Yesterday morning I brought the two boys to school and it was such a normal day. Caleb stayed home with papa. I came back home to find him on papa’s lap, and for probably the first time in his little life, he preferred to stay with papa. With a very self aware smile, he looked at me, pretending to be a little shy. And then his face went back to the baby Einstein movie he was watching on papa’s phone. Total bliss radiated from his face.
As we sat there adoring our youngest, we were interrupted. A friend called on papa’s phone, to ask us if we had heard about Zaventem.
We had not.
A few seconds later we were scrolling through the newswebsites, looking for the very latest bit of news.
Yes, we now knew.
1 casualty. 4?casualties. 6. Up it went, along with another explosion. And so as far as we know right now, the count is up to?34.
A lot of others wounded.
After reading the news, I went with my sister to wash her car and buy fresh milk. It was a nice day. Sunny. Summery. Trees with blossoms and birds that sing and life goes on.
Soon the questions came in, about whether we are safe and yes, we are. We are going right on with our lives, picking up fresh milk and happy children at the school gate.
We aren’t that far from Zaventem, but quite far enough to be safe.
It’s closer to home then Paris, that’s for sure. Although even Paris seemed close.
Compared to Sinjar, Nigeria, Bagdad?
Paris, at 6 hours away, that is close.
Zaventem, at 20 minutes, that is really close.
I’m glad I can say I’m safe. I’m glad I can say all my friends and family are safe.
On the other hand, that means those 34 people are someone else. Someone else’s wife and husband and child and friend. And so, although I am so happy to be spared today, someone else is going through it. It could very well have been me. It’s a little surreal to me, how my life goes on like this.
Someone else is wondering why the sun is shining. This day, of all days. As they wonder and worry and get the dreaded confirmation call that yes, it was your loved one that died. Someone else is wondering at this very moment, how they will go on. They will have an empty place at supper tonight. There will be 34 empty beds tonight with no nope of recovery.
And then there’s the wounded, and the worrying and anxious waiting, will they make it?
I think of our friends K* and E*, from Iraq. When the offices in Brussels had an overload of refugees in September, we had a young couple over here. A few weeks ago they stayed the night again, as they had an early morning interview in Brussels. I think of them and how his?brother and her dad, they were not fine.?They did get the phone call and they had the empty bed. How they fled this and now it’s coming over here, catching up to them. Here, in the place where they’d hoped to be safe.
And I hope nobody looks at them angrily, tells them they should have stayed home where they came from.
I hope nobody tells them they are not worth it. That if some terrorists came in through the masses, we would have preferred them to stay back there where they came from, with the terrorists. We don’t want to help you if the cost is that high.
Because we do and you are worth it.
But yes, I am safe today. Safe in the arms of Jesus. Safe whether I live and safe whether I die because even if , even if? He is still good. He always is.
Today I picked up my children from school again. It was 12 when I was walking to the gate, and my heels made a lot of noise. Only after I had walked through the small crowd of other parents did I realise it was 12, it was a minute of silence for the victims of the Zaventem attack.
A minute of silence for those who lost someone, a minute of silence for those who died, a minute of silence for those who were wounded. A minute of silence for friends of days long gone by, who still haven’t heard anything from their son who was probably standing close to the explosion when it took place. A minute of silence for someone I used to play with on those awkward moments when you have to play with the children of your parent’s friends, who you don’t know all that well.
A minute of silence for people who I don’t know at all and whose pain I can’t feel or imagine but who I have to almost cry for anyway. Almost, because I blink and keep it in. I feel like I have no right to cry when their pain is so huge and why not me and why can’t I fix it? A minute of silence, is it all I can do?
Psalm 16:8 “I keep my eyes always on the LORD. With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.”
Psalm 119:50 “My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise preserves”
“En ik hoop dat niemand boos naar hen kijkt, hen vertelt dat ze hadden moeten blijven waar ze vandaan komen.
Ik hoop dat niemand hen vertelt dat ze het niet waard zijn. Dat als er een paar terroristen mee kwamen met de massas, dat we dan liever hadden gehad dat zij thuisbleven, met de terroristen. We willen je niet helpen als de kost zo groot is.
Want dat willen we wel en dat ben je wel waard.”
Super mooie woorden. Let’s go our of our way to make a difference, to help and to care. It is not normal or standard to go ‘out of your way’ for anyone, to really go the extra mile, but shouldn’t it be standard for those living under Jesus’ Lordship? Hasn’t He gone the extra mile for us? And asked us to follow in His footsteps? Helping these people means taking risks, it can’t be black and white; safe or unsafe. Either way, we should take those risks.
Perhaps… it begins with only a minute of silence, and grows into thoughts like these, that help us who are more than 20 minutes away to remember, and to think, and to also wonder how to help carry another’s pain. I’m so glad you posted.
Dat denk ik ook “Ik ben blij dat ik kan zeggen dat ik veilig ben. Ik ben blij dat ik kan zeggen dat al mijn vrienden en familie veilig zijn. Aan de andere kant betekent dat ook dat die 34 mensen iemand anders zijn, iemand anders? man, vrouw, kind, vriend. En al ben ik heel blij dat ik hier vandaag voor gespaard bleef, is er iemand anders die er doorheen moet. Het had net zo goed ik kunnen zijn. Het is wat surrealistisch, vind ik, hoe mijn leven zo door gaat.” We zijn zo blij dat het niet wijzelf zijn, of iemand die ons nabij is … maar dat betekend inderdaad wel dat er andere mensen zijn die erdoor moeten gaan …
That was beautiful and every word true. We are helpless but we can be kind. May G-d protect us all!
Omily, I remember feelings similar to this when “our” 911 attack occurred in New York City and Washington, DC (which I live between). It was a “beautiful day” here that day as well – except for the terror of the attacks. Thank you for this post. I will share it.