i’ve stayed silent about the whole syria situation because…well, really. what can i say? syria is bleeding. there are people dying, children dying, and we’ve seen their faces. millions are displaced, the country deteriorating, and now our president wants to step in + fight, all in the name of saving syria.
i want syria to be saved. i want their people to live in peace and security. but most of all, i don’t want any more blood to be shed. and violence and war, the fight–even with good intentions–always means more blood shed. innocent blood shed. and my heart just can’t take it.
i have stood in a land rebuilding itself after 14 years of war, and my tears have soaked its earth. you see, i’ve seen what war can do. i know children who slept under market stalls, men and women who spent years on the run, dodging bullets, always trying to stay one step ahead of the attack, who went days and even weeks without food, who were forced to drink polluted waters in hopes to simply stay alive. i know people who lost their dignity, their families, their homes, every single possession they’ve ever owned. i’ve seen that restoration is no easy thing, especially starting from the bottom up. and i do not want this for syria.
i admit i look at syria and i wring my hands and cry silently because i. just. don’t. know. i want assad to be stopped, but at what cost? i just. don’t. know.
i remember: in liberia, we sang a song: “freedom is coming; freedom is coming. freedom is coming; oh, yes, i know.” i find comfort in singing that tune these days, for it reminds me of what i do know to be true in all this uncertainty.
freedom is coming.
my convictions will not allow me to stand behind the violence. but they will let me stand.
for a better way.
and so i bow my head for syria and join my heart with so many others and breathe out the only thing that makes sense anymore:
“we do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.” [2 chronicles 20.twelve]