| one year since baby girl was taken, and i still can’t shake the feeling of sorrow that shrouds the situation. four years ago i cried because i thought 53 was too young... but 19? 19 was definitely too soon to go. it wasn’t until after i picked out my outfit today that i realized i’m wearing the shirt that reminds me of you. i remember it was 4 or 5 years ago and i took you and ysa shopping. i was just casually looking at clothes in hollister, and you girls were following me. you had ysa distract me as you went to go pay for a shirt that you had seen me linger on, and came out with a smile on your face. “happy birthday,” you both said in unison, and i made you show me the receipt to make sure you hadn’t lifted it, and then gave you a hug and a kiss. that’s very sweet, sophie, you didn’t have to do that. and you said something along the lines of “whatever, ugly, you needed some new clothes.” little punk-ass, that’s what you were, a girl with a rebellious spirit and a giant heart. ridiculously talented and too smart, charming, and pretty for your own good.
too soon.
a year ago i was standing in a room and watching hundreds say goodbye to you, and my heart was breaking. breaking, because i saw your parents standing with the kind of sorrow that makes strong, held your friends’ hands as they leaned on my shoulders and cried, and i looked for God amongst hearts lost in the mire of tragic circumstance. sometimes i get upset at the cloudy, amorphous, syncretic beliefs that characterize Vietnamese faith, but that day i remember watching your family and feeling proud. because i remembered how much Vietnamese people know how to suffer. and in the midst of that suffering, that is when they turn hardest towards God. Vietnamese people will never renounce faith simply because things are hard. some combination of historical determinism and God-created elements, but it was a comforting hope that was given to me that day, a hope that i cling to whenever i think about my people, and whenever i pray for your family. i pray that God would be GOD to your parents—a God of comfort, a God of rest, a God of joy. for two people who have suffered much, i pray, God, that you would be more than that which they cling to when they need to endure; i pray that you would heal and restore and bring life where there has been death. i pray that you would see their willingness to lose homeland, comfort, a son, and now a daughter... i pray that you would honor the sacrifices that they have made, the diligence with which they have turned to you in the midst of pain, and i pray that you would reward them with a love and joy that is tangible and real. rest in peace, baby. that feels easier to say than live in peace, everyone else. it’s crazy how a bullet entered a window one night and somehow the effect continues to shatter us. a year later, and thousands are still angry and confused and lost. you said that you would be glorified through this situation—
i’m still waiting. |
