Reflections from a Quiet Room
There are moments when I sit alone in my room, basking in a fleeting sense of peace, only to have a thought intrude—a tinge of guilt, a reminder of those far away. I imagine the refugee camps in Sudan, dust-laden fields stretching endlessly under a harsh sun. Women with their heads covered, feet bare, children clinging to their backs, their cries a constant, haunting melody. The wars in Ukraine, the unrest through the Middle East—the faces of women flicker through my mind.
In these quiet moments, I find the strength to keep moving. If they must journey across desolate lands in herds, then I have no choice but to press forward here. Anything less would feel like a betrayal of their resilience. I hold onto simple joys—taking my grandchildren to the mall, watching them pretend to be grown or risk it all in a game of chess. These moments remind me of my responsibility.
Perhaps they, too, carry their children, only to be met with the news that their sons have fallen on distant battlefields, victims of bloodshed at the hands of some unseen force. I see the camps so clearly—fields of dust, the air thick with despair. The faces of women, etched with hardship, bear the weight of their children and their futures. Above them, drones drift like silent predators, unseen yet ever-present, delivering death with chilling precision. They are the snipers of the sky, casting shadows over lives that have never known peace.
Forever refugees—across Sudan, Ukraine, the volatile Middle East. Each place burns in its own way, a center of the world where every eye watches, waiting for Christ. We fix our gaze on Jerusalem, knowing that the story there is far from over. Sometimes, I wonder: If America had been the land that birthed the Son of God, would life be different? Perhaps not. But one day, our worlds will collide, and I might find myself over there instead of here. Would God vanish in that moment? No, He’s always been present, both here and there.
There’s no need for empty promises or quick fixes. The world is as it is—full of struggle, love, pain, and rare moments of peace. Yet, in the midst of it all, there’s a breath, a heartbeat that keeps us moving forward. Perhaps, for now, that is enough.
