Wednesday, April 17, 2013

On the day of the Boston Marathon bombing...

I was on my run around a local fitness trail when I received the text from my husband,
"there's been a bombing in Boston".
And suddenly I have the same feeling, the same sort of words run through my mind, as I did when I visited Ghana for the first time.
"How can such filth and poverty coexist with the totally different life I live on
 the same small planet at the very same time?"
I'm running, the spring sun peeks out from behind puffy cumulus clouds, worship music plays through the ear buds I'm wearing, occasionally interrupted by the voice of my automated running coach.
Meanwhile, not only on the same small planet,
but in the same small country,
others just ran right into horror and devastation.
Suddenly I'm aware that while I'm breathing in and out, someone else is taking their last breath.
While I'm a wee bit irritated that I just had to mail our taxes with a check for money owed,
someone else is mourning with pain indescribable over the death of their child.

That evening we pick up four year old granddaughter to take her with us to see only grandson's,
her cousin's, baseball game.
In the car she tells us that her mama told her some people got hurt at a running race.
Her daddy runs marathons, and immediately I 
want to reassure her that nothing like that will ever happen to him.
But I keep quiet, and in typical four year old fashion, her attention quickly shifts to something else.

At the baseball game, we eat peanuts, (in the shell),  and Cracker Jacks because she knows the song
and thinks it's some sort of law of the universe that those two snacks must be eaten at a baseball game.

The whole evening seems an old-fashioned snapshot of a simpler time in America.
It seems so wholesome, so simple, so safe.

Suddenly the sky changes, gray clouds roll in, and a few random sprinkles turns into a downpour.
We run with four year old granddaughter for the car, her laughing at the rain and pushing the hood of her jacket off on purpose.
As we pull the car out of the ball park, we see two rainbows.
One is so bright and so clear that we can clearly see where the end of it touches the grass.
I remember that one day,
 on this same small planet at the very same time,
our Redeemer will return,
and it will be the greatest day ever for some, 
but for the unrepentant wicked, a day of God's vengeance.
I remember that we're the ones who started this whole mess in His perfect, beautiful creation,
but that He's the One Who's going to make it all right again.
I remember, and I wait, and I long for it.

Still following,


  1. One of my favorite writings you've ever shared--you put into words what so many of us are feeling--so very bittersweet--

  2. I was so filled with rage yesterday, and then I had to stop and breathe Him in. Thank you for helping me to remember today, that He is coming back. Come quickly, Lord Jesus!

  3. Wow... I love this - your words, your photo's, your heart that shines through! Visiting from Jennifer Dukes Lee today - so glad I stopped by! I wait and long for Him too...

  4. The good that comes from tragedy like this is that it gives us all perspective, suddenly those things I held up as important aren't needful anymore. Your photos and words are a beautiful picture of redemption and hope.

  5. Oh, Elizabeth, this so touched me. The photo of your (husband?) kissing the top of your daughter's (?) head is what did me in.
    Oh, how precious our lives are and those of our loved ones.

  6. My heart is literally pounding in my chest as I sit here. This post was truly inspired. Yes, yes, yes. I understand the words, "come quickly Lord" so well these days.

  7. Really wonderful ... yes life does move on even in the midst of tragedy and sorrow. I love the picture of your little one she is just adorable.

  8. It's been a week where I've been more Home-sick then I've been in a good long while, Elizabeth. Grateful for your words here.

  9. Reading your words, looking at your amazing photos, it was all like a balm for my weary soul. I love you, Elizabeth. I really, really do.


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