Solving the Problems of Humanity

Hello, friends.

If I lived in an alternate universe in which I had unlimited time and resources, I would have a very large house in which all foster children, homeless people, survivors of abuse, refugees, and stray animals would be welcome, healthy, happy, and safe.

Unfortunately, I live in the real world, and solving the problems of humanity is not that simple.

I hear about the situation at the border, where a heartless policy rips children away from their parents, and all I want to do is fix it. I want to storm that old Wal-Mart full of innocent girls and boys and reunite them with their families. But I can't. I don't have the power to make all of those poor children's problems go away.

Occasionally, my caseworker asks if I can take another child. I hate saying no, because I know the ratio of foster children to available foster homes (it's not good) and I know the amount of difference a home instead of a shelter can make (it's a lot). But I have to say no. One child is almost too much for me sometimes, and logistically, it's just not possible for me to take in another one. I say no, but mentally, I'm always calculating what it would take to get to the point of saying yes. Because if I can help, I should be. That's the way my parents raised me. You don't stand by and watch as someone else suffers. You help them. That's just what you do.

So as I look at the situation at the border, I know that I can't actually storm that Wal-Mart and help all those kids. But I know that, just like I'm able to make a difference in the life of one foster child, I can make a difference in maybe the life of one of those kids. Or two. Or three.

This article provides a lot of good information. I recommend you check it out. It's easy to look at a big problem like this and say, "That's too big for me. I can't possibly fix this." And you'd be right in saying that. You, alone, as one person, you can't fix this. But we, together, we can fix this.

"The King will say to those on his right,  'Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.'

Then the righteous will answer him, saying, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?'

And the King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these brothers, you did it to me.'" (Matthew 25:34-40)

Coping Mechanisms

Hello, friends.

In troubled times, I have a small collection of coping mechanisms.

1- Binge-watching shows on Hulu/Netflix. For reference, ask me any question about The Flash. (It's possible that I've watched all four seasons in the last month or so.)

2- Ranting over the phone to various people in other states. I don't know how many long, nonsensical calls I've had with people like Lindsey and my parents. All I know is, it's a lot.

3- Eating ice cream. Half-Baked Ben & Jerry's, man. It's the way to go. Speaking of which, I'm out of ice cream...

4- Re-reading my favorite books. Anything by Tamora Pierce is always on the list, but a few others usually end up on my kitchen table too: "Hope Was Here" by Joan Bauer, "Shadow Spinner" by Susan Fletcher, and "The Horse and His Boy" by C. S. Lewis.

Tonight, after exhausting all episodes involving the Scarlet Speedster, talking to Lindsey the past several nights, and running out of ice cream, I've been immersing myself in the life of Shasta (the Boy in the aforementioned Lewis tale). So far, he's run away from home thanks to Bree the horse and met up with new friends Aravis and Hwin.  He didn't exactly intend to meet up with them - they were forced together when lions started chasing after them.

Lions are a recurring theme in "The Horse and His Boy," much to Shasta's chagrin. My favorite part of the book, and the reason that I often return to it, is this conversation near the end.

He told how he had never known his real father or mother and had been brought up sternly by the fisherman. And then he told the story of his escape and how they were chased by lions and forced to swim for their lives; and of all the dangers in Tashbaan and about his night among the tombs and how the beasts howled at him out of the desert. And he told about the heat and thirst of their desert journey and how they were almost at their goal when another lion chased them and wounded Aravis. And also, how very long it was since he had something to eat.  

"I do not call you unfortunate," said the Large Voice.  

"Don't you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?" said Shasta.  

"There was only one lion," said the Voice.  

"What on earth do you mean? I've just told you there were at least two the first night, and--" 

"There was only one: but he was swift of foot." 

"How do you know?"

"I was the lion." And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."

Shasta had every reason to complain. His life had been nothing but one hardship after another. He tried to do the right thing and failed in those attempts all the time, and even when he didn't, he ended up in worse predicaments than before. But this exchange revealed to him that he was never alone, and through all those trials he faced - and lions he ran from - he was guided and protected by The Lion, Aslan.

All of us have troubles every now and again. Most of us have troubles more often than that. But Shasta's encounter with Aslan is reminiscent of all the encounters I've had with God in which He gently reminds me that I'm not alone or forgotten or abandoned. He's here, even and especially when I struggle to see Him. "I do not call you unfortunate," Aslan told Shasta, because he wasn't. He was blessed to have Aslan in his life in a very real and present way. We're blessed in that same way. God is in our lives in very real, present ways - ways we would never expect and may never know until we get to the heavenly gates. But we can be sure that He's there, guiding, protecting, loving us through it all.

I left out one coping mechanism earlier:

5- Writing blog posts for other people to read, but really for myself on my next rainy day.

Until next time, this is Iowa Girl Meets World, signing off.