Guilty comfort

I just made my vanilla hazelnut pot of coffee in my soft Victoria Secret warm robe. (I'm not bragging -- it only cost $9 on the clearance rack, but it is divine if I must say so.) My heater is on to keep out the cold. My kitten is licking herself contentedly on the rug by my feet. In a little bit, I'll be taking my boy to elementary school.

I wonder, though, about Southeast Asia. The pictures show particles of the devastatation; the personal accounts attest to unbelievable sights. The smell of rotting corpses becomes part of our current day vernacular.

I feel guilty to be living so well. Yes, my place in life could be blown away to bits by a tornado (2004 did have the most tornadoes on record) right here in the middle of the U.S. Or, some paranoid Missourians believe that a terrorist will show them a bomb, in the form of dropping it, right here in the central most part of the States, which is supposedly about 25 miles from here. Or, sometimes I truly do look up when I hear a low flying plane and wonder if it is a 747 headed for the mile-away nuclear plant. There are risks about anywhere these days. One must always store something for survival in a closet or a basement.

But when the disaster happens, it's cruel. Thankfully, people are showing their hearts by helping, giving, hoping for the best. We see the real stories on the news. Boy makes hot chocolate stand. Wheelchair sailor saves. Lutherans dispatch aid.

Then there's the other side (who says there's not a dichotomous structure in the air, "versus in the air"?) who are snatching children for trade, who are setting up watchful criminal fronts, who are plotting, who are not doing anything for anyone who had misfortune. Too real, too murky at times, too personal perhaps.

I don't feel like I'm doing enough. What is that wall that makes ours a contained world? Some people break through. A few dollars of mine broke through. Many of us just remain on our own island with our own inhabitants. I guess that this is okay, given our responsibilities. Yet it makes me fidgety. I dislike being a sideliner. Maybe I'll make a few calls today. Maybe I'll pierce with prayer some --- Marianne Williamson (I know, I know, new age cultish to some of you) expressed very well how prayer is like a beacon of light, a torch that we have access to in order to help others. Is it in Timothy where intercessory prayer is talked about as real, as a tangible aid?

I'm just very sorry that it happened and am sad each time I see what these people are going through. What are you all finding to do?