But then I spent the day in homes that had no food at lunchtime. I don’t mean they didn’t have food people felt like eating. I mean it was lunchtime and there was no food in the house.
I heard from girls who sleep in every pair of pants they own (1-2 on average) in the hopes that it might deter rape.
I wrote a check to CSW for Syrian refugees and read a book about a hostage in Somalia.
And then I checked Twitter.
And it all came crashing in. Nairobi. Westgate shopping mall.
I waited to confirm what I already knew – that my kids hadn’t been in Nairobi that day, and what I didn’t already know – that none of the other students were harmed at Westgate that day, that none of the other people we love were at the mall that day. I wanted to hear that no one was at the mall. But that’s not what I heard.
And so I just can’t post the sarcastic, prepared post today. My heart isn’t in it. My heart is barely in writing at all this week. Sometimes I write my way out of darkness but maybe this darkness needs to linger, heavy, while I cry and whisper, “Mercy.”
Today I cover my blog with my hands the way I covered my mouth this weekend.
Few words. Just whispers in the dark.