I walked back into our apartment at 2 AM after going to see the Hobbit with my team and squad leaders, during which Katie and I just held hands two thirds of the time and tried not to pull our hair out, it's intense folks. But the movie was good, we had a great day, and as I collapsed on our bed I pulled up Facebook on my phone to check it one last time. This was the Facebook status I saw:
"My prayers go out to the families in Connecticut."
Huh, I thought, what happened in Connecticut today? So I Googled it, and you know what I found from there.
Who walks into an elementary school with a gun? With three guns? Who murders five year olds? Who traumatizes 626 grade school students? Why? And most of all,
Where was God?
You know, that question that a lot of people have on their minds.: Where was our all-powerful, all-knowing, good and gracious Savior? He answered that question for me. He said,
"I was right there."
I've seen a lot of pain in children on this trip:
This is Sandra. She's twelve years old. She lives with her Grandma in a shack towards the top of the mountain where Los Pinos is located. Her mother lives in the dump, in garbage and filth, her father has never been there, ever. One day she was walking around barefoot wincing as she walked on gravel and stepped on stones, I asked her what was wrong. Her flip flops had broken and she didn't have any other shoes or the money to buy any, so she walked around in mine until we were able to grab another pair that evening from the store. Months before we arrived in Tegucigalpa Sandra was sexually assaulted at that dump. Sandra may be twelve but tragedy and circumstances have made her older. Her spirit is unnaturally and eerily broken. She plays and smilies, sure, but not like most twelve year olds that you've met. Her eyes tell her story louder than words and there is so much seriousness in her demeanor, yet there is also much strength.
This is Marisol. She's just a baby, almost two years old. She lives in Los Pinos with her twenty four year old mother, two older sisters, and baby sister in a one room shack containing one mattress on the floor and a crib. When this baby was at the property with us for two weeks she came alive. She blew kisses, started talking, played with Genesis, ran around everywhere, and was just as sassy as her seven year old brother, Anderson. Her father, who does not support his family or live in the home, became angry that she was with us and demanded that she return to Los Pinos. I saw her our last day there. I went with Tony to visit the family and to drop off some clothes. As I walked into that room she was sitting in a chair with a dirty shirt and a diaper, her face was filthy and her hair was a mess, and she wouldn't acknowledge me. No kisses, no smiles, nothing. She just held her arms up as I walked over so I picked her up and she laid on my shoulder, not sleeping just laying there, for the entire time the adults were talking. When we had to leave I set her on the mattress and she just stared at me. Her eyes were distant and empty, a baby that had learned to remove herself from her circumstances, a baby that had learned not to feel.
This is Amalia. She is all smiles and hugs. She is usually so happy that I forget what she's seen. This little girl walked into her home in Los Pinos when she was eleven to find her father, who had hung himself in the middle of their tiny home. And as she sobbed on her twelfth birthday because she missed him, there was so much pain in her eyes. She is a naturally positive and optimistic girl with a big heart and an incredible mom, but memories like hers do not just disappear and tragedy like that does not come without consequences.
And there are 600 five to ten year olds who just became traumatized. When people look at them, many will have the same pain behind their eyes. They've seen and experienced things that they shouldn't have had to. They have a story much heavier than most other children. And so remains the question:
If God was right there, why did He let this happen?
Why did he allow 20 children to be massacred? Why was Sandra born into the circumstances she was? Why was she in that part of the dump at the wrong time? Why did Amalia have to find her father? Why did her father have to hang himself anyway? Why is Marisol living in her conditions? What is it going to do to her? Will she ever get out?
Here's the deal, I don't know why these things happen. And really, nobody does. There will be people who come up with theories and spread word of conspiracies. There will be people that guess and problem solve and try to figure out who, what, when, where, and why. They will not ever really know. But I do know this, we have free will, and people abuse that free will. It comes with consequences. Still, I know that, as Jesus held those dying children, He was crying. And I know that there are tears in His eyes as He stands by their families. That He will be moved as He comforts children tortured by nightmares of trauma that should have never happened. That He was standing with Sandra in that dump. That He was angry at the injustice. That He winced as Amalia walked into her home. That He held her when she was tortured by what she saw. That He is working tirelessly to keep Marisol's heart alive. That He won't leave her or let her go.
God was right there. He wasn't absent, He wasn't removed, and He will never forget.
And I know that these three little girls are incredibly brave and strong. That their perserverance is inspiring and that they are examples for many. Because regardless of their pasts, Sandra still tells jokes, Amalia still smilies and laughs, and Marisol refuses to give up.
Maya Angelou once said,
"Children's talent to endure stems from their ignorance of alternatives."
Children do not often give up. They are not often quick to quit. In fact, most often they have much more perserverance than adults. So I know that these children will recover. They will never be the same, but they will work through it. Probably with more courage and bravery than adults deem possible.
So in the present time it might seem that the darkness is too dense, the burden too much, the pain too fierce. But as long as there is hope, a flame that continues to burn deep in the souls and hearts of people affected by tragedy, as long as Love continues to fight, the future brims with promise.
For joy always comes in the morning.
