Saturday, April 20, 2013

How to Find Hope in the Aftermath of the Boston Bombing

The Saturday following 9/11 found me polishing my kitchen cabinets the way a ravenous lion devours a zebra. I cleaned the blinds and laundered the curtains in the family room too.

Last Monday afternoon, I was at work when Drudge Report started tap dancing on my phone. He did several encores before I turned my attention to it.

Thus began another dull, slow burn of trying to grasp the potential in the human spirit for evil. I shied away from the news.

Tuesday morning I sat in front of a television screen and let the tears come; my broken heart was already in Boston anyway. I changed my Facebook cover to the Boston skyline, a pretty pitiful offering, but all I could figure to do.

On Thursday, I donned my sneakers and grabbed my daughter, and we ran 3 miles. I broke two personal records according to my Nike Plus ap, and my hip flexors are still sore this morning. But it was worth it. I ran for Boston, every marathoner, every victim, and in defiance of terror worldwide.

Man, that felt good.



Then yesterday happened, a manhunt of historic proportions. I was reacquainted with Chechnya on the map and tried again to celebrate the birth of my son on a day that brought so much hatred and violence and evil to our nation's attention.

By the end of the day, evil was found cowering in a boat that belongs to someone else. Evil trespasses and squats on our property, wounded and awaiting his final blow.

Evil will be dealt a final blow, be sure of that. The time will come when Jesus will reign, and we--all nations, all languages, all tribes inexplicably together as one body--will worship Him, our head.

Forever.

This is how love wins.

In 2001, terrorism made me want to clean my house. In 2013, it makes me yearn for another house, one promised, where all will be right.

I imagine it will look and sound a little like this:

(Revelation Song in 8 languages representing 7 nations)

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