The world is going mad.
With shootings, bombings, politics, racism, and with the future seeming so uncertain, that this seems like the appropriate response; the world is going mad.
In my line of work as a nanny, not many things scares me, though the weight of responsibility is sobering. Have you ever seen a baby choking on food or a baby causally trying to lodge an object into its mouth? That terrifies me. You feel like you’re choking too. You have to rub and pat their back if it’s food or yank it out if it’s an object but either way it is terrifying. Terrifying and yet common, because everyone chokes, and every baby tries to lodge something down its throat. Sometimes I feel like a baby, choking on the fearful atmosphere and the anxieties that I and my generation face. I make my mistakes. I fall in my sins, embrace my weaknesses and in doing so I am effectively choking myself. Maybe this is a humanity thing. We choke on our pride and on our corruption. Maybe this is why the world is going mad. We effectively choke ourselves like babies.
Eventually though, if you do the right procedure, the food does come out in bits and spit or you yank the object out. The baby cries and you are instantly lifted because crying mean that you breathe. It’s fine, it’s fine, it is all fine, you’re okay, you are going to be okay is what you whisper to them as they cling to you and lay their head on your shoulder. There is some hope still in the world. Hope lurks in the shadows because the shadow needs the sunshine. I look outside, and the sky is bleak and grey. I crave sunshine and a variety of coloured leaves floating to the ground. I’m not getting any of that though, not yet anyways and there is a promise in ‘not yet’. Because not yet doesn’t mean forever, it means it will come sooner or later. I’m choking but that doesn’t mean the end, not yet.
I walk home from the library. I walk over to the bridge where the river lies underneath and I breathe. I forget the world’s madness for a moment. Breathe in and out and enjoy my moment of quiet in a midst of a noisy world. The wind whistles. I try to whistle and fail miserably. A cyclist passes by, giving me an odd look at the sight of me blowing and I laugh and feel lighter. With every step I am learning again and again, to admit that I am choking, to let myself be saved, to let the Father yank out that object, and to let Him stop me from choking. We all would stop choking if we would admit that and admit that we needed help. Then we could say with confidence to each other, “it’s fine, you’re okay, you’re going to be okay.”