Speechless. Stunned. Sad.
Whenever I hear about tragedy like the recent school shootings or the bombs at the marathon or the horrific suicide of someone I cared about or a cancer diagnosis of a loved one, I run through the gamut of emotions just like everyone else. The Whys? The What Ifs? The Whose Fault is This?s The How Could We Let This Happen?s The Where Did God Go?s The Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?s But the truth is, if I don’t have answers, I tend to stop asking the questions sooner or later. Not because I give up, but because I think they are the wrong questions.
Everyone weighs in with their opinions on why this happened or how we should fix it. Or their ranting about the horrors. Sometimes I feel like its a competition to show who cares more. Is it the angry who care more? The most distraught? The most determined to never let this happen again? The ones to rush in to rescue and help? The ones determined to find out who is to blame and ensure they are punished? Sigh. So frankly, I simply don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. I can’t fix any of it, take any of it away, do anything differently. And talk is cheap.
But please don’t ever mistake my silence for indifference. Don’t ever think my determination to keep living my life as fully and bountifully as possible represents cold nonchalance. And please don’t ever assume that my cheerful silliness is flagrant disrespect. This is just simply me choosing hope in the midst of despair, choosing light while the dark is creeping in, choosing good despite evil. This is me choosing life. Because that’s all I know how to do.