I heard the news. I did not know how horrible it was until I was in the middle of a store and got a text from Son in Town. Quickly Googled and saw the numbers of the tragedy. I had to get out of the store. Quick.
Then I moaned. All the way home. Out loud.
Talked to Daughter. We cried. She raged. I moaned. Some more.
Oh Dear Jesus. How do we deal with this?
Oh parents of children no longer living. Dads stayed at the fire station. Exhausted Moms went home.
We can not possibly know the depth of your grief. Please let us hold you up in our prayers. Know that we do. There is a new deep wound in my heart. I still yearn to moan.
God please come and fill our hearts with your healing balm. Help us figure out how to forgive in this meanest of hours.
***
Below is a copy of Max Lucado's Christmas prayer.
Dear Jesus,
It's a good thing you were born at night. This world sure seems dark. I have a good eye for silver linings. But they seem dimmer lately.
These killings, Lord. These children, Lord. Innocence violated. Raw evil demonstrated.
The whole world seems on edge. Trigger-happy. Ticked off. We hear threats of chemical weapons and nuclear bombs. Are we one button-push away from annihilation?
Your world seems a bit darker this Christmas. But you were born in the dark, right? You came at night. The shepherds were nightshift workers. The Wise Men followed a star. Your first cries were heard in the shadows. To see your face, Mary and Joseph needed a candle flame. It was dark. Dark with Herod's jealousy. Dark with Roman oppression. Dark with poverty. Dark with violence.
Herod went on a rampage, killing babies. Joseph took you and your mom into Egypt. You were an immigrant before you were a Nazarene.
Oh, Lord Jesus, you entered the dark world of your day. Won't you enter ours? We are weary of bloodshed. We, like the wise men, are looking for a star. We, like the shepherds, are kneeling at a manger.
This Christmas, we ask you, heal us, help us, be born anew in us.
Hopefully,
Your Children
Your Children
No comments:
Post a Comment