eyes scan the text, fast and fearful, but I can’t read. I will not look long and lingering at the photos. I can’t. I just…can’t. I am helpless, powerless, small and weak, and there is nothing to be done. There is nothing I can do but stare and glance away when the looking hurts too much. Look away and ask aloud, “How did evil gain such power?”
It takes a moment for the nausea to subside. Another beat for my mother’s heart to remember I am here, and they–my sweet, precious children–are safe. They are not on a mountainside. They are not at gunpoint. They are not martyrs this day. In the third, quiet moment, I give thanks.
And that’s when I recall not who I am but whose.
I may be helpless, powerless, small and weak, but God is not. In my helpless, powerless, tiny, timid weakness He will show just how much. How strong He is, how much He loves, how deep his mercy. And how devastating his justice.
I stop and wait for the lightning strike…but it does not come. (more…)