50 people dead. I don’t care much anymore as to what kind of people group victims of senseless murders are a part of. I care that they are human beings just like me. I care that they once cried, were once daughters and sons, and once tasted great food and smiled with quiet delight, all incandescent lights of life that lived in this crazy world. But they’re gone.
I don’t want to politicize or pontificate. It all feels so hopelessly foolish. I can only pray for a world that, as it stands now, feels so far away from help; too far gone for healing. But I can pray to a God who loves each and every precious soul. I pray for God to ease their family’s pain and to spur good people to act. I pray for wisdom, to guide in what to do, because I simply feel numb and frozen by painful sorrow.
Lord, how long? How long must we sing our broken songs of broken hope?