(This looks like a poem; it's not. It's an observation, a reaction.)
As I grow wickedly used to Libyan nightmares
As the layers of disaster in Japan unfold
I sit on a padded chair, sipping coffee.
Facebook is full of posts laughing at funny photos,
complaining about work, ignoring the world.
Break our hearts, O God!
People are underwater,
Others are starving,
Still others are captive to a wicked dictator
hunting their brethren down with automatic weapons.
(this stanza could continue for pages)
A prayer we must learn to pray:
"How long, O Lord? Will you hide yourself forever?"
I hold to hope: in eternity, this will make sense, bring joy, cause worship.
I understand hope: it doesn't yet.
"For in hope we are saved.
Now hope that is seen is not hope.
For who hopes for what is seen?"
As I grow wickedly used to Libyan nightmares
As the layers of disaster in Japan unfold
I sit on a padded chair, sipping coffee.
Facebook is full of posts laughing at funny photos,
complaining about work, ignoring the world.
Break our hearts, O God!
People are underwater,
Others are starving,
Still others are captive to a wicked dictator
hunting their brethren down with automatic weapons.
(this stanza could continue for pages)
A prayer we must learn to pray:
"How long, O Lord? Will you hide yourself forever?"
I hold to hope: in eternity, this will make sense, bring joy, cause worship.
I understand hope: it doesn't yet.
"For in hope we are saved.
Now hope that is seen is not hope.
For who hopes for what is seen?"
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