Lights in the Darkness

My grandfather was French, and was made a member of the French Legion of Honor for his role in the French Resistance to the Nazis. His photo, in his WW II uniform, hangs above my stairs with other family pictures. I like to see his smile. Sometimes I kiss my grandchildren the same way he kissed my sisters and I , always, on both cheeks.  

I thought about Grandpa Vuillet last night, when I heard the news from Paris on the radio, and then switched TV on. It was so awful. The murder of innocents. I could hardly bear it.

Then I thought, ‘great, and I write a book called Find the Good?’ Have I somehow jinxed the world by arguing, in my sunny way, that this is always possible?

No.  Of course not. I'm not that important. 

But as the scenes of terror gave way to the witness stories, and the snow stopped and the sun rose on new day, I knew Mr. Rogers' old words of comfort are still as true as they ever were,— "Look to the helpers" he said. There are always, always people helping.

A Haines EMT friend is in Greece volunteering in a medic unit helping the refugees washing up on shore there. In a recent email he wrote:

“A corps of volunteers from around the world are performing a most import vigil. Cars with people watching are spread out along a 10-mile area, prepared to radio rescuers if a boat is seen approaching.  This is not a single boat with a few people coming every so often. This may be a flotilla of boats, which carry 50-70 people each, and there may be as many as 50 boats a day. Each day literally thousands arrive on the beaches, chilled to the bone, near death, or in fact dead. ”

I believe there is a light in the darkness, and it is us, don't you?

 

 

 

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