Sometimes fear grips hold and does not let go.
This is what I believe. I am weary. I want it to end. I want us to live in a place where children can go to sleep at night without the sound of gunfire; walls riddled with bullet holes and judgment. I believe that these children deserve a restful night curled securely under a blanket of hope, clutching tightly the hand of a velveteen friend and dreaming about the things children dream about. Instead, I see eyes peeking out from behind a curtain of terror while death swirls about their heads and broken bodies litter their streets.
The unease I feel is quickly placed into a box and I tightly seal the lid. I stack it next to the dust-covered box labeled trust.
I take pleasure in my life, my family, my work. I cross paths with people everyday who are on their own voyage. We shake hands, exchange plastic words and move on through our lives. You would think that in a world where instant communication is old news and time travel seems to really be right around the corner, we would be a more connected and trusting people.
I believe that we are broken and we are divided.
How did we get this way? I have my own ideas, but I choose to keep that box locked tightly. Maybe you think you know the answer.
How can we, a broken and divided people, turn the tide? How can we be a people of hope, a people of faith, a people of peace? How can we grasp hold of one another and walk hand in hand? How can we make a difference in the world around us? How can we stop flying bullets and angry judgment from killing hope and our children? How can we break open our boxes?
There is a still small voice.
Listen closely. The tide is turning. Do you hear it?
It is a whisper. It is a breath. It is gratitude. It is hope. It is trust.
It is the human spirit.
This, I believe.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.