HEADLINE REACTIONS

As a mom I just couldn't ignore two desperate, family news stories in this mid-October week.

The first story began the second day of the week. A Floridian mom did what all mommies do: feed her children, comb their little ones’ bangs in place, and send the loved ones off for school. Then Deina Thompson went off to work as all caring moms do, either at home or at a workplace.

But when one child did not make it home from school, Thompson cried for help. Holding onto the missing twin’s sibling, Thompson contacted the authorities. Because of AMBER Alert, lobbied into law by caring dads Ed Smart and John Walsh, Thompson’s story spread nationwide. Three days later, authorities found the missing seven-year-old. The nation showered the grieving family with prayers, toy bears, and sympathetic condolences.

As this family tragedy concludes, another family tragedy drags on. News archives note this tragedy began the second day of 2009. It would have ended October 22, 2009. But a mistrial was declared in the extortion trial in the Bahamas concerning the death of actor John Travolta’s son, Jett.

My mind ignobly ignores the names of the ambulance driver and the lawyer/politician alleged in the extortion case. I do linger over these details from the Associated Press release:

“Jurors were still deliberating when [a lawmaker] told an audience at a Progressive Liberal Party Convention that [the resigned politician] was a ‘free woman.’ . . . [He] had misspoken . . . But the judge said that [his] comment gave her no choice but to dismiss the jurors.”

As of this writing no date has been set for a new trial.

I type these comments fiercely as a mom of a special needs son. For this extortion trial involves a mom and dad of a special needs child, an autistic son whose life yielded to severe seizures. This mom knows such seizures. She’s cried in ambulances, paced hospital floors. Emotions and raw adrenaline overwhelm a compassionate parent in crisis, doesn’t matter whether that parent is a public or private person. When it’s your child, you fix on your child, not on paper dots or details.

Caring parent rejoice when their child survives. Parents grieve when surviving hope ends in tragedy.

Mourning needs space and time. Time and space are not the celebrity norm. Money serving usurpers often invade the private moments in celebrity lives. For John Travolta and Kelly Preston, mammon usurpers invaded grief’s sacred sanctum with alleged extortions based on hurried dots and details. Thursday’s political mistrial unravels grief’s closure.

As a curious society, we ought to examine how we react to publicized tragedies. If led, send cards, flowers, toys, or donations. In all manners we should respect the privacy of grieving families by allowing them time and space. For those who pray fervently, pray for the family.


“As a father has compassion on his children,
so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him.”
---Psalm 103:13(niv)

Nachamu Ami, 
Part 3 Passing the Peace


“Shabbat Shalom!"

"The Peace of the Lord!” echoes through sanctuaries every weekend. Have you heard such phrases this week? If you had, they probably came with a smile, a pat on the shoulder, a hug, or double handhold. Sometimes, as in our church, the Passing of the Peace lasts long enough for some to share heartaches and receive comfort.

Nachamu ami, or in English, “comfort my people.” These words came to God’s chosen people as its society wobbled on the crumbled rocks of libertarian-excused amorality and multicultural paganism. Assyrians stood at the border, Northerners ready to war, conquer and enslave the small kingdom. A thousand years later newer generations, descendants of divisive enemies face the same evil chessboard. Only some stand on a tiny plot of land while many surround for the kill.

Where is true peace found?

Humanists try to limit the ideal "peace" to an absence of conflict between humans. Hold hands. Sing a capella “Kumbaya.” Close your eyes. Visualize daisies of congeniality. Yet, eyes closed or wide open, we continue to reel from urban gang-banger murders. Drug cartels continue kidnapping- bloodletting wars. Suicides here and everywhere grieve and shock us. Regional factions fight over water rights. Ad hominem words spew and wound like an unregistered assault weapon. Some vested warmongers have the audacity to slip into a relief organization, a hotel, or open markets to detonate many persons.

Despite this worldwide bloodlust, the Word of God speaks a fait accompli. God has given us peace, a peace the world does not understand, a peace not for this world, a peace of wholeness for every soul broken and apart from God.

Which is why every weekend our family attends a local service. For after a week of iniquities in thoughts, words, and deeds, we go to heed the Word that absolves and mends our relationships through merciful reconnection with our God. In crumbling times, let us sing and mean of peace a hymn a father wrote after his four girls perished in an Atlantic crossing:

“For me, be it Christ, Be it Christ hence to live.
If Jordan above me shall roll
No pang shall be mine, for in death and in life
Thou will whisper Thy peace to my soul.”
-Horatio Spafford

Is it so well with you?
“Comfort, yes, comfort My people!” says your God.
“Speak comfort to Jerusalem, and cry out to her,
That her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned.”
Isaiah 40:1-2(NKJ)

Nachamu Ami

Part 2, Ten for the Soul

2009 hurtles to October, the tenth month in the Julian calendar. For those Jewish this remains the seventh month, Tisrei that ushers in the head days of a new year, Rosh Hashanah. Then follows ten Days of Awe, and finally Yom Kippur, this Saturday.

How does ten days affect a soul? In those Days of Awe I’m told a Jew tries to amend his or her behavior of the past year and seek forgiveness for wrongs done against God (bein adam lemakom) and against other human beings (bein adam lechavero). Those Days of Awe would affect one Gentile gal.

Just before Rosh Hashanah, my longtime Christian pal began a ten-day Deep South visit. She helped decorate my home while staying with her daughter’s family. Tisrei is a holy celebration month. But for my pal’s family, September’s a celebration month of special dates galore, especially THE birthdate for a cutie granddaughter, whose home’s front door proclaimed “I’m 1!” in bold 10,000 font-size lettering.

My girlfriend’s family scheduled the party late afternoon Saturday. That morning her Nana, my beloved hubby, and I attended our first Rosh Hashanah service . . . for messianic believers.

In a rented humble church, we found worshippers hugging, chatting. In the back sat a table with hot coffee, apple slices, and honey bowls. The worship team ambled the front platform with a wooden cross, topped with thorns and the letters, GRACE. To one side sat a woman, projector, and portable screen. On the other side stood men in yarmulke caps and snowy prayer shawls. When the men blew curved shofars, the congregants scurried to their seats.

Two women sang the harmonic Hebrew spoken millennia ago by the poet Isaiah: Nachamu Ami, Comfort my people.

The worship leader prayed we would enter the presence of God. As we drifted between ancient liturgical chants and contemporary G-d songs, MBH, my pal, and I raised hands. Joy wrapped us in awe. By faith we affirmed our Creator, Judge, Author of Enduring Books WAS and IS and IS TO FOREVER BE the great I Am.

The three-hour worship I so needed, along with friends who helped to uphold me. In those ten Days of Awe the foundation of my faith would be tested. My Buddy still had no job. My Maria’s days at work dwindled. And last Thursday I learned my eldest son, Miguel, would lose his job September 30th.

Yom Kippur starts this sundown, the celebration of the Almighty sealing the Book of Life with names of His Redeemed. This Gentile mom can rejoice. In that book rests these names: Buddy, Maria, Miguel!
Is your name there as well?