Last night we watched the “The Good Lie” a film based on the true story of children from Sudan; their fleeing from their village after soliders came in and killed nearly everyone they loved and the opportunity to come to America after 13 years in a refugee camp. It was a good movie with an overwhelming theme of selfless love. As I watched I got teary-eyed quite a few times.
The tears continued after I got in bed and turned off the lights recounting the day. I had spent time with my family, enjoyed lunch with a friend, helped Brian work on the chicken coop, ate leftovers for dinner in a warm house, watched a movie with the kids, and here I was in my soft comfortable bed–crying. I’m glad Brian was asleep because I don’t know how to explain my sadness. As much as I wish everyone had the blessings of my life, my tears weren’t for the displaced refugees we had just watched, or those stuck in poverty, as much as they were for me. Sounds selfish, I know, but I can’t figure out the discrepency God allows between the lives of the poor and me. I don’t know what to do with the chasm that spans the materially poor and the life I live, even with my ripped couches, discount groceries, and thrift store clothes, I should call it what it is–a life of luxury. I have so much. So very much.
My tears turned to sobbing this morning as I read Psalms that spoke of God’s justice and love for the oppressed and the poor. I am unsure of what I am I supposed to do with this churning in my spirit. My life of comfort has become uncomfortable as I continue to wrestle with justice and community. I recognize that gratitude is not enough, that all that I have experienced or possess cannot be simply for me to say, “thanks, God.”