Adulthood is a rhythm I’m trying to work out, and there are days it feels like a song hummed on some spring morning and other days it grinds inside my ears. With my first grown-up job, I am reminded how much of life is repetitious—I drink my coffee, go to work, come home, eat dinner, pack a lunch for tomorrow, go to sleep and restart again. Grocery shopping and laundry replay week after week.
Then in the news I hear of all the ways and places the world has split open to bleed. Our black brothers killed, attacks on police, Baghdad bombed, crowds mowed down by a truck in Nice. Bloody summer once again.
What can I do? My daily routine is shabby at best.
I work as an intern at an office where my heart breaks once a week or so. We support native missionaries working in lands of persecution and poverty. I do some social media, so I end up reading a lot of world news.
Last week, I transcribed an interview where a man described refugee camps where families have been living in the same tents for four years. There’s no clean water. They have asthma; they have skin diseases, and hardly anyone helps. Resources are wearing thin in the Middle East, and it’s been going on so long most of the world is tired of hearing about it.
We’ve moved on to the next most interesting thing. Refugees can’t do that.