A Prayer for Boston

So I'm a few days late on posting this week, but I'm asking for your grace and understanding. This has been a difficult, emotional week for me. Allow me to egocentrically explain:

On Saturday, I was on Long Island for a dear friend's bridal shower. It was fantastic to see my best friends again--to celebrate the promise of things to come, to hear good news, and to belly laugh the way you do with people who have shared every aspect of your life for the past 7+ years. It was also incredibly painful for me to realize how temporary this was, and made me yearn for just a little more time with them. Another week seemed perfect. And so on Saturday, I was on the phone with Southwest Airlines, hoping that they might generously postpone my flight home until next Saturday, so I could go to Boston, visit more friends, cheer on the Marathon runners, and listen to my beloved gospel choir in their concert on Friday night. I was heartbroken when Southwest wanted to charge me another $300 in order for that to happen. Which wasn't going to happen. I'll be honest, I cried. It wouldn't be the last time this week, either. 

My heart is in anguish within me,

the terrors of death have fallen upon me. 

Fear and trembling come upon me,

and horror overwhelms me.

And I say, 'O that I had wings like a dove!'

Then...well, we've all heard the news. Pressure cooker bombs. Cell signals overrun. Three dead, hundreds injured--and how many more unreported with broken spirits, injuries unable to be cured in a hospital? Families separated. Complete chaos, utter fear of the unknown. Exceptional first-responders. Marathoners giving blood in the minutes after they finished the race. Students organizing to walk the final five miles for those who didn't get to finish. TV personalities expressing solidarity with the city in their own way. 

And then there's the rest of it. Factories exploding, even more school shootings, earthquakes around the world, controversial legislative votes. The Onion actually expressed my thoughts on the week well (warning: explicit language, if you're offended by that stuff). 

Confuse, O Lord, confound their speech;

for I see violence and strife in the city.

Day and night they go around it on its walls,

and iniquity and trouble are within it;

ruin is in its midst...

And then I woke up this morning and found out my beloved city was on lockdown. As David and I listened to Boston radio stations online (Thank God for the internet), I could barely keep it together. As we saw descriptions of neighborhoods we knew well, pictures of buildings in which I've worked or shopped or walked by, I was so scared for my city. My home. And I felt torn. I know my family is grateful that I didn't stay the extra week in Boston--and I am, too, to a certain extent--except that I'm not really. My heart, mind, and soul are stuck 1,157 miles east of here. It's isolating. Heart-wrenching. Like a mother who can't stand to watch her children suffer, I can't bear sitting so far away as I watch the place I love, the place where I grew up, where my friends still live, become a police state. 

But I call upon God,

and the Lord will save me.

Evening and morning and at noon

I utter my complaint and moan,

and [God] will hear my voice.

The Psalm I've been referencing is Psalm 55, a lament--a song of grief, loss, suffering--attributed to King David. In my own words, I like to imagine the composition of the psalm as something like this: "Hey, God, it's me. And you're going to listen to me right now. I know you're busy or whatever, but I need you right now. Things are really rough around here--like, really bad. Have you SEEN the news? Everyone's dying or suffering or being scammed. It's hard to deal. Even people I thought I knew well are saying things that don't make sense anymore. They're so calm when they talk about terrifying things, hateful things. And I want to ask you to destroy them, to enact revenge, but...well..instead, I'm asking you to be with me. I need you right now--we all need you right now. That's all I'm asking. Remind me that I'm not alone."

I will trust in you. 

We are not alone. GOD is with us.
Behind locked doors in an East-coast city, God IS with us.
Stranded 1,157 miles away from your heart's yearnings, God is WITH us.
As we wrestle with how we should react to the past week's events, God is with US.

Amen.