In the early morning, just before sunrise in the Wild Basin Mountains, our (wife, daughter, mine) phones sounded off at a trailhead just as we entered the back country about to lose cell service. An Amber Alert! In the Kansas City area, three-year-old Olivia Jansen was abducted from her home sometime during the night. Her dad discovered the back door to the house ajar. He reported Olivia missing early that morning. Olivia’s mother was not present. She was in jail for a hit and run incident.
Returning to civilization late in the day, my daughter looked into updates of Olivia’s search. She remained missing.
Later, my daughter acquired a picture of Olivia online. She told me Olivia was cute. Of course, I thought, ALL three-year-olds are beautiful! I silently prayed she’d be found quickly and safe.
The next day, while driving along I-70 headed for home, my daughter informed me. The little girl’s body was located less than a mile from her home next to a trail. Olivia’s dad with her name tattooed on his forehead was held in custody along with his girlfriend for killing his little girl and desecrating her corpse.
The car radio played. Miles disappeared in the review mirror. Silently, I recalled my daughter at age three catching fireflies and releasing them in her bedroom so that they would “sparkle like stars on the ceiling!” Popping out at hide-n-seek so that we wouldn’t think she was lost. Playing bounce tag on the trampoline. Taking lessons so she could swim like a fish at the Pointe in the evening. Running a million miles an hour packing the most into each day, she’d crash with exhaustion at night before I could even begin to read her a story. I wondered. Was Olivia like that? Why should I care? To me, all children are my children.
I maneuvered into the Holiday Inn Express on the western outskirts of Salina, Kansas.
I threw my bag in the room. Left my wife and daughter behind and wandered onto the gravel exit road. I walked past a no-vacancy KOA campground. The dead-end gravel transitioned to a narrow dirt road separating fields of corn and wheat stubble.
I was in my country. Throughout my youth, I’d reflect upon my day, develop future plans, consider new ideas as I walked dirt roads through the fields. The sun hung low over a golden field of freshly harvested wheat. Heat curled leaves of corn only two feet high due to lack of rain. Sweat rolled over my brow.
My mind wrestled all day. I’m generally an optimistic individual, but as I walked into the sunset along this dirt road, I didn’t doubt the existence of God. There was no God!
I considered my fair-weather relationship with God. When things are going well, God is good. When things grow dark, God is not in the cards.
What’s eating me? I feel it working to surface as I walk further into the countryside. I try to focus my mind, but am having difficulty doing so. Random thoughts emerge. People perform acts of kindness for the less fortunate. Why is it that so many think it’s okay to help those in need, except when it comes at a personal cost to themselves?
A young bride dies eight months into her marriage from spinal cancer leaving her child and husband behind.
A ten-year-old boy is killed in a hit and run while riding his bicycle.
An innocent forty-year-old father of five is indiscriminately shot and killed in a drive-by shooting.
A young girl suffers a spinal injury resulting in paralysis below the neck.
Finally, it emerges. A three-year-old girl is killed by her father.
A beautiful,
amazing
three-year-old girl!
I live much of life as a fraudulent believer.
What the hell?
I hear my sandals slap the baked, packed soil. A hot, arid breeze teases me to keep walking. Tonight, I’d deliver the death penalty to Olivia’s father and his girlfriend. As I talked that off my chest, anger invaded. I thought I was prolife, but not tonight.
They desecrated her fragile, defenseless body. How’d she die? Asphyxiation, poisoning, blow to the head? The police reported torture. She had to struggle. The more I wanted to be judge and jury, anger opened to fear. Despair consumed fear, regurgitated helplessness, hopelessness.
Where was He? God?
Out of control, I had trouble breathing. There was no peace, no hope in these fields.
My mind’s eye, the one a Literature teacher had spoken of, zeroed in on Olivia. Staring into a dusty sunset, I saw a little three-year-old girl plunging into the depths of water. I saw terror, betrayal in her eyes. Forgotten, discarded, alone. She was sinking, drowning, fighting to hold her last breath.
Suddenly, instantly, the little three-year-old girl became my daughter. I saw fear and excitement in her eyes. She’d just jumped off the diving board. Her miniature arms and legs cycled into an underwater dog paddle. I saw my hands quickly reach into the depths of the water, squeeze her ribs, and lift my beautiful girl up and over my head! Frantically wiping her face of water, she laughed! I laughed, hugging her tightly, singing her praises on her first successful jump off the board! Too jubilant for words, we laughed more together!
Abruptly, my vision shifted again back to Olivia. Her tiny body falling deeper and deeper into the depths, light from her eyes fading away. And then…. Hands, unknown to me, squeezed Olivia’s fragile ribcage and lifted her with unimaginable force out of the depths thrusting her above the water! Olivia coughed, frantically wiping the water from her face. She captured the eyes of the Father. My Spirit’s eye recognized the hands of the Almighty. I burst into tears, crying alone on a dirt road in the middle of fields intensely struggling to keep from hyperventilating. I could see a beautiful three-year-old laugh in the sunset over the fields. My anger and despair, too, lifted away. Tears continued but I began to breathe easier. I felt hope despite the sun falling below the horizon. Peace settled upon these fields.
"Let the children come to me. Do not hinder them. The kingdom of God belongs to such as these." Jesus placed his hands on them in prayer. Mt. 19:14-15.
"Let the children come to me. Do not hinder them. The kingdom of God belongs to such as these." Jesus placed his hands on them in prayer. Mt. 19:14-15.
*60 children in the St. Louis area have been the victims of violence: 20 resulting in homicide.
These are our children!
