The world is a balloon. Balloons start out as flat and are stuffed in a bag. Many in multiple colors. As the bag is opened up, the balloons are just lying there motionless. Flaccid. But then they get placed within the fingers and stretched. Then puffs of fresh air get propelled into them. A puff at a time. The balloon begins to give shape.
Into beautiful colors. Reds, whites, Oranges and Blues.
They go into parades and into inaugurations. Into birthdays and graduations.
They bring joy.
OVer time, they deflate and lose their stately shape.
They become loose and worn out. Unable to be used again in their vigor.
Replaced by another bag and another breath.
But still when hanging by threads
held up with hope.
To be brought to those hurting in hospital beds.
To march again into the world with gradual joy
muffling the impending sadness and gradual joy.
This is how I feel about the events from this past Saturday
in a part of the world that I used to pass by.
May His love touch those in Tucson and other parts of the world that are
indeed smarting with pain unbearable.