Many may disagree with me, but the beauty in tragedy is...well, beautiful. It's raw and bloody and fresh and slippery. It's terrible, and it's beautiful. Because everywhere around it you see love. Everywhere. Maybe I can say this because I've been enough removed from the worst of tragedies, of which there are many. Maybe I'll eat my words someday. I probably will. But then again, maybe I'll feel this way again at the other end of life, when I've seen it all, and life is still beautiful and lovely and terrible and raw.
Circumstances are never as they seem on the outside. Before I went to Kenya, I thought that life must be terrible for those living in poverty in the slums. And it is, from a Western perspective, where the focus is on property and belongings. Expensive ones, and having lots of everything. And it still is hard. But it is different. The people in Kibera taught me so much about life at such a young life. Like the lesson that life isn't about what you accumulate, but who you spend your time with. I lose the gravity of that lesson sometimes. Certain things remind me of it, some more severely than others, but I'm always grateful to be reminded.
I don't necessarily believe that everything happens for a reason, because it just doesn't seem right. God, you work in mysterious ways. As much as I want to, I try not to figure you out. I know I can't. What I do know is that the decisions I make are important, and I know that it is all written, and I also know that somehow, against the reality of time or space as I experience it, each decision I make not only alters my own life, but all of history.
And so does everyone else's. They alter their own lives, and others. In so many more ways than we can even begin to comprehend.
It's beautiful and terrible.
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