Living not far outside of Boston, my local tv stations come out of that city. And I am sitting here, glued to my television, watching continuing coverage, tears streaming down my eyes, only hours after the explosions. Of course, I am always horrified by any senseless violence, especially when it comes in the form of some sort of terror attack, but this one in particular has twisted and torn my heart like a rag.
This is my city! The city I lost my heart to. Boston feels like my hometown because from the first time I stepped foot into the city, every particle of my soul recognized that place as home, the place I was always meant to be. And someone has attacked my home.
And then I hear that one of the those murdered was eight years old. An eight year old! My youngest child just turned eight. My stomach is in knots, my heart hurts. I can do nothing.
And then I hear of arms and legs being blown off of victims in the attack. Lives forever changed, forever altered. All I can do is pray.
And then I hear 76 people are injured and maybe more! All I can do is pray.
But then I hear of marathon runners who after finishing their 26 miles, ran straight over to Mass General to donate blood. I hear of Bostonians opening up their homes to displaced runners, offering a place to stay. I hear of local businesses handing out free food to people stuck in the city. And I remember there are really good people in the world. All I can do is pray in gratitude that such people exist.
My thoughts and feelings are all jumbled still, and I am not yet in that place where I can sort through it. Everything is still so confusing and it will be days before we have many answers. But I am grateful that these devastations seem to bring out the best in so many people, and I'm grateful that these tragedies often unite a city, and a region. I hope that a spirit of peace will be poured out on Boston and love will overcome hate.
Boston, I love you!