2:46 am
The steady breathing of my daughter accompanies the clicking of my keyboard in a random rhythm as darkness is broken by the shaft of back light reflecting from my face and arms. I shift positions to angle the light away from her sleeping face and pound on the keys of my netbook.
No great revelations capture my mind, no epiphanies or staggering theories tumble from my brain. So why do I write? Because it is time...because blogging brings less pressure than noveling, because I have already commented on all my facebook friend's statuses and because I cannot sleep...I write.
I have watched a sinful amount of TV in the last two weeks I have been on vacation and my neck is sore for the cramped position of staring at the TV. (A sure indication that the couch potato hours have reached apocalyptic proportions.) Who knew the History Channel was so fascinating?
I have found I have a problem when it comes to television watching and this newly identified problem explains my propensity for fantasy. I cannot watch a news program or documentary without experiencing deep empathy for people in the world who have been mistreated, downtrodden, or held captive by whatever foe entraps them. This empathy is not normal. I find myself crying, praying, sobbing over the dear brave woman from Tripoli, who was raped by the border patrol officers and had the courage to crash the press conference that the political leader had called to stroke his reputation internationally. Her screams and cries of injustice pierced my soul and I poured out tears and prayers for her and her sister citizens who live in oppression.
The sweet poverty stricken man who lived in a toppling house with 40 rusting cars nestled in the overgrowth of his front yard spoke through the screen to me. The sadness in his eyes and the near insanity that crippled his mind staggered me.
The single woman who lives in Calgary, loves out door sports and just wants a house on the beach in Belise so she can make friends with the locals, inspired me to get outside of my little shell of comfort and meet the locals in my own town.
Prayers kept pouring out of me, love for these total strangers overtook me and I found myself thinking about how we are all connected. We are connected in ways we will never quite understand. We breathe each other's breath. We drink each other's waters. We pass into the fertile earth to nourish the future generations. These are just physical connections, the temporal and fleeting connections. How deeply are we connected spiritually? Eternally?
Will we ever completely grasp that our DNA is identical except for a few modifiers and what that means?
We are one.
The woman on the beach in Belise is my sister as well as the brave woman in Tripoli. That isn't such a stretch to believe. But the idea of being one with them is very difficult to accept. But it is true. We are one race, the human race. (I know, I know, cue sappy We are the World music, right?) But it is a fact, when one of us suffers, we all are damaged. When one of us perpetrates, we all must carry the consequence, if not the responsibility.
When a commercial about starving children disturbs my dreams and drives me to prayer or action, I begin to see how I am connected to that child and directly to his plight. When the news informs me of a family gunned down by daddy in a Santa suit, and I feel the gunshot wound in my chest, I connect to them. When a bad report of Wall Street makes my heart seize with fear and the frantic faces on the screen send their elevated stress levels straight into my living room, I start to realize...we are connected. We are one.
As I send out my sensors into the sludge of the human condition and am bombarded by such strong emotions, such heavy discernment, by empathy and sympathy to the broken, I can only do one thing... turn off the news channel and turn on a show about vampires or some Science Fiction escape. That is my usual response, I am embarrased to say.
But what if I chose to pray, instead?
Not just a quick thought in a vertical direction, but a deep and abiding connection to the empathic abilities of the Holy Spirit, and prayers begin to rise like incense. Thoughts and words that are not mine begin to form inside of me as the Holy Spirit connects me, spiritually, to the subject of my prayers. I begin to sense their pain and brokeness and I am broken too.
I get so saddened by the fundamental blather that is so quick to criticize, accuse, scoff, and blame. Their very words spoken with intent to illuminate, just add darkness and confusion to an already broken and hurting world. If they would just take a moment to reach out, with spirit arms and connect to the ones they would target, or at the very least connect with the Holy Spirit about the situation before they pass along that status or criticize that party, maybe they would begin to feel true love and empathy for them.
Saddened and embarrassed at my own inclinations to do this.
I have been the greatest offender. I have spouted off some harsh statement or dissenting opinion in a less than gentle manner. I have debated my beliefs and ideations vehemently and I probably will again, unfortunately. But if I have a New Year's resolution this year, let it be this.
I will pray more, condemn less, love outwardly, critique inwardly and live my days in unbroken connection to the Holy Spirit.
Oh dear, I have to turn off the TV now, the sad commercial about abused animals is getting to me...I guess that will be my next late night blog...sigh.
Happy New Year my beautiful friends and family. Let's make it ONEderful. (We are the world, we are the children, we are the ones who...)
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