Shock And Confusion
We all remember where we were when some of the world's most major tragedies occurred. My dad can tell you that he was working up in the mines in Sudbury when American president Kenidy was killed. I have a vague memory of when the Challenger exploded. We all can pin point that tiny place we inhabited when the towers fell. How did that make us feel? I have never asked my dad, and I was on the young side in 1986, but I remember being confused, angry, and sad in 2001.
After that life plotted its course, and the calendar almost made 12 trips around the years. It was one year ago today that the world stood still yet again as news of bombings at the famed Boston Marithon had occurred.
I sat in that fog of shock and disbelief for a couple of days following the tragedy, as the news reports floated around me in ominous heavy sheets. My shock and disbelief turned in to anger when I found out that one of the fatalities was an eight-year-old boy. Anger for the fact that he would never drive a car, ask a girl out, get married, hold his children, or realize his God given potential. I spoke of this anger to a friend of mine, but that brought little comfort. I just couldn't erase from my head the could have beens, now never wills.
An Unusual Prayer Request
The Saturday after I went to my church as usual, but still the heavy ball of anger remained. I sang along with the hymns, went forth at the altar call to pray. When the pastor did opening prayer he asked for us to pray not only for the victims, but for the salvation of the bombers. At first I was confused, but then I remembered that Jesus died for us, and that we should extend that Christlike hand even when it seems unforgivable.