Today was a hard day. The kind of day where I felt the weight of the world upon my heart.
I read too many heart-breaking news about Syria. I saw too many graphic pictures of war-strucken lands. I heard too many stories of girls, mere helpless girls, being raped. I read too many tweets about the newly crowned Miss. America. I saw too many scenes from the movie American History X.
These are the days I hate being someone of color. These are the days I wish I wasn’t a woman. These are the days I am sickened by my labels and I’m tired of fearing.
I feel small, vulnerable, and helpless.
I asked God too many times where he was hiding, what he was doing.
And I wish he’d just pop out of the phone booth, with a cape in hand, flash an assuring smile, and fly off and get rid of all the evil for once and for all.
This earth just seems so dark, so tired, and so ready for restoration. And somehow, hope seems too far.
But how I dream of better days!
I dream of days when I can walk down the street at night time without fear. I dream of days when we all become color-blind. I dream of days when we talk and hug, instead of murder and rape. I dream of days when peace is abundant, love overflows, and life is celebrated.
I wish I had more faith in the promise of the Gospel, the promise of the second coming. I wish I could do something grand, life-changing, or simply worthwhile. I wish I could more easily taste the goodness of the little things. I wish I could sing songs of redemption and good news so the flowers would bloom from the cursed dirt. I wish that being broken didn’t have to be so painful.
I know I’m a foolish romantic, but my tired heart can’t help it. For today, I need something to hold onto…anything. I need to know that a difference can be made. I need to know change is possible. I need to know that hope is still around the corner.
My friend Tina shared similar sentiments over at Deeper Story, so check it out!
I didn’t want to end on a somber note. So indulge in this beautiful snippet of Anne Carson’s work (she is as delicious as pumpkin pie). Praying that we all become philosophers of sandwiches. It helps when you find yourself living in dark days.
Then a miracle occurred in the form of a plate of sandwiches.
Geryon took three and buried his mouth in a delicious block of white bread filled with tomatoes and butter and salt.
He thought about how delicious it was, how he liked slippery foods, how slipperiness can be of different kinds.
I am a philosopher of sandwiches, he decided. Things good on the inside.