You know I am trying to put together $20,000 to send to a school in Palestine, so they can buy a van. So far, we've got 17,600. And yesterday I "cold called" a man from the local mosque who is known to be very generous. He said he'd contribute something and I went by to get his check, little expecting to have my heart broken at 11 in the morning.
But that's what happened.
The man is from Iraq, and he told me the story of his brother's kidnapping and murder there.
His youngest brother was a physician, who stayed in Baghdad, even though practicing medicine there was a difficult and money losing proposition. He stayed, with his brother's financial support, and kept on treating patients. Then one night, as he returned home from the hospital, he was kidnapped. The kidnappers used his cell phone to call his family and demand money. They called the brother here, who said, "Pay whatever they ask." And they did. Three days passed. The brother was in touch with the family hourly. The kidnappers were demanding more money, which the family agreed to pay. But the doctor's son went to the morgue, and there he found his father, with a bullet in his head.
I know this happens every day over there. But, when you are sitting across the table from a family member who is mourning his baby brother's senseless death . . . it means something different than when you read it in the newspaper.
I am so sad for the family. And sad to be part of the government (in a democracy, we ARE part of the government, like it our not) that has visited this chaos upon a country where people cannot live and serve each other in safety anymore.
I wish I could believe that the American government and military can restore order and safety. But I don't believe that. I don't think anyone, even George Bush, believes that anymore.
Anyway. That was my morning. And if my heart is sore, think how God's heart must feel.