Is God Tired of Us?

The "lost boys" of the Sudan

My son Kevin recently watched an award-winning 2006 documentary called God Grew Tired of Us. At his recommendation, I watched it last night. Kevin told me to be prepared to cry.

I was prepared to cry. But I wasn’t prepared to grieve.

The camera follows the story of three young Sudanese men who emigrate to America from the refugee camp in which they have lived since their flight from Sudan years before. The film backtracks to document the violent events which killed and scattered their families and left them to survive alone. As youngsters, John, Daniel, and Panther joined the thousands of “Lost Boys” who made the long trek across treacherous terrain without food or water in search of safety in another country.

They were among the fortunate ones who survived the journey. After years in a refuge camp, they were eventually chosen to emigrate to America. Through the lens, we watch them live the joy of hope, the bewilderment of being thrust into a new culture, and the determination to build new lives in this country. I laughed as they struggled to learn how to turn on a light and tasted their first potato chips. I flinched when they wondered what Santa and a tree of lights had to do with the birth of Jesus Christ.

I cried as they walked in amazement through grocery stores bulging with food, their new American clothes hanging from their gaunt frames as a pudgy American stared at them with frank distaste. I was amazed at their love for one another, their commitment to care for those they left behind, their simple appreciation for all that we take for granted.

It was painful to hear John, in his measured and thoughtful manner, express the belief that God had grown tired of his country and had allowed chaos and death to consume his beloved Sudan. His humility was touching. I grieve for the arrogance with which we have left behind such simplicity of heart.

And it made me wonder: Is God growing tired of us? Will He weary of bestowing abundance on an ungrateful, unbelieving nation? The group that made the trek across Sudan are called “The Lost Boys.”

But I wonder who is really lost.

An Everyday Thanksgiving

 

My husband and I were talking about the world situation the other day. From recent news reports, everything appears to be going to “hell in a hand basket,” as my blessed mother would have said. I’m not sure what the phrase means, but when she used it about any particular situation, we always knew that life wasn’t going to be pretty until some serious adjustments were made.

As my husband and I talked, it occurred to us that, although things around us are bad, we really only know it’s that bad because of the news. We actually wouldn’t even know about it by looking at our lives. Sure, we have a tough situation caring for a quadriplegic son, but our lives are, in many ways (can I really be saying this?) – pleasant. We have much for which to be thankful.

This morning, I was thinking about some of our blessings in these troubled times:

• I awakened in my own bed this morning. Believe me, this is a blessing. I, as well as the rest of the family, have spent many nights wadded up in a hospital chair next to Kevin’s bed in ICU or rehab.
• God has granted us another day together. My friend Cindy, who recently lost her battle with cancer, would have been ecstatic to have had a healthy, pain-free day to enjoy with her family.
• I am in reasonably good health.
• I have a wonderful family who loves me and who is trying to serve God every day.
• We still live in a free country.
• I love my jobs: taking care of those I love and writing about the One I love.
  
• I can eat whenever I want, shower in hot water, use all the electricity I need, sleep when I feel like it, and buy the necessary things and a few extra delights like candy, pretty clothes, and home furnishings.
• My friends are awesome.

I could go on, but you get the idea. Yes, I could make a list of the things that make my life difficult, even pitiful by some people’s standards.

But Thanksgiving is such a great place to live. It really beats the alternative. Since I’ve found myself here this morning, I think I’ll just hang around awhile and enjoy the view. God seems to show up here a lot, and I’ve been looking for Him lately, anyway.

I wonder if He was waiting for me.

Never Give Up

I awakened this morning to snow…again. This is one of the longest winters I can remember, and as I face the prospect of another gray day, spring seems to be a distant hope.

The morning drudgery is brightened by a steaming cup of coffee and my quiet time. I’m reading about Joseph in Egypt. As a youth, Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers and unjustly accused of a crime against his master. It appeared that he would be in prison indefinitely, the dreams of his youth dead.

But in a day, his life reversed as God put into motion the events that would free him and bring him into the place for which God had prepared him. Those years in prison taught him humility and the grace of his Lord. Without the gray days, he would have never been ready for the job God had for him.

As I sit by my computer this morning, two dozen robins have flown in from their winter retreat to set up housekeeping. They hop along the ground like popcorn, seemingly oblivious to the cold. It doesn’t look like spring yet, but they know better. It is coming. It’s the great law of nature: Spring always comes.

Recently, the local paper did an article on Song in the Night and the story of our family. When the reporter asked our quadriplegic son Kevin if he wanted to tell something to the readers, he told her, “Never give up.” We can’t give up, because God can reverse any situation whenever He chooses. We never know how close we are to deliverance and victory. Winter never lasts forever.

Spring comes, and with it, new hope.