In moments when I can’t seem to come up with the words to say, I write.
I write better than I speak. If I sound sophisticated at all, it’s only because I’ve likely written about it some time before. If I speak about something before I write, I have the tendency to stammer and lose my train of thought like nobody’s business resulting in the need to stare off into space to formulate sentences in my head before they come out of my mouth. My mouth doesn’t move as fast as my brain, but my typing fingers usually do.
Writing tends to help me sort out the things that are flying around in my brain at all hours of the day and night.
To sum it up, I don't write because I need to, I write because I have to.
Like at this exact moment.
Over the course of the past four or five days, it’s no secret that Kenya has had to deal with tragedy and crisis. The events that took place at Westgate Mall in Nairobi have completely turned this country upside down. Not knowing how to deal with any of it at all, I wrote this entry. It’s real. It’s raw. It’s exactly what I needed as an outlet.
As I walked through the door of our apartment, my eyes went straight to the TV that our contacts in were so intently tuned into and sitting around.
“What was happening now?” I thought.
Then the words, “gunshot”, “terrorist”, “attack”, and “death” flowed off the reporters lips every other second it seemed like.
Is this real life?
How did this happen?
Why did it happen?
Even now, I don’t have a clue. I haven’t been able to figure out or get a grip on anything swirling around in my mind.
In my life, I’ve always needed to be the calm one. You know, the one who doesn’t wear their emotions on their selves at all. This moment was no different. I wasn’t just thinking about myself, I was thinking for the sake of the five others I’m with…especially the ones who have never had to deal with anything remotely similar to this situation.
I had to be the strong one, I thought.
The one that declares everything is going to be alright and that ultimately God's plan will surface and His glory will shine brightly.
Even as I type this, I wonder if I believe what that.
What other choice do I have?
I sit up at night and wonder when will the magnitude and severity of the 60-plus deaths will slap me across the face.
Truth be told, I’m not sure it will any time soon.
And I hateeeeeeeeeeee that.
So often in my life I have done a 180 and ran at full speed in the opposite direction when it comes to my emotions and letting true vulnerability show.
But this time…I can't figure out what the hell I'm running from.
Why can’t God allow this to touch me to my core and stir something deep within my soul?
I want tears.
Instead, all I get are bits of frustration causing me to sigh and run my hands through my hair.
I feel…
nothing.
Sure, I get a few spurts of sorrow and the occasional, “I feel bad for the people who were hurt…and their families”…
But why can't I feel more?
Because it isn’t time.
And that’s okay.
It may not hit me today, tomorrow or any other time in the next year of my life. Here’s guessing it will one of these days. It’ll creep up on me like a thief in the night and I’ll cry uncontrollably like I do when I watch Toy Story 3.
Until then, I find myself screaming out prayers for my Savior to end his ear to.
I pray for a heart of compassion to see and feel what those closest to me are dealing with.
I pray for the families and victims of these horrendous acts.
I pray for the men who did this.
I pray that something touched their lives and they felt God's love before their lives ended.
I pray that their children will realize these acts are not the answer or acceptable in any time or place and open their hearts to a new way of seeing the world.
And I pray for you.
That when you read and hear about things like the terrorist attacks at Westgate, it's not just a blip on your radar like it was for me at first.
I pray that it means something…even if it doesn't hit you right away.
“Love is a fruit in season at all times, and within reach of every hand” – Mother Teresa
