What good is my broken heart?
My heart aches under the weight of so many hurting children in Ukraine. The emotion alone is enough to reduce breathing to strained gasps. Vova, the boy who changed everything for me and who ran alongside the van until we were out of sight. Vlad, who called me his mother. Yulia, who smiled for the first time. Sasha who pretended not to smoke. Ira whose black eyes were filled with light. Vanya, whose story shook my core beliefs, Sveta who swore she would never speak English again while sobbing in my arms the night we left. Dasha, Masha, Kolya, Nastia, Daniel, Denise, Alanna, Vovas, David, Oksanna.... so many faces, children. Children who would grow up and continue to face cruelty, rejection, abuse, despair. It rends my heart. But what good is my shredded heart? How I feel doesn't help these kids. Even if my guilt lifts with satisfaction in my own ability to sympathize, nothing is actually done for the kids. Yes, I can pray for them, and I do not value prayer lightly, and yes, I know I am not responsible for these kids' salvation, but I'm sick of dwelling on my own selfish sympathy. What does honestly and truly loving these kids look like?
1 comment:
I think God is going to write that answer in ever-deepening ways with your life, over days and months and years.
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