The news.

The news.

Heavy heart today. This, posted by a friend of mine on Facebook, is pretty close to what I’m feeling:

Joyfully celebrating the killing of a killer who joyfully celebrated killing carries an irony that I hope will not be lost on us. Are we learning anything, or simply spinning harder in the cycle of violence?

To be honest, when I heard the news last night of bin Laden, I didn’t think much of it. But as I watched and listened and read reactions of the news, emotions started in waves across me heart and soul.

I am thankful. Really, really thankful for our military (my son, my brother-in-law, my father-in-law; all of those in my family who have served, knowing what they do and doing what they do. Without them? Oh I can’t even imagine it.). I’m thankful for our government leaders and the decisions they make. I’m thankful and grateful and inspired and amazed and in awe of everything done so that I can live in the country I live in and we can raise our babies without fear of war on our streets or sending them to battle at the age of eight, or even seeing them recruited as suicide bombers in the name of God. I am grateful that as a woman, I have a strong voice. I can blog, I can discuss, I can protest, I can support, and I can even go to Heaven.

So please don’t hear anything other than a very, very humble thankfulness from me. And don’t you dare hear judgment, either, because I’m not a stone thrower here and there is none.

But as I hold my sleepy 2YO right now, I can’t help but gather him up as close as I can get him and whisper, “Please be a good person. Please be a good person. Please love and be loved. Please God, protect him and bless him.”

I don’t know about this stuff that’s bubbling up inside. I can’t imagine what pain and suffering and the horror that bin Laden, and others like him, have put people through. I can’t imagine what the 9/11 victims’ families felt, have felt, are feeling. I just can’t imagine the loss of it; it’s just plain shattering, the rawness and pain of it and feeling of powerlessness and vulnerability.

A small part of me whispers out, “Justice. He got what he deserved.” Another, bigger, part of me weeps because all of this is and has been a terrible, terrible tragedy.

I understand the celebration of his death, truly. I can see the fire of resolution and “justice served.” But I can’t scream with some of you in joy over this. I have to mourn the immenseness, the tragicness, the sorrow.

It scares me.



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