It happens every time I return to revise or edit my book about the Syrian refugees.
I have days off from the hospital and I pull out my computer at a coffee shop or cafe or on the comfort of my micro fiber couch and I start working on chopping excess words, or re-listening to interviews to make sure I heard right, or I research the Syrian towns I never got to see.
I am straight-forward and practical and organized and I sit down and listen and type and cut words and change words and look things up online and all of a sudden it happens.
I look up from the keyboard and I’m shocked to see people calmly eating pieces of omelet around me or taking a final sip of coffee before leaving for a day of work. I hear the rumble of a coffee grinder or the clang of a cash register as if they are fantastic sound tracks from a world I used to know. I hear the old men complaining about the presidential candidates and I stare. I look out the window and I see the blue sky, no smoke rising, no helicopter swooping in, and the red tiles on a brick apartment roof with no broken windows.
And like an idiot, the sensible person I was a minute before disappears and my eyes begin to leak right there in public and because I forgot to bring Kleenexes because I wasn’t expecting this, I scramble for a brown earth-friendly napkin to wipe my eyes.
I don’t think it’s wrong that we forget that there are people living out unbelievable horror on other parts of our globe. We can’t live two places at once, so we forget.
But perhaps in our forgetting, we can train ourselves to pay attention.
Perhaps in our forgetting, we can be like my pastor’s wife who came to me the other day and said, “Do you have any ideas of how I can pray for the refugees?”
I told her I know of a great photo book of refugees that was designed to be prayed through. (See the side of my blog page if you need one!)
And perhaps in our forgetting, we can learn to sacrifice, to be more like Christ, to listen to the still small voice of the Holy Spirit in every hour and every difficult relationship. Then, if we are ever called to the front lines of a field hospital or a refugee camp, or a rioting street, like some Christians are, we will go knowing that we are accustomed to following directions from the best General, and that with His leadership we will not fail.
(There. I could have kept that for Saturday night, but perhaps I will be more light-hearted by then. I apologize if I’m overdoing the melancholy posts!)