The following is an edit of an earlier entry dated Oct 3, 2002
As America approaches the six-year anniversary of September 11, 2001, the death toll of US servicemen approaches 3,700.
That number is as incomprehensible as the 2,835 who died in the day of the terrorist attack upon America.
It is estimated that some 70,000 Iraqis have died in the conflict.
Again, confessionally, I'm ambivalent to this number. I think it is horrid, and I am aghast that this is the reality, but my point is not about the war, or rightness or the wrongness of it.
My point is that I can't comprehend the vastness of large-scale death, even when I can conceptualize the count (For example, this total of these dead would approximately fill Denver's Mile High Stadium).
Nope.
Doesn't help.
I can look at that reality with a bleary-eyed wonder and not be stricken the same way as when I heard the news of one person dying.
When I was told my mom's life had ended, it was more devastating to me than the news of 9/11, of the subsequent war, and certainly of the ongoing toll.
And I think that's pretty typical. When you process death...and its accompanying loss...it is the singularly significant death that debilitates more than the abstract announcement of large-scale loss.
Large-scale loss rallies a populace for a time, but they eventually revert. Patriotism spikes, but then gives way to the tidal ebb & flow of politics. Spirituality spikes (evidenced in increased church attendance), but eventually the less sincere and committed revert to old habits. Calls to "Never forget!" are voiced as a diminishing echo of "Ever Forget? get? get?"
When mom died, she may have been a headline in a paper, a number, but she was not a number to me. She was a person.
She was smart, funny, impacting, influential, and a million other things. She was unique.
Special.
One of a kind.
And that's why, a year later, I mourn for her.
I have no increasing fear of being in a tall building because of the illogical insanity of 9/11, but I'm sensitive to the pain of marital strife, the danger of depression, and the regret of missed warnings. The fleeting nature of life is impressed upon me because of the individual experience, not because of the collective ones.
The Bible says that God so loves the world that he gave His only begotten son, that whoever believes in him shouldn't perish, but have everlasting life.
Okay.
I can't comprehend that.
That's 6.735 billion people as of right now. I feel like Dr. Evil when reading that number. it might as well be 6.735 zillion gajillion.
Yes, it's comforting to know that God loves the world -- but I want to know if God loves me.
Or if God loves my wife.
Or my children.
Or my friend.
Or my enemies.
Or my mom.
The answer reports that God cares about the world 1 person at a time, 6.735 billion times again and again and again.
God knows my thoughts and my deeds. He knows my hurts. This means He knows my desires. He knows my goals. My ambitions. My frustrations. My struggles. He knows every potential of every potential for my life. He knows me better than I know myself.
Wow.
In this regard, the most profound theological truth we can come to (and I'm not the first to say this) is "Yes, Jesus loves me."
(see more testimony after the jump)
This is how much God loves me...
...He gave up His son for me.
I have a son. Eight years old.
My boy.
I don't think I could give him up for anybody. Certainly not somebody who would repeat the same offenses for which my son would be given (as I have).
Why do so many want to reject the thought that God gave Jesus for us to be redeemed back to him? Could it be because we absolutely cannot comprehend the depth of that love, the sacrifice of that love, the greatness of that love. But this is the love that God has shown the world -- one person at a time, 6.735 billion times over (and counting).
So God says this -- He expects me to love him with all my heart, all my soul, all my strength, and all my mind. This is my first love. It should be greater than my love for my wife. My children. My church. My job. My toys.
Everybody dies. Death is real and it hurts. But that's from our perspective. Because for us, death is loss. But from God's perspective, death is the sweetest gift imaginable because it is only through death that we experience the fullness of life. I have assurance and peace that my mom understood this.
Whether I know you or not, or you know me or not, I hope that today, you grasp the depth of God's love for you.
In a world of billions, God has his eyes fixed upon you.
Because He loves you.
