Blind Rage

There are times when the bite of anger is so real and so piercing, that my only response is to rant and write.

On December 16th in New Delhi, India a 23-year-old female physiotherapy student was gang raped.

Today she died of the injuries sustained during that rape.

And I am in a blind rage. I rage at the men – the perpetrators of this act. I rage at the police, the collaborators by making the woman feel as though she was in the wrong, I rage at a world that allows this to happen. I grow sick as I think of the event, nauseated as I hear her screams in my mind.

More than anything I weep. I’ve been following the story, desperately hoping for a good outcome, desperately praying for a miracle.

But early morning in a hospital in Singapore where she was flown to receive treatment this woman, this young woman student with her life ahead of her, died, surrounded by her family.

I am caught once again between two worlds – the world I see around me shouts of evil, sin, broken systems, political oppression, power, rape, horror; the other world whispers that we are made for something so much better, created for so much more, made in the image of God to glorify Him.

My Christmas tree twinkles bright lights, Oxford carols are playing on a near broken CD player, I try and shield myself from the horror I feel.

And my blind rage is because I feel caught between these two, knowing I am not innocent myself, longing for wrong to be made right, wishing that this woman was home safe eating a curry with her family. And I wonder did the love of God reach down to her particular Hell?

They say she died “peacefully”.

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Singapore-shaped Hole

Little can describe those first months in our passport countries after living overseas, We leave strong, vibrant expat communities and return to places where community seems absent or elusive; we think it’s there but how do we find it? We leave places where we have connected with other people from all over the world and created our own global neighborhood and move to places where that global neighborhood feels far away and the local neighborhood too provincial. Most of all we leave places that we have grown to love, where our hearts are marked by holes shaped like those places and filled with those people that we have left. 

Fall is typically a time when these moves happen. And so my niece Amy is guest posting today, taking us on a bit of her journey this fall as she faces a Singapore-shaped hole in her heart. 

Fall has historically been my favorite season. And this week, the DC metro area is experiencing the most gorgeous fall weather a girl could ask for. The trees are starting to change colors and there is a crisp breeze causing all the leaves to rustle joyously. But what really gets me is the smell; the smell of changing seasons is indescribable and intoxicating.

I find that there is a stirring in my heart; a nostalgic joy that has been long-lost is awakening in my soul. It is brought on by crunchy leaves, bright orange pumpkins, delicious apples, and that familiar and comfortable atmosphere of Fall that I know so well.

But every crunch of a leaf, flash of orange from a pumpkin, and juicy bite of an apple reminds me of the season I have left behind.

English: Overview of Singapore's financial dis...

The last two years of my life were spent on the tiny island of Singapore. This island is a bustling city nestled in Southeast Asia between Malaysia and Indonesia; rich in jungle atmosphere, cultural diversity, and the best food known to man. Though 6 weeks have already passed since I moved back to America, a piece of my heart still dwells with that little island. I long for the sticky, hot air and the smell of jungle and city, combined with a hint of durian.

I wonder when I will again feel that tropical atmosphere, eat chicken rice at the local hawker stall, or be the only white face crammed into a train car packed with Asian faces.

As I am experiencing the joy I have always found in changing seasons, my heart is being torn in two as I grieve what I have left behind. Some mornings when I wake up, the Singapore-shaped hole in my heart is almost too much to bear. I tell myself that I would trade the gorgeous Fall weather any day to be back on that tiny island.

But the grief will inevitably fade, and the joy of Fall will once again take over. And I will move forward into my new season, as we are all forced to do at times, but I do so having left a piece of my heart in Singapore and treasuring the piece of Singapore left in my heart.