Imagining what life would be like with a magic wand, and dealing with life without one.
It would be used for the broken young man who had to lay down the flower on his wife’s coffin, and couldn’t, because it just wasn’t fair. I would have liked to have walked up, waved my wand, and brought her back to life.
And for the woman who randomly stopped me on the sidewalk and asked me if the mail had come yet. She needs a cheque so that she can get milk for her the crying newborn she was holding in her arms. “Yes,” I would say. “Just go inside and take out the fish you have inside the fridge and you will find inside its mouth more than enough money to cover your needs.”
It is for Robert, who lost both his parents at a young age, and wishes he would hear his mother speak to him once more. I’d wave the wand for him to not only hear her voice, but to see, and touch her again.
It would be for Jimmy to be healed and walk out of the hospital. Instead, his body is emaciated because of AIDS, and struggles to make each breath. His bed is in a corner of a dark room with no mother to pull up his sheets when he is cold, no one to read from a magazine, bring a radio, or set up a television. His family doesn’t know his plight – he doesn’t want them to know. Shame and sadness are in his eyes.
It would be for Rachel to let her know that she is loved. Fatherless all her life, and finally finding him, she phones, “Hi Dad, its me.” “That is nice,” he says, and thanks her for the call, and asks that she never call again.
I would wave it for all those whom the angel of death mercilously plays with. Cancer, it not only robs many physically, but steals thoughts, feelings, and dreams. It estranges families, and reduces many into poverty.
It would be waved to keep children safe, where some are preyed upon in night’s darkness, and told never to tell anyone.
Why do some die before their time, and others live beyond their’s? Why do some become wealthy beyond imagination without breaking a sweat, while others work day and night and the creditor knocks on their door? Why do some get to go to Disneyland with their children, while others spend all they have to keep their disabled child alive?
Why doesn’t God, when He looks down and sees man lording over man with such inhumanity, act on the cries of the oppressed? Millions displaced, killed, or deprived because they are not the right type of person. Why does He not intervene in our tragic affairs? They cry out from their graves.
I don’t know. I’d like to wave the wand to know why.
There is no answer, and God will not tell, nor will He. He knows that He can’t explain. It is something far too great for me to comprehend.
Yes, there are some hints, but there are clouds in that sky. I can see it, but it is densely shrouded.
When I do know, I’ll write about it, but I don’t think that will ever happen. Answers such as “God is in control,” or that this is part of “God’s great plan,” or “that she is in a better place now,” just don’t suffice.
As I put my imaginary wand down, and think about the realities, a feeling runs over me. Not a good, or bad feeling, but one that trusts God no matter what.
My soul is both agitated and at rest. The questions run deep, but they do not possess me.
The Lord is here, and I know Him. I can’t explain this feeling. Yes this is built from memories, feelings, and decisions influenced by both visible and invisible things. But I am referring to what I am feeling right now, not what constructed this framework or its spiritual roots. It is not required to explain or defend it here.
This state is not a closed room with no windows to the real world around me. It is a place where I can be angry at the dad ignoring his daughter and not be consumed by it. To be sad, or grieve with the young man, but not lose hope. To be scared but not run away. To see injustice and not be cynical about mankind, and have hope to make a difference. It frees me to look at these things, but not be controlled by them.
I can restlessly remain in this place.