“You protect the poor; you protect the helpless when they are in danger. You are like a shelter from storms, like shade that protects them from the heat. The cruel people attack like a rainstorm beating against the wall, like the heat in the desert. But you, God, stop their violent attack. As a cloud cools a hot day, you silence the songs of those who have no mercy.”Isaiah 25:4-5 NCV
Why are we letting them win? The terrorists? When you look at the population of the world as a whole, they are such a small hoard. Come on people!
I’m watching the news and state after state is turning away Syrian refugees because, oh no, what if they are terrorists!? Where is the compassion? Have they forgotten that we are all refugees fleeing from some oppression? Have they forgotten this nation was built by refugees?
As I walked out of work last night, I heard the CNN reporter ask, Are we safe from Isis here in the USA? Of course not!!! Safety is never guaranteed! I can’t help but roll my eyes at the sheer stupidity of that question!
But should we punish all for the sake of the few? What if these were our brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers? Oh wait, they are! By turning away everyone, we are letting them win. The terrorists. This is a tragedy. And hypocritical. It’s okay to rush to ‘help’ other nations in their time of need, just don’t bring that into our house.
My prayer is for people to come to their senses. To have compassion. To remember nobody gets out of this life alive. I’m praying for all of humanity, including terrorists, to meet the only Person who can change it all. Jesus died for humanity, even terrorists, so we could be saved! How scandalous is that!?
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. “Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Praying for sanity to win this Wednesday.