Immune In America

I know the song, Sunday Bloody Sunday, was written about a different time in history but I can't help but feel the relevance of it this morning as my Facebook newsfeed is flooded with the horrific violence and crimes being committed against humanity today. And this line reverberates within me:

"Yes, it's true, we are immune, when fact is fiction and T.V. reality. 
And today the millions cry, we eat and drink while tomorrow they die.
The real battle yet begun, to claim the victory Jesus won...."

As I sit here in my warm cozy house, while the rain pours down, I am barely able to feel anything for the persecuted.

Immune in America.

I'm crying, "Lord Jesus! Break my heart for what breaks yours. Break my hard indifferent heart. Help me to carry these people, into your throne room, on the prayers of my tongue."

Remember those in prison, as if you were there yourself.
Remember also those being mistreated, 
as if you felt their pain in your own bodies.
Hebrews 13:3


The battle isn't just for ones on the front line. 

The battle cry for most of us is a broken heart, on our knees pleading for our brothers and sisters in the trenches. 

And I see those words and I wonder, will my prayers make a difference? This hard cold heart of stone. God!! Why do children have to suffer? 

And the question goes unanswered as I fall to me knees begging God to break my heart with his love, a love that I do not understand. A love that allows children, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers to suffer in a way I can't imagine. Suffering because of their faith. 

I watched 'God's Not Dead' last night. My heart swelled and tears flowed as I watched a father slap his daughter across her face and then carry her out of his house, dumping her sobbing body on the doorstep, and slamming the door. I cried as I watched her begging her father, fist pounding the locked door, pleading with him, as he sat on the other side of the door, a 200 lb man, anguish filling his body as he realizes that he no longer has his beautiful daughter. She is to him now an infidel, a stranger. He is wailing for his loss and she's sobbing for her decision, and I'm crying in the name of religion. In the name of religion?

We live in a messed up broken world. And I don't have the answers today. I do have a choice though. I can choose to put my faith in a God that I don't fully understand but do fully trust. I can remember that it is the atrocities of mankind upon mankind, not God, that I am witnessing from my little computer screen in my warm cozy home in America. I can be thankful for the life I have been given, and I can begin to pray. I can pray for an understanding, I can pray for mercy, I can pray for an end, I can pray to a soverign God that sees. I can pray. That hardly feels like enough. Lord Jesus! What can I do??? I feel so helpless.

God, what would you have me to do? 


Will you pray with me? Will you ask God to break your heart and give you words to pray? Somehow, through prayer, we can make a difference. Somehow.

Love from a barely breaking heart,



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