So, going back to my Starbucks experience… Selfishly, my primary response to being exposed to stories like that one in the past has been, well, relief.
“Phewww. Thank goodness I don’t live there.”
I think I’m finally passed that stage. The only way I could describe what I’ve been feeling was to look up the antonym of relief, which is:
Nailed it. It’s becoming increasingly more difficult to live where I live, do what I do, and have the world continue to turn. It amazed me that the entire world didn’t stop when that mother was killed. It should have literally stopped turning on it’s access and everyone should have frozen solid.
But, it didn’t, and it won’t.
Where is that little boy today? Who is taking care of him?
The idealist in me wants to truck on over to Kenya and grab that boy and take him home, tuck him bed, feed him, clothe him, love him.
Can I do that?