the hiding place

I just finished reading "The Hiding Place" by Corrie ten Boom. I felt as if I should say something about it, or rather I should shout on the rooftops about it or something. And I think what I might shout is, "How can things like that happen? How can human beings be so inhumane?" and then maybe this: "Why can't we all just get along?"

I take so much for granted in my world. I know this, but I realize it even more blatantly when I read something like this. I take a nice warm shower every day . . . with soap! I sleep in a nice comfy bed in a climate controlled room. I whine and complain about how bored I am of my clothes. "I need more," but I have a closet full to choose from every day, and they're all clean. I have plenty to eat every single day, in fact more than plenty. I whine and complain about losing that last ten pounds all the time. Those I love no longer all live with me, but they are all healthy, living in good situations, having happy lives, and I can visit them as I please. My most serious suffering this year was when I had no Internet! Pity! Horror! Terrible Life!

I've seen documentaries on the Holocaust, I've read about it. I've been to a Holocaust museum. Just the same, every time I read or see more, I am so aghast. How do people turn into monsters? It makes me feel so vulnerable. I feel like I live in a safe neighborhood. I live in a country where there are laws and consequences for breaking laws. I know it's not a perfect system, but I feel relatively safe in my little world. Is there going to be another world war? History would probably point to "yes." It seems that somehow on this ball we live on we can't seem to learn from the horrors of the past, that cycles just keep repeating themselves.

So as I read this book, I began to think "what if." What if the world goes crazy again? What if the war action takes place in my safe little world? What if I become a Corrie ten Boom? And then the thought occurred to me: What if this happens to my children? And then I could no longer bear it. I can almost bear the thought of having to live through horror and suffering myself, but my babies? My grandbaby? My heart breaks with the very thought of this suffering being thrust upon those I love. And as those thoughts took root in my brain, I began to read so much the faster. This book had to be finished. I couldn't bear their pain any longer. I couldn't bear the thought of this pain to those I love, and I raced to the end.

But by the time the race was over, and I had finally crossed the finish line, I realized that there was so much more in that small volume than a mere recounting of the horrors of the Holocaust. They were well documented, yes, but the story of hope, the story of faith and kindness and goodness, even in the face of cruelty, were the triumph in this story. The message of its story is clear. From the pages of the book itself, " . . . there is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still."

My sweet daddy used to say, "I'm a lover, not a fighter, so c'mere and let me give you a love." Then he'd wrap me up in his big, strong daddy arms, and I was trapped there until he was done squeezing all the air right out of my lungs. So why can't all human beings be so loving?

I know how simplistic this is, but we are all God's children. Why can't we all just get along?