The Bush

A few weeks ago on vacation I had a nightmare that I would be compelled to watch one of my children drown. I feel like that is happening right now as I have no idea where Steve is or who is tucking him in or helping him brush his teeth or laughing at his joke "Mom, I don't like you . . I love you!"

So I keep saying to the sky, because who else really can I say it to, I'm angry about this situation, angry enough to die . .which is what Jonah said when that bush died as suddenly as it grew. We discussed Jonah 4 in church this Sunday and tonight as I'm telling my bedroom ceiling I'm angry enough to die, the measly bush made a new kind of sense.

I'm like Jonah. Abstract news of destruction in Ninevah, Darfur, Thailand or Iraq is too huge for my emotions to handle or my empathy to embrace. I care, but not that much. Too bad for those people, but I need to do a load of wash. So Jonah got that bush for a few hours, I got Steve for a few years. Now that is something specific a human can care about and get attached to. And it is suddenly removed, the gift, the comfort, the delight of it. Is it all a mean trick, a lesson laced with ridicule to make us feel ashamed for not being moved enough about the cities, the countries in peril? I always thought it was, but now I see something a little kinder in that strange plant's purpose.

God affirms and welcomes our anger and concern about the absurdity of things, even if it's the death of a God-damned plant. A human can only handle so much, he knows this. And then he gently reminds me, reminds Jonah: What, a troubled child, a worm-chomped bush, makes you angry enough to die? You are that concerned? Are you right to be concerned? "YES WE ARE!" we finally shout. There it is. Yes, you are, and so you are tasting, as much as a human is able to, the immense compassion I have for every living thing. You can't fix things, you can't even care enough! But, child, maybe now you'll understand that I am angry enough to die about each human that can't tell right hand from left, walking around in a muddle, and what's more, their cows too.

Tonight I can fall asleep now because my anger and longing for things to be made right comes from something way bigger and braver than me. There is some comfort if the Maker of the Universe gets it, this overwhelming emotion we froth up over a wormy bush. He'll make everything all right again. Won't he? I hope so.