I just finished reading The Giver by Lois Lowry-- can't say I liked it much. Granted, I read it in two hours while the Olympics were in the background. Once upon a time, I would have pondered deeply the themes of sameness, conformity, love and revolution contained within the book. The English major in me would have looked at the symbolism of one person being selected to bear all of the pain inherent in the community. These days, I find I am much more controlled by the mother in me who was appalled by the one baby who was executed and the other who apparently froze to death at the end.
I can't help but interject my own children into this (and any other story or t.v. show) about the abuse or murder of innocence. Every child's face looks like one of my own and the mother bear comes out in me as I even contemplate one of them hurt or killed. Of every torture, sickness, misfortune or pain, the very worst thing that I can imagine is seeing my children suffer.
And what of God? He loves us infinitely more than the already unmeasurable love most of us feel for our children. How can He stand to see us suffer-- He, the All-Powerful Being who is still bound by His own immutable laws. He can't help us if we won't ask, or if by his assistance He would inflict more harm. Still, it must require a measure of love and self-control that I can't even imagine to watch some of the every-day drama that happens in this world...
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