Or at least
his mom was. “Look for the helpers.”
I’ll be honest. I haven’t done much of that this week, but I
have a really good reason. I don’t actually have to “look” for them. They’re
everywhere. When I turn on my TV and see the horrible images, in the forefront
of those images are the helpers. They’re not wearing capes. They don’t leap
buildings in a single bound.
They apply pressure to the wounds. They carry victims into waiting
ambulances. They scour neighborhoods searching for the monsters that the rest
of us are hiding from.
The helpers make me smile and they bring tears to my eyes. They
are the ones that comfort strangers with kind words and a warm embrace. They
are like the gentleman from Sitka, Alaska, who gave his marathon medal to a woman
he’d never met before who was just a half mile short of the finish line when
the bombs went off.
The helpers are the ones who run toward danger when we are
all running away. Some of those helpers perished in Boston and West, Texas this
week.
For every bad guy, there are – I believe – millions of
helpers. As this week of endless horrible news cycles comes to an end, I find
myself comforted by all the good that
springs up when the unthinkable happens. That’s the unintended positive
consequence of horrible intentions and actions.
Take that, bad guys.
No comments:
Post a Comment