There is a overwhelming feeling of grief and fear running through the blood of my veins today. Those safe and sound should shutter.. because life is fading and fragile–fleeting and fearful.
The past 36 hours have been mentally dedicated to events of the realistic nature.
While the world is being torn apart by warfare regardless of continent or country, the ‘it won’t happen to me’ attitude is still something worn as a badge of confidence throughout the planet. The idea that you, me, and whoever reading this, is immune to the horrors of war and the scars of battle. The people flying on that Malaysian airliner, shot down by some group hell-bent on causing fear and bloodshed, did not know they were going to die on that flight. The nun and the AIDS researchers hadn’t the clue that the angel of death was not only knocking but also busting down the door to get in.. the men and women had no connection to the war ravaging parts of Ukraine over Crimea. They don’t know and maybe did not even care of the battle lines. And now, 300 souls become victims. Without notice, without mercy, and without warning. Their bodies vacant souls–now if only we knew where the souls went after life.. There are times world events move me tom tears–lately that’s been happening quite a bit. A NEW YORK TIMES article published today made me eyes swell up with water.. Especially this section of the article, which describes some of the articles of possessions found in the debris of Flight 17:
Dutch belongings were scattered through the grass: a pink children’s book; a parking ticket picked up by a man named Hans van den Hende; a book of stickers. Children’s playing cards were sprinkled near the road.
Anyone with a heart–and especially anyone with children–gets a disburbing feeling in the pit of your stomach when you read that. I did.. and I still do as I re-read it..
I ask myself, and constantly scream out in silent anger to God or whatever else controls this universe: Why always children. Why must they be collateral damage in the sins of men? The drums of war have no beat.. they are just a mix and mess of conflicting thumps and noises of bombs..
With scores of dead children around the planet every hour.
The latest dead child had a pink book, stickers, and playing cards. Little trinkets of goodness and innocence.. now those pieces of peace are shredded by the hounds of war. Gone for good are the beautiful children who played with them..
I pray that this missile hit fast and so furiously that the passengers felt no pain.
But even if they did not feel pain, there will be other innocent men, women, and children who constantly feel pain and suffering in the billowing smoke of the world, on fire, with war.
