There is nothing better than a hot bowel of soup on a rainy day. Outside the sky is dripping chilly drops of water onto my driveway. Inside I feel safe and snug. Our workers are busy putting out today’s orders. The sound of tape guns and bubble wrap penetrate the glass divider between my office and the packing area. All the good stuff being packed up and shipped out.
The normal sounds of life are reassuring as I try to write out the confusion I have been feeling. Where is my strength that inner something I have learned to rely on. The Father seems so silent at times. The fate of four little children has plagued by mind and weighed heavily on my heart. Sometimes the evil seems overwhelming. What situation or event in a life creates evil that can find sexual pleasure while causing an innocent child pain? A man, a father, a husband, destroys the lives of his four children, for what? His lust demanded satisfaction. His children were handy, easily accessible. As a society we should be outraged, instead this man’s trial ended in a hung jury. Where is justice? Justice for the children struggling to make sense of hurt and shame they cannot begin to understand. Justice for the community forced to watch their children flounder while the seeds of injustice grow a fresh crop of useless, angry young adults.
My mind is tired; the few words I have written have taken hours to form. My thoughts on this subject do not flow easily. There is a wall in my heart, something blocking the flow of light and love. Am I again the little girl without a voice, reconciled to the evil I must endure? Or, am I a woman with a voice and heart able to rise above whatever life sends my way.