I stood in front of the television this morning watching the most recent State of our world. I listened as news anchors spoke in stern, shock-filled tones announcing tragedy after tragedy. I whipped my head around to see my seven-year-old staring frighteningly at the T.V. with a million and one questions.
“Mom, what plane are they talking about? Is it close to us? Were there people in it? Did they die?” As I processed what a mistake it was to have such a channel on in front of my kids, I had to answer the valid and great questions he was asking.
“There were people on the plane, and yes, unfortunately they did not survive.” I compassionately explained. “This happened far far away from us, on the other side of the world. It’s nowhere near us, but I know it looks scary on T.V., doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t help but feel as though I was lying to him in an incredibly complicated way. A way he would never understand even if I tried to explain. Because the truth is, it is happening here. It is happening right outside our door, around the corner, in the next town over, and state. It’s happening everywhere. But he doesn’t need to be exposed to that knowledge at this time, or at this age, and for now it’s okay to be discrete about such things.
But I still felt heavy after our conversation. I still felt sad, as though he’s got so much reality coming his way in the near future. So much to process in such little time and capacity.
Will he be devastated at the condition of our surroundings?
Will he be inspired to make a difference?
I don’t know. But with all this pain in the world, what did that leave us with?
Love, I guess.
My kids are filled with it. So are yours.
They’re filled with love and hope. It can bring you to tears in a millisecond if you watch close enough to how your child responds to things that might bring pain to their loved ones.
It’s our human nature.
And it’s beautiful.
So, I’d like to change my defeated tune back there when I said, “Love, I guess” and change it to, “LOVE!” We are left with all the love we’ve had, we’ve given, we have, and continue to give.
All the pain in the world can’t replace my kid’s smiles in the morning, their hopes for the day, the light in their giggles, the glow in their eyes, the hugs goodbye, the squeezes hello, or the “I love you-s” in the moments we share.
All the pain in the world can’t replace the weekend we spent with my sister and her family. It can’t replace my kid’s feeling the presence and pure joy of running around in pajamas all day with their cousins, looking outside with binoculars, or the quiet moments I had with my sister connecting once again through motherhood and friendship.
Those who cause the pain will not reign me, powerless. The victims affected receive my compassion, my swollen heart that yearns for things to be different, my prayers, and my love.
Because I’ll tell you something straight up, right here, right now. That pain may very well directly affect me one day, my kids one day, my loved ones. And I’ll need compassion, prayers and love from those watching.
Because the truth is, we are no different from one another. We are first and foremost, human beings. And although there are human beings who are filled with hate and rage that lead to doing unspeakable things, it’s because they’re in pain. They need our prayers and love just as much as those who are victims, because they are human too.
There are no excuses for actions so horrific against innocent people, but nothing will change if we can’t find love first. And if we don’t come from love, we are perpetuating the cycle of hate.
We must pray for the ones who are hurting.
We must pray for the ones who are hurting.
We MUST pray for the ones who are hurting.
All of them.
Appetite for Honesty 