A Desperate Plea For Love

A Desperate Plea For Love

My alarm goes off at 9:20 AM. I open my eyes and look up at the ceiling. My room is bright from the sunlight outside and the sound of birds chirping reminds me that the morning has already begun without me. I stretch and get up, feeling good about the day ahead, and begin to gather my thoughts about what needs to get done. Two hours later, I’ve showered, eaten, done some homework and emailing, prepared dinner for that night, and am walking to campus to officially start my day with the outside world.

I drink coffee, read, write, and make small talk with a few acquaintances before my first class. While inside, I peer out the window: the weather is cool and damp – a nice change from the hot 80-degree weather and sunny skies we’d been having.

Class is over and I head toward my next class across campus. A close friend calls me from Maryland. She is crying and gasping as she talks to me. I try to comfort her as I listen to bits and pieces of what she is trying to say through the sobs. “Bombs went off in Boston.” I immediately think of Angela, another very close friend who is running this year. I tell my friend I love her very much and to keep me updated. I hang up the phone and call Angela. No answer. In a panic, I call her again. Still nothing. I go to class, shaking and frightened.

A friend who lives in Virginia text messages me: “Is Angela okay?” Another one writes: “2 explosions at the Boston Marathon.” And another friend texts: “Hey Katie, was anyone you know in Boston for the marathon? There were a couple of bombs that went off about an hour ago downtown.” I receive text message after text message all afternoon. I receive a phone call from my sister in New York and immediately leave class to answer it. I return 20 minutes later with swollen eyes and a red nose from crying. Still no news from Angela. I bury my head in my book but have completely tuned out mentally.

I finally receive a text message: “I’m safe, don’t worry. They shut it down while I was at mile 22. I’m just in so much shock.”

“I gasp out in a state of relief. “Oh my gosh, Angela. I was so terrified. I love you so much.” She responds, “I love you, too. I can’t believe this happened in our city.”

I leave class feeling vulnerable and alone at the thought that there are hundreds of other people counting each second of every minute as they wait to hear safe news from friends or family. Tiny triggers that may or may not matter filter through my brain as I walk home, trying to piece everything together. It all seems so surreal – so close to home, yet I feel 1,000 miles away. I hear sirens in the distance and my heart stops. I run the rest of the way home.

The realities of what has just occurred start to kick in. I lie on my bedroom floor, breathing heavily as tears swell in my eyes. I begin to cry. I feel so small, but I am not ashamed to be crying. I am allowed to have a reaction and feel overwhelmed and terrified. I am allowed to feel sadness for our world – for those who view the people in the world as either a friend or an enemy, for those who lack the compassion to see each individual as a human being, for those who resort to violence, and for those who live without love.

We are a world of people who have forgotten how to love one another. Yes, we must show love and compassion to those injured innocents and the quiet heros who inspired us today. But more importantly, we must show it to those who commit these acts every day in every corner of the world – for those in Iraq, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Yemen, and Somalia. For they are the ones most desperately in need of love.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

- John 16:33

Pray for love to re-enter this world.

[Marsabit, Kenya]