For the second night I am haunted by the pictures in that Life magazine. I dreamed of the girl carrying dozens of loaves of bread. I dream of her and the boy who confronted his violent father. The eight year old boy called the cops on his dad when his dad threatened his mom with a knife. In the photo the boy hollers in his subdued father's face, "I hate you. Don't you come to my home no more".
In the dream, that boy smiles at me. I want to talk to him in the baddest way. Did he grow up strong and good? And the girl. Was she able to skirt bitterness and the weariness, and find joy in life?
So these two kids are added to my list of people I want to talk to in heaven. There's Moses, a humble man who walked his people out of slavery and along the way wangled a friendship from God. And Florence Nightingale who patiently changed her world forever with application of sanitation in the hospitals and respect for the common soldier.
There's a quality in survivors that I deeply connect with. Researchers are finally tracking down that elusive quality. It has something to do with resiliency. An ability to look at a blow in a different way; to see opportunities; to determine a different future.
