Do I feel safe, knowing it was New England and not California?
Is 3000 miles a wide enough span to let me breathe, while clucking my tongue at such horrors in the world?
Is 3000 miles far enough away to feel adequate sorrow without having to give my whole heart away?
When is far too close?
When is close too close?
When is that sorrowing, grieving stranger–that dead stranger–close enough to tear through the callous of my safety and otherness and cause me to not only put a candle on Facebook for a second’s notice,
to pray in a real and pleading way that God would heal and help and intervene in this bloody brokenness–
this brokenness that, though not mine,
belongs to all of us.