“Lean into it,” I whisper to the screen.

The words come out sounding inevitable.
Like there is no other choice.
Like: this shit happens whether you want it or not.

And I’m not even sure who I was whispering to.
Those children?
Their parents?
The aid workers?

Because it’s not just them. Or just me. Or just any of us.
But it’s not all of us, either.

I have my life together.
And I’m not starving.
Or facing unjust deportation—at the age of sixto a deranged country torn by violence.

And then I read this, and I fall apart.
Because leaning into it is all we can do.

And it is woefully inadequate . . .
. . .if problem solving is our goal.

But perhaps the hope of maranatha
means we can continue as the crucifixions go on all around us
and God dies again and again and again

bleeding his love for the whole world.