But as for me, I am poor and needy; may the Lord think of me. You are my help and my deliverer; you are my God, do not delay. ~Psalm 40:17
I decided to make soup today. Escarole and Bean Soup to be exact. It reminds me of the good things in life, things I can’t articulate that are mixed together in love, garlic and olive oil. Making soup is a simple thing, something I can do. It might nourish my hard-working husband when He comes home. It might remind him of his own simpler days. Soup and simpler days are welcome when the days are anything but simple.
I made the mistake of reading a couple of news stories today. The news only exasperated the helpless feeling I have in my own personal life at this time. I read another story that clenched my innards. A dedicated teacher in England stabbed to death in the back by a 15 year old student. I read the story and feel the blood drain from my face and my heart swell. I remember why I don’t read news and still see another story that derails my morning routine a bit longer. A prisoner is executed and the press reports his “suffering”. I read on to his crime. He used a shot gun to shoot a girl who interrupted his burglary, and then watched as she was buried while alive. My stomach turns.
I consider justice and mercy, and wonder why He tarries.
I feel rage course through my veins. How dare you report of this “injustice”. Now to delay the execution of a man who raped an 11 month old infant. Because a murderer “suffered” while justice was meted. Let that sink in, please!
I am sickened with the insanity.
I’m helpless, so I turn to prayer and ask, the question we all want to know the answer to.
How long, Lord?
How long will injustice reign?
It is a rainy day here in Rhode Island. I’ve my own battles to face. I decide to make soup, a simple recipe from Giada, because it takes so little to make soup. I make soup because I CAN. I’ve one head of Escarole, a can of Cannolini beans, chicken broth. And it feels good to be able to make something with so little. So I stir the pot, and think of Ann Maguire and her family, and pray. I stir the pot and watch tears fall, for babies, and lives that will not be fulfilled this side of Heaven.
I stir the pot and ponder our own challenges with a daughter delving further away from light as we stand by, helpless. Desperate for help, and none. Not from Doctors, Pastors, Teachers, Psychiatrists.
I stir the pot with tears, and quiet prayers. Because there are days when it feels like there are no words. So I watch the rain fall, stir the pot and pray without words.
Tonight my hubby and I will eat soup. We will talk little, as these days seem to require little words but great perseverance and trust. We will take comfort in knowing that though we say little, there is the quiet confidence of our steadfast presence. We will eat soup. Together, quietly. And it will be good.