It's all wrong,
it's taken so long
to build this road
that leads down
I happened to see these lyrics from Jeff Lang, Australian songwriter and lyricist, in conjunction with learning that my good friend, Vyt, has been stricken by what is either pancreatitis or liver failure. And I thought, as I have so often thought lately, What the hell is this all about? What has he done to deserve such a fate--other than to be kind and generous and uncommonly attentive and concerned for people other than himself. Is this then, life's reward, life's return for decency and compassion?
It's not fair.
I thought too of my son, stricken down in mid-course, 42 years old. I thought of my son who had worshipped God from an early age, who had devoted his life to prayer, who had surely prayed to be healed in the end, to be delivered from the health issues that were making his life, as he put it, a horror.
Why? Why? What is the damn point?
Often of late I have lain awake at night pondering the fate of Otto Warmbier, an American college student who was tortured mercilessly by North Korean authorities and finally returned to the US in a coma. What fear and dread and torment and hopelessness he must have suffered, no one to help him, knowing only a world of sadism and pain and hate.
How can we live with such things? How can we justify a smile, or laughter or joy?
I will not acquiesce. I cannot excuse. I must not look away and pretend
The world is
a bad place,
a bad place,
a terrible place to live …
Oh, but I don't want to die.
it's taken so long
to build this road
that leads down
I happened to see these lyrics from Jeff Lang, Australian songwriter and lyricist, in conjunction with learning that my good friend, Vyt, has been stricken by what is either pancreatitis or liver failure. And I thought, as I have so often thought lately, What the hell is this all about? What has he done to deserve such a fate--other than to be kind and generous and uncommonly attentive and concerned for people other than himself. Is this then, life's reward, life's return for decency and compassion?
It's not fair.
I thought too of my son, stricken down in mid-course, 42 years old. I thought of my son who had worshipped God from an early age, who had devoted his life to prayer, who had surely prayed to be healed in the end, to be delivered from the health issues that were making his life, as he put it, a horror.
Why? Why? What is the damn point?
Often of late I have lain awake at night pondering the fate of Otto Warmbier, an American college student who was tortured mercilessly by North Korean authorities and finally returned to the US in a coma. What fear and dread and torment and hopelessness he must have suffered, no one to help him, knowing only a world of sadism and pain and hate.
How can we live with such things? How can we justify a smile, or laughter or joy?
I will not acquiesce. I cannot excuse. I must not look away and pretend
The world is
a bad place,
a bad place,
a terrible place to live …
Oh, but I don't want to die.
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